Syn-En: Plague World: The Founders War Begins (31 page)

Thank God for that.
“And their helmets and oxygen tanks will give them plenty of oxygen and prevent them from decompressing in the vacuum of space, so why isn’t the success rate higher?”

Finishing her braid, Apollie secured it with a single bead. “Because the Syn-En aren’t using the helmet and oxygen like we would. Doc will make the first pass head on. The soldiers will aim one helmet at the enemy’s portholes, hoping to damage it if not destroy it.”

“The fighters don’t have portholes.” Doc headed for the swarm of fighters buzzing the
America
. “We’re latching on with grappling hooks. Then we’ll burn through with lasers to depressurize the hull and incapacitate the operator. We’ll board, take control, and split into two groups. One will attack the enemy fighters. The others will begin an offensive against the dreadnaught.”

Nell pinched the bridge of her nose. If her husband survived this operation, she’d kill him. “You should have named it Operation Bug Splat on a Windshield.”

“That would have been demoralizing.” Doc picked off his chosen target and dove directly for it. The enemy took the bait and he pulled away. “Besides, we’ve already had two successes.”

She bit her lip to keep from asking the number of failures. “Aside from the obvious problems with this method of attack, what if those capsules are unmanned drones?”

Doc reversed course and began to chase the fighter. “Then we proceed to plan B, Operation Kamikaze.”

Bei hung from the ramp of
Starflight 1.
The shuttle slowly maneuvered into place over the Scraptor’s pill-shaped drone. Twelve had already turned on the Founders’ dreadnaught. Six Syn-En awaited pickup after missing their target. A clock counted down inside his head.

Any minute now, the Scraptor’s Defense systems would adapt. Any minute.

Bei scanned the frequencies, looking for the enemy’s preferred channel.

Queens and Portland rolled off their targets, releasing the capsules on their new heading.

Brooklyn and Troy rerouted the guidance systems of their targets for the cannon array on the dreadnaught’s side.

A high pitched beep blitzed Bei’s head.

The drones Brooklyn and Troy rode exploded. The enemy had adapted. Troy’s life signs fell dark. Brooklyn’s limbs flew in all directions. His health systems reported severe head trauma and shrapnel embedded in his chest.

Reshuffle priorities. Pick up Brooklyn, see if you can patch him back together. Operation Geronimo is cancelled. Proceeding with Operation Kamikaze
. Bei launched his grappling hook at the target underneath. He leapt from the back of the shuttle just as Doc darted right. He jerked forward as the fighter picked up speed.

Copy that. Operation Geronimo cancelled.
In cyberspace, Doc ordered the pick-up of the Syn-Ens based on damage and remaining oxygen levels.

Bei increased his magnetic attraction. The distance between him and the drone closed but not fast enough. He vented a little of his spare oxygen as propellent. Wrapping the grappling hook line around his wrist, he collided with the side. Impact alerts flared yellow. He activated his armor and the serrated ridges dug into the cylinder’s side.

Admiral,
worry infused Captain Amazon’s voice.
Energy shields are down to twenty percent.

Understood.
The transport was running out of defensive options. Bei punched through the fighter’s outer hull and peeled it back. Wires and crystals glowed in his night vision.
Status of your deck guns.

Installed and manned, but we only have six shells per gun.
Captain Amazon uploaded files, showing the evacuation locations of her biologic crew. Some areas functioned as life pods. Two large stations did not.

Seven hundred Human lives at risk, yet few panicked. They counted on the Syn-En to save them.

Bei didn’t plan to disappoint, but the odds were not in his favor.

Don’t waste your shells on the fighters.
Bei yanked the crystal. With his NDA fingernail, he scratched the outside, overriding the self-destruct. Ripping out the navigation deck, he uploaded new code and coordinates then locked them in place.

The fighter began to arc back toward the Scraptor ship.

As soon as the enemy caught on to the highjacking, Bei tapped into their signal. His code usurped the Scraptor’s. The fighters broke off engaging the
America
and headed back to the dreadnaught.

Bei smoothed his armor, unwound his wrist, and rolled off the fighter. With a thought, he activated his rescue beacon and checked the WA. Ten Syn-En had been retrieved. Forty fighters raced home.

Doc scooped up two Syn-En.
Do you think it will work?

Depends on whether or not the Founders have kept up with Human technology. We learned long ago how easily drones could be turned against us.
Bei tapped into his wife’s brain box. Pissed didn’t even begin to describe her mood. He’d deal with it if he survived this battle. Venting oxygen as a propellent, he lined up with four other Syn-En. With luck, the
StarflightStarflight
could scoop four of them up on one run.

Thanks for turning down the heat, Admiral
. Captain Amazon tossed bouquets of roses in cyberspace. 
But, we have one enemy craft closing in on our position and two troop transports heading toward the surface. Looks like they plan a dirtside clean-up
.

Bei assigned his best man to destroy the planet-bound ships. Starflight
1 take out the troops transports. America, focus energy barriers on critical systems.
Starflight
2 finish harvest. If the Scraptors board the
America
we’ll be on their six
.

Doc chased after the enemy troop transports.

Starflight 2
picked up four Syn-En then lined up for Bei’s row. Two more of his men maneuvered into position. The shuttle would plow a row directly toward the
America.

Red blossomed along her hull.

The enemy vessel rammed us, Admiral. Reporting breaches in decks six through ten
. Captain Amazon smoothed the emotion from her voice.
Security crews four and five check for intruders. Crews eight and twelve relocate biologics to aft decks.

Bei drew in his arms and legs. Two quick bursts of oxygen positioned him in the center of the pick-up. The black walls of the shuttle swallowed him inside the crew compartment. A net stretched across the insides. Ropes cut across his back. Hooking his hand around one, he unrolled and scrambled to the side.

The net sprang back just as another Syn-En was retrieved.

Captain Amazon spat through the com.
Admiral, I have confirmed enemy contact. We have been boarded
.

“Oh, I think I’m gonna be sick.” Nell clamped her hand over her mouth. Bile burned her throat and nose. Her stomach flopped around her chest and her heart clung for dear life to her ribcage. Aerial acrobatics in a spaceship were all well and good in a video game, but it sucked in real life.

The shuttle spun in tight corkscrews after one of the box-like Scraptor troop transports. In the pilot and copilot seats, Doc and Apollie leaned into the turns. The crosshairs on Apollie’s window tracked the butt end of the target. Sprays of bullets perforated the enemy’s hull.

The Scraptors retaliated with bursts of light. Thumps pounded like hail on the hull.

Apollie jabbed a few toggle switches. Lights on the helm blinked red, yellow, and green. “Can’t you level it out?”

Doc braced his hands on the con. “Right nacelles are off-line. Bringing stabilizers on in three...two...one.”

The rotation ended abruptly.

Nell’s eyeballs took a second or ten longer to settle. Her head slammed against the headrest.

The porthole in front of Apollie blinked red. Target acquired. She punched the launch button. Two warheads streamed away from the shuttle. Vapor trails marked their trajectories.

Please, please, please, hit the target. Hit the target
. Nell’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Take it out. Take it out.” Doc leaned forward in his seat.

The enemy transport ejected evasive measures. Red balls of light serpentined in space.

Doc’s fingers dented the con. “Not this time, assholes. Overriding targeting systems.” The warheads darted left then right. One countermeasure detonated close to a missile. Doc jerked in his seat. “Here’s my invitation to the party.”

The warhead swerved back toward the enemy ship. The first missile burrowed into the exhaust system before exploding. Crimson cracks appeared in the fracturing hull. The second pile-drove deeper into the transport then went off. The ship blew apart. Large chunks rode a blast wave toward them.

Apollie braced in her seat.

“We’ve got incoming.” Doc nosed the shuttle up at a ninety-degree angle.

The planet filled the horizon. Shrapnel pounded the underbelly of the shuttle. The second Scraptor transport plunged into Surlat’s atmosphere.

“Nell?” Doc zoomed after it. “Put a call in to your fermites, see if they can fubar the enemy’s day.”

Nell took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The shuttle shook with turbulence as they hunted their prey. Calling up the words to the theme song, she peeked at her hands. No fermite cloud. No tingling sparkles around her fingers. Rubbing the heels of her palms into her eyes, she tried again. And again.

Nothing.

Nada.

Zip.

Dang it. The one thing she could do to help the cause, and she had diddly-squat to show for it. “Sorry Doc. The fermites don’t want to come out and play.”

The transport dive-bombed for the village. Scraptors in bright red armor bailed out the side of the enemy craft.

Apollie strafed them with projectile weapons.

Bullets bounced off their armor, but shredded their parachutes. They dropped like shiny crimson spikes into the hillside.

Doc horned in on the ship. “Switching to missiles.”

Apollie lifted her hands off the trigger.

The porthole in front of Doc switched to target, locked on, and fired in the blink of an eye.

Nell held her breath. They were so close to the other ship she could practically read the writing on the side of the enemy vessel.

The first one slid into the exhaust system.

Doc leveled out the shuttle.

The sound of the explosion hit the
Starflight’s
hull. Then the concussive wave rained debris on the bottom of the ship.

Doc looped around. “Let’s make sure only dead Bug-uglies are hitting the dirt.”

Apollie’s targeting array lit up her porthole. She returned her hands to the controls.

Nell clasped her hands in her lap. She would have been better off on the ground with Davena and her people. At least, then she would have been able to do something.

Doc lined up the shuttle’s nose with the falling Scraptors. “They’re accelerating as they go. I think they’re dead.”

Apollie’s fingers twitched. “We could make certain.”

Shaking his head, Doc glanced up at space. “Save your ammo. The
America
has just been broadsided by a salvo from the Founders’ dreadnaught.”

Schematics of the space cruiser filled both portholes. Nearly half the ship flamed with red. Yellow cubes appeared among the green circles.

Nell knew the green were the internal lifeboats. “What are the yellow things?”

“Protected areas, shelters.” Doc angled the ship at forty-five degrees and aimed for space.

To the right, Nell watched the falling Scraptors dig their own burial trench as they hit the ground. Not a good way to go, but at least Davena and the villagers were safe.

Apollie tapped the
America’s
schematic about a hundred yards from the yellow cubes. “We can dock here. As long as atmosphere holds, we should be able to evacuate the children along this route.”

Nell blinked. Children. There were children aboard. Of course, the Syn-En had adopted their young inductees into family units, and the civilian support crew had their own families. Transporting refugees was supposed to be a safe duty. Unbuckling, she rose and wedged her hips between Doc and Apollie’s chairs. “Why not dock here?” She tapped the red zone in front of the yellow cubes.

Doc rolled his black eyes. “That’s part of a ship.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Nell pointed to the cruiser visible through the porthole. A shadow fell over the oval bridge. When they left the planet’s gravity, she floated for a second before the artificial gravity kicked on.

Curled metal ate at the blade-like hull of the
America.
Plasma flames clung to her bow. Glowing beams formed a grid where the explosions had torn into her.

The dreadnaught circled like a bloated shark in bloody waters. White capsules swarmed in her wake.

Was Bei out there? She couldn’t call to him, couldn’t risk distracting him.

“She’s moving into position for another salvo.” Doc leveled out the shuttle. “Strap yourself in, Nell Stafford. We’re going to use your short cut.”

Collapsing onto her seat, she secured her harness. Maybe she wasn’t completely useless. “Do you think she can take another hit?”

“She’ll take one to provide us cover, then Captain Amazon will issue the abandon ship.”

“Why not now?” Apollie checked her weapons.

“Right now, the life pods are shoring up the walls of the shelters.” Doc flipped the shuttle upside down, switched gravity, then flew backward toward the target. “Also, we’re waiting for the effects of Operation Kamikaze. If the plan works, we should take out some of their guns. Anyone ejecting now will be taken out as easy to shoot as a duck on a barrel.”

Nell didn’t bother correcting his cliché. Tingles raced over her skin as they passed the energy barrier holding atmosphere in the
America
. Crimson light licked at the interior of the bridge. Her nails dug into her harness. Would the ship flip again?