Interstellar assault, p.30
Interstellar Assault, page 30
More time passed, and it appeared there were no more black-ice bombs.
Assur realized it could have gone much differently today. That caused him to wonder.
Did the Earthlings have a trick to play against the Akkad? Assur didn’t see how it would matter in the end. Just the same, it was time to send his mother a message of warning. In less than thirty days, the Akkad would face the two Orion ships heading for it.
-64-
NEPTUNE
FEBRUARY 2064
The two Orion ships, the Georgy Zhukov and the George Patton, had slowed their fantastic velocity through seventy-seven and a half days of hard deceleration.
The one good point of this was that the Third Space Marine Battalion had spent more time in their cubicles than ever. Every spare second otherwise was spent in the exercise rooms or in the bike rooms, or practicing zero-G combat in the freefall chamber. The men were spent, keyed-up but sane as such things went.
The days of ceaseless drifting in endless weightlessness had the worst morale effects on the men. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any more spacings since Colonel Steele spoke with the old captain and the new Captain Moore.
Now, Captain Moore spoke to the marines via the wall speakers. “I’m going to keep this short, boys. Neither General Konev of the Zhukov or I can spot the alien generational vessel. We kept track of it while coming in. It maneuvered behind Triton. That means we’re going to have dig it out first before you boys launch. This could get tricky. But we know the aliens weren’t going to make it easy on us.
“Just to let you know, Triton’s diameter is 2,710 kilometers, making it slightly smaller than our Moon back home on Earth. Triton is 354,800 kilometers from blue Neptune. Our Moon is 384,400 kilometers from Earth. So this is all normal to us. As a scientific point of interest, Triton has a retrograde orbit around Neptune, meaning it orbits in the opposite direction as Neptune rotates. That makes Triton usual for a moon.”
There were clicks, meaning the captain went off-line on the wall speakers.
Like the men, Steele waited in his cubicle. He no longer thought the same thoughts as before when Captain Moore spoke. It was because he’d seen the captain and thought of her as a person instead of as a sex object for his imagination.
“Sorry, boys, General Konev was calling,” the captain said. “The Zhukov is going to accelerate some. He’s not going to play cat and mouse with the aliens around Triton. The generational vessel might have tried to slip around to Neptune, using Triton as a shield from us. General Konev is boldly going to pass Triton and take a look around for us. The aliens might fire at him, but Konev has vowed to take all the fire the aliens can dish out so you boys can reach the generational ship intact.”
There were a few cheers from the marines.
Everyone knew the drill, the plan. Steele and the other officers had explained and practiced what they could many times. When the time came, they would don their fighting spacesuits and take up their .75 recoilless gyroc rifles, EML grenade launchers and missiles. The rifles launched rocket-propelled shells, mostly APEX (Armor-Piercing Explosive) rounds. They all had HEX, high explosive rounds, as well for anti-personnel fire. The EML was an electro-magnetic launcher, giving them greater firepower. The suit missiles were for dire emergencies.
The fighting suits had BPC or biphase carbine armor. The BPC was made from overlapping layers of carbon fiber, making it light and tough. The BPC also gave slightly at impacts, almost microscopically, which helped the armor absorb kinetic energy strikes. Each marine had a HUD and a comm link to the data net in his armored helmet. He could survive in the fighting suit as if it were a spacesuit for up to six hours. There were servos to help the marine move, although the suit didn’t have true exoskeleton power. Everything ran off battery power. The exploration team carried extra sensor equipment to help them map out the enemy starship.
This was the latest tech from the corporations, the very best Earth possessed. The marines had practiced with the suits until they could operate in them as if they were second skins. In a way, the space marines and their equipment were Earth’s secret weapon.
“We’re not moving at anything like the old velocity,” the captain said. “It means we’re crawling out here in comparison. This could get tedious but I hope it doesn’t. You boys are going to stick with me, right?”
This time there were more cheers and catcalls from the prone marines in their cubicles.
“I hear the alien women are gorgeous,” Captain Moore added.
Coarse laughter followed that.
The last bit had been Steele’s idea. They had no idea what the aliens looked like, whether they were Saurians or jelly-like squid aliens. But if the marines thought the aliens had Earthlike women, making the marines randy for them, that might help the men survive long enough to get on board the alien vessel.
The launch missiles and the plan on how to board the alien generational ship—it was pirate tactics, boarding tactics. There was nothing fancy to it. But if the marines could get inside the alien ship…
Steele swallowed down his fear. The countdown to action was almost here. Where was the alien generational vessel? Were the aliens going to make this hard for them? Would the aliens destroy the two Orion ships as had happened around Saturn?
Moore had told them about that, including that the black ice bombs had almost worked. She explained that Earth marines could beat the bastards; it was just a matter of hard work and getting a little lucky.
Triton was dead ahead, with blue Neptune behind it. Triton was an active moon, with ice volcanos and such. No missiles rose from the surface nor did any sensors pings originate there.
The Georgy Zhukov was already in the lead by 15,000 kilometers. A 0.05-kiloton warhead dropped from the chute and detonated against the pusher plate. That caused the 100,000-ton Orion ship to jump forward, picking up velocity. Another warhead detonated and then yet another.
The George Patton followed at a comparatively leisurely pace, going backward so its pusher plate aimed at the Zhukov. It used the plate to protect the marines from the other ship’s spewing radiation.
The Zhukov neared Triton. Another warhead detonated behind the pusher plate. The leading Orion ship moved parallel with Triton and then sailed past.
“I see the damn alien vessel,” Konev radioed Moore.
As Moore watched on a screen, a particle beam struck the Zhukov. It would have been a side shot, but Konev was already turning the heavy Orion ship, aiming the nearly indestructible pusher plate at the possible enemy hiding location. The particle beam tried to chew into the pusher plate, but with minimal success. The whole while, Konev radioed detailed information regarding the aliens and their giant cylinder ship.
Then smaller particle beams hit from farther away in the direction of Neptune. It was from smaller alien spaceships. These particle beams chewed against the side of the Zhukov and began eating inward.
“We’re not going to last long, Patton,” gravel-voiced Konev said.
Moore had linked the intercom system so the marines in Patton’s belly could listen in.
“I suggest you get behind Triton with us and unleash the Third Battalion on their alien asses,” General Konev said.
“Roger that,” Moore said. “Boys, get ready, we’re going to move fast, coming in on the other side of Triton. I doubt the Patton is going to last in this fight for long. So it’s going to be all up to you, boys. I hope you remember Captain Moore when you’re celebrating your victory.”
There were louds cries of assurance from the marines that it would be so.
Then:
WHAM
WHAM
WHAM
With hardly any interval:
WHAM
WHAM
WHAM
Moore had already turned the George Patton in the right direction so the Orion ship headed faster toward Triton.
“The particle beams are smashing into our ship,” Konev said. “Listen, Third Space Marine Battalion. I’m General Konev. Kill the bastard aliens for Mother Russia. Kill them for the Shining City on a Hill that was America. We’re the last patriots on our tired old Earth, but I want you all to go down fighting.”
WHAM
WHAM
WHAM
“We’re coming, General,” Moore shouted. “You hang on a little longer, you hear?”
There was no answer but lots of static.
“General?” asked Moore.
“Goodbye my American comrades,” Konev said through the heavy static. “I salute your courage.”
WHAM
WHAM
WHAM
“Listen to me, boys,” Moore said, with her voice full of tears. “The aliens just destroyed the Zhukov. I hate them. I hate their invasion. Humanity is going down unless you marines can pull a rabbit out of the hat. We’re out here at the end of nowhere. I’m going to give you the time you need. Colonel.”
“Here,” Steele said loudly.
“It’s time to get your men into their fighting suits and into the launch missiles. It has been an honor knowing you and living with you this year and a half.”
“The honor is ours, Captain,” Steele said, trying not to choke up. “We love you. We love your crew. Isn’t that right, men?”
A roar of approval greeted the colonel’s words.
“The time for talking is over,” Moore said. “Suit up, Marines. Take numbers and kick ass. This is Captain Moore signing off.”
Steele unclicked his restraints and pushed off. “Listen up, Marines. This is go time. You know the drill. So let’s do it right the first time.”
The sound of unclicking increased and marines pushed off in various directions. They had practiced the maneuver thousands of times. They could don their fighting suits in four minutes and grab their weapons and ammo in another one. It would take eight minutes after that to lock into their crash seats on the various launch missiles. Now, they were putting all that to the test.
As the marines raced to accomplish their tasks, the last Orion ship sent against the aliens flew toward Triton. It had farther to go than the Zhukov, but it had gained greater velocity since earlier, although it didn’t move as fast as the first Orion ship.
The minutes ticked by as the marines hurried. This was going to be tight, as the Patton couldn’t accelerate if the marines weren’t locked into their crash seats in the launch missiles.
Several minutes later, the 100,000-ton warship from Earth flew parallel with Triton. Another minute passed, and then the Orion ship flew past the moon.
The huge cylindrical enemy vessel was there on the other side, 20,000 kilometers from Triton’s surface. Its giant thrusters were aimed in the Orion ship’s direction. In the direction of Neptune farther away from the Patton were two small alien warships. With this pattern or squadron configuration, the George Patton was flanked by the two sets of alien ships.
Unlike the Zhukov, the George Patton did not aim its heavily armored ass at the generational ship as Konev had done with the Zhukov. Instead, the pusher plate was aimed at the two smaller alien ships nearly 10,000 kilometers away.
“Is everyone suited up and in their crash seats?” Moore asked.
A blizzard of affirmatives reached her.
“Hang on, then,” said Moore. “I’m going to blast some hard radiation at the smaller alien ships.”
WHAM
WHAM
WHAM
Almost immediately after that:
WHAM
WHAM
WHAM
A solid 10,000 kilometers separated the smaller ships from the detonating warheads. Was that near enough for the enemy ships to feel the x-rays and gamma rays pulsing through their hulls?
Whatever the case, a heavy particle beam smashed against the armored cone of the George Patton. The beam originated from the enemy generational vessel. The Patton’s nosecone armor held for a little while. Then the beam smashed through, killing Moore and her crew as the beam exposed them to deadly radiation and the vacuum of space.
Captain Moore and the others were gone. Even so, the particle beam continued to rove through the Orion ship.
Now, the first launch missile detached from the main body of the Orion ship. Immediately, the chemical thrusters kicked in, pushing the launch missile from the Orion ship and toward the great objective before it.
Another launch missile detached and began to thrust. So did a third. Those three got away. A fourth launch missile detached, but a malfunction prevented its thrusters from activating. The fifth launch missile simply failed to detach in time.
Then the particle beam hit critical infrastructure inside Patton. Explosions began in the center of the Orion ship.
“Mayday, mayday,” the fourth launch missile pilot shouted.
At the point, the George Patton detonated. It didn’t blow up with massive nuclear bombs, but other internal systems did ignite. None of that made any difference to the Orion ship or the two launch missiles caught near it. They were destroyed, killing roughly two hundred space marines in the process.
That left four hundred space marines of the Third Battalion aboard three launch missiles, heading toward the alien generational vessel.
Two hundred marines had never made it this far to Neptune, floating somewhere in space between here and Earth.
Now, the end game of the initial space war for the Solar System was approaching the final plays.
-65-
Colonel Steele sat in his acceleration couch, wearing the BPC armored suit. His gyroc rifle, magazines, and grenades were all attached to the suit. He wore a bulky helmet with a HUD, linking into the launch missile’s data net. He saw what the pilot saw. Theoretically, at least, the armored marines could survive a hull breach.
One hundred and thirty-three battalion effectives sat with Steele as they wore their BPC suits. It looked like stacked rows of bulky robots webbed to their crash seats. Each marine used his HUD just as the pilot up front used a large screen.
The huge generational vessel filled the main screen. Calling it a launch missile was somewhat misleading. It ran on chemical fuel, similar to a ballistic rocket, with a nosecone made of a special alloy and several meters of biphase carbide. It had in effect a ram like ancient galleys once used on the high seas. The ram was to achieve the same purpose as an ancient galley, splinter the hull of an enemy vessel and shove through.
By the tests, the nosecone and marines could survive such a violent contact. Seconds before impact, ablative foam would spew into the cabin and fill it, acting as a shock absorber for the suited marines.
Probably, this violent maneuver would kill some of them or break the bones of yet more. But if they could survive, they would be inside the alien vessel and ready to rock and roll.
On the pilot’s screen and on the HUDs, the giant cylinder grew exponentially. The launch missile approached it from an angle, from behind. They wouldn’t want to smash into the propellant tanks or the engine, but bypass them if they could.
“The enemy vessel is starting to turn,” the pilot said over the data net linked to helmet comms. “I don’t know why the aliens are doing that. Maybe they want to align the main particle beam cannon better. Maybe the alien vessel has some kind of defensive feature in the front.”
“Are the other two launch missiles still intact and following us?” Steele said.
A second passed, two.
“Roger that, Colonel,” the pilot said. “Launch missiles Two and Three are looking good.”
Steele shivered. Being in space, all alone with Neptune’s blue hue in the distance, was eerie. They were riding a giant ballistic missile into combat. He’d envisioned it thousands of times and run simulations thousands more. This time, it was real.
“The smaller alien spaceships are inert out there,” the pilot said. “I’m thinking the Orion propulsion warheads cooked them with radiation.”
“Sounds good to me,” Steele said.
“Shit!” the pilot said. “Look at that. That can’t be good.”
“What are you seeing?” Steele said, trying to keep his voice even.
The pilot zeroed in on the big vessel. A high tech cannon poked up, with a direct line-of-sight to them. At the very end at the orifice, it turned blue. Then a stream of particles ejected from it.
“Mayday, mayday,” the third launch missile pilot shouted in combination with heavy static.
“Put them on the screen,” Steele said.
Their pilot did, switching the view yet again. Behind them, under the enemy particle beam assault, the third launch missile shredded away. Abruptly, it detonated, exploding. That must have been the rest of the chemical fuel. That meant armored spacesuits, flesh and bones scattered into the void in all directions. It was sickening.
Steele grunted as sweat pooled on his skin. His fighting suit’s internal fans kicked on. This was a terrible mess. His stomach clenched. There were two mere launch missiles left to get her done.
The scene on the big screen and HUDs changed again. Now, a rear section of the generational vessel filled the screen.
“Impact in five seconds,” the pilot shouted. “We’re into auto now. Kick onto your own screens.”
Ablative foam spewed into the main cabin from all directions.
Steele kept his HUD linked onto the pilot’s screen. The enemy particle cannon fired again, maybe having moved in the interim. Did the beam strike the second launch missile?
The last of the foam spewed into the packed throng, marine-sardines in the can. The foam immediately began to harden. Would it, along with everything else, be enough to ensure survivors from the impact?
Outside, the hardened nosecone detached from the main missile. The main missile fired thrust, propelling the hardened cone against the hull, even as the main missile flipped and smashed against the enemy hull elsewhere. The main missile body shattered.
The ram of the nosecone burst through enemy hull and bored within through its velocity. It was violence multiplied; metal and carbon speared into the great generational ship and plowed deeper yet.
In his fighting suit, Colonel Steele thrust against the restraints of the crash seat as the armored cone shook. Then the cone screamed with metallic noises as it grinded deeper into the giant alien spaceship. That meant air was around them to carry the noise. The restraints tore loose as the fighting suit smashed into hardened foam.
