“Good point,” Bondarevsky said. “So if someone did set up a transmitter at some point, or get one of the shipboard comm systems operating, it wouldn’t have had much of a life expectancy.”
“That’s the way I figure it,” the colonel agreed. “Frankly, I think it’s confirmation that there aren’t any survivors over there. If they did have a few compartments rigged with makeshift shield generators to block out the radiation, there’s no reason why they couldn’t have kept repairing their transmitter. The fact that it’s silent now means there’s nobody there to repair it. For whatever reason.“
“Well, that’s good news, at least.” Bondarevsky studied the images in silence for a few moments. “I hope all our problems turn out to be this easy to deal with.”
“Now hear this! Now hear this!” The voice of the carrier’s Flight Control Officer rang through the shuttle. “All shuttles prepare for launch. Repeating, all shuttles on the flight line and prepare to launch!”
“Looks like the admirals have been reaching the same conclusions we have,” Bhaktadil commented, showing startlingly white teeth as he grinned. “Now is when we start earning our pay, I suspect.”
“If I know Richards and Tolwyn, and believe me I do, they’d have proceeded to this phase of the op even if every Cat in this part of the sector was swarming out there with guns blazing,” Bondarevsky told the Gurkha. “They didn’t bring us all this way to turn around and go home without seeing what’s over there.”
Inwardly he could only hope that their enthusiasm for winning a supercarrier for the Landreich wouldn’t warp their judgment and blind them to what needed to be done.
The shuttle quivered a little as it rose from the flight deck on thrusters, but that was the only sign they were under power. It wasn’t anything like a fighter launch, the sudden high-g thrust that leaked through the onboard inertial compensators and slammed you back into your seat as you leapt outward into the void. Slow and stately, the shuttle left Independence, fourth in line and followed by the rest of the survey contingent, shaping a course for the enigmatic hulk that circled Vaku’s gas giant and drew the humans in like the lure of a Siren’s song.
Starboard Flight Deck, ex-KIS Karga
Orbiting Vaku VII, Vaku System
0849 hours (CST)
Bondarevsky was glad that he was a passenger on this shuttle run, and not up in the cockpit trying to bring her in. They watched the approach in the holo-prqjected display, and he found himself holding his breath as they made the final cautious course corrections to clear the wreckage that partially obscured the entry port on the starboard side flight deck of the Karga. In some ways it would have been easier than a standard carrier trap, since there was no force field across the port to complicate the final seconds of maneuvering and no internal gravity fields to deal with once they were within the confines of the ship. But without guidance from the carrier, without a working optical signals system, and most of all without an unobstructed flight deck it was a tricky bit of flying to bring the shuttle aboard.
When they finally touched down and the shuttle pilot cut in the magnetic clamps and announced “Down and safe,” Bondarevsky let out an audible sigh of relief.
He wasn’t the only one. He’d forgotten they were all wearing full pressure suits and helmets now, and their radios picked up every breath. Even the hardbitten Bhaktadil seemed happy that the flight was over and they’d made it in one piece.
“Marines!” the colonel said crisply. “By the numbers! Prepare to deploy!”
“Sir!” That was Gunnery Sergeant Martin, Bhaktadil’s senior NCO. “All right, people, look lively there! Positions for boarding! Standard dispersal pattern! Move it! Move it!”
As the twenty-eight armored marines scrambled to take their positions by each of the shuttle’s three exits, Bhaktadil spoke in calm, even tones. “Remember, the gravity’s off-line out there. You’re operating in zero-g and no atmosphere, so make sure you take it into account. Keep your eyes open-and don’t just look for trouble on the deck. Check all the angles, and then check them again. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” came the reply, all the men speaking as one. Bondarevsky was impressed. Kruger’s marines, at least, knew how to function as an elite unit should. They waited for the air to bleed off from the passenger compartment. In situations like this, a potentially hostile action in vacuum, no one wanted to waste time going through conventional airlocks, so in effect the entire rear compartment became one for the duration of the op.
“All right, you sons-of-Cats,” Martin said at last, after the tone had sounded in their headsets to tell them they were in vacuum and the shuttle pilot was ready to open up the hatches. “Are you ready to earn your paychecks today?”
“Hoo-YAH!” the marines responded, loud enough to make Bondarevsky’s helmet radio crackle.
“Ready to deploy, sir!” Martin told Bhaktadil.
“Mr. Ortega.” Bhaktadil’s words were directed at the shuttle’s pilot. “Drop the hatches…now!”
All three hatches-rear, port, and starboard-swung open at the same time. Two of the six fire teams went out through each exit, the men diving through into zero-g and twisting right and left in turn, weapons ready. The lack of gravity extended those dives considerably, but they were expert at this kind of drill and used the handholds outside the shuttle to check their progress so smoothly that it looked easy, though Bondarevsky knew for a fact that it was one of the trickiest moves a man in zero-g had to make.
They kept their weapons at the ready until the deployment was complete and the shuttle was ringed by armed men, scanning their surroundings in all directions. Martin ran them through a roll call, and each man sounded off with an “All clear!” as he responded. Finally Martin reported to the colonel.
“Initial deployment complete, sir!” he said. “All clear.”
“Very good, Sergeant,” Bhaktadil said. “Two-Six, this is Marine-Six. Do you copy?”
Two-Six was the call sign of the lieutenant commanding the other squad of Second Platoon assigned to the starboard flight deck reconnaissance. The shuttle carrying his men had approached from the opposite end of the flight deck, over Karga’s stern.
“Copy you five-by-five,” Lieutenant Kate Loomis responded. “Both squads deployed. All clear.”
“Very good, Two-Six. Proceed with phase two. Make sure your people don’t mistake one of us for a Cat.”
“Phase two. Roger.”
“Sergeant Martin, move them out. Expand perimeter to meet with the other squad. Stay sharp, people.”
Bondarevsky and the rest of the noncombatant team remained inside the shuttle, following the progress of the marines by their radio calls and images relayed from their suit cameras, displayed now as flat pictures on their helmets’ HUD screens. Switching from one marines viewpoint to another as their careful, leapfrogging advance unfolded at an efficient but unhurried rate, Bondarevsky was able to get an initial idea of the situation on the flight deck long before the area was secured.
There was no doubt the flight deck had suffered terrible damage. Much of the interior around the entry port was filled with twisted wreckage, jagged chunks of the bulkheads torn loose in a pattern that could only have been caused by a fair-sized explosion right at the mouth of the portal. He could also make out what looked like a part of the fuselage of a Kilrathi Darket-class light fighter that had smashed up against one bulkhead, probably not the cause of the disaster but a victim sitting on the flight deck as the explosion ripped down the vast chamber. Details, though, were hard to pick up on the video images. They’d have to go in for a closer look to see the full extent of the damage.