who had taken the liberty of stationing himself aboard the traveling chain-hoist positioned high overhead. So while one of his troopers activated the machine, which put the boxy control module into motion, the oldster was standing on the observation platform ready to drop grenades on the cyborgs as they passed below. And the initiative would have been successful, too, had it not been for Oliver Batkin, and the agent’s ability to fl?y. “Sorry to disappoint you,” the cyborg said as he rose directly in front of the surprised noncom. “But it isn’t nice to drop things on people.”
A single shot from the spy ball’s .50-caliber gun was suffi?cient to kill the Ramanthian as the unsuspecting T-2s passed beneath him. That brought the second Ramanthian outside to be dispatched in a similar fashion. With that accomplished, Batkin departed. Taking control of a battleship was no easy task—and there were plenty of things for the spy to do.
Although two of the hulking cyborgs had departed the launch bay, two of the fearsome machine-things remained, so Howar was careful to keep his head down as his troops sought fi?ring positions among a mountain of cargo modules. Having concealed themselves, the Ramanthians were free to fi?re on both the T-2s and the shuttle, an effort intended to pin the POWs down until help arrived. That was the theory anyway, until the shuttle wobbled into the air and began to advance!
Santana, Shootstraight, and Bozakov were standing on the partially extended ramp as the shuttle lifted off. It was hard to maintain their footing given how unsteady the ship was, but each man was secured to the Ramanthian vessel by a cargo strap, which allowed him to lean forward without falling off.
Within moments of taking to the air, Tanaka began to rotate the shuttle so that the stern pointed at the stack of cargo modules. That gave Santana a good look at the enemy’s position, as well as the rest of the bay and the shuttles parked there. There were no signs of activity around the other ships, for which the offi?cer was grateful. Bullets began to ping around the legionnaires as Tanaka backed the shuttle toward the Ramanthian stronghold, and energy bolts splashed the hull as the bio bods returned fi?re. And a devastating fusillade it was as the ship passed over the pile of cargo modules, thereby allowing the threesome to fi?re down on the bugs below. That sent the Ramanthians shuffl?ing every which way as the bio bods pursued them with short bursts of fi?re.
Santana suspended fi?ring just long enough to throw three well-aimed grenades before bringing his assault weapon back up again. The resulting explosions threw body parts and chunks of debris high into the air as Shootstraight fi?red shot after well-aimed shot into the maze below. Each bullet brought one of the enemy soldiers down as the shuttle slid back and forth above their exposed heads.
Howar wanted to surrender at that point, but knew he couldn’t, as the shadow cast by the shuttle slid across his face. So he struggled to remain upright in spite of the downward pressure caused by the roaring repellers, said a mental good-bye to both of his mates, and looked death in the eye. The human with the black hair fi?red, and Howar fell. It wasn’t the way things were supposed to end. The fi?ghting continued for another two or three minutes, but with no leadership, and having lost the high ground, it wasn’t long before the last of the enemy troopers went down. The shuttle landed shortly thereafter, which gave Santana an opportunity to inspect the battlefi?eld, but the sight of so many broken bodies brought him no pleasure, only a moment of relief, followed by a vast weariness and the knowledge that more work remained.
Having been alerted to the invasion by File Leader Howar, a group of Ramanthian naval personnel were quick to open fi?re on the cyborgs and their riders as they left the lift and turned into a corridor. And, like their peers in the launch bay, they were completely unprepared for what ensued. The barricade they had thrown across the passageway outside the cargo-handling facility did very little to stop the large-caliber bullets or the bolts of coherent energy that Snyder and Ichiyama fi?red at them. So it was only a matter of seconds before the ten-foot- tall invaders marched the length of the hall and killed the last defender. Though not fully operational yet, the space elevator was secured to a specially designed framework located just beyond the air lock the Ramanthians had attempted to defend. And having worked aboard the ship, the ex-POWs knew they wouldn’t be able to enter the airless space without pressure suits.
So it was agreed that the sailors would prepare the explosive charges, and the cyborgs would place them. Then, once everything was ready, the charge would be triggered from the hallway.
Having won the battle in the corridor, and with one of the demo packs dangling from her massive neck, Snyder felt confi?dent as she followed Ichiyama into the lock. Both cyborgs had to bend over in order to enter and were forced to remain in that position as the air was pumped out of the chamber.
The T-2s half expected to run into an ambush once the hatch cycled open, but nothing happened. That allowed them to enter the cavernous hold and look around. Roughly half the space was taken up by color-coded cargo modules. Various pieces of half-lit cargo-handling equipment were parked in the surrounding murk, and while some of them continued to radiate heat, there were no signs of Ramanthian personnel in the area. “It looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves,” Snyder said approvingly.
“Let’s get this over with.”
The head end of the space elevator was directly in front of them. It consisted of a massive framework that had been tied into the ship’s steel skeleton and supported a computercontrolled winch, which was there to keep the cable from becoming too taut or too loose. A system of guides kept the cable centered and prevented it from making contact with the surrounding hull.
Lower down, just below the crosspiece that supported the winch, Snyder could see the platform from which the specially designed self-braking cargo modules could be loaded onto the elevator. Ichiyama saw it, too, and immediately made his way out onto the ramp so he could place his charge. Knowing that one demo pack would be more than suffi?cient to sever the cable, Snyder was content to merely watch.
Such were the legionnaire’s thoughts as a giant pincer plucked the cyborg off the deck and lifted her up into the air. The loader was at least ten times larger than the T-2, and controlled from a compartment located in the machine’s blocky head, which was where a technician and inveterate slacker named Gontho was taking a nap until a series of radio messages woke him up. But rather than rush into battle, and potentially get himself killed, Gontho was content to remain where he was until the enemy cyborgs appeared below. At that point it was a simple matter to take the loader off standby and grab hold of the nearest war form. It was a feat the Ramanthian could accomplish with minimal risk to himself. Now, confi?dent that he could destroy the Confederacy cyborg, Gontho began to squeeze.
Snyder “felt” the huge metal pincers start to close and struggled to free herself. But the legionnaire soon discovered that she was going to die. Not like the last time, when the medics pulled her back from the brink, but for real. “Blow charge two,” Snyder ordered over the radio.
“And do it now!”
“What?” one of the gunner’s mates wanted to know. “I thought Ichiyama was going to plant the charge.”
The cyborg knew the bio bod couldn’t see them and was understandably confused. “He is,” Snyder confi?rmed, as her torso shattered under the unrelenting pressure. “But I want you to trigger charge two, and I outrank your swabbie ass. So, blow the pack now!”
