At every turn they had the advantage. There was no time to find out how the other squadrons were doing in detail. He knew they were winning on the command deck, and that a unit had just entered through the upper mooring points, but he didn't have time to find out the details or review the short reports each Sergeant filed as they moved through the ship and entered one engagement after another.
That damned issyrian had them running frantically, with few choices. Just moments before Major Cumberland had lost three of his men when they took a left into a hallway that had been supercharged with a bare power feed. Where the issyrian had gotten a live line, he'd never guess, and his lead tech didn't have time to answer either.
They were forced into a broad concourse that slowly curved upwards from deck to deck. Even as he was under fire he wished that the ships he served on were designed so well. They tried to take cover in one of the larger crew quarters but found the door rigged to three arc charges, grenades that unleashed a massive amount of power in one burst, it was like touching ball lightening. Two more men, dead the instant the door opened.
The next hall was sealed. None of the doors would open but they finally got a chance to rest and create cover with portable barriers. “Who the hell are these people? We’ve killed at least a dozen and put down twice as many, but they just keep coming,” remarked Sergeant Loman, still out of breath from the long, backward run. He was leaning on the stock of his rifle, using it like a short cane.
“There are hundreds of them, gotta be,” agreed Private Voleman.
“Tracker says we’ve killed seventeen, disabled thirty eight,” Cumberland said, knowing that the auto tracker hadn’t been accurate since they had to remove the operations AI from the system. “We’ve only lost six, I’d say we’re up.”
“Yeah, right, got ‘em right where we want ‘em,” commented Private Baram sarcastically between gulps of air.
Cumberland didn’t have the energy to shut her up. Normally he’d put her in her place, find some way of reprimanding her while reassuring everyone else, but the long engagement was taking its toll. He flipped his wrist display open and checked their orders. They were simple; ‘Proceed to the rear cargo elevator, take it to deck 21, Section A1.’ He double-checked the rudimentary map of the deck they were on, deck 19, right below the hottest fighting on the Command level, and found that they were close.
“Command still silencing unit to unit communications sir?” asked Sergeant Loman.
“We have our objective. We don’t need to know what everyone else us up to in order to accomplish it.”
“Not a good sign though.”
“It’s not our job to interpret signs,” Cumberland replied. “But I do know a pretty convincing fortune teller on Srak-Tam.”
“Srak-Tam, sir?”
“It’s an old drift, orbits a binary star in the Tisch system.”
“So it’s true you led the team that put down the Human Supremacist uprising.” Said Private Shir.
“I was there. That was a complicated engagement, all compartment to compartment and corridor fighting.” Admitted Cumberland.
“So it was a lot like this.”
“Not for a second.” Cumberland looked at his eleven remaining soldiers and was satisfied that they were rested up. “All right, we have about twenty meters to cover, then we head up to the uppermost deck.”
“We’re hooking up with another unit from the Command ship, sir?” Asked Sergeant Loman.
“I hope so,” it was a slip. For all he knew they were going up there to survey the deck, or to check the airlock seals. Raising their hopes over a rendezvous that might not happen was reckless. Regardless, he couldn’t help but have the same hope. Operating with one fifth a unit for much longer was poor judgement, plain and simple.
He took point, feeling alert, watching every corner, and listening between the boot steps for anything out of the normal. He didn’t have to wait long. The ceiling opened up directly overhead to reveal a meter and a half tall crawl way and several enemy soldiers.
Loman took a shot in the back as he turned out of the line of fire, and was saved by his armour. Cumberland fired blind, hitting the ceiling as much as the opening as he retreated out of the direct line. Everyone was so on edge that they only caught glancing shots, no one’s armour was hit enough for penetration, but the whole squad was split. Some were behind the opening, Loman and Voleman were with Cumberland in front, and the other three were against the wall, providing cover fire into the hole and most likely hitting nothing.
"David! Get back!" Cried a young woman as searing blue and white bolts of energy scorched the floor from above.
Cumberland took one step forward and made eye contact with a whip thin woman brandishing a pulse rifle half her size. She shot him three times in the breast plate before he could step back. He could feel the mild burns, his armour was finished. He had taken hits on the legs as he made a hasty retreat. In one quick manoeuvre, the scrappy resistance fighters had his people split, and it wouldn’t be long before Cumberland and his men would be rushed from behind.
There was no coming up for air against these people. They were desperate, dedicated and what was worse, they had a commander who seemed to know every corridor of the ship, how to milk the vessel for power to set traps when no one could get more than marginal readings on charged systems, and most of all, he wasn't interested in prisoners.
He barely had time to shout; “Cover!” before a concussion grenade hit the deck. It knocked him back three meters and battered the rest of his squad even harder. He couldn’t believe what he saw when he looked up. The enemy were coming down from the ceiling in groups of four. They dropped a portable shield generator the size of their palm that blocked him off from everyone but Baram, Loman, Voleman and two other Privates that were knocked onto Cumberland’s side of the hall by the concussion grenade. The rest were gunned down, well out of his reach behind the shield.
A square jawed man who he’d seen before with the issyrian, looked at him over his shoulder. There was a cold fire in his eyes, as though he wished they weren’t separated by an energy shield just as much as Cumberland did. As much as he was furious at the slaughter, and would like nothing more than to wait for the shield to come down so he could take a shot at him and the rest, it was suicide. The enemy outnumbered them. “Let’s get going before they outflank what’s left of us,” Cumberland said through his teeth.
“Tell your people; leave this ship or die,” growled the scruffy combatant.
“David! C’mon!” shouted the small woman who’d shot him several times.
Cumberland turned away from the field and rushed in the other direction. It was as if the enemy were not only defending their ship, but also taking revenge. He’d been in several situations where an engagement was about to turn bad, but it was the first time he’d been in the middle of one when it was already sour.
Finally, the hallway ahead was clear, and Cumberland led them in a dead run towards the cargo lift. "Command, does the lift have power?"
"I’m sorry Major, the power was just cut.”
“All right, I’m re-tasking my people with getting that lift working again.”
“I’m seeing you’re down to-"
“Six people, no thanks to you boys up there. We’re going to get the lift running again and join with the forces you have gathered on the upper deck.”
“The recommendation I have here says you should wait for reinforcements.”
“Good thing it’s just a recommendation. Cumberland out.”
Cumberland and his six soldiers made the distance in quick order, they could hear the issyrian's people not far behind, it was like some angry horde was on their heels. They were out of breath when they arrived at the freight elevator. “Tell me someone knows how to hot wire this thing,” Cumberland said as he pulled a microcell from his front pocket.