Orson had planned for that, he needed to make it look like there was one major breach point, one place for the sparse defenders to concentrate so that the other teams could secure their targets. It would mean one of the teams would face significantly more danger, so he had volunteered his marines for this role. Their target and entry point worked best for that specific plan anyway.
The resistance fleet dropped out of jump space, screens flickering to life to reveal the structure before them. They had planned to come in as close as possible. The maintenance station was unmanned, but it wasn’t unarmed, and their first barrage needed to disable the turrets. At the front of the formation was the ship they had secured from the vigilantes. It had sat empty since they had stolen it, its computers slaved to the Gallant so it could be controlled remotely. Orson had planned to use it to carry supplies, but if this plan worked, it wouldn’t be needed.
His tiny fleet opened fire instantly as they emerged, their targets pre-planned using schematics from the Gallant’s files. The station was a standard design, one repeated across Council space and its homogeny was proving its undoing. The shots were good, disabling the turrets before they could open fire.
The ships in the fleet spun around, using their main engines to slow themselves. The empty ship didn’t. Instead, it accelerated, directly towards the battleship. The fastest route to the reactor room was through a hanger near the rear of the ship. The marines would need that door opened and to cause a big enough distraction to attract the troopers aboard the ship at the same time. They faced a locked door, and Orson had a ship-shaped key.
The empty ship slammed into the hanger door, smashing through the metal. It struck the floor of the hanger, the hull bending as it did. The engines cut out, and the ship carried on through the massive chamber, eventually stopping as it smashed through the far wall. Emergency forcefields sprang to life, energy barriers designed to keep the air inside the ship until more permanent automatic bulkheads could close. They proved no resistance to the Gallant, which drifted gently through the shattered doors. It landed quickly on the hanger floor. A door opened, and marines flooded out. It was time to steal a ship.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sergeant Taylor snapped off another shot, blind firing it around the side of the corridor. Her team of marines had made it further than she had thought before meeting resistance. They had made it halfway to the reactor room before finally coming under fire. Now they were pinned down, the troopers had deployed some kind of heavy weapon at the end of the corridor, and it was spewing energy blasts constantly. It meant the plan was working, none of the other teams had reported any resistance so far, but it also meant her marines were lagging behind, and that couldn’t stand.
“Ok, we’re dead last ladies and gents, we need to get these sticks out of our arses and get a move on,” Taylor said, the suit transmitting her words to her team. “Do we have any volunteers for a flash and rush?”
“No guarantees flashes will work on them, sarge,” replied one of the marines. “That’s the problem with fighting aliens.”
“Got any better ideas?”
The silence was deafening.
“Fine,” Taylor said. “I’ll do it.” She reached down to her waist, grabbing one of the orbs clinging to her magnetically. Taylor pushed down on the button at the top, before rolling it down the corridor. She wished she had a standard Council grenade, but Orson had vetoed those. He didn’t want more damage to the ship than necessary. Taylor didn’t understand how that logic meshed with crashing a ship into the side, but she couldn’t deny it had been an effective trick.
The orb rolled across the floor, clinking as it went, bouncing over where plates were welded together. It stopped just before the emplacement. Close enough to hopefully stun the troopers there, but not too close as to be blocked by the small shield attached to the gun. It was years of playing bowls at the local pub paying off.
A flash filled the corridor, along with a loud high piercing whine. Taylor didn’t wait, rounding the corner with her weapon to her shoulder. She needed to cross the corridor quickly, but just breaking into a run was asking for trouble. If she tripped, she was dead. There was a clomping behind her, the sound of a dozen armoured boots following in her wake. Her marines had been spurred on, deciding silently that they would all go together.
The flash grenade had been effective. Too effective if anything. Two troopers were rolling around on the ground, clutching at their helmets whilst a third was slumped against the wall. This three-man team had been all who were manning the gun, meaning there was more still to come.
The marines put each one out of their misery with a single shot, their weapons penetrating the armour at such close range. It was harsh, but they didn’t have time to take prisoners.
It was Taylor’s first good look at the defenders. They all seemed to be the same race, a kind of insectoid with multifaceted eyes. They reminded her a little of cockroaches, which made sense considering they had survived a major radiation leak. The extra eyes maybe explained the intense reaction to the flash grenade, Taylor was no biologist but it made sense to her extra eyes would make it worse. After all, when you switched on the lights roaches did tend to scurry away. Still, there was something niggling at Taylor.
“Why didn’t they darken their visors?” She said, more rhetorically than anything else. “The armour can do that. Would have helped them a little.”
“Just more generic badness. What do you expect?” said one of her marines in a New Jersey accent. “Every engagement with Council forces has been a kerb stomp for us.”
“I suppose.”
The marine wasn’t wrong. They had gone up against Council troopers several times now, even the small comms stations had a handful of defenders. The quality of soldiery on display wasn’t great. Poor aim, dumb decisions and terrible positioning had plagued every opposing force they had seen.
“It makes sense,” the American marine said. “The Council is massive; they have a ton of forces. Sheer numbers can get you far. Especially when it’s backed up by spaceships and lasers. You drop a million soldiers somewhere, and you’ll get something done at least. Especially if you can just pop any defences you like from orbit. Go in hard, go in fast and overwhelm them. Got a long history of working that does.”
“You could say it is the ultimate shock and awe,” said another marine. She had a thick French accent. “That was not, especially effective for you Americans the last time you used it,” she added not missing an opportunity to gently rib on the other marine’s speech pattern in the process.
“Bryson has a point,” Taylor said. “It’s like they only have the most basic training. Glorified security guards, basically.”
“Throw enough mall cops at someone and eventually you’ll get ‘em,” the American marine, Bryson, said. “I reckon twenty, maybe thirty is what it would take to get you, Fabron.”
“Eh,” Fabron replied. “I do not think it matters. We still have plenty of these… mall cops to deal with here.”
Vossix cowered behind the captain’s chair, his sidearm in his hands. He had managed to lock the door to the bridge, but the loud hissing and bright light working its way through the metal meant that wouldn’t last long. Someone had boarded a Council battleship and was now about to breach the bridge. It was insane, a move of almost unthinkable audacity, and he loved it.