“You know the plan,” Marten said. “Now let’s do it.”
As the boat drifted closer, the space marines began to exit out of a hatch opposite the missile-ship. Marten stayed behind by the com-equipment.
White-haired Titus hailed them and appeared onscreen. “Two Highborn are on their way. If they are harmed, the cannons will obliterate your vessel. If you decide to ignite yourself in an effort to harm us, you are wasting your time.”
“I will not blow up my boat,” Marten said. “You have my word on it.”
“A preman’s word?” Titus sneered.
“For what it is worth,” Marten said.
“Since last we spoke, I have read your file, Kluge. You are a traitorous beast.”
“I have my faults, but I am not traitorous.”
“Commandant Maximus is anxious to have you back at the Sun-Works Factory.”
“The missile-ship is headed there?” Marten asked.
“My soldiers have you in sight. Ready yourselves for them.”
Marten dipped his head. “I am prepared.”
“Go, and remember to act contrite in their presence,” Titus said. “Otherwise, it will go even harder for you, preman. You killed several of our comrades in your cowardly attack.”
“Marten Kluge, signing off,” he said, tapping the screen and cutting off communications. Hurriedly, Marten donned and sealed his helmet, heading for the hatch.
Soon, he floated outside the William Tell. Using rungs fitted for such actions, Marten “climbed” to the top of the boat. Activating the HUD in his visor, he spotted two Highborn in their combat-armor. White particles of hydrogen-spray propelled the two super-soldiers from the Mao Zedong and toward the William Tell.
Marten clicked on his suit-to-suit communications. “Some of those cannons are sure to open fire once we act, but we’re going to have to risk it. The cannons are meant to kill ships and shuttles, not individual marines. Are you ready?”
He heard the affirmatives.
Marten flicked on his IML. Beside him, Omi did likewise. They were the highest-rated on them. Therefore, they had the honor of reigniting hostilities.
“One, two, three,” Marten whispered over the suit-to-suit communications.
At almost the same instant, two Cognitive missiles launched from their IMLs.
It was a short flight, but the Highborn were quick. One fired a weapon. The other throttled open his thruster-pack, moving faster. It didn’t matter for either. Both Cognitive missiles hit and exploded, and each killed one of the master race.
Before the small missiles hit, everyone climbed above, below and to the sides of the William Tell. They leaped off the dark polymer skin and engaged their thruster-packs, beginning the last leg of the journey to the Mao Zedong.
Like the others, Marten used a joystick control. It brought bitter memories being out here, seeing the asteroid-like shield “below” him. He led the way toward the damaged section of the ship. That’s where they had seen Highborn entering before with thruster-packs. Then something flashed out of the corner of his eye.
He turned his head, and noticed another flash. It was a big PD cannon. They were firing.
Marten debated letting his thumb off the throttle. Likely, the trail of hydrogen-spray made one more visible. Probably, it didn’t matter either way. The key was to get out of the cannons’ line-of-sight as fast as possible.
He zoomed closer to the particle-shielding, and it began to move. The Highborn must realize—
A bloom of color told him a shell had just connected with someone ahead of him. He hoped it wasn’t Nadia.
Should I have left her on Earth?
He didn’t know. Now wasn’t the time to worry about it. With his teeth clenched, Marten zoomed toward the particle-shielding, believing if he could get low enough, that he could avoid the cannons.
The cannons kept firing. They killed five Jovians, too many—always too many losses.
Marten zoomed several meters above the shielding, heading for the damaged section. He had several gut-wrenching fears. If the Mao Zedong was in good enough shape, it could begin acceleration, stranding all of them out here. It’s what he would have tried to do if Highborn attempted to board his ship. The other possibility was many Highborn in combat-suits waiting at the damaged section, ready for battle.
This was too similar to the Bangladesh. Then he had faced a ship full of SU personnel, with shock troopers covering his back.
“Count off,” he said.
“Omi here.”
“Group-Leader Xenophon reporting.”
“Osadar here…”
As the men kept counting off, Marten brought up the Mao Zedong’s specs on his HUD. He also saw which squads had lost men. Ah, three of the dead belonged to Alpha Squad. He adjusted the boarding attack and used suit-to-suit communications to tell his space marines.
Then he zoomed over the edge of the shielding. A vast pit loomed under him: the destroyed part of the missile-ship. He wished he’d practiced more at thruster-pack flying. He was moving too fast. With a twist of his wrist, he changed the direction of thrust and headed down into the Mao Zedong. He clicked on his suit-radar and brought up the information onto his HUD. Space marines followed him down into the maw. They were going into the damaged section where there was open decking visible.
“Motion at grid ten-B-seven!” a Jovian shouted into Marten’s headphones.
Even as the marine spoke, tiny pinprick dots appeared down in the ship’s darkness. The enemy was using a gyroc rifle. If he’d used a laser, it would have shown a direct line back to where he was. With a gyroc, one could fire and move. Highborn were experts at that game. There was none better at it, not even cyborgs.
In a smooth motion, Marten shouldered his IML. He flicked on the radar. In seconds, an enemy symbol flashed on his HUD. He fired. So did ten other space marines, too many on one target. In their excitement, the men had forgotten fire procedure.
The Cognitive missiles burned fast in a flock.
Marten swept the barrel of the IML, seeking a new target for his already lofted missile. The radar beeped again, giving him a different enemy. He pressed a switch, downloading the new targeting data to his missile. A blue light flashed in his helmet. The missile accepted the data and veered toward the new enemy.
All the while, the Highborn kept firing at them.
“Pericles is hit!” Xenophon shouted over Marten’s headphones.
Marten snarled with frustration. The Highborn were deadly marksmen. He wouldn’t have any men left for the Sun Station if this kept up. He should have set out with five hundred space marines. He was almost down to thirty—thirty regular men to take on the masters of the Solar System.
“Hit!” a Jovian shouted. “We scratched one.”
Unwilling to attempt a missile-reload, Marten racked the IML onto his back-slot. He unhooked his gyroc and clicked it online with his suit’s targeting system. A targeting crosshairs appeared on his HUD. It showed wherever he aimed the rifle.
“Ten-C-six,” Omi said in a gunfighter’s voice.
Missiles ignited at the heading.
“Nine-C-six,” another Jovian said.
The Highborn had come to fight. But Marten was surprised there were so few of them. Had they caught the overmen by surprise?
Marten shut off the thruster-pack as he fired gyroc shells. Highborn shot back. Tiny contrails grew as the enemy shells sped up at them. An enemy gyroc punctured a neck-joint, killing a Jovian seventy-three meters from Marten. Another shell blew open Group-Leader Praxis’s stomach, and entrails blew outward. A third space marine died as shrapnel opened his suit, and oxygen left a stark trail.
They’re killing too many of us.
Marten ignited the retro-rocket attached to his chest. It had one purpose: to slow him down so he could land. Instead of turning around and using the thruster, he faced the enemy as he decelerated. The rocket slammed against him, expelling air out of his lungs. He’d never gotten used to this, no matter how many times he practiced. He’d have a purple bruise on his chest tomorrow—if he survived.