Alarm of War, Book II: The Other Side of Fear (38 page)

“Well, helloooo, handsome,” the beach ball chirped.  “I am a self-propelled, armored, multi-band sensor reconnaissance unit of seductively spheroid shape and uncanny wit.  Are you a sentient life form?”

“Bugger off, weenie” the Marine said without opening his eyes,” I’m trying to sleep.”

“Oh, I’ll sleep with you anytime, big boy,” the beach ball cooed.  It rolled forward and nudged his knee.  “Oh my goodness!  We’ve got a problem here.  A scan of your anatomy reveals that you either have no male sex organs or that they are too small to be measured by my equipment.  Is that possible?  Could it be
that
small?”

“Go away,” he said irritably.  Marines sitting on either side of him began to smirk.

The beach ball spun around in a tight circle, lights flashing.  “I’m being told to bugger off by a dickless wonder!  Rejected!  Spurned!” it wailed loudly.  “It’s just as well, with a dick that small, you could never satisfy a real sphere!”

Grunting, the Marine lashed out with his foot, but the beach ball suddenly bounced up two feet and the Marine missed it.  The beach ball rolled out of range, made a rude noise and rolled away.  

“Told you you’d never kick it,” one of the other Marines said.  “Like trying to catch a damn pigeon, just can’t get close enough.”

The beach ball stopped in front of another Marine.  “Hello there! I am a self-propelled, armored, multi-band sensor reconnaissance unit of seductively spheroid shape and uncanny wit.”  It rolled a little closer and seemed to peer at him. “Why bless my soul, I didn’t know they let Dominion wart hogs enlist in the Victorian Marines! Or are you just the mascot?”

And so, totally distracted from what lay ahead, the Marines watched in irritated amusement as the beach balls bantered and insulted and then dodged the inevitable backlash.

At the far end of the row, Hiram Brill watched in disbelief.  “Gods of Our Mothers, is it always like this?”

“No, sir,” replied Sergeant Maimon laconically.  “Sometimes the shuttles just get blown out of the sky and everybody dies.”

* * * *

              Karl stared at Cookie, his mouth opening and closing like a carp’s.  Cookie kicked the door shut behind her.  “Karl, I want one thing from you and one thing only:  Where is Engineering?”

              Karl stared at her for a long moment, not saying anything.

              “Karl, you tell me what I want to know or I am going to shoot you right here,” Cookie said conversationally.

              “I never meant for them to hurt you,” Karl stammered.  “The Victorians have boarded us.  You and I can go to them, I can surrender-“

              Cookie sighed.  “Karl, for the last time, which way is Engineering?”

              Wordlessly, Karl pointed toward one wall.

              “And which deck is it on?”

              “Fifth through tenth,” he said. 

              “Ok, that wasn’t so hard.  Now, Karl, call up the ship map on your computer and show me,” she said pleasantly.  Slowly, fearfully, Karl did as she ordered.  Once the map appeared, he tried a cautious smile on her.  “Hey, Cookie, we had some good times together, didn’t we?”

“Gee, Karl,” Cookie said, “torture and rape; it hardly gets better than that.”  Then she shot him, once, through the forehead.  He dropped like a stone, and just as lifeless.

              Wisnioswski stepped over the body and studied the computer screen.  “Four decks below us, but a bit of a hike to get there.”

              Cookie shrugged.  “We aren’t doing any good here,” she said.  They spent a minute getting some food and a bottle of water from Karl’s galley kitchen, then Cookie memorized the quickest way to Engineering.  Wisnioswski was right; it was a bit of a hike.

              The trouble didn’t really begin until they were climbing the stairs down to the fifth level.  They could hear a lot of shooting ahead of them.  They reached the corridor entrance just in time to see three Victorian Marines in a close range gun battle with two Dominion soldiers.  The Marines had been caught in the open by Dominion soldiers wearing heavy armor and carrying blasters.  The Marines had only light armor and were shooting air rifles. They were hitting their targets, but the rounds were not penetrating.

In short order, the enemy blasters shot the Marines to pieces – literally to pieces – as the enemy blasters tore them apart.  When it was over, the Dominion soldiers approached them cautiously, rifles at the ready.  Cookie waited until they had passed the doorway where she was hiding, then adjusted the sonic rifle to tight spread, stepped out and shot them both in the back of the head. 
WHAP!  WHAP!
  The two Ducks went down, blood spurting from their helmet seals.

              Cookie scanned the corridor for anyone else, then snatched up the guards’ blasters.  She unslung her sonic rifle and put the sling over Wisnioswski’s shoulder, then added one of the two blasters, keeping one for herself. 

Wisnioswski stared at the three dead Marines.  “Poor bastards,” he muttered, and yet to Cookie he seemed more energetic, more focused, more
himself
than he had been since their capture months ago.

“I’m using you as my mule, Wisnioswski,” she told him.  “Stay close in case I need one of the spare rifles.”  She frisked the bodies of the Dominions and came up with three additional power units, which she stuffed into her pockets.  She looked longingly at the heavy armor, but decided it would take too long to strip the bodies and get it on.  With a last glance at the fallen Victorian Marines, they pressed on.

* * * *

              Rafael Eitan stepped into the shuttle bay and glanced about.  The sound of gun shots came from the two other entrances, where Dominion troops were holding off the attacking Refuge Special Reconnaissance Forces.  Rafael quickly signaled that ten of his men were to attack the Dominions at one of the entrances, and another ten were to do the same at the last entrance.  That left him ten men and those he sent in search of the control panel to open the giant outer doors.  The harsh fact was that he didn’t need to rescue all of his troops; what he
had
to do was open the shuttle bay doors.

              Across the shuttle bay deck, one of his men was waving his arms frantically, trying to catch his attention.  The thing he missed the most in a transport assault, Rafael decided, was a good combat helmet with all of its communication devices.  He jogged over to the man – Specialist 4 Leckie – who was standing by a doorway.

              “This looks like the control room, sir,” he said motioning to the small room.  Rafael stepped inside. There was a large console with a bewildering array of buttons, toggles and dials, along with display monitors showing the outside of the vessel and the entire deck on the side near the blast doors.  He turned back.  “We have five guys trained in how Dominion shipyards operate.  Where are they?”

              Specialist 4 Leckie smiled.  “I’m one of them, sir.”

              Rafael nodded in relief.  “Okay, Mr. Leckie, can you figure out which control opens the blast doors?”

              Specialist 4 Leckie glanced at the control panel for a moment.  “Well, sir, based on my years of experience and the rigorous training I was given in order to prepare for this mission, I think that big red button with the label that says, ‘Open Doors’ is a good bet.”

              Rafael looked at the control panel.  There were two big push buttons.  One was red and said ‘Open Doors,’ while the other was blue and said, ‘Close Doors.’   He nodded ruefully and turned back to Leckie, who was grinning ear to ear.  “Specialist, did anyone ever tell you that no one likes a wise ass?”

              Leckie’s grin grew larger.  “Many times, sir.

              Rafael jutted his chin at the control panel.  “Do it.”

              Leckie sat at the control panel, studied it for a moment longer just in case he had missed something, and then slapped the red button.  Immediately a klaxon began sounding and an automated voice warned that the outer doors would open in two minutes.  “All personnel not wearing vacuum suits must be inside the yellow line!  Warning!  All personnel not wearing vacuum suits must be inside the yellow line!”

              There was a buzz as a force field materialized just outside the yellow line.  The force field would retain the shuttle bay’s air once the doors opened.

              Within minutes all four Victorian assault shuttles were inside the shuttle bay and unloading.  The heavy assault troops poured out and immediately reinforced all of the entrances into the shuttle bay. The five Marvins were powered up.  Two were left to guard the shuttles and the other three were assigned to assault teams.  Beach balls bounced out of the shuttles and rolled to the entrances.  No smart quips now, they just stood ready for orders. Rafael ordered all of the surviving troops from the transporter assault to get into the standard ground assault gear used by the Victorian Marines.  He pulled his combat helmet on with a sigh of relief, uplinked to the Company AI named Caesar – who came up with these names? – and watched in satisfaction as data began to scroll across the helmet visor.

              The news was good and bad.  Of the one hundred and fifty men who transported over to the prison ship, thirty were dead, fifteen wounded and three were missing.  Some rescue mission.  He had one hundred or so men still effective, plus the two hundred men from the Victorian shuttles under the command of Colonel Dov Tamari.

Hiram Brill emerged from one of the shuttles with his watch dog, Sergeant Maimon, in tow.  The scene in the shuttle bay was one of chaos, but the chaos of the hive.  Every soldier had a job and was doing it.  And it was surprisingly quiet.  Instead of shouting orders, everyone wore helmets with a full range of communications.  Each man and woman in the assault company had a specific niche in the communications web.

              Except him.  He was supposed to be sitting in the control room on the
Haifa
.

              No, that’s not right, he reminded himself.  He was the
commander
, he was supposed to be wherever he was; that was the perk of being the commander.  His gaze turned to the heads-up view inside his visor.  “Caesar, where is the Controllers’ room?”

              The AI came back immediately.  “Shuttle Number Three, rear compartment.”

              “Sergeant Maimon, follow me, please.”  He walked a hundred feet to Shuttle 3, climbed on board and found himself a chair in the corner where he could watch most of the display screens.  The displays would show him what the beach balls and the Marvins were seeing.  The Sergeant in charge of the room saw someone unauthorized sitting in the corner and started over, but Hiram lifted his helmet visor and smiled at him.  “And a fine morning to you, Sergeant Stafford,” he said warmly.

              Stafford stopped in his tracks, a little unnerved to have the Commander in his control room and more than a little pissed that no one had warned him he was coming.

              “Just thought I’d sit here a while and see how things develop,” Hiram continued cheerfully.  “Carry on, Sergeant; I won’t get in your way.”

              Suppressing a scowl, Sergeant Stafford returned to his position behind the Controllers.

Rafael Eitan checked the stats again and saw that all of his men were suited up and ready.  His helmet pinged and Colonel Tamari’s  face appeared in one corner of the display.  “Captain?” he barked.  “Caesar reports your troops are ready.  I want you to secure the Engineering deck.  Take some prisoners, but no more than a handful.  The Ducks seems to have a company or more of Dominion Internal Security Forces on board; they can be tough little fuckers, so watch yourself.  I am sending my two hundred troops forward to secure the rest of the ship and the bridge.  Sergeant Sanchez and Private Wisnioswski are somewhere in the middle part of the ship and seem to be moving towards Engineering, so keep your eyes peeled.  Our scanner shows they are alive and moving, but we do not have a fix on their exact location. 

“
Haifa
called in warning us that a lot of people appear to be moving in on us here at the shuttle bay.  That’ll be more of the Duck Security Forces, so it’s time we got out of here.”  Colonel Tamari grinned. “Good hunting, Raf.  Move out.” 

“Sir, I’d like to take some of your beach balls to scout ahead of us and one of the Marvins to give us some extra punch,” Eitan said.

Tamari grunted and in a moment the squad assignment icons appeared on Eitan’s Heads-up Display.  As he watched the icon for one of the Marvins changed color and position, joining the Refuge Special Reconnaissance Force.  Four of the beach balls blinked twice and then joined his forces as well.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Use them well, Raf, but use ‘em fast.  We’ve got to get control of this ship before the Ducks get their heads out of their asses and organize a counter-attack,” Tamari growled.  “And by the Mothers’ tits, be careful with your blasters down in Engineering.  Some of your boys get carried away down there and you’ll take out the whole bloody ship.”

“I’ll try to avoid that, sir.”

Tamari grunted.  “See that you do.  Stay in touch.”