Battlegroup (StarFight Series Book 2) (8 page)

Jane kicked at the red-rimmed circular hatch. It flew ahead of her. She fired her flamethrower through the woman-high hole, then jumped forward.

“Wasps!” she yelled, turning to the right and firing both her shotgun and her flamethrower.

“Jerry, all sensors active!”

“Active, partner!”

Richard landed just behind Jane. He turned left, walked forward to make room for the other three Marines and checked his infrared tracker. It said what the white-yellow light displayed. A long round tube of a hallway was empty of moving aliens. His boots felt the thud of Tim, Jack and Didier as they landed between him and Jane.

“Clear!” called Jane.

“Clear,” he added. He motioned Tim to take his place, moved aside to make room for the man’s hard shell, then turned and looked at what Jane had shot.

Three charcoal-black wasp corpses lay on the floor of the tube, just five meters from Jane. Who had moved to one side so he could come up next to her. Both her arms were outstretched, pointing her shotgun and flamethrower at the empty tubeway. Richard held the same stance. The snout of her belly laser was green lighted, showing ready to fire.

“They look pretty dead,” he said, scanning the tubeway beyond the corpses. Small metal pipes ran along the ceiling, along with similar pipes on the floor. Unlike his ship, the tubeway floor was not flat. Made sense for flying aliens. At least the pipes were close enough they could be walked on.

Jane moved forward slowly. Her right metal boot touched lightly one of the blackened shapes. “No response. The . . . the valves of the spiracle holes on their thorax segments are not opening and closing. No breathing. They’re gone.”

Richard could see that on his infrared vidscreen. The red glow of living critters was fading fast to yellow, then going nearly black. Only the residual heat left by the charring of the flamethrower showed an infrared signature. His helmet sensors said the tubeway was a warm 89 degrees Fahrenheit. Moisture level at 60 percent. Jungle-like.

“Everyone, follow Jane,” Richard said quickly. “Look for doorways. Look for anything that might be pheromone signaler stuff.”

“Shoot first?” called Jane.

“Damn right,” he said, noting Wayne and Auggie were doing the same as his team. Wayne’s team had encountered a group of five wasps just after they entered their tubeway near the front of the wasp ship. Flame had cooked the black and red-striped bodies into crispy lumps of charcoal. Auggie’s team had found no one in their tubeway at the rear of the ship. “We can take captives later, after we grab the tech.”

Richard followed after Jane as she advanced. Behind him, Tim, Jack and Didier followed. He didn’t have to worry about something behind them getting the jump on them. His Marines were well trained. They always checked the rear-looking infrared screens in their helmets and supplemented with backward glances. Plus each hard shell’s AI monitored suit sensors for any moving object. Briefly he wondered how many wasps lived on the enemy ship. At least a hundred he thought, judging by the size of the ship and comparing it to the
Sea
. The destroyer held a crew of 113. Surely this wasp ship had that many. He didn’t really care. His mission was simple. Capture tech. Capture some wasps. Get the hell out in their Darts once that was done. While he wished he could leave behind some nuke warheads as calling cards, Jacob had ruled that out. Maybe Alicia in Science could find a way to talk with these wasps, either by cartoons or by pheromone signaling. He hoped there could be talk-talk with the aliens. It was his duty to protect the civies on Valhalla and to defend his shipmates on the
Lepanto
and the
Sea
. If talking in smells could prevent future human deaths, he was all for it. But anyone who got in his way now would end up like the fleet’s senior officers had ended up. He hated sneak attacks. That had been a sneak attack. Maybe the boardings by his Darts and Marines would teach the wasp leader of this ship a lesson. Blood always spoke louder than words.

♦   ♦   ♦

“Alert!” scent screamed the within nest Servant. “Our nest has been struck by three Soft Skin flying nests. Soft Skins are inside the nest!”

Hunter Seven’s five eyes took in the color images from two perception imagers. One showed his nest’s exterior shell as viewed from the still intact rear weapons ring. The propulsive ends of the invading nests stuck out from the hard shell of his nest. The other imager showed an interior tubeway. Yellow flame entered the tubeway from a closed entry. Which clearly had been defeated. The flame was followed by the white shape of a Soft Skin. The size of the Soft Skin surprised him, then he realized the creature was wearing some kind of metal protection against the dark airless cold of space. Three of his people flew into view. The intruding Soft Skin turned toward them and pointed its two chest arms. Flame shot from a tube on one arm while small black rocks flew out from the other arm. His Swarmers were enveloped in a globe of yellow flame. His spiracles stopped pumping in air.

“The Soft Skin nest is flying away from us!” scent cast his Stinger Servant in a mix of signal, releaser and trail pheromones. “It is beyond the reach of our weapons.”

The scents of alarm and fear came from several Servants within the Flight Chamber. Seven gasped, then resumed his breathing as the shock of the flaming death of his Swarmers lost its hold.

“Fighter Leader!” he scent cast to the Swarmer who rested on a bench to one side of him. “Send Fighters against these Soft Skins! That group is close to the Nourishment Chamber. The group that entered our head portion is close to its energy node. The tail group might reach our propulsion device. Bite them all!”

“Sending Fighters and Fighter Leaders,” responded the Swarmer in charge of protecting all castes of Swarmers within his nest.

His flow of aggregation, signal and territorial pheromones flooded the chamber, overwhelming the fear scent. Seven looked to the Servant who handled within nest communications. “Servant, warn all Swarmers to shut their tubeway entries! Let us block our interior spaces to these Soft Skins.” He looked back to the Matron. Her two wings were fluttering, her body showing the same surprise he felt at the entry of creatures into their nest. “Matron, have your Servants and Workers block all entry to our larval Pods! We must shield our young from these ground crawlers.”

“Yes!” she scent cast to him in a strong flow of aggregation and territorial pheromones. Her thorax arms touched a panel in front of her. “Sending warnings! Sending action scents!”

Seven looked back to the several perception imagers that covered the chamber wall before him. In the deep past fellow Swarmers had sometimes invaded the nest clusters of other Swarmers, as part of a territorial takeover. But none of the tree-dwelling Soft Skins on his home of Nest had ever invaded a Swarmer nest that held millions of Swarmers. The tree thieves had learned ages ago that visiting a Swarmer nest brought swift stinging from dozens of Swarmers, stings that quickly killed any attacking creature. Now, the ancient past had visited his flying nest. He glanced to the within nest Servant.

“Swarmer! Signal to every caste that they must sting these invaders! Let them suffer the death of a hundred stings!”

Excitement flowed from the Servant. He flapped his wings and rose up above his bench even as one of his thorax arms touched a control panel. “Yes, yes, the Swarm will fly to kill all these intruders!”

Seven looked back to the perception imagers that showed the three tubeways where Soft Skins had entered his nest. He gave thanks to the skies of Nest that the entry points were on the outer portions of his nest. The larval chamber was deeply located, as was his Flight Chamber. There were many six-groups of Swarmers spread through his flying nest. Surely they would overcome these invaders. And though the Soft Skins wore outer shells that looked metal hard, his Fighters had weapons of their own, in addition to the tail stinger possessed by every Swarmer. He wondered whether one of these large Soft Skins could survive multiple stings. If one did, or several survived, he would enjoy counting the number of stings he could inflict before a Soft Skin became still and dead.

♦   ♦   ♦

Jane stopped ahead of him. She gestured left. “Chief, the entry hatch there is three times the size of the ones we’ve passed. Might be an important room. Do we enter?”

“We enter,” he said, motioning Jack forward. “Lance corporal, put one of your magnetic mines against that hatch. Let’s see how big a hole you can make.”

“Right.”

The Marine moved forward and pulled a dome-shaped mine loose from his waist. Every combat hard shell carried two mines in addition to tubes of C4. They were for close-up entry. The rockets in each backpack were intended to handle distant entries, or groups of soldiers. To him, every wasp they met was an enemy soldier. They were on the wasp ship, therefore they were combatants. Briefly he recalled the hysteria earlier in the century when a prior American president had withdrawn America’s enrollment in the UN Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons. Protocols in the CCW had limited the use of landmines and cluster bombs against other militaries, and napalm against civies. While the CCW never prohibited the use of napalm and landmines against enemy militaries, still, that had been the media interpretation. He felt glad that the enrollment action by the former President Obama had been reversed decades ago. Also reversed was the reduction in American navy, air and ground forces. Actions that had been vital during the Mauritius landing against the jihadists, the massive air battle over the Strait of Malacca, and against other whackos elsewhere in the world. While he had no issue with enemy civilians, anyone who supported an enemy he counted as a combatant. Whether they wore a uniform or were ‘official’ according to the world media, he didn’t give a damn. Fortunately, other presidents had shared his pragmatism.

Jack stepped back. “Chief, it’s ready to blow.”

Richard scanned his troops. Jane was facing the tubeway that ran beyond the big hatch, ready to kill any new wasp that appeared. Didier was doing the same on the tubeway section that led back to their Dart, which Howard was keeping the Dart hot and ready for their return. Standing against either tubeway wall were Tim and Jack, who held a detonator switch. Both had their arms aimed at the six meter wide circular hatch that filled one side of the tubeway.

“Jerry, going forced entry here,” he said, giving thanks the AI blocked any outside transmission of what he said to it. It prevented his troops from being confused by chatter meant just for the AI.

“Understood,” the AI said brightly. “All sensors continue active. All weapons systems are operational. As are the jet packs on your legs. Any chance we’ll go flying?”

He smiled to himself. The hard shell’s AI had a fixation with the suit’s ability to fly short distances, using liquid fuel jets affixed to each of his legs. They were a standard feature of every hard shell. But limited fuel kept their use limited. “Nope. No flying yet. But keep your sensors active for approaching enemy.”

“Active we are!”

Shaking his head, Richard joined Tim and Jack in aiming his flamethrower and shotgun at the hatch, while tonguing on his belly laser. “Blow it.”

“
Kabooom
!”

Yellow flame and black smoke filled the tubeway wall. He jumped through as Jerry’s radar sensor told him a large hole had been blown into the tubeway wall. Amidst the smoke he moved left, squatted and leaned forward. The floor thudded as his Marines followed him inside and spread out to the right and left, going to their knees to reduce their exposure to incoming fire. The smoke cleared. Before him he saw gobs of wasps gathered around pillars with tubes sticking out from them. Some still had the tubes in their wasp mouths, while most were trying to rise from the room’s floor where the blast shockwave had knocked them. Three rose in the air and winged toward him and his people.

“Kill ‘em all!” he yelled.

Richard tongued a control. A rocket spat out from his backpack and arced through the high-ceilinged room. As it flew its nose cone opened and small bomblets whirred out. The cluster bomb warhead was just one of the options in his backpack.

His fingers contracted. Yellow flame shot from his right arm, reaching out ten meters. It was joined by streams of flame from Jane, Tim, Jack and Didier. Some of his Marines were firing their shotguns to either side of the room, since the solid shot from the shotguns had a greater range than the flamethrowers.

Blackened wasps fell from the air.

Yellow bodies showed gaping red holes as solid slugs punched through their hard outer skin.

To the room’s rear, two wasps rose up. Each aimed a long tube toward him and his people.

“Danger!” yelled Jerry in a high screech. “Energy—”

“Scatter!” he yelled, diving to the floor and rolling to one side.

Two yellow lightning bolts passed over his head.

A rocket shot out from Jane’s backpack.

Its red flame traced a path toward the two armed wasps.

It exploded in a gout of yellow flame as the napalm warhead created a raging inferno that enveloped the far side of the room. Some of the jelled liquid stuck to pillars and wasps beyond the ball of flame, burning into whatever it touched.

“Clear?” called Tim from his right.