Vorpal Blade

30

“Mother,” Cha-chai said, calmly.

“Yes, my son,” Lady Che-chee said, not looking up from the report she was writing. The Chrans might or might not be friendly. So far, all seemed well. However, the queen and General Chuk-tuk required daily reports on their activities. Unfortunately, Lady Che-chee had no real idea of what such activities as driving spikes in her lawn actually meant.

“I know that I became somewhat overwrought when the Chrans arrived,” the young Cheerick said. “However, I believe it would be wise for you to look at the spaceship.”

Lady Che-chee looked up at the male, then turned to look out her window. She turned back quite calmly then pointed her muzzle at the ceiling.

“TO ARMS!”

“What the hell is that noise?” Sub Dude asked, yanking on the nut to get it to break free.

“You’re gonna break it off,” Red warned. “Then we’re gonna have to back it out.”

“Hand me the damned liquid wrench, then,” Sub Dude said. The two were trying to get a recalcitrant diesel engine to work. The CO had powered down the ardune reactor to cut down on both heat production and ardune use. The latter was very expensive fuel. So the diesels had to be run to keep the ship going and one of them had quit. So, Gants and Red had been dispatched to fix that little issue. After which they had a list of “honey-dos” that was longer than their arm. It didn’t help that the damned things were nearly in the bilges. “If the CO would just open up the ship and vent it, we wouldn’t even need this thing.”

“I’d rather fix the engine than spend a month in quarantine,” Red said, frowning as he handed over the liquid wrench. “I dunno. I hear it, too.”

“Well, I could do with a nice breeze on my face,” Sub Dude said, just as there was a gurgling sound underfoot followed by a blast of air.

“You just got one!” Red yelled, shaking his head. “Damn, my ears are ringing!”

“Hit the alarm!” Michael said, backing away and looking down through the grating underfoot. “HOLY MAULK!”

“INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT!”

Military personnel learn to count a “day” as the period from one sleep to the next. Naps do not count. Berg’s “day” therefore, had been somewhere on the order of twenty-two hours long. His “night” might not count since he had only been asleep for three hours. And it was sodden sleep. He’d run back and forth to the palace twice, helped Third Platoon with their load-out, taken in supplies and had to work on his Wyvern for two hours. He was a bit tired when he finally hit the rack.

But when his eyes flew open his actions were practiced and he had his skins out of their wrapper and on before he really woke up. The Marines had learned to sleep in them. You could leave them on under your uniform or in the Wyverns. They even made halfway decent pajamas. But his had been rank, so he’d “laundered” them with a nannie pack.

They were still a tad ripe as he pulled the top over his head. But you put up with it. Welcome to the Space Marines. Talk all you will of heavier firepower, his suggestion was going to be two sets of skins, minimum.

“SECOND PLATOON, GROUND MOUNT!”

On went the trousers and the bunk opened up as he snatched at his boots and slid on his top at the same time. He could seal both on the way to the armory.

“THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”

It took him until he’d cleared the sleeping compartment for that one to sink in.

“BREACH IN CONTROL SECTOR! ALL TEAMS TO DEFENSE STATIONS!”

“Holy grapp,” Hatt muttered as they reached the doors of the gear station.

“DRAW LIVE ROUNDS! BRAVO TEAM TO AUXILIARY DIESEL COMPARTMENT!”

“Is it the grapping Cheerick?” Sergeant Jaenisch asked as he dropped into his seat and mounted his gear.

“How the grapp do I know?” Staff Sergeant Driscoll snapped. “It’s probably neenion contamination.” The staff sergeant was having a hard time getting his gear on and Jaen stood up and slapped it into position.

“Well, if it is, you’re our neenion expert, Staff Sergeant,” Jaen said, slapping him on the shoulder. “But you need to get into your spot, with all due respect.”

Staff Sergeant Driscoll lifted his M-10 out of the rack, then looked over at Guppy and Chuckie.

“Guppy,” he said. “You’ve got point.”

“Got it, Dreen-Man,” Guppy said, darting out of the compartment. “Follow me!”

“Did he just call me Dreen-Man?” Driscoll asked as he cleared the compartment.

“Yes, Staff Sergeant,” Chuckie said, jacking a round into his grenade launcher. “And your point?”

“Nothing,” Driscoll said. “Just trying to make sure I know my team name.”

“Demons!” Sub Dude shouted as the three Marines reached the hatch to recycling. There was banging on the far side of the hatch and then a scratching. “They just ripped their way up through the bottom of the hull!”

“Grapp,” Guppy said, backing up.

“Out of here,” Driscoll said. “We’ve got it. Chuckie, grenade through the hole as soon as they dig through. Guppy, frags if it clears. I’m going to stay on the M-10.”

“Got it,” Chuckie said, flipping the safety off his grenade launcher. “Keep it open for me, Dreen-Man.”

“I’ll do that little thing, Chuck,” Driscoll said, taking position so he was peeking around the corner of a reinforcing member. “Command, Two-Alpha. Reported Demon breach. We are about to engage.”

“Roger, Two-Alpha.”

“DEMON BREACH IN AUXILIARY PLANT! ALL DEFENSE TEAMS TO POSITIONS!”

“Demons,” the CO said. “Pilot, lift us. Lift us now.”

“Sir,” the pilot said. “Two minutes to warm up the drive.”

“Engineering, Conn,” the CO said. “Get that drive up. We need to get off the ground!”

“Roger, Conn,” the Eng said. “Warming up the ball. Ninety seconds to full power.”

“Lieutenant Berisford,” Spectre said. “Status?”

“Reported Demon breach in auxiliary engine spaces,” Berisford said, panting. “Two mechanics mates were working in there when they broke through but our guys made it out. Two-Alpha is holding the corridor but the Demons dug right through the hull so I’m not sure they’re just going to stay in corridors.”

“Roger,” the CO said, hitting the enunciator. “Seal all watertight doors. Report any suspicious sounds to conn. Demons in recycling. Engines warming. I intend to break contact with the ground as soon as the engine is up, then clear the ship.”

There was a boom in the distance followed by a rattle of gunfire.

“All hands stand by to repel boarders.”

“Ma’am,” Runner said, handing Mimi a pistol. “That’s only for if they make it past us.”

The mission specialists had gathered in the missile room and were busy donning their Wyvern armor.

Mimi nodded and slid the pistol into a holster inside the Wyvern armor.

“I hate to say this, but I don’t think they’ll be able to kill me,” Mimi said, gesturing with her chin to Tuffy.

“Wish I could say the same, ma’am,” Runner said, stepping back into his armor and shutting the hatch. The barrels of his Gatling spun for a moment then slid to a halt. “And I hope like hell I don’t hit any of the damned missiles.”

The Demon had a heavy triangular beak that seemed to be made of the same thing as its claws. The head appeared, first, tearing at the heavy duty steel of the hatch as if it were cardboard.

“Chuckie,” Driscoll said.

“Fragments are going to bounce back,” Chuckie pointed out.

“I know that, Marine,” Driscoll said. “Fire. Guppy, duck.”

The grenade caused the Demon to turn aside for a moment, but immediately after it went back to ripping, if anything with more fury.

“Grapp,” Driscoll said. But as the opening widened he could see a bit of shoulder. And that didn’t seem to have the same armoring. He fired a burst and was rewarded with a splash of red. “Chuckie, more. Pour ’em in.”

Chuckie fired off the rest of his five-round clip on slow fire and managed to blow the Demon back from the door.

“Guppy! Now!”

Guppy had been sheltering in a hatchway to the side. He stepped out and tossed a frag through the door, then pulled another off his belt and pulled the pin. Just as he did, the Demon lifted up into the opening and slid through, biting through the Marine’s shoulder. Its beak slid right through the refractory ceramic armor as if it were unnoticeable.

Golupski screamed and dropped to his knees but didn’t drop the grenade. Instead, he thumbed the spoon off the grenade and thrust his arm up into the Demon’s half-open mouth.

“Eat this mothergra—” he said then slumped, blood spurting across the companionway.

The Demon bit down, ripping the arm off just above the elbow, then blew across the opening as the grenade detonated.

“Chuckie,” Driscoll said, firing at a half-seen form in the compartment. “Grenades.”

“Reloaded,” Seeley said, darting forward then dropping to a knee. He pumped two grenades into the compartment, to screams of anger within, then another Demon humped its way into the opening. The grenade he’d just fired bounced off the armored head of the beast and ricocheted into the compartment.

“Grapp!” Seeley said, dropping to the ground.

The grenade bounced off the overhead and landed on his back, detonating on contact with the carbon boride armor.

“Behanchod!” Driscoll shouted, stepping forward and pouring 7.62 mm fire into the beast in the opening. It ignored the rounds sparking off its head, tearing at the hatch to make a larger opening.

“Get Chuck out of here,” Gunny Hocieniec said, dropping to one knee next to the staff sergeant.

“.308s bounce the grapp off,” Driscoll said, grabbing the wounded grenadier and dragging him back.

“Noticed,” Gunny Hocieniec said.

“We put grenades in there but I’m not sure if it’s working,” Driscoll said, getting the wounded Marine to the end of the corridor. A Navy corpsman grabbed the grenadier and threw him across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

“It’s not,” Gunny Hocieniec said as the Demon tore open the hatch.

There were more of them than just that one coming through, a wall of claws and beaks. They had no trouble climbing along the companionway, top and sides, their adamantine claws giving them solid purchase in the steel.

Head and chest were armored in the same material as the claws, but the shoulders were vulnerable. Between Driscoll and Hocieniec they managed to drop three of the beasts, wounded if not dead, before the creatures got to them.

“Grapp me,” Hocieniec said thrusting his rifle into the throat of the beast and levering it up. But its claws ripped through his armor, flaying him open even as he got the weapon planted in its belly and fired a burst. “Dreen-ma—”

Driscoll fired a burst on full rock and roll, breaking the plate of one beast and dropping it in a puddle of red. But two more snatched him at almost the same time. He blocked with the M-10, only to see it bitten in half.

“Grapp you!” he shouted, reaching down and ripping out the pins on all four of his frags. “Eat ma—” The rest of what he might have said was cut off as one of the beasts ripped out his throat.

“Conn, Two-Alpha is down,” Lieutenant Berisford said. “Containment is breached. We’re trying to stop them in corridor…” There was a burst of fire and the circuit went dead.

“Lifting now,” the pilot said. “Max G.”

“Where are the other Marines?” the CO asked.

“Two-Bravo is securing engineering,” the XO said. “Two-Charlie is at the door of the conn.”

“What’s the word on—”

“Conn! Conn! Security Team Four! We can’t stop these things! They’re headed for—”

“Team Four is in the mess,” the XO said.

“Conn, Team Nine. We’ve got them stopped in the Torpedo Room. We welded extra cover on the hatches and they just turned away. Torpedo Room is holding.”

“Conn! Team Six! They’re coming up! Headed right for control!”

The firing could be heard through the deck, coming closer.

“Only how many indicators of alien activity?” Torpedoman Joseph Olbinski screamed, firing his shotgun at the charging Demons. A member of the sub’s security team, he was trying to hold the corridor directly beneath the conn. And losing.

“There wasn’t anything in the area!” Jeff Waggoner shouted, the 9mm rounds from his MP-7 bouncing off their armored forequarters.

“I hate intel!” Olbinski screamed as the first Demon reached him.

“Conn!” Waggoner shouted into his comm. “Demons at… urk!”

Then it was cut off.

“That was missile control,” the XO said. “Right under us.”

“Get the Marines in here,” the CO said. “If these things can tunnel right through steel, I want to have security inside the compartment.”

“Aye, aye,” the XO said.

Runner watched as the Demons ran past and then shook his head inside his armor.

“Ain’t that a thing?” he asked as they started ripping at the door of engineering. There were seven of them, ugly beasts like bulked up Komodo dragons. But from the scores in the deck and the way they were tearing at the door, their bite was much worse than their bark.

“Kris, you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yep.”

“On three,” the master sergeant said. “One, two… three.”

The 7.62 mm Gatling guns fired almost simultaneously. While the 7.62 mms might bounce off the forward armor of the beasts, they had no problems with their thickened skin, ripping three of the Demons to shreds in less than a second.

The remaining four, however, turned towards the Wyverns and rounds started skipping off their fronts. One had been hit in the withers and its back legs were shattered, but it continued forward.

“Spread,” Runner said, ducking backwards around a missile tube.

That started a game of cat and Demon in the missile compartment as the Wyverns ducked in and out around the tubes, fired at Demons and ducked back. The team had fought similar actions before in countless “games” and they worked well together. They dropped the Demons before one came near any of them.

“I wonder if we can get them to all come to us?” Kristopher said.

“Oh, I think there’s gonna be plenty for everybody,” Runner replied. “Engineering…”

“Remember,” Lady Che-chee said, donning her gloves and taking a spear from one of her retainers. “They are only vulnerable on the sides. And they can jump.”

“Yes, Mother,” Cha-chai said.

“Bi-lateral sweeps, just as they teach you at the regiment,” Lady Che-chee said, donning her board. “Strike, then return for another spear. Get them chasing us while the Breeders and pups are evacuated.”

“Yes, Mother,” Cha-chai said, sighing.

“I think you’d better start saying Colonel, sonny,” Lady Che-chee said. “Right, Sergeant, you take left, I’ll take right. For the Regiment!”

Josh Lyle looked up from his workbench at the scrabbling under his feet and sighed.

“You just had to get busy in here, didn’t you?” the armorer said, walking over to the rack on the wall. He considered it, finger on lips, for a moment. 7.62 mm skipped right off, eh? He plucked a weapon from the rack and pulled out a pre-loaded magazine.

The Demon’s head poked through the deck much as a newborn alligator opens an egg. And the squeal that came from it had a similar sound, if much deeper. One deep-set red eye rolled and spotted Lyle. Then a claw came ripping up through the steel, opening the hole.

“Really?” Lyle asked. “You really want to get busy in here? People never learn.”

He lifted the “modified” carbine to his shoulder and settled the laser pointer just below the eye.

“Let’s see how you like this.”

The .50 caliber scramjet round barely had time to accelerate before it hit the Demon’s head. While it didn’t punch through, the head snapped sharply to the side. Whether it was the snapping of the Demon’s spine or the fact that the deck had cut half way through its neck that killed it, Lyle wasn’t sure. But he’d take that as a kill.

“Next?”

Berg took a spot by the CO’s chair. It gave him all around views of the conn compartment. He noticed that all the conn personnel had strapped on side arms but he didn’t think .45s were going to do much good. The COB had his in a two-handed grip, pointed at the rear hatch.

“Son, why do you have two pistols strapped on your sides like a gunfighter?” the CO asked calmly.

“Sir, that’s PFC Berg,” the XO said just as there was a scrabbling at the rear hatch. “The one you signed the award authorization for.”

“So you can fire two guns at once?” the CO asked as a Demon head appeared in the ripped-apart hatch.

“No, sir,” Berg replied, drawing both pistols. “Only one.”

“Oh,” the CO said as the Demon’s head became fully visible. “Pilot, elevation?”

“Holding at Angels Nine,” the pilot said.

“Engineering?” the CO said, punching the comm.

“Engineering,” the Eng answered. “We’re holding. The SF team took out the Demons that were attacking us.”

“Conn, Tactical. I have eyeballs on the Demons that were attacking on the ground. There’s a large cluster of them on Lady Che-chee’s lawn…”

“Open fire with Laser Two,” the CO said as the Demons tore through the door. “Engineering, Tac, in the event Conn is taken out, try to maintain the fight. Good luck.”

As the first Demon’s head punched through the door, Berg looked for a vulnerable spot. The whole head and front was armored, but just under the jaw it flexed. He faintly heard firing around him but he ignored it, waiting.

Finally, the thing lifted up to tear at the top of the opening and he fired one round. The demon’s head nearly blew off as it flew back in a welter of crimson.

“Damn, boy,” the CO said, holding up his smoking pistol.

Another Demon immediately took its place but the next problem was on the starboard side of the hatch, low, where Demons were tearing through at deck level. One was squeezing its way through the hole and Berg noted another flex point at the juncture of shoulder and neck.

“I’m just going to stop bothering,” the CO said as the Demon began convulsing in the opening.

The Demons had broken all the way through the door and for the next few seconds Berg sort of lost track. All he could recall was beaks and claws and muted shots like everybody was using silencers.

He came back to reality when the CO touched him on the shoulder. Both of his pistols were smoking, both were locked back and there were eight dead Demons in the compartment. One was right at his feet. It had been shot three times in the back.

“Hey, I’m pretty sure I got one,” the COB said. “Two rounds in the side.”

“Yeah, I think that’s yours,” the CO said. “The rest appear to be PFC Berg’s here. You can put the guns down, now, son.”

Berg automatically holstered the right, reloaded, holstered the left and reloaded the right.

“Compartment is clear of threat, sir,” Sergeant Jaenisch reported. “Two-Gun, you okay?”

“Fine,” Berg said, suddenly shaking his head. “What just happened?”