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The flash-bangs from the blasts in the shuttle hangar were barely subsiding when the two inner doors opened without warning, and a squad of Marines came through each of them, firing at point-blank into the reeling mass of Pellea’s raiders with plasma weapons. After three volleys, they withdrew, and the inner doors slammed shut.
A few seconds later, the hangar space doors opened without a force field to keep the atmosphere contained, leading to uncontrolled catastrophic decompression. In a matter of moments, everything not secured to the floor or a bulkhead was sucked out, along with almost a hundred thousand cubic meters of air and sixty raiders, dead or alive.
Of those who’d entered, only a few, not including Pellea, survived the mines, the heavy weapons fire, and the explosive decompression, but not for long. Sergeant Dyas’ Marines re-appeared through what were now inner airlocks and quickly crossed the hangar floor, firing at anything that moved outside, intent on boarding Harfang, whose belly ramp was still grounded, before the skeleton crew aboard recovered from their surprise.
Inside the passenger reception area, Harfang’s second officer had stopped dead in her tracks when she heard the warning, but it was too late. Airlocks slammed shut ahead of and behind her landing party, sealing all but a few in the corridor. Those who were on point found themselves locked in the junction tube leading to Administration Module Two.
Before they could recover from the momentary confusion, Sergeant Testo’s voice resonated through the corridor and tube.
“You’re nicked, with no chance of escaping. The people sent to prepare the way for you are dead, meaning you’ve walked into an ambush. There are only two ways out now. Surrender or die. If you don’t surrender, we will open fire with hidden remote weapon stations to puncture your suits, then decompress the area. Once that process begins, it cannot be stopped. I’m giving you ten seconds to place your weapons on the floor, remove your helmets, and place your hands on your head. Ten, nine, eight, seven...”
The first few intruders, understanding there was no other choice, complied. The rest followed before Testo’s countdown reached zero. As Delgado told Movane earlier, true mercenaries — not Hallikonnoen’s fanatics — fought solely for pay. Dying wasn’t part of the deal.
“Good choice. The other half of your landing party didn’t make it, by the way. They’re dead, so now would be a good time to thank the Almighty you’re not among them. Mind you, from this point on, the slightest bit of resistance will ensure every last one of you joins them, so keep an eye on each other and stop stupidity before it starts. I can vent your compartment in a matter of seconds, should the need arise. Now please sit with your backs against the nearest bulkhead and wait.”
Across the tarmac, Faucon’s four assault teams had blundered into a maze of booby traps whose invisible trigger beams and transparent wires crisscrossed the floor of the docking bays. When the first improvised explosive devices blew, killing the mercs walking point, Command Sergeant Bassam calmly gave his troop the order to open fire.
The raiders, cornered like rats, fired back, but their aim was relatively poor. Furthermore, the Marines were well hidden and made challenging targets. To say that the violence of the defense stunned Faucon’s landing party would be an understatement. Nothing had prepared them for the sheer brutality of the Marines’ response, and that, more than the casualties and booby traps, made them lose heart. The first mercenaries surrendered less than two minutes after they entered the smelter. The rest followed moments later.
Leaving half of Bravo Troop to secure the prisoners, Bassam led the rest onto the tarmac where Faucon sat, belly ramp open.
Up in the landing strip control room, Delgado and Hak exchanged glances.
“So far, so good,” the latter said. “I figure it’s time we splash the vulture circling up there, sir.”
“Yep.” Delgado switched to the company network. “Four, this is Niner.”
“Four,” Command Sergeant Saxer, who’d been watching his fellow troop leaders hit the mercenaries hard over the command net’s video feed, replied.
“You’re weapons-free on the tango circling overhead.”
“Acknowledge weapons-free.”
“Make sure he doesn’t crash into Tyrell.”
“Wilco.”
“Niner, out.”
Hak let out a soft grunt. “I’d love to be on the bridge of that ship when they realize they’re being pinged by the targeting sensors of four double-barreled battleship guns. At this range, even if Delta Troop is blind drunk, they can’t miss.”
“Now, where is that tango?” Delgado stared up at the starlit, airless sky.
Several seconds passed, then streaks of plasma reached for the heavens, meeting a mere thousand meters above the station where they struck the raider’s belly shield.
“There you are.”
A second salvo splashed, and Delgado saw the shield’s color change from blue to deep purple before collapsing under the onslaught, all in a fraction of a second. The third salvo struck the ship’s hull on the starboard side and damaged the starboard hyperdrive nacelle strut, sending it into a corkscrew spin as its thrusters fought to regain control.
It passed over Tyrell, shield after shield collapsing, and began shedding sparks of super-heated metal as the guns kept firing. The last they saw of the sloop was a blur vanishing behind the jagged peaks to the north. Less than a minute later, a new and very short-lived sun rose over the horizon, signs the sloop had crashed and suffered an uncontrolled antimatter fuel discharge.
“Wow.” Hak glanced at Delgado again. “Imagine if that thing struck, say, a few kilometers from here. Or right on top of us.”
“I’m trying hard not to, Top. But if it started firing on Tyrell, we’d be just as dead as if it crashed on our heads.”
Hak allowed himself a grim chuckle. “Let me know what the Colonel and the Admiral say when they critique your after-action report, sir.”
“It’ll probably be something like well done, Curtis. You judged the risks appropriately.”
A snort. “Keep telling yourself that, sir.”
“This isn’t quite over yet.” Delgado pointed at the ships sitting on the tarmac. “One gone, two left.”
He flicked on the company net again. “Zero, this is Niner. Call the bridges of those two grounded sloops on the common emergency frequency.”
“Wait one.” Then, “I’m not getting a response, but I can patch you in anyway.”
“Please do.”
A few seconds passed. “Go ahead, Niner. You’re on.”
“Grounded mercenary ships, this is Major Curtis Delgado, Commonwealth Marine Corps, and Tyrell Station’s commanding officer. I know you’re listening because you realize your raid failed in the most spectacular manner possible by now. Your advance team infiltrators are dead, as are half of your landing party members. The rest are prisoners, and you surely noticed the ship flying cover overhead just gave Keros a brand new crater. My guns can depress enough to engage and destroy you where you sit, or if you manage a liftoff, to shoot you down. Surrender or die.”
He let that sink in for a moment.
“Right now, boarding parties are coming up your belly ramps. You will let them in and hand over control of your ships. Don’t resist because, under the conditions, we will shoot to kill without a shred of compunction. We already terminated half of your complement.”
An unknown voice cut through Delgado’s next pause. “How about we shoot up your damn station, Major? It’s kind of lonely out here, with help days away. A few salvos to destroy your structural integrity, and then we can lift while you fight for your lives.”
“That won’t stop my main guns. They’re independent of Tyrell and controlled from a separate location. You’re not going anywhere other than my stockade or into the Infinite Void, but you can choose the destination.”
The man scoffed. “I doubt you have enough left. Let us lift unmolested, and we won’t open fire.”
“Just think about this, friend. I stopped your landing parties cold before they could enter Tyrell proper and destroyed one of your three ships. Do you truly believe I don’t have enough strength to finish this? It’s over. Surrender and let my boarding parties in. Depending on how the Fleet prosecutes you for attacking a government installation, you might even pick up your mercenary career again after a stay on Parth as a guest of the Commonwealth.”
This time, the man didn’t respond for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, “You guarantee our lives?”
“So long as you cooperate fully. The Marine Corps does not abuse prisoners, let alone slaughter them unless they resume hostilities.”
Delgado hoped the remaining crews weren’t of the same zealous persuasion as Hallikonnoen’s infiltrators who died rather than surrender. Two ships blowing their antimatter fuel tanks this close to Tyrell’s spiderweb of modules would utterly destroy the station.
“We surrender.”
After waiting for the two troop leaders to report the ships secure, Hak climbed to his feet.
“And now the arduous work begins — securing and feeding those prisoners until the Fleet figures out something’s wrong and sends help.”
**
“Sergeant Testo?” Movane swiveled around to face the operations noncom.
“What’s up, Ma’am?”
“Someone is attempting to access the main reactor module.”
“Crap.” Testo looked up from his workstation. “We probably have one last Sécurité Spéciale sleeper who plans on blowing us up now that they’ve lost.”
He turned to the command post radio. “One-One, this is Zero.”
Command Sergeant Painter replied almost immediately. “One-One.”
“A tango is attempting to enter the reactor module. Send a team. Same rules of engagement as before. If he or she doesn’t surrender, shoot.”
“Roger. One-One-Alpha, you heard that? Execute.”
“Wilco,” Sergeant Greaves replied. “On our way.”
Delgado, who’d overheard, merely said, “Niner acknowledges.”
His attention was entirely focused on Bravo and Charlie Troops securing the two grounded sloops. At the same time, Hak worked on concentrating the prisoners in the main hangar until they figured out a longer-term solution to hold them pending the next starship’s arrival.
Finally, “Zero, this is One-Two, ship secure. It’s called Faucon, by the way. Remaining crew numbers fifteen. They’re locked in one of the cargo holds.”
“Zero, acknowledged. You heard that, Niner?”
Before Delgado could confirm, Dyas reported.
“Zero, this is One-Three. Ship by the name Harfang is secure. All fourteen crew aboard are locked away in a cargo hold as well. Apparently, the one we shot was called Busard.”
“Zero, acknowledged.”
“Niner, acknowledged.”
Delgado felt the urge to board Harfang via the passenger tube but knew he should rejoin Testo in the command post. There would be time enough for tourism once Tyrell was back to normal. Or at least as normal as things would be until someone came for the prisoners and sloops.
One thing bothered him, however. This raid seemed aimed at seizing the artifact beneath the surface. Were they even aware of the Second Migration War biological and chemical warhead depot a few dozen kilometers west of here, at the bottom of the canyon? Or was that phase two once they took care of Tyrell? Hallikonnoen surely knew of the location, even if she wasn’t aware of the contents.
Suddenly, Delgado felt a shard of ice pierce his gut as instinct gave him a potential answer. But before he could order his thoughts, the rumble of an explosion in one of the lower modules punched through Tyrell’s contained atmosphere, sending a wave of deadly vibrations coursing across its assemblage of interconnected parts.