The Last Praetorian
Chapter Nine

Present Day

Terra Nova, Zeta Aquilae System

Several days after the senior staff meeting, Jon was overseeing the final loading of the nondescript freighter they had decided to use for the assault on the Syndicate outpost. David and Gunny had submitted a comprehensive tactical plan, including schematics and detailed timings. Paul and Jon had spent many hours, late into the night, reviewing the plan, discussing what could and might go wrong, refining it and preparing for various contingencies. Finally agreeing any more planning would be pointless, they signed off on the plan, distributing it to the various department heads to update their respective teams.

Now, the final stages of the plan were coming together, with the ship being prepared and the assault teams boarding. A loud clanking distracted Jon from reviewing the final checklist and, looking up, he was stunned at the sight of the marine boarding party approaching. All of the assault team had been fitted out in marine assault armour. With the modern space marine being expected to fight in all possible environments, from the cold vacuum of space to the varied environments of the different Confederation planets, marine armour had been adapted to the point of becoming a completely all-encompassing environmental suit. Totally sealed, heavily armoured with integrated sensors, communications and weapon attachments, it had more in common with a modern starship than the armour worn by the marines of old. The effect was to make the approaching marines look like a troupe of darkly armoured beetles with multiple appendages. All of this made the armour highly restricted, permitted only for active military personnel and totally illegal to be in the possession of anybody else, such as themselves.

“Interesting equipment, Gunny,” Jon commented dryly, recognising his bulky shape as he shuffled past. What marine combat armour lost in terms of speed over the years, was more than compensated for by the sheer firepower and protection it provided. “You must let me know where you came across a dozen of those suits.” After a moment’s thought Jon added. “Come to think of it, I would prefer that I didn’t know.”

“You would be amazed at what you find working as a cargo hauler,” Gunny’s voice boomed out of the concealed speakers within the suit, forcing Jon to take a step back from the blast of noise. Trying to get rid of the ringing from his ears Jon wondered what it was about marines that they had to do everything in the loudest way possible.

“Well carry on, Gunny,” Jon replied, stepping aside so the huge suits could squeeze through the airlock into the waiting freighter. Jon was glad he would be up on the flight deck as the hold was going to be very tightly packed indeed.

Ensuring all the marines and supplies were loaded and secure, Jon closed the airlock and sealed it before making his way to the small bridge on the freighter. On arriving Jon slid into the co-pilot seat next to Miranda, who was going to be piloting the outbound leg of the journey.

“Is everybody secure in the back?” Paul inquired, as he took the remaining seat on the small bridge.

“Sure are,” Jon replied calmly, glancing over the fight instruments to ensure the ship was ready for departure. “If the Syndicate station personnel react in a similar fashion to me when faced with those marines they are going to be in for a big surprise. Have you finished the pre-flight?” Jon directed the question towards Miranda.

“Yes we’re ready,” Miranda replied. “The pre-flight check shows all systems are green and we are ready to depart.”

“Very well, let’s get this show on the road,” Jon replied with a grin. Flicking a switch to activate the communications system. “Terra Nova this is UCF1 requesting permission to depart,” Jon requested.

“UCF1?” Miranda mouthed silently to Paul.

“Under-Cover-Freighter 1,” Paul replied, laughing. “What can I say? We have an outstanding tactical officer who is completely useless at thinking up codenames.”

Having received permission from C&C that they could depart, Jon nodded towards Miranda who, after ensuring the docking clamps had been disengaged, slowly eased power to the engines and the lumbering freighter moved away from the docking ring.

With some surprise Miranda realised this was the first time she had left the station in a couple of months, ever since her last disastrous flight. She hoped this trip would not end as badly as the last.

“What’s our flight time, Miranda?” Jon inquired, recognising the flash of nerves that had crossed her face for a brief second.

“Approximately four-and-a-half hours,” she replied, confused at his simple question when a quick glance at the flight console would have answered his question. It was not until she looked up from her console that her jaw dropped open in shock. Instead of closely monitoring the flight controls, which, as co-pilot he should be doing, Jon had his feet up on the control panel and was leaning back in his chair.

“Great,” Jon said. “Lots of time then. So Paul, how are the family?” Jon directed the question at his operations officer who had also resting comfortably in his chair.

“Good thanks. We are thinking about trying for another.”

“Be good to have another addition to the crew,” Jon replied with a grin. “You will need to be quick if you want to be first though,” he added. “Station scuttlebutt has our lovely pilot here getting very friendly with a certain young communications officer.”

Jon sent a wink towards Paul, throwing back at him his comment from a few weeks ago.

“I’m what?” Miranda replied, gob-smacked. “I will have you know that Lieutenant Anders and I have shared a few meals to discuss…”

Miranda was so caught up in her indignant response she failed to notice the smiles on the faces of the two other occupants of the bridge. Both were experienced combat veterans, familiar with pre-mission nerves, and were satisfied they had managed to distract Miranda from her concerns.

Almost exactly four-and-a-half hours later, the external sensors on the freighter picked up the mass of the small Syndicate station, directly ahead. As a well-oiled team that had frequently been in similar positions, Jon and Paul turned back to their consoles to carefully monitor the situation.

“We’ve been picked up by the station,” Paul calmly informed the two pilots. “They are powering up their weapon systems and locking onto the ship.” Miranda visibly tensed at this piece of news, waiting for the first shots to be fired that would result in their demise.

Jon reached over to put a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “It’s nothing to be concerned about. They are just playing it safe. I expect them to be contacting us right about now.” Jon pointed at the flashing light on the communication console that registered an incoming message. “Now, just like we rehearsed. Play it cool,” Jon said smoothly, before opening a two-way communication channel.

The voice of the Syndicate station operator filled the bridge. “Unidentified ship, this is restricted space. Identify yourself immediately or we will be forced to open fire on you.” With a reassuring grin Jon motioned Miranda to respond.

“What do you mean, unidentified?” Miranda responded, putting just the right amount of outrage in her voice. “This is a scheduled cargo transfer. Who screwed up over there and missed this off the logs?” Miranda demanded.

The voice from the station suddenly fell silent, as this obviously was not the usual response of an unidentified ship.

A few moments later another voice came on the channel, inquiring in a calm voice. “Please identify yourself and purpose.”

“It’s me, Miranda,” she replied, praying to whichever god this person recognised her. She had only been to this station infrequently, shuttling whichever senior level executive was to join one of their high level meetings, and fending off their unwanted advances throughout the trip.

“The ship is the Eden carrying replacement power transformers. I was just told to pilot this hunk of junk here. I was told this shipment was expected. Seems like somebody screwed up over there.” Miranda had remembered the last time she was here the crew were constantly bitching about the failed power transformers. Hopefully this would make the shipment seem more believable.

It felt like the response took an eternity coming, but in actual fact it could not have been more than a couple of seconds before the voice replied. “Very well Eden, docking permission granted, please use docking bay three.” Then the communication abruptly terminated.

“They are powering down weapons,” Paul said after a few moments checking the sensors. “Looks like they fell for it.”

Confirming the same readings from his console, Jon nodded in agreement before turning to Miranda.

“Take us in nice and slow and establish a hard-seal at the docking port they described. I assume you know which one that is?” Jon asked hopefully. Miranda nodded in acknowledgement and started to move the ship towards the station.

Hitting the intercom to the cargo hold Jon ordered. “Gunny, David, prepare your teams. We will be docking in five minutes.”

It was difficult to know what the crew of the Syndicate station had been expecting upon opening the airlock from their side. Certainly one of the last things they were expecting was a dozen heavily armed marines to burst out, shouting though their amplified speakers for nobody to move. The maintenance crew was stunned by the sudden appearance of the marines. They were quickly rounded up and restrained. Once the marines had ensured the docking port was secure and safely in the hands of the security team they moved out into the station to secure the computer core.

Monitoring the on-going operation from the flight deck of the freighter, Jon, Paul and Miranda were unable to hear the gunfire from the station, but were able to monitor the progress of the assault team via their internal communications system. Hence the first indication they received that the assault team had been detected was the shout of “Incoming!” via the communications followed by the clatter of heavy automatic weaponry in the background.

There had been a long discussion prior to the operation about the weaponry carried by the team. Standard tactics for a marine boarding party was to be issued with energy based weaponry, which worked in all possible environments. Gunny had promptly discarded this with the comment that the only good use for an energy weapon was to cook your dinner. In his experience energy weapons were heavy, bulky and had a notoriously slow rate of fire. They were however the preferred weapon for ship (or station) based combat as they worked in the vacuum of space.

“If we end up losing atmosphere on the station, they are screwed anyway,” Gunny commented with his usual bluntness. “The crew is going to have bigger worries than dealing with my marines!” Hence Gunny had issued all the team with projectile-based assault weapons. These could not be used in the vacuum of space but were deadly in the close confines of the station.

That decision turned out to be the correct one. As the defenders quickly found themselves pinned down by the heavy automatic gunfire from the attacking marines. Their own pulse based laser weapons, with their slow rate of fire, proved very ineffective against the heavily armoured marines.

“How are we doing Gunny?” Jon asked conversationally.

“We’re making good progress Commander; we are nearly at the computer core. However, it would seem the station security personnel have fallen back to a last line of defence around the core, and they are dug in pretty deep. It could take some time.”

“One minute Gunny,” the frantic waving from Paul interrupted Jon.

“Looks like the station has started broadcasting some sort of distress signal. It’s heavily encrypted and the computer cannot break the encryption but the fact that the signal is duplicated every thirty seconds indicates some sort of automated or repeated message,” Paul explained.

“Gunny, it would seem that the station has started broadcasting a distress signal. Can you terminate the signal from your position?”

Ducking back under cover for a brief moment, Gunny reviewed the positioning of his party and called out over their tactical frequency. “Jonas, Jackson get up to communications and lay some demolition charges up there. We need to stop that signal before somebody comes to investigate.” With a nod of understanding the two marines bringing up the rear of the assault team checked their suits computer for the location of the communication equipment and, after identifying the quickest path, fell back from the rest of the group.

“Jonas and Jackson are on the way Commander!” Gunny shouted over the communication link. Noting that once again the station security personnel were falling back under the withering gunfire he motioned for his team to advance…

Several minutes later the freighter was shaken violently by a string of explosions surrounding one of the station’s central hubs.

“The transmission has now ceased,” Paul said, matter-of-factly, giving a cat-like smile, as he peered out of the cockpit window with a whistle. “Wow! Those marines sure did a number on that station.” He added noticing the deep rents along the station where the explosives had detonated together with a growing field of hull debris being jettisoned away from the station.

“Good job guys. Transmission has terminated,” Jon updated the marines via the communication link. “We need to pick up the schedule, as we have no idea if anybody received that transmission and how long it will take for them to respond.” Unfortunately the ships sensors, picking up several gravimetric distortions, quickly answered Jon’s rhetorical question.

“We’ve got incoming!” Paul called out urgently.

“What have you got?”

“Sensors are picking up several gravimetric distortions thirty kilometres from our starboard bow.”

“Any idea regarding numbers?”

“Not yet,” Paul said. “They are coming in close formation so I cannot isolate the distortions any more accurately.”

At the confused look from Miranda, Jon quickly explained. “We cannot track ships while they are in FTL, but we can detect when ships are about to enter or exit FTL by the massive amounts of gravity waves caused by their FTL engines generating worm-holes in our space-time. It would seem we are about to receive company,” Jon replied tensely.

“How did they arrive so quickly?” Miranda asked reasonably. “We only detected the transmission several minutes ago and quickly shut it down.”

“No idea, with any luck it is just another ship on a scheduled arrival.” Behind the two pilots Paul just snorted in disbelief.

“Yeah, like we ever get a lucky break. Here they come!” He exclaimed as the gravity distortion finally abated to leave several ships, fast approaching the station. “Sensors are detecting two assault shuttles with five, no make that six fighters in close escort,” Paul cursed.

A communication from the approaching group broke the sudden silence on the bridge with the curt orders. “Unidentified ship, this station is private property, you are ordered to power down all systems and surrender, otherwise you will be destroyed.”

“Well, there goes the neighbourhood,” Jon quipped. “Paul, how long until they arrive at the station?” Jon asked.

“If they remain at this approach velocity a little under three minutes.”

Tapping open a secure communication channel with the crew on the station Jon ordered. “David, Patrick we have incoming reinforcements estimated arrival time is a little less than three minutes, fall back to the ship and prepare to depart.”

“Commander,” Gunny objected. “We are at the computer core now, they have secured the doors and we are cutting through now. We need more time.”

Glancing at the tactical screen showing the real-time unfolding situation Jon thought for a moment, before replying. “Understood, we are moving to the backup plan,” Jon said.

“Acknowledged, we will try and speed things up this side,” Reynolds replied before turning to the marines who were currently using a laser cutter on the heavy blast doors. “We’re out of time, pull your men back, we’ll blow the doors.”

Meanwhile Jon was busy removing his restraining harness, while ordering Paul. “Make sure David and the security team are secure then make all possible speed to the nearest FTL jump-point.”

“But what about the marines on the station?” Miranda interjected in a worried tone.

“They’re marines,” Jon replied sardonically. “They are used to being abandoned by the fleet. Don’t worry they will be making plans to make their own way home. Paul you have the bridge,” Jon ordered over his shoulder, as he hurried towards the exit.

“And where the hell is he going?” Miranda demanded as the door of the bridge slid shut leaving Paul and her alone to deal with the unfolding disaster.

“He’s gone to take care of that bunch,” Paul thumbed his finger out of the starboard window in the approximate direction of the incoming ships. A few moments later a hard knock was felt causing the freighter to shudder as something detached from the underside. Miranda was stunned to see the Eternal Light drifting away. Once at a safe distance, the main engines for the smaller ship powered up and it shot off in the direction of the oncoming ships.

“He’s going to take them on by himself? Is he nuts?” Miranda demanded in complete disbelief.

“I would worry less about him and the ’Light,” Paul insisted. “And more about ourselves, unless we get moving,” Paul replied tersely. Rapidly flicking switches to bring the freighters engines up from a cold start. “Anyway he is the best pilot that I have ever seen,” Paul added matter-of-factly.

“I almost had him,” Miranda replied smugly.

Affording a quick glance at the younger woman Paul replied delicately “I understand Jon was going easy on you. According to him he was hoping that you would lose interest. Anyway, he was very grateful you survived the destruction of your ship. He said he would have been mortified if he killed anyone with such a great posterior,” Paul added glibly frantically trying to nurse the engines into life.

“He said what?” Miranda exclaimed in disbelief, completely forgetting about the approaching threat and turning her full attention to Paul.

“Uh…” Paul said, frantically trying to change the topic of conversation. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that, should I? Anyway it was after quite a few drinks in my apartment and we got talking about you and that young communications officer that you were dating.” Not realising that he was digging a hole for himself.

“And…?” Miranda insisted, her eyes narrowing at Paul.

“Well,” Paul hedged. “I might have mentioned something about you and the afore mentioned communications officer and obviously commenting about your radiant beauty.” Paul had recognised the cliff that was looming ahead and was frantically trying to start bridge building.

“Let’s get to the part you were discussing my ass.” Miranda insisted, venomously.

“Well, Jon made some sort of comment about how he was grateful that you were unharmed in the incident as otherwise he would never have gotten the opportunity to know you better.” Paul hedged.

“He said that?” Miranda replied thoughtfully, her expression softening slightly.

“Then he mentioned about observing your fantastic ass,” Paul added helpfully.

“He had better make it through this alive,” Miranda insisted in response. “Then I can kill him.” she growled.

“Finally!” Paul cheered in celebration as the engines reached full power from the cold start-up. Flicking the communication channel open. “David, are you and the rest of your security team secured?” he inquired.

“We have just secured the airlock this side and we are ready to depart,” David responded.

“Let’s go then!” Paul insisted hurriedly, motioning towards Miranda to pilot the freighter away from the station.

“I cannot.” Miranda motioned towards the flight console and specifically the docking lights showing they were still firmly docked to the station. “We need to wait for the station to release the docking clamps before we can depart.” Miranda explained calmly to Paul’s increasing incredulous face.

“In this instance we are going to skip a few items from the pilot’s standard pre-departure checklist,” Paul commented derisively. “I’ll introduce you to a term in the navy my old squadron commander called ‘ex-fil’, or what Jon commonly refers to as ‘getting the hell out of Dodge’.” With that, he leaned forward, slamming the throttles to both engines straight to full thrust.

The slight shudder through the freighter as the Eternal Light decoupled was nothing compared to the terrifying screaming of metal as the powerful engines of the freighter fought against the clamps securing the ship to the station. It seemed for a terrible instance the powerful clamps would be victorious but, with a final terrible roar of stressed metal, the supporting clamps and a good portion of the station were torn free as the engines of the freighter propelled it away.

“Don’t worry,” Paul added reassuringly. “I am sure they will not be billing us for the damage.”

“Fire in the hole!” Gunny’s voice echoed out across the team’s tactical channel followed a moment later by the heavy bulkhead doors protecting the computer core being enveloped in a blistering explosion. Before the explosion had even dissipated Gunny was through the hole gouged in the door, throwing stun grenades to immobilise any defenders. The marines had no particular care if the defenders survived the encounter or not but, instead, had settled on these to avoid any possible damage to the computer core, their main objective.

As it turned out the use of the stun grenades was fairly superfluous, as the defenders were already totally disorientated from the earlier heavy explosion. The marines quickly disarmed the defenders and restrained them, while two marines started the delicate job of dismantling the computer core.

“How long will this take?” Gunny demanded as the two techs quickly started pulling off deck panelling.

“Should only take a few minutes, sir,” one of the techs replied. “These cores are designed to be portable for easy replacement and repair.” A few moments later the deck under the marines started to vibrate rapidly then, with a noted sudden drop in air-pressure, sirens started to wail in the background and emergency blast doors started to close.

“That could be a few minutes too long,” Gunny muttered aloud, “I think that was our ride that just departed...”

Approximately ten kilometres away from the Syndicate station, and still accelerating hard towards the incoming enemy ships, Jon noted on the scanner as the freighter slowly started to pull away from the station. However, according to the ship’s tactical computer, the enemy ships were still going to overtake the fleeing freighter several minutes before it could make its escape into FTL.

“Looks like I need to buy Miranda and Paul some time,” Jon said to himself, in the Eternal Light, instructing the ship’s on-board computer to deploy the internal missile pods. Having expected trouble on this expedition the Eternal Light had additional weapon systems installed, as it was the closest the company had to a dedicated assault shuttle.

Arming missiles and targeting the nearest ship, the tactical computer bleeped to inform him the weapon pods were now deployed and on-line. Confirming the missiles had a strong lock on the lead fighter, Jon launched the first salvo at maximum range.

The missiles sped out of their launch tubes and, with a glaring light as their main engines fired rapidly, accelerated towards the on-coming ships. Jon continued to fire the remaining dozen alternating between the oncoming ships, until the launchers were empty. For a few brief seconds, the Eternal Light was true to its name as deadly missiles, one after the other, sped away from the ship in a brilliant pyrotechnic display. Watching them on his tactical computer he remembered the words of his earliest flight instructor.

“When you have missiles, use them! Keep using them until you have no more! You cannot take them with you into the next life.”

Watching the approaching ships carefully, Jon noted as soon as they detected the incoming missiles. Obviously treating the Eternal Light with contempt, the approaching ships had remained in their close formation, but as soon as they detected the missiles every ship broke formation and began a desperate series of violent manoeuvres to avoid them. In addition it quickly became obvious that the approaching shuttles had some sort of point defence weaponry as the missiles targeting these ships disintegrated half a kilometre from the target. The remaining fighters fared less well, with over half being destroyed by the incoming missiles. With the enemy ships’ formation now completely disintegrated, the Eternal Light sped through the gap left by the destroyed ships and slid onto the tail of one of the approaching shuttles. Carefully targeting the engines and flight control surfaces, which Jon knew to be the weak point on these shuttles, he opened fire with the ships forward guns. The battle was well and truly joined.

Miranda watched in open-mouthed amazement, as the ships sensors tracked the battle now less than ten kilometres from their fleeing ship. What had initially started off as a total one-sided fight, with eight enemy ships facing-off against the Eternal Light, had now disintegrated into a free-for-all with three enemy fighters being destroyed in the first missile salvo and what appeared to be a now heavily damaged Syndicate assault shuttle. The enemy ships had been thrown into complete disarray by the ferocity of the attack and, while Jon in the ’Light had the freedom to manoeuvre and fire at will, the remaining ships had to show restraint to ensure that they did not collide or accidently fire on their own ships.

“I’ve never seen anything like that!” Miranda whispered in wonder. Paul spared a look from the engine controls where he had been trying to nurse every spare ounce of thrust out of them and glanced at the unfolding battle on the tactical computer.

“He was the Commander of the 58th Squadron, the Praetorian Guards,” Paul explained tenderly. “They were an elite fighter squadron in the Imperial Navy, personal bodyguards to the Emperor himself and he was the best. His squadron were all destroyed escaping with the emperor’s daughter, Sofia, right under the nose of a rogue navy Commodore. The rest of his squadron gave their lives to buy enough time for the two of them to escape. I think Jon lost more than his squadron that day; he lost the closest thing he had to a family. He has been looking for a purpose in life ever since then.”

Miranda was shocked by the story Paul told, realising she had misjudged Jon badly. She had always assumed he was some cocky, golden boy who had everything in life handed to him. She was about to respond when she glanced at the scanner again. “Uh-oh,” she said. “We seem to have company.”

The scanner clearly showed the one remaining Syndicate shuttle had broken from the battle and was now racing at full speed towards the station. Two fighters had broken off the engagement with Jon’s shuttle and, once clear, had changed their heading towards the escaping freighter, approaching at full speed. Jon was still busy with the remaining fighter and damaged syndicate shuttle and was unable to give chase.

“Yes we definitely have company,” she said, with a newfound confidence in herself. She was determined they all were going to survive this and she promised herself Jon and her were going to have a long talk when they got back home. “Those two fighters are going to be on us in less than thirty seconds, have you got any ideas?” Miranda directed the question to Paul.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do,” Paul replied cryptically, reaching above the flight controls for a concealed panel. Miranda had noticed the unusual panel during her pre-flight inspection prior to leaving Terra Nova. Her curiosity having been piqued by a yellow flag attached to the panel where somebody had scribbled.

Use only in the case of extreme emergency!

At the time she had just discarded it as part of the ships emergency systems, probably a fire suppressant system, she had assumed. Paul discarded the yellow flag with a shake of his head and a quick smile of amusement, before flicking open the panel. A small row of switches resided within it and Paul started flipping these one by one. Slowly, but quickly building in momentum, Miranda noticed vibrations starting to run through the length of the freighter, starting towards the stern of the ship and moving towards the bow. As the vibrations moved towards the flight deck Miranda started to feel the shudder as explosive charges detonated along the length of the ship. In conjunction with the detonation of the charges Miranda started to notice new systems coming on-line as part of the flight control system.

Throughout the length of the ship explosive charges detonated, separating superfluous hull plating from the ship to reveal dozens of weapon ports. As previously-hidden weapon systems started to power up, heavy rail guns and multiple missile batteries smoothly slid out from the hull into their deployed positions.

“You didn’t think this was just any freighter did you?” Paul asked rhetorically, with a smirk, as the tactical computer reported dozens of weapon systems and point defence systems along the length of the ship were now in their fully deployed and active positions.

“With the dramatic increase in attacks over the past few weeks on our ships we decided that it was time to refit a number of our ships to better protect them. I present to you the first fully refitted ship, the Eagle One.” Paul waved his hands in the dramatic impression of a magician who had just pulled off his greatest trick. “The Eagle One is equipped with half a dozen heavy rail guns, bow and stern missile batteries and overlapping point defence weapons. She can go toe-to-toe with any ship in the system up to a Confederation Destroyer, and we could give one of those a run for its money.” Paul winked at Miranda.

“Now let’s give these guys an object lesson in why not to mess with us.” Paul activated the weapons systems, targeting the approaching two fighters before passing total control of the now fully active weapons systems over to the ship’s computer.

Having seen the destruction of three of their fellow ships and the heavy damage inflicted to one of their assault shuttles, the Syndicate pilots were in no mood to leave any survivors alive on the fleeing freighter. Anticipating no resistance they approached at almost full speed, the pilots waiting until they were within point blank range before opening fire. Hence it was already far too late when they recognised the multiple weapons ports on the ship. The lead fighter, already well into his attack run continued, strafing the port side of the ship.

The computer on the Eagle One prioritised the lead fighter and within milliseconds had calculated the approach vector and speed. Determining the ship was too close for an accurate missile lock, the computer activated the port side rail guns. Sighting the approaching fighter, all three portside weapons opened fire with massively dense, depleted uranium rounds. These super dense shells had no explosive component, instead relying upon the kinetic energy of the shell impacting the target at a fraction of the speed of light. With all three-rail guns firing at over a hundred rounds per minute, the approaching fighter disappeared in the barrage of gunfire.

The second fighter, on seeing his lead wingman disappear in a flash of energy frantically let loose a missile before he peeled away from the deadly warship.

While the incoming missile was launched only a few hundred meters from the Eagle One, with a transit time measured in seconds, for the ship’s computer this was an eternity. Simultaneously directing the ship’s point defence guns, similar to the rail guns but much smaller and with a far higher rate of fire, at the incoming missile, the ship armed multiple missiles of its own in the aft launch tubes.

The incoming missile was shredded by the multiple point defence guns spread across the hull more than a hundred meters away from the fleeing freighter, just as the responding missiles left their launch tubes. Unfortunately, the now fleeing fighter did not possess the multitude of defensive guns the Eagle One had. Hence, while the fighter desperately tried to escape, it was hit first by one missile, followed by another a fraction of a second later.

The engagement between the Eagle One and the attacking fighters had only lasted a few seconds but was being monitored closely by Miranda and Paul on the bridge. Both breathed a deep sigh of relief when the second fighter disintegrated after being hit by the missiles.

“We are thirty seconds to the nearest FTL jump point,” Paul confirmed, checking the navigational computer. “We only suffered minor damage to the hull from those fighters,” he exclaimed, relieved.

“What about Jon and the marines still left on the station?” Miranda demanded looking back in the direction of the station and still on-going battle. “We cannot just leave them.”

“We have no choice,” Paul insisted. “We do not know who else might have picked up that distress call and what sort of reinforcements might be on their way. We have used up our element of surprise with this ship; they are not going to fall for the same ruse again. In addition we have almost a dozen crew in the hold that are depending upon us to get them home safely. It’s just too risky for us to remain here,” Paul sighed. “One of the hardest decisions of command is when to leave people behind.”

With that he started the power-up sequence for the ships FTL engine now they were finally away from the gravity field of the nearest moon. Paul did not think it constructive to mention Miranda and Jon were similar in their regard to never leave people behind. It had always been Jon’s belief that nobody got left behind.

Glancing back at the sensors, which showed the still on-going clash around the station with the Eternal Light, Miranda whispered. “Jon, bring them all back home safely.” With that the Eagle One slipped into FTL.

Jon was relieved to observe from the corner of his eye the Eagle One had escaped into FTL.

“At least they made it out safely,” Jon, thought aloud, darting the ship out of the way of another stream of incoming weapons fire. Having quickly destroyed the initial fighters with the ’Lights missile complement and badly damaging one of the shuttles, the fight had quickly degenerated into a free-for-all melee. Unfortunately, at this point, Jon was at a significant disadvantage. No matter how heavily armed the ’Light was, she was still a shuttle and not designed for such close-in combat. The only advantage Jon had, of the opposing ships having to watch their fire to avoid hitting each other, disappeared when two of the fighters and the undamaged shuttle peeled away and set a course directly for the station. The Eternal Light was still stuck fending off the remaining fighter and the occasional shot from the immobilised shuttle. While the two fighters had been dispatched prior to the Eagle One escaping into FTL, the undamaged shuttle had started to dock at the sole remaining undamaged docking port of the station. Jon, meanwhile, was too far away to render assistance to the marines still on board the station. Activating a communication channel to the marines Jon inquired. “Gunny, what is the situation over there?” The response was weak due to the distance from the station but intelligible.

“We have secured the computer core and our making our way to the backup docking port for extraction.”

“Heads up that you have incoming un-friendly’s.”

“Any idea of numbers?”

“Not a clue,” Jon said. “You have one syndicate shuttle docking now. I do not have any information on numbers, but safe to assume that they do not want to meet-and-greet.”

“Understood, looks like we have just been handed our ticket off the station,” Gunny responded. Jon did not think it worthwhile pointing out it was unlikely they were just going to hand over the shuttle to the marines.

“Acknowledged, I’ll be there shortly,” Jon said, jerking the Eternal Light out of the path of another stream of gunfire. “I hope,” he added.

Having extracted the computer core several minutes before, the heavily armed marines had been making for one of the stations hangar decks in the hope of finding a functioning ship when they received Jon’s warning. Having decided that a fully powered up and docked shuttle made a far more inviting target, the Marines changed direction and hurried towards the secondary docking ring.

“Okay, fan out and take up defensive positions,” Gunny ordered, as they neared the shuttle docking ring. The hastily prepared plan was to ambush the attacking force and then capture their shuttle before the crew realised what was happening. The tricky part of the plan was where to stage the ambush; too close to the docking ring could result in damage to the shuttle, which they planned to capture intact. Too far away and the shuttle could depart before they could board it. Finally Gunny settled on the conjunction of the docking ring with the main habitat ring. This was a natural choke point but far enough away from the shuttle to avoid any damage.

Having ensured the rest of the team were behind suitable cover, Gunny ducked behind a bulkhead and checked the magazine on his assault rifle, finding it still almost full. Quickly ejecting the magazine, he slid in a fresh one and checked there was a round in the chamber. Gunny had seen enough combat to know that those extra few rounds could make the difference between life and death. Satisfied his weapon was ready and the rest of his team were behind cover, he readied himself for the appearance of the Syndicate troops and did not have long to wait.

With a pounding of heavy boots the Syndicate troops rounded the airlock into the line of fire of the marines. Dressed in the dark, tactical armour frequently used by corporate security and police teams throughout the sector, and armed with a variety of weaponry, they were obviously not expecting a battle-hardened, and well positioned opposition. While Gunny had not specifically discounted the possibility of surrender it was still an option available to the opposing troops. Unfortunately, that option quickly vanished when the lead soldier, upon sighting the marines, raised his pulse rifle and let loose a volley of gunfire. That was enough for Gunny, who sighted down his rifle and depressed the trigger, sending a salvo of bullets in response.

The rest of the marines opened fire at the same time.

Over time armour had evolved to face the different multitudes of weaponry, from ancient times when heavy armour was first introduced to combat the threat from archers and lancers, through to the lighter and more flexible armour designed to combat propellant based weaponry. With the advent and wide-spread use of energy-based weaponry, armour was suitably adapted. Modern combat armour consisted of multiple layers of alloys and synthetic composites, all designed to spread and dissipate the focused beam from an energy weapon. Unfortunately this armour was far less resistant to the heavy slugs fired from the marine’s automatic weapons. As a result, the lead Syndicate soldier was flung back by several rounds, from different directions, piercing his tactical armour. This had the result of halting the Syndicate advance, as the troopers following close behind all disappeared into a tangle of limbs onto the floor. This probably resulted in saving many of their lives, as the subsequent volley of automatic gunfire from the marines mostly went high. Having overcome their surprise at the sudden onslaught, the Syndicate solders started to pull back to the nearest cover, their responding weapons firing sporadically, at best.

Recognising the marines needed to keep the initiative and could not afford to allow the Syndicate troops to regroup and take-up their own defensive positions, Gunny motioned for the marines to advance. The advantage now switched to the attacking force, as without the element of surprise and with the loss of the marine’s cover, the Syndicate weapons’ fire became more frequent and accurate. However, the heavy armour and high rate-of-fire from the automatic weaponry of the marines managed to keep the Syndicate soldiers behind their limited cover.

Gunny had taken point at the front of the marines and was almost at the corridor intersection where the Syndicate troops had taken cover when one of the soldiers appeared, grenade in hand. Being only inches apart, the soldier was too close for the marine sergeant to bring his weapon to bear and at any moment the soldier was going to overcome his shock and release the grenade.

In desperation, Gunny did the first thing that came to mind, releasing his own weapon and grasping the enemy soldier’s hand in a vice-like grip, totally encompassing the grenade. Having overcome the shock of appearing face-to-face with one of the marines and realising he could not throw the grenade, the soldier brought up his energy pulse pistol and depressed the trigger. At point blank range the weapon couldn’t miss.

Almost immediately Gunny could feel the excruciating pain spreading from his abdomen region, along his veins, like fire spreading across dry kindling. With alarms blaring in his encompassing suit of armour and realising he was only seconds away from blacking out, Gunny took the only option left to him. With the powerful actuators built into the suit, Gunny picked the soldier up like one might lift a small child and, with a massive heave, threw the stunned soldier back down the intersection. Moments later a blinding light and massive explosion threw the marine back against the wall and he finally blacked out.

Sometime later Gunny slowly came back to consciousness. The first thing that hit him was the pain of a massive headache, caused when he hit his head due to the force of the explosion. The burning in his abdomen where the pulse pistol had hit quickly followed.

“Hey Gunny, you okay?” The voice came from above him and, finally managing to focus, he recognised Jonas, one of his fellow marines, peering down at him with a concerned expression on his face.

“Have we secured the shuttle yet?” Reynolds demanded, with a hiss of pain as he breathed in.

“Not yet Gunny, we are just about to assault it now. You did a real number on that Syndicate squad with that grenade. Well it’s their own fault, what ass waves around a primed grenade!” Jonas snorted in professional incredulity. “You need some help?” He asked, noticing the chief still on the ground and obviously in some pain.

“I want that shuttle so we can get off this piece of shit! So get moving marine! I’ll bring up the rear,” Gunny insisted stifling another groan. Jonas just grinned at Gunny before ordering the other marines.

“Let’s move out marines!” He called, “we have a shuttle to secure!” Biting back another groan and trying to keep his movement slow to avoid slipping back into unconsciousness Gunny pulled himself to his feet. Reaching down, he picked up his rifle from the floor and slung it across his shoulder, as no veteran marine would ever abandon his weapon. Using the corridor to support his weight he slowly followed the other marines towards the docked shuttle.

Fortunately there was only a token amount of resistance left to protect the shuttle, as the main body of the Syndicate security forces had already been overpowered, restrained or incapacitated by the marines. Hence, having quickly secured the shuttle bay, the marines were just waiting for Jon to give them the all clear to depart. It would look damn silly to have come all this way, secure the computer core, and fight though the syndicate reinforcements simply to be blown to bits by a syndicate fighter while departing the station.

“Gunny, I think you had better come and have a look at this,” one of the marines reported, grim faced.

Gunny looked up in surprise, anything to turn a marine’s stomach was not good. The shuttle bay broke out into several storage rooms, where cargo both coming onto the station and departing could be temporarily stored. Following the marine to one of the larger storage rooms, Patrick almost gagged at the sight before him. Crammed into the room, shoulder-to-shoulder, gaunt faced, half starved to death, were rows upon rows of people. Predominantly women and children, but some men, they all wore the expression of one resigned to their fate. Gunny did not need to take a second look to recognise people sold into the misery of slavery.

Conducting a quick head-count Gunny found over fifty people packed into the room. Far too many people to fit into the small assault shuttle, even if the marines discarded their bulky assault armour. As a soldier Gunny had faced difficult battlefield decisions before and he considered, briefly, leaving them behind to the Syndicate. A quick glance into the eyes of one of the terrified children, cowering behind its mother, quickly dispelled that option. He or she was little older than Lieutenant Castle’s daughter, whom Gunny often read bedtime stories to. He would not condemn any child into a life of such purgatory. Additionally, the sergeant did not even want to consider what Jon would say when he reported abandoning so many families to the Syndicate.

“Commander, Reynolds here,” Gunny called Jon who was on the Eternal Light. “We have a problem here. We need a bigger ship.”

Jon listened in growing disbelief to the report Gunny made regarding their gruesome discovery on the Syndicate station. Cursing the Syndicate for being involved in almost every illegal and underhand deal in the sector, slavery was a new low even for them. Jon swore he would put an end to this dreadful trade in human misery. However, putting aside his personal feelings Jon focused on the significant tactical problem at hand. With the Eagle One out of communication range in FTL and neither of the ships in their possession possessing the capacity to transfer so many people, they had a significant logistics problem. Waiting for assistance was out of the question, who knows who else had picked up the distresses signal, for all Jon knew further reinforcements were already on the way, they needed a new ship—and fast.

Checking the sensors, Jon was relieved to detect another freighter, already docked at the station, a few bays away from Gunny and his marine team. He had no way to know the status of the freighter, as the ship’s sensors reported all of its systems were powered down.

“Gunny, I am detecting a docked freighter approximately five-hundred meters from your position, outer docking ring, three bays counter-clockwise. Status unknown, it is currently powered down. Can you fly that thing?

“I can fly it,” was the confident response from Gunny.

“Then double time-it Gunny. I think we can expect further reinforcements, of the unfriendly variety, very shortly. I’ll give you cover.”

“Acknowledged, Reynolds out.”

Taking off his headpiece so the already frightened people could hear him without the suits amplifying speakers he called out. “Everybody listen carefully, my name is Gunnery Sergeant Patrick Reynolds, with the Imperial, uh…Confederation, damn… we’re the Marines and we are here to rescue you. There’s a ship big enough to take us all not far from here. I need you all to keep together and follow me. I repeat we are here to rescue you and take you to safety.” The group of people just stood motionless, just staring at him in disbelief.

“MOVE IT PEOPLE! NOW!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, in his best marine sergeant tone of voice. The terrified people fled out of the room, in the direction of the shuttle bay, escorted by the other marines who had fallen into formation around the civilians. Patrick momentarily felt bad about shouting at the obviously deeply-shocked prisoners, but unless they moved quickly none of them were going to be making it off the station alive.

Fortunately, having incapacitated most of the station security following their assault on the computer core, and then the Syndicate reinforcements on their way back to the shuttle, the remaining resistance was extremely light. Arriving at the freighter docking port, Gunny was relieved to see the freighter still firmly docked. He had nightmares on the journey of the freighter departing, and the marines being stranded on the station with the rescued prisoners.

Instead all that awaited them was a small maintenance team, frozen in disbelief at the sight of armoured marines, shepherding dozens of terrified victims into the docking bay.

“Everybody that does not need to be here, out. Now!” shouted Gunny at the immobilised engineers. After all, there was no point wasting time and resources restraining the engineers when the entire station, hell probably the entire system, knew they were there. Grabbing one of the engineering crew as they scurried past, Gunny lifted the poor man a couple of feet of the ground, with the powerful actuators built into the armour. “What is the status of the freighter?” Gunny demanded of the terrified engineer. Eyes wide with terror he could not, or would not answer. Pointing his assault rifle at the engineer, he repeated. “I won’t ask the question three times, what is the status of the freighter?” Gunny enunciated each syllable individually.

“It’s fine, its fine,” the engineer babbled, falling over his own words to answer the question. “We were just told to secure it and power it down until its next run.” Gunny tossed the poor tech aside and strode powerfully towards the freighter. The docking port had been sealed and required a passkey to enter; fortunately this was not an armoured airlock, just a standard security door. Hence Gunny’s powered fist punched straight through the door on the first attempt. Actuators straining from the effort, Gunny pulled the door wide open. Looking through the docking port, Gunny was relieved to see both the station airlock and the freighter airlock open. Both being thick and heavily armoured Gunny knew they would have taken considerable effort to prise open.

“Jonas, inform me when everybody is aboard and strapped in. Seal the exit behind you, I’ll be on the bridge.”

“Sure thing Gunny. You sure you can fly this?”

“They’ve yet to build a ship that I cannot fly, at least in a straight line, marine.”

“Aye, aye, Gunny.”

Leaving Jonas to get the civilians on board, Gunny boarded the freighter, and soon found the bridge.

“Let’s see now,” Gunny stated aloud. “We need main-engine start.” Flicking a switch at random, a claxon sounded throughout the bridge. Hurriedly flicking that one off, Gunny tried the one underneath it. Ahhh-ha!

Jon watched as the freighter’s engines powered up and it slowly pulled away from the station.

“Glad to see that you made it Gunny,” Jon called over the ship’s communication system.

“Yet to find a ship that I cannot fly, Commander. Now can I have a heading to the nearest FTL jump point? I just need some time to find where they have hidden the goddamn FTL controls. Why do they keep insist on moving these things around!”

Jon just laughed at the grumbling from the older man. “Heading 64.8 to starboard.”

“We clear yet?”

“Almost Gunny, I still have one more fighter to shake off then I will follow you out. Stay on that heading until I contact you again.”

Running low on ammunition, Jon had been playing a deadly cat-and-mouse game with the last fighter. Having seen all his fellow ships destroyed, this last fighter was playing it safe, hanging back on the more cumbersome shuttle’s tail and taking the odd pot-shot. Deciding to put an end to this game, now that the freighter was slowly lumbering towards the FTL jump point, as he did with Miranda many months before he slowly started to reduce thrust, ever so slowly reeling the other fighter in closer.

Unfortunately, this time the Eternal Light did not have the benefit of any asteroids close by, or missiles, Jon thought disappointedly. Well, the heavily armoured shuttle had already taken a beating; one more hit was not going to matter. With that thought, Jon powered the thrusters to full reverse. From an external viewpoint it seemed like the shuttle stopped dead in space. The trailing fighter, caught completely unawares, suddenly shot forward, clipping the shuttle with its portside engine. This had the unfortunate side effect of tearing the portside engine off, along with a good portion of the stabiliser, resulting in the fighter going into an uncontrollable spin.

Reversing thrust once again, the Eternal Light resumed a parallel course with the freighter, and moments later both disappeared into FTL with a brief flash of light.

All that remained behind was a badly damaged station and a dozen floating carcasses, the remnants of the Syndicate reinforcements; buffeted by the solar wind from the distant star.

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.