“Two can play at that game,” Okuda said. “Fall back, we need a new angle on them.”
“What about Chu?” someone called.
“His suit’ll pinch off the bleeding until we get to him. Unless anyone volunteers for that wood chipper?”
No volunteers presented themselves.
“Right. Break into pairs. Cover each other on opposite sides of the halls, pick a ladder and get climbing, two levels up. We’re coming down on these asshats.”
It took almost ten minutes of sneaking around, disabling hastily placed booby traps, and swapping bullets before Okuda’s forces got into position to flush out the defenders. They were dug in well and wearing power-assisted armor only a generation behind what her marines had brought over. Secondhand stuff passed down from “frontline” units, but well-maintained and damned near as effective. Normal nonlethal options were therefore off the table, as their suits had safeguards against the blinding/deafening effects of flashbang grenades, and were sealed against tear or knockout gas canisters.
“Okay, we’re set. Vasquez, Ingersoll, spring the trap in five, four…”
“Wait,” Susan cut in. “Give them a chance to surrender.”
“But we’ve got them dead to rights!”
“Yes, exactly. You’ve got them over a barrel. They’re marines just like you, defending their home. Give them the option to stand down. If they don’t take it, by all means. But we will make the offer. We’re not killing our own if we can help it.”
Okuda looked like she had more to say, but swallowed it and opened an unsecured, general announcement channel common across all marine coms.
“Halcyon marines, this is Sergeant Okuda of the Ansari. You’re outnumbered, outgunned, and trapped in a tactically indefensible position. Clear your weapons, place them on the deck, deactivate any mines you may have set up, and you will not be harmed.”
“Like you didn’t harm Aoki?” one of them shot back. “She didn’t feel it, at least.”
“I’ve got a man probably bleeding out two decks down, so if you’re looking for an apology, you’re barking up the wrong tree, son. I’m feeling charitable, I’m giving you the chance to walk away from this. If not, I’m going to blow you up with grenades so you don’t get the satisfaction of taking any more of my people with you. Either way, we’re taking your CIC in the next five minutes. When that happens, you can be captives or corpses. Your call. Nine…”
“All right, you crazy bitch!”
“Who are you calling a ‘bitch’?” Okuda demanded, but Susan put a hand on her shoulder.
“Small victories, Sarge. We have what we want.”
“Right. Sorry, went a little sixth wave for a second there.” Okuda resumed the ‘negotiation.’ “Slide your weapons out onto the open deck, hands in the air, come out where we can see you.”
A handful of assault rifles and PDWs scattered against the deck, followed in close succession by sidearms and three remote detonator rigs. Susan had to hand it to them; for a small squad with zero prep time, the Halcyon’s marines had come to play.
“Awesome, now let’s see you,” Okuda commanded. “And no grabby-grabby for the pew-pews. I’ll grant you might be as fast as us. You’re not faster, clear?”
Reluctantly, the three remaining members of the Halcyon’s marine detachment walked out onto the hallway, hands in the air, right into the line of fire of Okuda’s team. If any of them so much as sneezed, they’d all be turned into hamburger.
They didn’t.
“Excellent. Now, we’re new here, so I need someone to be my captain’s tour guide of your CIC. Volunteers?”
“Kamala’s alive?” the voice from the other end of the link said. It belonged to a young PFC, Korean ancestry if Susan was any judge. She stepped into the corridor in full sight of everyone.
“Yes, I am. And I’d like to have a cup of tea with your CO, if you don’t mind.”
TWENTY-SIX
“Splash one,” Warner called out as a penetrator rod from one of Ansari’s counter-missiles connected with the nose cone of a ship-killer missile gobbling up the space between them. “CM reserves down to twenty-four percent. Wait, splash two. Caught another in the debris. Six still incoming.”
“See, Warner, you’re not the only one to bunch her birds too close together.” Miguel scanned the plot. The system-spanning display had shrunk down to a sphere only a few light minutes across, a tactical map that contained only the Ansari, Halcyon, Carnegie, Paul Allen, and all the missiles, recon drones, and decoys they were currently throwing at each other. The civilian fleet over Grendel was almost certainly gone by now, and had no interest in joining a fracas between proper warships anyway. The only X-factor not on the current plot was the Chusexx, and last they’d seen, Thuk’s harmony was burning away from the melee as fast as they could. Lucky bugs.
“Angle Decoy Two away at positive thirty degrees from the eclectic under full accel. Make it look like we panicked and bolted. Maybe draw a couple of those birds off us.”
“Decoy Two helm no longer responding to commands, sir.”
Fuck, Miguel cursed internally. They were burning through resources at an unsettling pace. They were still alive, but more than two hours into the fight, they weren’t inflicting enough damage to stay that way for long. Wars of attrition favored those with the most crap lying around to lose. There was a lot of crap on a planetary assault carrier.
“Move to Decoy One, then.”
“Too late. Incoming birds entering terminal phase!”
Miguel punched a finger on the stud that opened the 1MC. “All hands, Brace! Brace! Brace!”
Three of the incoming ship-killers fell to the combined last-ditch efforts of their CiWS turrets, and another to an overpowered shot from the Ansari’s main laser array, which had been co-opted momentarily from offensive operations by the ship’s onboard defensive AI network, which was just as motivated to continue
