March To The Stars

choice is to win.'

He considered the situation, regarding the monitors covering the three main fights. He knew that Beach, like most naval officers assigned to SpecOps, resented the tradition which put Army officers in command of the ships assigned to them. He was even prepared to admit—privately—that the Navy's arguments against the practice might have a point when it came to naval actions. But this was his sort of fight, not Beach's, and he thought about his options for a moment longer, then looked up at the commando lieutenant at his elbow.

'I don't like them holding the Bridge passage. I want some freedom of movement. Take some of the Bridge guards and work around to the other side of them. Then we'll try to nutcracker them between us—clear them out and get ourselves some room to maneuver. While you get into position, I'll be dealing with this pompous oaf.'

* * *

'Prince Roger, or whoever you are, thanks for the offer. But, no. I think we'll take our chances.'

Roger shrugged again and flipped the schematic to show the approach vectors.

'Have it your way. See you in a few minutes.' He changed frequencies and nodded at the image of Fain that appeared on the monitor. 'Captain, when we dock, send one platoon to the Bridge, one to the Armory, and one to Engineering.'

'As you command, Your Highness,' the Diaspran said.

'I'll be going to the Bridge. I recommend that you take one of the other locations.' Roger turned to the Vashin who shared the compartment and waved a hand. 'Rastar, I want your guys to head for the boat bays, but other than that, just spread out and slow down these Saints that are trying to sneak their way to the Armory. Send one unit to Captain Pahner, though, for him to use as a reserve.'

'Okay,' Rastar said as the acceleration finally came off. 'That's a relief,' he added with a sigh of bliss as the shuttle changed to freefall.

'Don't get used to it,' Roger advised ... just as the deceleration hit.

'Aaaaaaahhhh ...'

* * *

'Colonel, we're getting killed down here,' Beach said. 'I've slipped a few people through to the Armory, but they're just making up for our losses. We're stalemated.'

She looked at her schematic and shook her head with an unheard snarl.

'And we've got somebody moving around. I just lost a team by Hold Three.'

'I know,' Giovannuci replied, watching his own displays. The internal systems hadn't been designed to handle a pitched battle, but he'd been able to use the monitors to follow at least some of the action. Not that very many of them were left; the invaders had been systematically shooting them out. He could more or less tell where they'd been from the breadcrumb trail of smashed pickups in their wake, but not, generally, where they currently were.

'The bad news is that they're about to receive reinforcements,' he told his executive officer. 'We need to break the stalemate before that happens, or at least to get some mobility going for us.'

'Suggestions are welcome,' Beach said tartly.

'About the only thing that might work is hitting one of the defense points and breaking out,' the colonel said. 'It will only take a couple of minutes to get set. We'll hit them simultaneously in five minutes.'

'Works for me,' Beach agreed laconically. 'And I hope to hell it works for all of us. If the Empies don't kill us, the clerics will.'

* * *

Eva Kosutic slid along the passage, using her turned-up audio and movement sensors to search for hostiles ... and trying very, very hard not to let anyone on the other side know where she was. The majority of the Saints were in light body armor and skin suits, so fairly light weaponry was capable of penetrating it with carefully aimed fire. In her case, she'd loaded one of her dual magazines with low-velocity penetrator rounds. Designed to avoid damage to important systems in shipboard actions, they left a very small hole in their victim and didn't tumble or expand upon entry. But they were capable of defeating light armor points and portions of helmets. And for Eva Kosutic, that was all that was required.

Her sensors told her there was another group moving along the same passage, trying to infiltrate past the various Marine groups to the Armory. She looked around, and then lifted herself into an overhead position, holding herself in place against the deckhead with one hand and both legs planted.

* * *

'I'm going to send all these Pollution-damned Empies straight to Hell,' Sergeant Leustean said. The commando NCO twisted his hand on the foregrip of his bead rifle and snarled. 'Straight to Hell.'

'Well, don't get us all kilt doin' it,' Corporal Muravyov replied.

'We'll be doing the killing!' the sergeant snapped ... just as the sergeant major opened fire.

The first three shots entered just below their targets' helmets, penetrating the light armor on the relatively undefended patch at the top of the neck and severing the cervical vertebrae. But by the third shot, the team was reacting, the highly trained commandos spinning and diving for cover. But good as they were, they didn't stand much of a chance up against a suit of combat armor, and an even more highly trained Imperial bodyguard who'd just gone through an advanced course in combat survival.

Kosutic dropped to the deck and walked over to prod the bodies.

'Not today, Sergeant.' She sighed, then glanced at her telltales. More movement. 'Not today.'

* * *

Roger double-checked the seal, then hit the hatch release, letting Rastar and two other Vashin precede him through the still-smoking hole in the ship's side.

Even freighters used ChromSten for their hulls. The material was expensive, making up a sizable fraction of the total cost of the ship. But given that it was proof against almost all varieties of space radiation, and an excellent system to protect against micro-meteor impacts, it was worth every credit.

Freighters did not, however, have warship-thickness ChromSten. The material on the outside of a freighter was generally less than two microns thick, whereas a warship's might be up to a centimeter. And it was that difference which had permitted the thermal lances on the assault shuttles to eat through the hull in less than three seconds.

The point Roger had chosen for his hull breaching was one of the vessel's innumerable holds, and its interior was filled with shipping canisters of every conceivable size and shape. Roger took a look around, shrugged, and waved the Vashin forward. Somewhere, there was a battle to be joined.

* * *

Rastar tapped the controls of the sealed portal, but it was clear that the hatch out of the hold was locked.

'I'll fix that, Your Highness,' one of his Vashin said, lifting his plasma gun.

Rastar backpedaled furiously, but he still caught the fringes of the blast as the door shattered outwards.

'Watch those things!' he shouted, then keyed the radio to transmit as the luckless cavalryman flew back from the doorway, most of his mass converted to charcoal. 'Watch those things. They're not carbines, for Valan's sake!' He looked around and then down at his suit. 'Why is the suit hardening?'

* * *

'Damned scummies,' Dobrescu growled as he clambered past the prince. Roger could barely hear him over the shrill wail of escaping atmosphere. The blast from the plasma cannon and the resulting overpressure had popped part of the temporary seals between the shuttle's hull and the hole blasted through Emerald Dawn's skin.

'Watch your fire!' the warrant officer shouted over the Vashin frequency.

'Can we do anything about it?' Roger asked.

'Not unless I pull away and reseal,' Dobrescu replied sourly. 'We might as well wait until we repair the hole.'

'Which brings up an interesting point. Do we have anyone who knows how to weld ChromSten?'

'Fine time to ask now, Your Highness,' Dobrescu said with a harsh laugh.

'We weren't supposed to have been facing this much resistance,' the prince pointed out.