Stand Against The Storm (The Maxwell Saga Book 4) (9 page)

Steve sighed. “All right, Gunny. You’re right, of course… but I’ve got a nasty feeling in my water about this. We’ve come in here not knowing enough about the background to the rebellion, or the major actors, or what happened, or what’s going on now in the fighting inland. Our forces are divided, and we don’t have enough Marines or weapons here to secure ourselves if things turn pear-shaped. Yesterday could have been very bad, but we were lucky. I doubt we’ll be as lucky again if something else goes down; so I intend to do something about that. Are you willing to bend a few rules to help me?”

“If it keeps my engineers safer, Sir, I daresay I can stretch a point or two here and there.”

“Good. At midnight you and I are heading for the spaceport with a raiding party – I mean, a work crew.” Both men grinned. “I want a bunch of stuff from the armory and warehouses there: heavier weapons, surveillance gear, anything we can lay our hands on to secure our perimeter. I want enough not only for your Marines, but also to arm some of the Qianjin prisoners. It’s as clear as daylight that many of them have had military training. They’ve already had to fight against these rebels to stay alive, so I don’t think they’ll hesitate to help defend this place and themselves if necessary.”

“Makes sense.”

“You’ve all got engineer’s armor rather than combat armor. Does that mean you can’t fight in it?”

“No, Sir, it’s combat-capable – we’re not called ‘combat’ engineers for nothing, after all. It’s just got extra features and software to help us handle heavy equipment and dirty jobs.”

“Good. Make sure you have all the weapons you need to fight if necessary. If you need more, we’ll add them to our shopping list tonight. I also want to ‘borrow’ some heavy maintenance spacesuits from planetary stocks. Their powered exoskeletons are almost as strong as armor, even if they don’t have the offensive and defensive sensors you Marines use. Their environmental systems will allow us to use them planetside for short periods if we have to, although they can’t move as fast as your armor. The Qianjin spacers will know how to operate them, and they’ll help them to keep up with your Marines in a firefight if necessary. If we can’t have more Marines to guard us while we work, I’m going to form our own fire teams.”

“Er… you know the planetary authorities will crucify you if they find out about this, Sir? Arming convicts has got to break all sorts of regulations.”

“Screw regulations! You and I damn nearly got ourselves killed yesterday because we were caught unawares and unguarded. I don’t intend to let that happen again.”

~ ~ ~

The six leaders of what was left of the rebellion gathered at twenty-three. They sipped mugs of strong black coffee to stay awake as they talked.

“Boss, I had a thought,” Métin said without preamble. “You said we’d send a group to the spaceport to take hostages, then trade them for the ration packs our families need. Why not take that further? Did you see who just arrived here?”

“The Eksalansari, you mean? Yeah, it was on the news this evening.” Bairam’s lip curled in disgust. “He’s just a wet-behind-the-ears shavetail straight out of the Military Academy, nothing much at all.”

“Yeah, but he’s also the Sultan’s youngest son. If we grabbed him, would he be valuable enough to trade for a way off this rock for ourselves and our families?”

There was a sudden hissing intake of breath around the table. Even Bairam was momentarily staggered at the thought. He said slowly, “I… you know, I never thought of that. I must be getting old and slow! Yeah, I reckon the Governor wouldn’t have much choice. If he did anything to get the Eksalansari killed, he’d be finished, even though he’s one of the Sultan’s closest friends.”

Luna nodded eagerly. “Instead of killing as many high-ranking officials and their families as we can, why not try to take them hostage? We may not get the Eksalansari or the Governor, but if we got the Governor’s wife, an’ the families of a few other senior officials, that’d be almost as good, wouldn’t it? We could use them as shields to force the Marines to back off and stay out of the fighting, then trade them for a way out of here.”

Orhan shook his head doubtfully. “Tricky. Even if they gave us a ship, they’d never let us leave with the hostages. We’d have to hand them over before they let us hyper-jump out of here; but once they got them back, what’s to stop them blasting us out of space with a nuclear-tipped missile before we reach the system boundary?”

Bairam thrust back his chair and stood. “Wait a moment. We need expert advice, and I know someone who can give it to us.”

He was back within minutes, ushering a grizzled older man into the room. “You all know Turgay, right?”

“Yeah.” “Sure.” “Hi, Turgay.” Nods and greetings ran around the table.

“He was a Bosun in Karabak’s merchant marine. He smuggled goods on and off the planet for years until someone decided he wasn’t paying enough in bribe money, an’ made an example of him to warn other smugglers. He drew a ten stretch here, followed by permanent exile.” He looked at Turgay. “What you hear doesn’t go any further until I say so, OK?”

“OK, Boss.”

Bairam swiftly explained their embryonic discussion. “We need to know whether we can make this work. We don’t know much about spaceships, but you do.”

“There are three problems you’ll have to deal with as far as the ship’s concerned,” the spacer began. “The first is finding one that can take a thousand of us or more – that’s us and our families. A merchant freighter can’t. She’s all cargo holds, most of them non-pressurized. Her crew quarters won’t handle more than forty or fifty, or maybe three times that if we hot-bunk.”

“What’s a ‘hot-bunk’?” Mariam asked, puzzled.

“That’s when two or three people share a single bed in turn. As one gets out, the next gets in. It never gets a chance to cool down.”

She giggled. “The name suits.”

“Yeah, but it’s no fun, believe me. It starts to get real smelly after a while, even if you change the bedding more often. The ship’s environmental systems are another problem. They’ve got to handle sanitation for everyone aboard, and supply enough air and water for them. The galley has to be able to prepare meals for everyone, or there have to be individual ration packs, and then there’s garbage disposal, laundry, taking care of any infants and kids that come along… it’s a tall order.”

Bairam said thoughtfully, “The Colonial Guard reinforcements arrived aboard three freighters fitted with personnel pods in their holds. They’re still in orbit around Eskishi, as far as I know.”

“That would work,” Turgay agreed. “There was a full regiment of Guards, which’d be fifteen hundred to two thousand troops. Each of those freighters would have carried several hundred troops in personnel pods, plus their heavy equipment and supplies in the holds. With hot-bunking they could load twice that number if they had to, maybe even more. The pods’ systems would deal with sanitation and air supply, but the ship would have to carry enough supplies for the trip.”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. What are the other two problems?”

“The next is that a spaceship’s pretty big – at least, a merchant freighter is. She’s got lots of compartments where troops can hide. If they wanted to get tricky with us, they could pretend to give us a ship, then conceal a reception committee aboard to surprise us once our guard was down.”

“How long would it take to check the ship to make sure that wasn’t happening?”

“I could do it in half a day if I had a few spacers to help me.”

“Are there any more spacers with us?”

“Two that I know. There may be a few others. I can ask around.”

“All right, do that. Last problem?”

“The ship’s crew. They won’t want to be trapped aboard with you. If they’re civilian, I reckon they’ll probably refuse to obey orders to take you wherever you want to go; or they might just abandon ship and leave it drifting in orbit. Where are you going to find spacers to replace them?”

“That’s a problem,” Bairam admitted, brow furrowing in thought. “I’ll… I may have an answer there too. I’ll have to think on it.”

Turgay’s eyebrows shot up. “Boss, if you can conjure an entire trained crew out of a hole on this rock, I’ll kiss your ass in public!” A ripple of laughter ran around the table.

“Well, start practicing your puckering-up, because I may know where to find one – although I don’t know whether they’ll agree to help us. OK, thanks, Turgay. Remember, not a word to anyone till I tell you. Stay close, so I can find you if I have more questions.”

“OK, Boss.” The spacer let himself out of the lean-to shack into the barn, closing the door behind him.

“Where the hell are you going to find a ship’s crew?” Métin’s voice was incredulous.

“Never mind that right now. We’ve got a bigger problem to deal with first. How do we make sure they’ll let the ship go with our people aboard after we’ve handed over our hostages?”

There was a long silence around the table as everyone thought hard. At last Luna said slowly, “There may be a way… but it’s probably a suicide mission for some of us.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Bairam demanded.

“If they get the hostages back, they’ll have no reason to let us go. They can chase after the ship and try to recapture it, or simply shoot it out of space. They can even plant a bomb aboard, timed to blow up hours or days after the ship’s left the system. It would never be seen again, and no-one would ever learn what had happened to it. The only way to stop those things happening is to keep the hostages until the ship arrives at a safe destination where our people can get off.”

“But how the hell do we do that? They’ll never allow us to take them along!”

“We keep them here,” she said simply. “We can’t risk staying on the planet with them – it’s too easy to mount an attack to free them – so we put them aboard a cargo shuttle in orbit, with enough supplies for a month or two. A few of us stay on the shuttle to guard them until we receive a message from the others – probably brought back by the ship that took them – confirming they’ve arrived at a safe place. After that we hand over the hostages; but that means those of us on the shuttle won’t have any chance to escape. We’ll be arrested and hanged.”

“You said ‘we’. Are you planning to volunteer?”

“Why not? I’ve lost two husbands, one on Karabak, the second here. My kids are still on Karabak. They’ve long since forgotten me – at least, they never send messages. I’ve got no-one left to live for. Why not help see to it that those who do are given a chance for a fresh start in life? That goes double for the kids.” Her face softened. “They’ve been through a hell of a lot, and too many of them have lost a parent. Let’s give ’em a chance to start over, far away from here.”

“I hear you.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “All right, that might work.” He slapped the map on the table. “We still have to pick our targets. Our primary objective’s no longer t’ kill as many top officials and their families as we can, but to take ’em prisoner, along with anyone else who might be valuable as a hostage. Also, in case we don’t get that right, we’ve still gotta plan on getting’ our hands on as many rations as possible for those who have families.”

They bent over the map and started planning.

Standing before the morning work parade, Steve glanced up as the ear-battering racket of reaction thrusters grew louder. A Marine assault shuttle flew low over the depot, moving slowly, then turned towards the spaceport.

“I guess that’ll be the Eksalansari, Sir,” Gunnery Sergeant Kinnear observed.

“Probably. He’s due at the spaceport at eight, to inspect its garrison and staff; then he’ll be coming here at eleven.” He looked back at the Marines and Qianjin prisoners on parade, and raised his voice. “All right, you all know your assignments. We’ve got a lot to do before the Eksalansari gets here, so work fast! At ten, return to your quarters and dress in clean utility coveralls, then form up here again at ten-thirty. Over to you, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“Aye aye, Sir. Pa-
raaaade
… a-
ten
-SHUN!
Dis
-MISS!”

The hundred-plus prisoners and engineers broke up, forming new groups as they hurried towards their tasks for the morning. Kinnear joined Steve as he moved towards the gate, watching the assault shuttle receding into the distance towards the spaceport. In the gatehouse, the two fire teams that had stood watch for the past eight hours were being relieved by two more.  Each four-person team had two armored Marines and two Qianjin prisoners wearing powered space suits. They bantered cheerfully with each other as they exchanged weapons, checked that they were loaded and ready for use, and took care of the limited formalities of handover.

“I have to admit, you were right and I was wrong, Sir,” Kinnear observed. “The mixed guard arrangement’s working out better than I expected. I was worried that arming the prisoners would give them the wrong idea. Instead, they seem to have taken it as a sign of trust. They’re working harder and smarter than ever.”

“That’s what I hoped for,” Steve replied as he shaded his eyes with his hand, staring after the shuttle. “We’re all under threat down here, so –
what the HELL?”

He and Kinnear gaped as two smoke trails slanted upward towards the assault shuttle, seeming to come from behind it and to one side. It was already descending towards the spaceport, so the missiles didn’t have far to climb. The first exploded next to the starboard side of the shuttle, blowing two of its reaction thrusters right off their mounts. The shock jolted the shuttle bodily and caused the second missile to blow up just before it reached its target, the blast visibly tossing the stricken ship as it began to fall towards the ground. Even before the sounds of the explosions reached their ears, the watchers saw the pilot desperately straighten the bird in mid-air, trying to hold it up; but he was too close to the ground. Trees tossed as if in agony as the shuttle disappeared into a grove, followed by a pall of dust and smoke as it hit the ground hard.

As the double blast of the missiles reached them, Steve spun on his heel. “Gunny, take charge here, arm the rest of the fire teams, deploy them to their posts, and get everyone back inside and ready for trouble. I’m taking three of the four fire teams in the guardroom and the duty transporter and heading for the crash site. I’ll recover survivors if possible.” Even as he spoke, they were running hard for the guardhouse. “Soon as we’ve gone, call Marine HQ and advise them what’s happened and what we’re doing.”

“Got it, Sir. Be careful out there. Remember, you’re not in armor.”

“Neither of us is, and one of us has to command there, so it can’t be helped. There’s no time to change into a powered spacesuit. I’ll come up on our guard channel once we’re moving.” He raised his voice, shouting at the armored and spacesuited figures as they piled out of the guardroom. “Three fire teams with me – one stays with the Gunnery Sergeant. Get your weapons and get aboard the transporter
now!
Duty medic to the guardhouse with field kit at the double!”

He thrust his way through the confusion at the door and grabbed a rifle from the rack inside the entrance, checking the web vest slung over the barrel to ensure that it contained chargers of ammunition, a spare powerpack and a tactical radio. He slipped the vest over his shoulders, inserted the radio’s earplug into his left ear and clipped the set to his left upper chest as he moved back outside. Already the first members of the fire teams were climbing aboard the transporter. An armored Marine jumped into the cab and activated the powerpack. Steve hurried over to the vehicle, checked that his rifle was fully loaded and powered on, cycled the action to put a round onto the electromagnetic firing rail, applied the safety catch, and climbed into the passenger side of the cab. He glanced across at the Marine in the driver’s seat.

“Ready?”

“Ready, Sir. Where are we going?”

Steve suddenly realized that many in the fire teams still didn’t know what had happened. He keyed the microphone on his lapel, knowing that everyone would be on Guard channel. “Maxwell to fire teams. The shuttle taking the Eksalansari and Major Emory to the spaceport has been shot down by missile fire. It looked to be a couple of kilometers this side of the spaceport boundary. We’re going to check for survivors. The people who fired at it may be trying to reach it too, so we may have a fight on our hands. Be ready for trouble.” He was struck by a sudden thought, and asked, “Are any of you trained on heavy rescue equipment? Over.”

A voice he didn’t recognize came on the circuit. “Spacer Artificer Hong speaking, Sir. I’m trained to use it. We have portable hydraulic gear in our workshop, and this transporter has a power takeoff.”

“Maxwell to Hong, great! We’ll go past there to collect it on our way out. Break. Maxwell to Gunny, have someone unlock the workshop right away. Over.”

He heard the Gunnery Sergeant’s voice, his breathing heavy, obviously running hard. “Gunny to Maxwell, on my way, Sir.”

A medic ran towards them – another of the Qianjin inmates – lugging a heavy field pack over his shoulders and a stretcher in both hands. Steve waited until he’d handed up the gear to those in the back and been hauled aboard himself, then nodded to the driver.

“Let’s go!”

~ ~ ~

“Who the
hell
told them to fire?” Métin’s voice was filled with rage and frustration as he stared upward at the dissipating smoke trails left by the missiles, and the cloud of dust and smoke where the crippled assault shuttle had crashed to earth. He answered himself as he grabbed his radio handset. “No time for that now.” He pressed the ‘Transmit’ button. “This is Métin.
Go!
Go
now!
Forget the timetable! Hit them fast, before they get off the parade-ground and get organized!”

The people in his team hefted their weapons and moved forward to the edge of the treeline. Their scouts had already cut through the dilapidated fence surrounding the spaceport. They hurried through the gap in single file, spreading out into a combat formation on the far side and jogging towards the row of warehouses in front of them, heads turning from side to side, scanning warily. No guards or workers were in sight – all of them would be on the hardstand, drawn up in parade formation to welcome the Eksalansari. They’d have been sitting ducks if the attack had taken place as originally planned, Métin fumed to himself. He’d planned to hit an unarmed, unsuspecting formation while the Eksalansari was inspecting their ranks. Now everything would be chaos.

Furiously Métin cursed the errant missile team under his breath. They’d been placed beyond the perimeter with orders to fire at any Marine assault shuttles trying to reinforce the spaceport
after
the attack had been launched. Their premature reaction might have derailed the entire plan if the defenders within the wire managed to get organized in time. He glanced to left and right. More groups of his people were also hurrying through gaps in the perimeter wire and heading for their targets. He keyed his microphone again.

“Métin to Robles. You screwed up big-time, boy! The Eksalansari was supposed to be aboard that shuttle. You gotta send half your people to find the wreck while the rest of you cover us with your remaining missiles. Bring him to me, alive or dead - and
don’t radio his status!
No sense in letting the Governor learn anything from radio intercepts. Got that?”

A shaken voice came over the radio. “Got it, Boss. It was Rioja who screwed up. He panicked when the shuttle looked like it was banking towards us, and his partner followed his lead and fired too.”

“Don’t make excuses for them. If our ace in the hole is gone, I’ll kill ’em myself! Now get your people moving. No time to lose. Don’t call me – I’m gonna be busy. I’ll call you.”

He rounded the corner of a warehouse as a burst of gunfire sounded ahead of him. Two of his party had cut down a group of four Colonial Guards who were racing towards their parked transports. They had been unarmed, probably heading for the weapons racked in their vehicles. More groups of Guards were following them, all in parade dress uniform. Some stopped in their tracks and tried to turn and run the other way, while others hit the dirt and stayed down.

Métin raised his voice to a bellow. “PRISONERS! We need
hostages,
dammit! Dead people are no use to us! Don’t shoot ’em –
round ’em up!”

~ ~ ~

Steve pointed to an intersection ahead, where a dirt track led away from the main road. “Take that track. It’ll get us closer to the crash site.” Off to the right, a column of smoke rose from the clump of trees where the shuttle had gone down.

“Aye aye, Sir.” The Marine driver braked heavily, spun the wheel and tramped on the accelerator. With a sickening heave and lurch as it hit the rutted dirt surface, and a protesting whine from its power pack, the transporter turned in that direction. Shouted protests came from those riding in the back, but Steve ignored them. Haste was far more important than comfort right now.

The track twisted left and right, the terrain to the sides hidden by thick bush, then straightened out on a long stretch that ran past the trees from which smoke was emerging. The Marine pointed ahead. “Look, Sir!” Several armed men were running down the road towards them. They slammed to a halt as they saw the transporter and raised their weapons.

“Off the road, quick!”

As the first rounds cracked past them, the driver spun the wheel again. The transporter bounced headlong into the air as it struck the low earth ridge at the side of the track, tossing overboard three of those in the back, and stopped in the thick bushes lining the road. Steve leaped from the cab, glancing back. The ejected members of the fire teams were getting to their feet, their armor or spacesuits having protected them from serious injury. He keyed his microphone.

“Driver and Spacer Hong, stay aboard. Everyone else out! Marines, hold off those people while the driver and I check the crash site!”

The three fire teams rapidly formed a skirmish line, every armored Marine partnered with and backed up by a spacesuit-wearing Qianjin man. The senior Marine NCO glanced left and right, checking the formation. Steve heard him over the radio. “All right, Marines, you know what to do. Make sure you keep your Qianjin partner with you, and cover each other. Move fast and hit hard! Keep them away from the crash site and the skipper!”

He couldn’t spare the time to listen to more, and jumped onto the running-board, looking at the driver. “We’ll let Sergeant Jindal handle things. Drive through these bushes until you reach the trees. We’ll need the power take-off to run the hydraulics if necessary. I’ll cover Hong and you while you work.”

“Aye aye, Sir!”

The powerful transporter made short work of bulling its way through the bushes. The clump of trees were close together, but a section had been torn away by the crashing shuttle. They could see its smoking hulk lying at an angle in the center of the grove. The driver used the path it had made to bring the transporter up to the wreck, forcing it through the shattered chunks of wood and torn stumps with screams of protesting metal and whining surges from the powerpack. As he did so Steve saw a figure lurch to its feet next to the shuttle, tottering on unsteady legs, waving its right arm. Its left hung limply at its side.

“There’s a survivor!” he exclaimed unnecessarily. “Stop here, driver. We don’t want to get too close in case something blows up.”

As he jumped down from the cab and clambered over the remains of the trees towards the wreck, Steve could hear rifle fire on the other side of the shuttle, startlingly close. He clutched his own rifle, swore beneath his breath, and pressed on. On either side the Qianjin spacer and the driver forged ahead, their powered spacesuit and armor giving them added strength.

Steve reached the survivor. He was wearing a Marine coverall. “Who are you? Where’s the Eksalansari?” he demanded curtly.

“S – Sergeant Siluan, Sir. I’m the pilot.” The man tried to bring his arm up in a salute, but Steve waved curtly to dismiss the effort. “The Eksalansari’s lying there, Sir, next to the shuttle. He’s unconscious. M – Major Emory took the Eksalansari’s bodyguard and moved out thataway.” He pointed towards the sound of the firing. “He said whoever shot us down would come looking for us, and he wanted to find a good place to hold them off until help arrived. H – he said to tell whoever came that if fighting was going on, you’re to get the Eksalansari to safety and not worry about him or the bodyguard.”

Steve swore again under his breath as he nodded. Such orders were what he’d expect from Major Emory – a Marine to the core. “Very well. I’m Senior Lieutenant Maxwell, Spacer Corps, commanding the depot back there. What happened to the Eksalansari?”