Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet (36 page)

Wakinyan was bewildered for
a second, as he gawked at the dead machine. However, the glint of
steel brought his mind to refocus on a man standing just behind
where the machine-man-thing had been poised to kill him. It was
Sergeant Gagarin.

“Sorry for the
interruption, Commander, but I thought you like your blade back,”
the marine beamed a smile, holding the blood and oil covered edged
weapon that had just been used to stab Alpha-538.

* * * * *

A few minutes later, the
conflict was over. The security room was burned out, shot up, and
strewed with bodies. However, the majority of those killed were
Earthers. The compartment now rested firmly in Martian Marine
hands.

Wakinyan slowly and
deliberately strolled through room, taking in every little detail
of the bloodshed into his mind. Sadness tugged at his heart as he
counted all the Martian Marine lives that were spent in the
assault.

“It could have been a lot
worse,” Major Franks consoled, seemingly knowing what was in
Wakinyan’s thoughts. “If Benson’s team hadn’t lock down the ship
from that computer terminal, we’ve would been fighting more of
them.”

“It was a good idea,
Major,” Richard praised. “I’m really glad he thought of
it.”

“Speak of the devil,” Major
Franks grinned as he caught sight of Captain Benson
approaching.

The captain was quick in
his strides and presented himself to his two superiors with a sharp
salute.

“Sir, the
area is secure,” Benson reported. “We’ve freed all of the
Mariner’s
crewmen, but
they all were beaten up pretty badly and need medical
attention.”

“And Commander Paladin?”
Wakinyan asked.

“According to his security
officer, they’re holding him on the bridge, Sir!”

Richard then turned to
Franks. “Major, get your marines ready, they’ll be expecting
us.”

“Aye, Sir, but I think it
will be more on the lines of them fearing us,” Franks commented and
then walked away.

A smiled came to Wakinyan’s
lips. He then glanced back to Benson. “Captain, you think you’ve
got things covered here?”

“Don’t worry, Sir. This is
Martian Marine property now. And the only people were handing it
over is to you and Commander Paladin!” the marine officer spoke
with an unmistakable conviction.

Wakinyan’s jaw jutted out
with pride. He knew he commanded the finest space soldiers in the
galaxy. Placing a hand on the marine’s shoulder, Wakinyan gently
squeezed the man’s flesh in approval. He then released Benson, and
treaded off after the marine major.

“ALL RIGHT MARINES, LISTEN
UP!” growled Major Franks. “THE EARTHERS ARE HOLDING COMMANDER
PALADIN PRISONER ON THE BRIDGE! ARE WE GOING TO ALLOW THESE GARBAGE
SUCKING MAGOTS TO GET AWAY WITH THAT? ARE WE GOING TO TOLERATE THEM
ANY FURTHER?”

“NO!!!” shouted every
Martian Marine in unison.

“WHAT DO YOU SAY THEN?”
Franks inflamed his men.

“OOH-RAH!!!” they yelled
back at the top of their lungs.

“THEN LET’S TAKE THE
BASTARDS OUT!” Franks inflamed further. “SEMPER FI!”

“SEMPER FI, SIR!!!” the
marines chanted like the ringing of huge church bells.

With Wakinyan and Major
Franks leading the way, the Martian Marines charged out of the
security room ready for another fight.

* * * * *

Damon nervously loaded a power-pack into the
electron pistol he held in his hand and set it to kill. The
administrator had never used a weapon before, and the realization
of the seriousness of the situation totally frightened him.

Khalid
was the leader now, but his controlled was limited to the bridge of
the
Morning Star
.
He hastily fortified it with whatever could be found and used for
protection against the assault he knew would
come.

The mood of the bridge crew
steadily deteriorated since the power to all instrumentation was
shut down from the security room. Even more alarming was the total
loss of all communication beyond the chamber’s walls. The situation
was pessimistic at best.

Still
Khalid held some hope. His ship—the
Mir
—was on its way and was expected to
arrive soon. Omar was also ready to play his ace in the hole:
Commander Paladin. The prisoner was a good bargaining chip. Omar
Khalid, however, was a realist, and if a deal was not struck,
Khalid was prepared to kill the old Martian
officer.

After the defenses were
set, every ion handgun was aimed at the hatchway—the only way in.
Khalid and his followers then settled back and waited. The emotions
of uncertainty and fear churned the air in growing apprehension,
for time was running out. Abruptly, the whine of electric motors
interrupted the long silence on the bridge, startling many of the
crew.

“THE BLAST SHIELDS ARE
CLOSING!” an unknown voice yelled out.

Omar jerked his head to
gaze upon the steel shutters closing over every one of the bridge’s
portholes and windows. He knew this was an ominous sign. His heart
raced in his chest as he began to sweat.

Next, all power to the
bridge was cut off, and the room fell into complete
blackness.

“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” a
woman sobbed in the background.

“SHUT UP!” shouted Khalid
to silence the coward before she started a panic.

Suddenly, a deafening
explosion rocked the bridge in a burst of light and a surging wave
of torrent force. The hatchway slammed against the bulkhead with a
clang, denting the metal wall as it was blown open. A shroud of
blue smoke then slowly choked the room. It rolled in like an
ocean’s surf and hung as a translucent curtain.

The lights of the bridge
then flickered slowly, eerily for many long seconds before coming
back on. It was followed by a foreboding calm that was soundless
and still. It spooked all of the defenders, some more than others.
A few more women began to cry, while a terrified Colonel Galler
sat, covering his head with his hands and rocking back and
forth.

“I don’t want to die!” the
man pleaded. “Please, I don’t want to die!”

Captain Jacobs agreed
heartily, as he crouched next to Khalid and Commander Paladin. He
realized the folly of his part in going along with Damon’s scheme,
for nothing ever good came from money tainted with blood. It was
all stupidity—and he had nothing but his own greed to
blame.

“This is crazy,” he mouthed
his complaint to Khalid. “How the hell are we suppose to fight off
heavily armed troops with body armor with these things?”

“Would you rather hang?”
Khalid retorted angrily. “Because that’s what happens to mutineers!
Ask Paladin if you don’t believe me!”

Paladin,
however, seized upon the opportunity to drive a wedge between the
captain of the
Morning Star
and Khalid.

“Jacobs, listen to me! Up
to this point, you haven’t cost anyone their life. If you and your
crew surrender now, I promise leniency.” Paladin honestly
guaranteed.

“Sure you do,” Omar mocked
the Martian officer, “and afterwards, he’ll be standing on the
scaffold next to me.”

“Jacobs,” Paladin
continued. “You can either believe me or believe this traitor. The
choice is yours. But how long do you think you’ll last against
those marines?”

Khalid, however, was sure
of the power he held over Jacobs. “Don’t waste your breath, old
man. He’s in this too deep. And if we die, you’ll be right along
side of us!” Omar said with a sadistic chuckle.

Moments later, smoke
grenades were heaved through the hatchway, popping and fizzing to
life. The room began to swell with thick clouds of gas that formed
a gray screen of cover. And when all visibility was gone, the
shuffling of hidden combat boots began to scuffle against the metal
deck.

Martian Marines penetrated
cautiously into the room in “stacks” of four. With weapons held at
the ready, their numbers grew as each small group entered and moved
forward, taking up their assigned positions.

Suddenly a frenzy of panic
set in among some of the loyalist security guards who began firing
at echoes and imagined phantoms emerging from the smoke as well as
their own terror. But the heat signatures of their weapons and
bodies betrayed their locations to the marines’ infrared equipment.
The snipers were quickly targeted—and then neutralized.

Soon, the moans of the wounded and the dying
guards joined the chorus of the crying women. It pervaded every ear
with the promise of pain and violent death. In the weird atmosphere
of choking smoke and the stench of carbon scoring, it multiplied
the deepest fears among the surviving bridge crew.

“Enough!” admitted Jacobs.
“We’re surrendering!”

The
outburst caught Khalid completely by surprise. However, Omar
swiftly swung his pistol at the
Morning
Star’s
captain.

“You say one more word, and
I’ll kill you!” Khalid threatened. “Now, drop your
weapon!”

Paladin saw the submission
and desolation in Jacobs’ eyes; the man did not want to die.
Jacobs, however, was frozen in indecision of what to do next. It
was then that Paladin chose to take a gamble. In a flash, he hurled
his body into Omar with all the force he could muster.

As Sergeant Gagarin
approached with his “stack” in the lead, he heard the sounds of ion
guns discharging close by. The marines quickly dropped down,
probing the smoke through their infrared scopes. However, the fire
was not directed at them—and quickly ended.

“DON’T SHOOT!” a familiar
electronic voice cried out from the veiled fumed mist.

“Commander?” Gagarin yelled
back, recognizing the voice. “Commander Paladin?”

“Yes!” Paladin
answered.

“Sergeant Gagarin, Sir,
Martian Marine Corps. Are you alright, Sir?”

“I am now, Sergeant!”
Paladin expressed happily. “I have a wounded and unarmed man with
me, who wants to stand up and address the rest of the bridge
crew.

For a moment, Gagarin
paused, but he then cautiously agreed. “Tell him to stand up very
slowly, Sir—and make no sudden movements!” the marine warned
sternly.

Gagarin motioned his team
to form a skirmish line. He then looked through his scope and
waited. An infrared image rose sluggishly up behind a piece of
equipment seconds later. The figure was unsteady and looked
injured. Still, Gagarin’s index finger tightened around the trigger
of his weapon. He was not about to take any chances.

“THIS IS CAPTAIN JACOBS!”
the man called out to everyone on the bridge. “CAPTAIN KHALID IS
DEAD! I AM IN COMMAND NOW! LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS! WE ARE
SURRENDERING!”

* * * * *

Aboard
the
Crazy Horse
,
Captain James Randall faced his own problems. The most notable
being the
Crazy Horse
and
Morning Star
tethered precariously together by the air hoses welded to the
space liner. Randall’s job was to protect these at all costs, lest
he might be responsible for the loss of all life aboard the space
liner.

It was
not an easy task. To fend off several assaults, however, he had to
reinforce the marines holding the juncture with armed crewmen from
the
Crazy Horse
several times. In one instance, he even used the destroyer’s
multi-barreled anti-missile lasers to break up a concentrated
attack by over a hundred spacesuited security guards. At
point-blank range, it was extremely dangerous—and messy. Bodies and
body parts now drifted lazily about, along with some debris from
minor hits on the liner. Some of the dead were shredded and burned
beyond recognition, but this was the harvest of
war.

Now a new
threat materialized as Randall gazed at the ship’s tactical
monitor. The
Mir
was moving on their position, and its weapons were fully
energized. The big cruiser was unfortunately alerted to the
boarding prior to the loss of communication with the
Morning Star
.

The
Mir’s
executive officer, Lieutenant Desh, was a contentious man who
no bore no loyalty to anyone other than himself. He assumed that
Khalid was either taken captive or dead. A once native of the Earth
region of India before his migration to Mars, the tall thin man
salivated at this thought. For it meant nothing to him other than a
promotion in rank and above all—his own ship. Still, the situation
needed to be handled just right, for the “fallout” from the wrong
decision would be enormous.

Randall
reviewed the few options he had. Retreating was out of the
question. The hose lines and the welded plates were too fragile to
chance a quick departure that would cause a fatal breach to
the
Morning Star
,
killing everyone aboard. The second option of initiating a reckless
fight was sure to doom both tethered ships as easy targets. He
chose, however, a third option: to sit, sweat, and
wait.