Wild Nines (Mercenaries Book 1) Page 21

  Should’ve been easy. Until they did a sweep on a giant barge with the name Glory of Deimos blazed on its side in red-gold paint. The squad split into groups of six, one running each side, to scan the containers before they broke off to head Earth-side. They’d picked up the signals immediately. Life, and a lot of it, squeezed into those cubes. As though someone was planning to airdrop a city’s people, or an army.

  The captain of the Deimos didn’t respond when hailed, and the huge ship broke ranks, its flat expanse sliding out of the line like a blade swinging in slow motion. His squad leader ordered them to fire on the engines, the Deimos still being far out enough not to sink into Earth’s orbit without power. Merc’s half assigned to patrol. Watch for anything ridiculous while the other half disabled the freighter. Standard protocol.

  What wasn’t standard was the avalanche. The crates launching themselves from the Deimos. Too far out for standard cargo jets to get them to the atmosphere, but these boxes took off with a spring. Overloaded for one-time use. The containers would crash home if Merc’s half didn’t do something. The squad leader calling for them to wait, but Merc reacted. And his wingman followed.

  Diving in at the containers, spraying laser fire. Then their shields sparked, lasers flashing back at the fighters. The Deimos had defenses, hidden by the crates. Merc’s wingman was getting chewed up this close to the Deimos. Merc himself a in a frenzy, whipping back and forth, arcing over the crates to keep them between the turrets and himself. He spiraled away from the ship and watched as the crates hit the Earth’s atmosphere. Stared as the surface defenses of his home planet, warned with plenty of time, unleashed a fury of focused fire on the descending containers and reduced them to ash.

  His wingman ejected, injured, and waiting for rescue. There hadn’t ever been a risk, and Merc ignored a command. No use for a pilot like that.

  The Viper’s computer chimed. Ready to go.

  “I’m about to be in play,” Merc commed to Phyla.

  “About time,” Phyla replied. “Launch when I say go.”

  The flight stick felt solid in Merc’s hands, with little give. Some pilots wanted that lax feel, to push the stick and have it move in the direction they were trying to go. He preferred faster response. That’s what the Viper was all about.

  The maneuvering jets popped the Viper up off of the Jumper’s floor. With a twist of his wrist, Merc rotated the fighter so it faced the hangar doors. Opal would open them any moment, the magnetic shield popping into place to keep the atmosphere inside. This was the best part. What Merc imagined the old astronauts used to feel as the rocket fired up beneath them.

  Merc dialed up the load from the main batteries, charging the main engines for their initial kick. Setting the cannons for medium power. Enough to puncture shielding while letting him still miss a few shots before running dry.

  “They haven’t attacked yet, so don’t go all hero out there,” Phyla said. “Davin’s trying to talk to them.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s cap getting? An escort to the surface?” Merc replied.

  Vibrations echoed through the hanger as the exterior door opened. Star-sprinkled black shimmered in through the growing gap. Jupiter a giant off to one side as though the universe had patched a hole with a beige circle. No other ships in sight, or on the scanner. It’d be a lonely place to die.

  “They cut the line,” Phyla said. “Go.”

  “Launch,” Merc said, the voice command triggering the Viper’s engines into full bursting life.

  The thrust pressed Merc back into the chair. His chest flared for a moment, a burning ripple of pain cascading through his legs as Merc blitzed into space. The pilot might not be one hundred percent, but out here, the body that counted was ready to go. Merc swung the Viper towards the enemy. Time to hunt.

  67

  First Move

  Outnumbered but never outgunned. That was Davin’s motto. At least for the moment.

  “Swing in front of Merc.” Davin said to Phyla. “Then keep going to the far fighter.”

  Phyla punched the Jumper’s engines, boosting the ship forward as Merc slid out of the hanger. On the sensors, the Jumper’s larger block kept Merc’s fighter from even showing. A second’s surprise. The fighters reacted to the move, the farther one turning to hit the Jumper straight on while the other began a curl to bring the Jumper’s engines within range. The enemy frigate barely moved, tracking Davin’s ship as they sped towards it.

  “Think they know all our tricks?” Davin said.

  “I don’t know all our tricks.” Phyla replied.

  “Good point.” Davin flipped on the comm. “Take out the chaser, Merc. We’ll clean up the front and meet in the middle. These two look like old models. Should be easy.”

  The comm clicked affirmative and Merc’s Viper spun in a tight vertical curl, swinging up and over the trailing edge of the Jumper to point at the fighter setting up for its rear shot. As Merc sprayed laser, Davin’s console beeped to announced the oncoming fighter was in range.

  Davin’s right hand pressed on the trigger, sending a stream of thick bolts, with a pounding rhythm as the main cannon launched each line of fire, rocked back, and then launched again. Each one glimmered white-hot zooming off towards the growing shape of the fighter. Who didn’t move.

  The first blast from the Jumper struck the fighter, melting into its metal structure and causing the craft to spin apart. Davin glanced at the sensors as Phyla slapped her hands together in a victory clap. The sensor board showed their aft was clear, Merc flying free without a target. Two fighters down, only the frigate to go. Phyla angled the Jumper out wide left while Merc swung around the other way.

  “They didn’t even move.” Davin said.

  “I’ll take a stupid enemy every time.” Phyla replied.

  The frigate was still tracking them, turning to match the Jumper’s trajectory and expose its rear to the Viper. Still hadn’t fired a shot though the ship’s big guns were in range by now. What was it waiting for?

  “Merc, bail on the pincer. Stay away,” Davin said into the comm.

  “We got this guy, cap,” came in Merc’s voice.

  “For once, do what I’m telling you,” Davin said. “If they’re planning something, we’ll be able to take a hit. You won’t.”

  Phyla swung the Jumper around until it faced the frigate. Looking at it straight, the frigate was a wing, feather-like modules breaking off a center spine. Meant it could be tweaked to fit any given need. Just swap one module out with another. Right now, pointed at the Jumper, the frigate didn’t look like it was sporting much in the way of turrets.

  “If they’re bluffing, time to call it,” Davin said. “Let’s roast’em.”

  Phyla settled the cannon on the frigate’s cockpit and Davin’s hand settled on the trigger. As he pressed on the firing button, the front modules opened. Massive bay doors sliding aside to reveal bays. Inside were long, massive guns which fired… something Davin couldn’t see.

  But he heard a moment later when the Jumper’s alarms sounded. Hull breach. The main cannon pulsed off one, two, three shots in quick succession. All of them slammed into the front of the frigate, the first rebounding off of the thick blast armor and spinning into space. The second burned a thick scar into the armor and the third punched through, venting a gout of flame that winked out as the frigate cut off oxygen to that part of itself.

  “About calling that bluff?” Phyla said.

  “Those fighters. They were bait,” Davin replied. “Mox, Opal, you get a read on where that breach is?”

  “Main cargo,” Erick said. “You won’t believe what I’m looking at.”

  The Jumper pulled up and over the front of the frigate when, the Davin’s ship screeched and the cockpit swung to the side. The Jumper whirled. Davin and Phyla, strapped in, strained against their restraints. Yells came over the comm: Opal’s cursing, Trina’s panicked yelp followed by the crunch of body into metal and the sudden hush as the engines died. The hull breach alarms continue
d to sound.

  “I can’t get the engines up,” Phyla said, staring at blinking red on the console.

  “Trina?!” Davin said into the comm.

  “They’re harpoons.” Erick’s voice replied. “We’re stuck.”

  “Hey,” Merc’s voice. “The frigate’s not done. Its spitting out more fighters. They’re omnis.”

  Which was about the last thing Davin wanted to hear.

  68

  Save the Engines, Save the Ship

  Fournine, barely awake, grabbed Viola as the Jumper shuddered to a halt. Even so, Viola thought her neck would snap and her head continue on into the room’s wall. Fournine’s hands, that android grip, was too strong to let Viola go, though, and a second later she dropped back off the workbench.

  “Viola?” the comm buzzed with Davin’s voice. “Need you to get to the engines quick. Trina’s not responding.”

  “On it,” Viola replied, cutting the comm. “Not that I know how the engines work, or anything.”

  Leaving the android tied on the bench - Viola wasn’t sure what it would do yet- the girl ran out of the room and bounced down the hallway past the crew bedrooms and towards the engines. Trina sprawled out in front of the control panel, a slick line of red leading from a splotch to where Trina’s head lay against the wall.

  “Need you back here, Erick,” Viola commed. “Trina smashed her head when the ship stopped.”

  Erick clicked affirmative. Viola reached towards Trina, tried to locate a pulse, then stopped. It wouldn’t matter if Trina was still alive if the enemy ship shredded them to pieces. Priorities. The diagnostics on the control panel read, in big block letters, that the engines killed themselves to prevent overheating. Fair enough. The button to restart wasn’t working though. Every time Viola tapped the thing, a small X appeared and a timer with a temperature reading flashed.

  “We’re gonna need a few more minutes.” Viola commed.

  “We don’t have’em,” Davin replied. “Override it.”

  Viola was about to say that she didn’t know how, but bit it off. Look around. Trina wouldn’t have let something like a frightened computer keep her from doing what she wanted with these engines. The control console itself didn’t have any hints. A couple buttons for engine diagnostics, right and left. Read-outs on available energy. And the spot on the screen where thrust would be was occupied by that emergency shut-down warning. Viola took a breath, stepped back.

  “They’re coming around,” Davin commed.

  “Don’t worry, I got this,” Merc’s voice cut in. “Viola, you be ready to cut loose.”

  Davin yelled at Merc, but Viola tuned them out. If I were a hidden starter switch, where would I be? Viola’s eyes caught the red splatter again. Where Trina hit her head. There was something black in the center of the blood. A small circle. Viola took a finger and wiped away the blood, the bright red sticking to her hand. The word MANUAL printed in tiny lettering showed through. A keyhole, but where’s the key?

  “You got ten!” Merc shouted through the comm. “Nine!”

  Trina must have it! Viola dropped to her knees as Merc continued the countdown. Reaching into Trina’s pocket, the mechanic’s head hanging limp to the side. Tried not to focus on feeling for a pulse. Five seconds. There, on the belt! Viola reached to Trina’s side, the small glint of metal hanging there. A batch of keys, but only one with the perfect cylinder match for the hole.

  “One!” Merc said.

  Viola jammed the key into the manual override and twisted to the right. Without meaning to, Viola’s eyes closed as the Jumper shuddered. The engines jerked to life, the screeching roar of stressed metal echoed throughout the ship. Viola expected the whole thing to jerk to a stop a moment later, but it didn’t. Whatever was holding them in place was gone. The Jumper shoved forward, the diagnostics blaring a yellow warning. The temp was still high, but the engines ran.

  Viola leaned back against the wall. Success. And then she remembered Trina, lying there on the floor. As Erick rounded the corner, Viola dropped next to the mechanic, looking for any sign she might be alive.

  69

  Stick Jockey

  Against the black wall of space, the cables holding the Whiskey Jumper were invisible. That didn’t much matter though, because Merc wasn’t trying to shoot them. The fighters, setting up for their attack runs, took their sweet time. Lazy turns. Like they were ordered to give Davin time to contemplate just how screwed he was. ‘Course, Merc would not let that happen.

  Swinging out and away from the Jumper, Merc heard Viola say Trina wasn’t doing so hot. Viola had to get the engines going, because there was only one chance. The rear of the frigate, its engines a trio of orange-glowing portals, washed out Merc’s cockpit vision. His scanner showed dots spreading along the frigate’s side. The omnis, disc-shaped fighters able to cut any which way they wanted were slow to react. Their directional jets flexible, but not as fast as the Viper’s big bucket of rocket power.

  “Four!” Merc yelled into the comm. The Viper shot over the rear edge of the frigate, then Merc pulled hard to swing to the left. The scanner showed three omnis in his vector. Enough to take Merc. If they could hit him.

  “Three!”

  At the midpoint of the frigate, but speeding away from it. A pair of the omnis behind him now, testing shots. Merc triggered the maneuvering jets at random, stutters up and down so that the Viper moved like a jagged line.

  “Two!”

  The last omni flashed out of nowhere, screaming from above the Viper, the center console flipping the omni to the prime threat. One, two hits on the Viper’s energy-dissipating shields. Merc killed the main engines, kicked the maneuvering jet on the nose of the Viper. The universe spun. The flight stick vibrated and Merc pressed the trigger.

  Twin cannons launched super-heated light straight into the oncoming omni. Even though the firing angle was only there for a split second, the Viper’s tricked-out weapons melted through the omni’s shields and broke the craft apart.

  Coming back around, Merc re-triggered the engines and the Viper increased velocity. Just ahead, the Jumper sat above the frigate, small next to the bigger ship. Trapped, for the moment.

  “One!”

  The cables were invisible to his eyes, but the Viper’s scanner painted them as threats, and Merc steered right for them. Just as Merc crossed beneath the Jumper there was a spit of fire, of light above the Viper. Merc let rip a yell, a massive weight of fear he didn’t realize he’d been carrying dropped from his chest. The Jumper’s engines were lit. And then the Viper lurched hard, a shriek as something tore through the energy shield. But the tension released a split-second later.

  Above him, the Jumper turned. Partially free.

  Merc wrenched the damaged Viper back on course and a second later hit the other cable. The Viper’s weakened shields did nothing to stop it. Merc watched the cable chew into the metal as it frayed, only visible through the line it was rending through his fighter’s nose. The cable made its way up to the cockpit, Merc’s eyes closing as cracks appeared in the glass. A button on the side of Merc’s chair sealed his flight suit, dropping a helmet over his head. The glass shattered and the last bits of the cable broke through the Viper’s console. As point blank as it gets.

  He kicked the eject pad, shooting up through the broken cockpit. The Viper’s momentum kept slicing it through the cable, until it came to the engines and the battery. Merc, floating free in space, looked past the edge of the Jumper and watched as his fighter exploded in a bright blue fiery ball that was there one second and gone the next. Along with the cable. The Jumper, engines firing and suddenly free, shot forward away from the frigate.

  “Told you I got this,” Merc said. Could’ve tried the short-range comm, but there wasn’t anyone close enough to talk to anymore.

  Outside his helmet, the Viper pieces flashed out of existence against the frigate’s shields. Merc twisted, bringing Jupiter in all its great glory into view. The momentum from the ejection was sending hi
m right towards the gas giant. He’d be long dead by the time his body fell into the atmosphere and disintegrated.

  As a way to go, it wasn’t a bad one. Merc could already feel the tickling edge of sleep, that telltale sign of oxygen running low. A few more minutes looking at miracles, then he’d shut off the lights.

  70

  Catching Breath

  The blip that represented Merc’s Viper vanished from the console. The blank space on the screen settled in Davin’s chest. Another one lost. Three of his crew, three of his friends gone since Marl’s betrayal.

  “I picked up a small burst, right before the Viper exploded,” Phyla said. “He might’ve ejected.”

  “We go back, they’ll destroy the ship,” Davin said. “We can’t let Merc die for nothing.”

  Phyla didn’t answer, just stared out the window. The Whiskey Jumper, engines settling back into optimal running conditions, sped away from the frigate and slipped into Jupiter’s outer orbit. Europa wasn’t far. A speck outside the cockpit. They could turn the Jumper there now. Beat the frigate there.

  “They’d kill us if we tried that now,” Phyla said, reading Davin’s thoughts. “I don’t think we’re ready for another fight.”

  “Erick, what’s Trina’s status?” Davin commed, reminded by Phyla’s comment.

  “Pulse is steady. This is her second concussion in less than a week. She'll need a lot of rest,” Erick buzzed back. “Whatever you want to do, captain, I’d leave Trina out of it.”