Stand Against The Storm (The Maxwell Saga Book 4) (7 page)

“Will do, boss.”

~ ~ ~

Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear bellowed, “Hold that transporter right there! We’ve got to clear the backlog before you let any more in.”

The Marine engineer directing traffic at the edge of the hardstand called, “Aye aye, Gunnery Sergeant,” and held up a commanding hand. The driver of the approaching vehicle obediently braked to a stop, as did a second heavily-laden transporter in its wake.

Kinnear turned back to the growing double row of pallets on the left side of the depot gates. They were separated by a transporter-width lane between the depot’s outer wall and the newly-erected row of hollow woven barriers. Two of the Qianjin spacers were filling the barrier bags with dirt dug from about a hundred meters beyond the wall, where untamed bush began. They grinned at him as they maneuvered excavator and front-end loader back and forth. He waved at them, then looked up at the Administration building just inside the wall. Senior Lieutenant Maxwell was standing on its roof, watching the activity outside. He lifted his hand as he noticed the Gunny looking at him, and Kinnear responded in kind.

“We sure got lucky with that one,” he murmured to himself. “With smarts like his, he shoulda been a Marine. He’s wasted on the Spacer Corps.”

He was jerked out of his train of thought by a shout of alarm from the Marine controlling incoming traffic. Following his pointing arm Kinnear saw half-a-dozen armed men, dressed in a motley mixture of military fatigues and civilian clothing, running from the bushes towards the transporters. The leader pointed his rifle menacingly at the nearest Marine and yelled, “Stay outta this! We ain’t fighting you Marines – just Eskishi! If ya don’t interfere, ya won’t get hurt!”

Kinnear spun on his heel, opening his mouth to bellow a warning – just in time to see his boss take a flying leap off the roof.

~ ~ ~

Steve braced himself as he dropped ten meters from the roof to the ground. He mentally blessed his martial arts training as he rolled to break his fall, wincing at a sudden sharp pain in his left leg. He bounced to his feet, found he could still stand and move, and ignored the pulled muscle as he sprinted for the gatehouse. There were no sentries on duty – he didn’t have enough military personnel for that, and with the guaranteed, demonstrated cooperation of the Dragon Tong prisoners even the Gunny hadn’t considered them necessary – but he’d seen too much combat to take unnecessary chances. He’d ordered half a dozen rifles racked in the gatehouse, ready for use.

He burst through the door. Rather than take time to fumble with its lock, he launched a roundhouse kick that smashed the wooden bar across the front of the makeshift rifle stand, where it blocked the weapons’ pistol grips and prevented their withdrawal. He seized two rifles, glanced swiftly at their ammunition chargers and power packs and cycled their actions to chamber a round, then spun on his heel, racing back through the door and out of the gates.

He saw in a single flashing glance that the armed men had almost reached the two waiting transporters. “Here, Sir!” Kinnear called as he ran towards him. Steve tossed him a rifle, then brought his own weapon to his shoulder. Shouts came from the intruders as they saw him, but by then he was already acquiring a flash sight picture on the man who’d shouted at the Gunnery Sergeant. By taking the initiative, he’d identified himself as the probable leader of the group. Steve steadied himself and squeezed the trigger button.

The rifle’s electromagnetic mechanism discharged a flash of power through the coils of the firing rail, accelerating a metal bead to hypersonic speed. It left the muzzle with a loud
crack!
as it broke the sound barrier. The insurgent was still raising his own rifle when the bead struck his chest. He grimaced in sudden agony as he jerked, then toppled forward, releasing his weapon as he fell.

The other five insurgents froze for an instant as they saw their leader fall, and that gave Kinnear time to get into action. His rifle cracked a split-second ahead of Steve’s next shot. They’d both selected the same insurgent as their target, his weapon already shouldered and ready to cut loose on them. The two beads spun him around and dropped him lifeless over the legs of his erstwhile boss. The four survivors scattered, opening fire to cover their movements as they dived for cover.

Steve threw himself sideways as several rifle shots passed through the space his body had just occupied. He reached the shelter of the nearest transporter’s big front wheel with a gasp of relief, then peered around it to look for another target – only to see the Gunnery Sergeant lying motionless in the open. With a bitter curse he started towards him, only to be driven back behind the tire by a burst of fire that bounced off the vehicle’s heavy front bumper.
I’ve got to deal with these bastards first,
he realized.
I can’t help the Gunny till I’ve done that.

A third insurgent was sprawled on the ground, halfway between the first two figures and the line of pallets. Kinnear had clearly shot him before he could reach cover, but had then been hit himself. That meant there were still three attackers to deal with. Steve scanned the area in front of him, but couldn’t see a target – until the second transporter, behind the one sheltering him, suddenly gunned its power pack. Its civilian driver jumped frantically from the cab’s passenger door, rolling on the ground, then scrambling to his feet and running away across the hardstand. His vehicle turned as far as it could, braked hard, then began to back up to get clear of the transporter in front. Steve couldn’t see the insurgent driving it, but knew the cab’s thin metal would pose little obstacle to the hypersonic beads from his rifle. He fired five times, spacing his shots across the passenger door from which the original driver had just jumped, but to his surprise the transporter continued to back up as if the rounds hadn’t hit anything. The insurgent rammed the vehicle into forward gear and poured power to the wheels.

Steve fired three more rounds into its cab before the transporter passed out of sight. He started to run towards the rear of the vehicle sheltering him to see where the other one was going, then skidded to a halt as several rapid rounds ricocheted off the dirt around him. He suddenly realized he was no longer protected by the transporter’s front wheel. His legs could be seen beneath its loadbed by insurgents sheltering behind the stacked supplies. He scrambled back to the shelter of the huge tire, then peered around it to see the barrel of a rifle pointing in his direction from over a pallet of ration packs. Before he could line his own weapon, the insurgent ducked back behind cover.

Steve heard a wild shout over the harsh whine of the other transporter’s power pack.
“Get aboard!”
He tried to look around the front of the cab, but a burst of fire drove him back. He cursed aloud, waited a moment, then tried again – just in time to see one attacker climbing into the cab of the escaping transporter through the passenger door. A second was running alongside the cab, fumbling for a handhold to swing himself up. Steve aimed hastily and fired three rounds at him, hitting his legs and sending him tumbling to the ground with a cry of pain. His rifle flew from his hands as he hit the dirt.

The stolen transporter accelerated towards the line of bushes bordering the cleared area around Carsamba’s walls. Steve tried to aim at the cab, but as the vehicle turned away from him the pallets strapped to its loadbed obscured his line of sight. There was no point in shooting at its tires – their gel filling was designed to absorb damage without leaking. With another curse he sprinted towards the insurgent he’d just wounded, who was trying to pull himself towards his rifle. Steve stamped hard on his back, pressing the muzzle of his rifle ungently into the back of his neck. “Don’t even
think
about it!” he warned harshly as he watched the transporter disappear into the brush, bouncing and twisting as it carved a trail through the undergrowth of trampled bushes and flattened hummocks of grass.

“Why’d you shoot at us, damn you?” his victim demanded, voice tight with pain. “We wasn’t attacking you!”

“Uh-huh. That’s why you were pointing rifles at us, to prove you were peaceful, right?”

“That was to make you stay away while we took those transporters! We didn’t shoot first – you did!”

“Pointing a weapon at us is the same as an attack in my book. Now
shut up!”
Steve pushed with the muzzle of his rifle to emphasize his command as he looked around. More of his Marines were appearing at the gates. He shouted at them, “Arm yourselves, get the Gunny to sick bay, then check the attackers and take any wounded there too. Someone bring flex cuffs to secure this bastard, and a stretcher to carry him inside.”

~ ~ ~

“He was extremely fortunate,” Dr. Ju told Steve as she swabbed the gash on the right side of Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear’s head. “The bead scored a line in the bone over his ear, but didn’t penetrate or fracture it that I can see. The impact was enough to knock him out. We won’t know how badly he was concussed until he wakes up and we can run some tests, but I don’t think it’ll be too serious.”

Steve sighed with enormous relief. “Thanks, Doctor. That’s great news! D’you need to keep him here?”

“I’d like to keep him overnight, to make sure there are no complications.”

“Do it. If he objects, tell him it’s an order from me. I’ll come back after I’ve sorted out the rest of the mess out there. What do your medics say about the wounded insurgents?”

“Both need surgery, their leader most critically. We’ve already slid him into a Medbot, and it’s working to stabilize him. He’ll have to be transferred to proper hospital facilities. The other’s leg wounds are more manageable.”

“Will they be able to answer questions?”

“Not the leader. He’ll be out of it for a few days, I think. The other one will be able to talk once he wakes up after surgery, probably this evening.”

“Thanks. I’ll leave you to it.”

Steve emerged from the sick bay to find Captain Johannson coming down the corridor towards him. The Marine officer had arrived with two assault shuttles carrying a platoon in response to an emergency call for reinforcements, and his people were scouring the area around the depot.

“We sent up a hoversat to track that transporter,” he informed Steve. “It left a clear trail through the bush, then turned onto the old road leading to Hairun, a settlement in the foothills. We lost its tracks after a kilometer or so when the dust and dirt stopped falling off its wheels onto the hardtop road. We can’t send the hoversat any further without it going out of range of our controller, so I’ve asked Battalion HQ to task a satellite with checking the road.”

“Fair enough. That was fast work. Any sign of any more of the bastards around here?”

“No, and that’s what puzzles me. Where the hell did those six come from? As far as we knew there were no active insurgents at all in this area. Did this lot escape from the fight in the foothills and make their way back here, or are they holdouts who hid until their food ran out and then decided to steal some more? We’ve got a lot of questions to ask the two you caught. Well done on that, by the way. You got into action very fast, despite having no armed guards on standby.”

“Yeah. I’m going to have words with Major Emory about that.” Steve’s tone was distinctly frosty. “I don’t appreciate being told I can’t have any guards, only to have to fight off an attack! How do we know there won’t be another one? I still don’t have enough staff here to spare them for guard duties as long as you guys keep pushing more work onto us.”

“I hear you.” Johannson’s tone was sympathetic. “I don’t know what the Major will say, but he’d better figure out something. We can’t spare anyone to help you. A battalion’s a pretty small force to secure an entire city like this, so we’re already over-extended.”

“I guess so. I hope you learn more from the prisoners, so we know what the risks are.”

“If we can, we will, but I daresay the Colonial Guard will insist we hand over the prisoners to them. They’ve taken everyone we’ve arrested so far. They’re quite hard-nosed about it. We usually don’t hear anything further.”

“Then why not interrogate them ourselves before we tell the Guard we’ve got them? We can hand them over after we’ve learned all they can tell us.”

The Captain grinned. “I like the way your mind works. I’ll suggest it to Battalion HQ. By the way, where did you learn to fight Marine-style with a rifle like that? It’s unusual for a Spacer to be so handy with personal weapons.”

“I took it seriously right from the start, and I’ve learned more from members of your Corps. I’m rated Expert with both rifle and pistol, as well as in unarmed combat. My wife, Abha Sashna, is a Marine officer in the Reserves. My closest friend in the service is Captain Brooks Shelby, who’s currently commanding the Heavy Weapons Company of Third Battalion, Second Regiment in Lancaster’s Marine Reaction Force brigade.”

“I recognize both of their names. You all had a couple of big engagements with pirates in the Rolla system a couple of years ago, didn’t you? I recall reading about them in the news.”

“Yes, we did. This was pretty small by comparison.”

“Maybe, but you can get just as dead in a small fight as a big one. You did well today.”

~ ~ ~

“What the hell happened?” Bairam’s voice was incredulous as he watched the sole uninjured survivor of the patrol pull another from the cab, his unconscious body leaving blood smeared across the seat and pooling on the floor. Other rebels hurried to help him. “Where’s Fikri and the rest?”