Rich Man's War (59 page)

Again, Tanner heard nothing in response. His holocom indicated the channel was still open. Tanner looked over his shoulder, where he saw Alicia, Baldwin and Ravenell waiting. Ravenell held the plasma repeater and nodded. Beyond him, through the clearing smoke of the passageway, Tanner saw Lt. Thompson and a couple of his men emerge from around the corner.

Tanner turned back to the door controls. “Captain, we’ve cut off all your air. We don’t want to kill everyone on that bridge, but we will damn well do it if we have to. Take a good look around yourself. I’m sure you care about your crew.

“Don’t throw all their lives away on a paycheck none of you are ever gonna live to see.”

Then a new voice spoke over the comm. “This is Captain Wagner. To whom am I speaking?”

Tanner hesitated.
Fuck it,
he decided. He popped the seals on his helmet, pulled it off and turned back to the door panel and the camera he knew must be a part of the system.

“My name is Tanner Malone,” he growled. “You know
exactly
who I am and what I’ll do if I have to. Open the door.”

* * *

Backup didn’t arrive in time.

Janeka held the hatch as long as she could, but she knew all too well when her position was untenable. Of the six men she’d found at the entryway, only two remained alive
. Both lay wounded out of the line of fire.

The enemy advanced. She kept firing until her rifle took a hit, sending sparks and shards of metal flying against the faceplate of her helmet. The infantry laser cannon fired again, striking all too close for comfort against the corner of the bulkhead to her side. Cursing, Janeka rolled out of the way.

She crouched to her feet, hit the magnetic relays in her suit, jumped up as high as she could against the bulkhead and started climbing. “Aft entryway breached!” she reported once more. “Get someone down here now!”

“Reinforcements on the way!” called back a voice on the comm. “Just hold on!”

Janeka growled as she kept climbing, relying on the magnetic grip of her suit to keep her glued to the bulkhead. The gunny swung herself up over the corner of the entryway and waited, allowing the first handful of NorthStar marines to enter. They swept both left and right, keeping far enough apart that they wouldn’t all be hit by the same grenade or arc of fire.

Then
the laser cannon on its rolling tripod emerged. Janeka killed the power to her relays and dropped down onto the cannoneer’s shoulders with her knees. The man collapsed with a yelp beneath her. The closest man to him let out a shriek as Janeka slashed through his hip with her heated dagger. Another trooper, standing on the cannoneer’s other side, didn’t know what was going on until Janeka grabbed the barrel of his gun and jerked it out of his hand.

Others rushed in. The first to get to her caught the butt of Janeka’s new rifle under his chin. A second tried to tackle her, but only made himself into a human shield as she hooked one arm under his shoulder and spun him around between herself and his comrades. A third man fired in a panicked arc, catching her once in the side with a bullet that didn’t quite penetrate her combat jacket while inadvertently killing his comrade on the spot. Janeka kept moving. She stepped around the side of the cannon, turned her rifle on the last jittery foe and returned the favor. Her wound was painful, but manageable. His was instantly lethal.

The rest scattered, committed more to their own survival than to any attack. They hardly knew what to make of the sudden ambush from above. Janeka kicked the cannoneer in the gut again before grabbing his weapon and spinning it around. The mere sight of the cannon turning on its former owners sent them all running back the way they came.

She pressed her advantage, firing a laser blast that burned an ugly black scar into the opposite bulkhead and nearly caught another NorthStar trooper, who wisely kept running.
Only then did Janeka look over her shoulder for the handful of enemy troops who’d made it past the door.

Bullets ricocheted against the metal framework of a tall equipment rack and its contents within the compartment, keeping the enemies to Janeka’s left pinned down. She looked to the right and found two more
dead NorthStar troopers. Sergeant Baker sat up against the bulkhead, bleeding from a wound in his gut but firing.

Janeka
pulled the laser cannon back from the entryway and around the corner, spinning it as she moved to bear down on the equipment rack. She didn’t bother with the targeting system. With such a weapon at close range, all she had to do was point and shoot.

The blast all but cut the equipment rack in half. Its upper portion
buckled and fell over onto its side, resulting in a pair of startled screams as it came down onto the two NorthStar troopers using the rack for cover.

The
victory offered Janeka only a brief pause. Her side hurt terribly, as did one of her knees. She leaned on the cannon for support. Knowing the NorthStar troopers down the corridor would soon regroup, she pushed the big weapon back around Baker, breathing out a simple, “Good job, sergeant,” as she moved.

Only then did she hear the voice over the PA.

“I repeat, stand down,” said the deep, male voice. “This is Captain Wagner. All hands, check your personal holocoms for confirmation. You are ordered to stand down and disarm. The ship is hereby surrendered to Archangel forces. I repeat, we surrender. Lay down all weapons immediately.”

A pensive silence followed. Janeka
pushed the cannon the rest of the way around the corner, only to see a handful of NorthStar troopers emerge from the far end of the passageway with their hands up. Then a few more came around the corner. Then more.

“Put your hands on your heads and kneel,” she ordered. Though some of the men and women up ahead hesitated, all of them obeyed. The gunnery sergeant let out another breath, leaned a bit onto the cannon again, and looked to her side.

“Sergeant Baker, you okay?” she asked. “Sergeant Baker?”

The young man remained propped up against the bulkhead, his weapon laid across his lap with his hand still around the grip.

He didn’t answer.

* * *

“Everyone up from your stations,
now
,” Lieutenant Thompson demanded as he and the others strode onto the bridge. Tanner came in beside him. As he’d expected, a considerable haze of smoke filled the air. “Hands up. No talking, no sudden movements.” Behind them, Alicia, Baldwin and Ravenell entered and spread out from the open entrance to cover multiple angles, though they found themselves inadequate for such a job all on their own. The command bridge of a battleship was simply too large.

Officers and enlisted ratings across the huge
compartment did as Thompson demanded. Virtually every one of them turned to face their captors as they entered. The far end of the compartment held several large screens displaying tactical information. At several other spots across the bridge, Tanner could see holo screens still active, but he correctly guessed that a majority of the bridge crew closed down their stations as soon as the captain gave the order to surrender.

Everyone remained silent—everyone, that is, except for a single, angry voice emanating from one of the speakers on the captain’s chair. “Do not obey that order!” the man shouted. “You keep hold of that bridge and fight! Commander Middleton, relieve the captain and take command!”

Thompson and Tanner walked straight over to the captain, who stood at his chair. “That the flag bridge talking?” Thompson asked.

“Yes,” nodded the captain. He kept his hands in the air, but gestured with his fingers. “I could turn it off, if you’d…?”

“Do it,” Thompson said. “Can the ship be run from the flag bridge?”

“Only under certain conditions,” the captain answered readily, though his voice bore no great enthusiasm. He bent over to touch a couple of buttons on the armrest of his chair, making
sure his captor could see each move as it happened. The voice coming from the speaker abruptly cut out. “None of the automated conditions for shifting command have been fulfilled, and I haven’t transferred manually, obviously. This bridge still runs the ship.”

“Can anyone on that bridge access the PA?” asked Thompson.

“Ah… lieutenant?” asked the captain. “Do I have the rank correct? No. No, I cut access to that before I gave the order. I didn’t want the commodore to countermand me,” he explained. “I’m Captain Wagner.”

“Lieutenant Thompson, Archangel
marines,” nodded the man at Tanner’s side. He put one hand on Tanner’s shoulder. “I’ve got this. Get on the helm and give me a course heading and status.”

The
order made Tanner stop and blink. Behind them and to the left, Baldwin instructed the rest of the captives to shift to the far left bulkhead. He looked right and saw Alicia and Ravenell with their weapons still ready in case anyone tried to resist. The rest of Thompson’s team moved inside the bridge. “Aye, aye, sir,” Tanner replied before he stepped past Wagner and the captain’s chair.

Given the size and complexity of the bridge, Tanner
had to look around for the helm. He worried for a second that he might have gone completely blank. The shift from shooting and taking captives to the tasks of running a starship, even at only the most basic level, did not occur instantaneously. Tanner looked over his shoulder to see if perhaps someone else on the bridge might be more qualified, but he saw no one. Everyone else already had their hands full with handling prisoners except for the crewman from the wardroom, who came in with wounded marines limping along at both of his shoulders.

Tanner kept searching. Along the way,
he glanced up at the big tactical screens along the far bulkhead and realized they held all he needed to sort out the most critical information.

“Lieutenant?” he called out, looking over his shoulder to Thompson and Wagner and waiting to be acknowledged. He pointed to the big screens. “We’re 43,000
klicks inside the picket line with Raphael at one-seven-eight by two-zero-six relative to us, speed 1600 kps but falling. Looks like the bad guys are scattering away from us.”

Thompson’s gaze moved toward the big tactical screens. So did Tanner’s, naturally looking for the other two battleships. Both
Ursa
and
Andromeda
now fled the core engagements, running for the protection of allied vessels that clearly wanted to keep their distance. The graphics and labels on the tactical screens identified NorthStar’s ships, a large formation of Lai Wa vessels that held tight while backing further out of the battle, and Archangel’s remaining destroyers, frigates and corvettes. Few bore any identifying marks. Tanner could identify Archangel ships by class, but not name.

Los Angeles
, at least, was easily identified. Tanner’s heart sank at the sight of her with no other ships nearby. Numerous icons indicated heavy damage, a very low speed and a total lack of offensive weapons fire. NorthStar’s fleet seemed to have forgotten about her. Tanner didn’t know whether to consider that a blessing or an awful omen.

“Slow us down or at least turn us around, Malone,” instructed Thompson. “Whatever takes us away from the bad guys and out of the
fight.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Tanner said again. As usual, he found most of the panels were clearly labeled and laid out in a fairly straightforward manner
, but none were the station he needed. He looked for helm controls, or an override. “Shit,” he muttered before checking yet another station. That one didn’t work, either. Finally, he snapped, “Jesus fucking Christ, where’s the goddamn helm?”

No one spoke. Tanner looked toward the captured skipper, who gestured to another of the consoles near the center of the bridge. Wagner then turned to Lt. Thompson and
murmured, “Does he take Communion with that mouth?”

Thankfully, Tanner found the controls unlocked and fully functional. He quickly looked
things over, felt the familiar nervous sensation that always overcame him when he had to steer a ship, and then reminded himself that he had plenty of space to deal with. All he had to do was turn
Hercules
in any direction other than a straight shot for Raphael. Tanner input new commands, effectively pushing
Hercules
“down” in a ninety degree turn, and cut her speed dramatically.

All the while, Tanner
heard Thompson’s men talk with other units over the comm network. Wagner’s surrender order made for a great many changes across the ship. With main engineering firmly in Archangel hands and now with control of the bridge, the focus quickly became one of consolidation and control. Names rang out with orders to report to the bridge, or to several airlocks where more personnel might come aboard.

The details hardly mattered. All Tanner needed was for someone with a little more experience and training to come help him run the ship. Thus far, he’d only discovered the most basic helm controls.

He glanced up from his station once more to check on the rest of the bridge, still wired from combat and ready for a sudden revolt or any other reversal of fortunes. Baldwin and one of the marines worked to pat down and bind each of the bridge officers, with several already sitting on the deck with their hands now wrapped up behind their backs. Alicia and Ravenell stood nearby, keeping the captives covered. Thompson continued speaking with Wagner.