“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.