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Avalon, Part Two; Chapter Four
Posted By: Triad<m.eelkema@student.tudelft.nl>
Date: 26 August 2005, 12:17 pm
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Avalon; Part Two: Qua Patet Universum
Chapter Four: The Pirate
0100 hours, September 18 2502 (military calendar), frigate The Flying Dutchman,
Delta Cygni system
"Reporting as ordered, Commander," said Major Morris as he floated clumsily onto the bridge and gave an awkward salute.
"Frank, nice to see you on the bridge. You don't come here often, do you?" Steven said amicably while turning his head. The frantic atmosphere on the bridge during the engagement had subsided to make place for the relaxed but professional attitude Steven was accustomed to.
"I prefer to keep my feet on the ground, sir. The zero-g-sections weren't made for me," Frank Morris replied with a hint of uncomfort in his voice. He wasn't kidding about his relation with sections lacking gravity. Although he had been serving on ships for twenty five years, extended stays in zero-g inevitably led to excessive 'number three'.
Steven smiled. "I can understand, Major. I remember your unease during that campaign a couple of years ago when the spinning sections had jammed and couldn't be repaired for two weeks."
Frank chuckled: "Yeah. I even barfed into the face of my CO, making him look like a creature from a swamp. He wasn't too happy about that."
Steven laughed and beckoned the Major to come closer. "Come here, and take a look at your new assignment."
"A pirate," Frank quickly established, looking out the window. "Nice job on its engines, but what's it doing way out here?"
"That's what I need you to find out. Take both your platoons in a couple of Pelicans, board them, and see if you can capture their Captain alive."
"Understood, sir. One Captain over easy coming right up," the Major bellowed self-assured.
Steven laughed: "That would be nice for breakfast. But you must know I like my Captains well done." He admired the Major's style. Unlike other fire-eaters he knew, Frank only joked and talked tough when the situation allowed for it. But when it came to the job he was right on. Steven went on with the briefing which, as always, had an informal character. "Pellerin has made a scan of the ship. He'll provide you with all the relevant intell on the ship's layout and possible locations where the crew might be holding up. If that's clear, you're dismissed."
"Yes, sir!" Morris answered, eager to go to work.
As the major was moving towards the exit Steven turned to address him one more time: "Oh, and Major, don't take any big risks catching this guy, okay? I don't want to lose any men on this mission."
"Ha! Don't worry about us, Steve. The day a couple of twinkle-toed two-bit backwater pirates take one of my men is the day hell freezes over and pigs fly all at the same time!"
Frank Morris entered the cramped armoury where both Alfa- and Bravo-platoon were gearing up.
"Officer on deck, ten hut!" Lieutenant Simmons shouted. Every Marine immediately snapped to attention. The El-tee was second in command next to the Major and usually led a platoon supporting him.
"At ease, Marines." Frank replied. When the battle with the pirate transpired, he had already put on his combat uniform. All he had to do now was to get his weapon from his locker at the far end of the armoury; an M90 eight gauge shotgun. He was already carrying his trusty M6C sidearm.
He walked with a relaxed pace to the other end of the armoury where there was a table with a holographic projector for squad-briefings which he hardly ever used. On the way he passed by all of the forty Marines which comprised this Marine-detachment specialised in boarding actions. Every single Marine was taller than him; he measured only five foot eight. Yet he was as burly as a bear and he had many bar brawl victories to prove it, including some against the dreaded Orbital Drop Shock Troopers; in his opinion a bunch of overrated pussies with fancy gadgets and attitude-problems. Not only was he the shortest, he was also the oldest; forty-eight years of which already thirty had been spent in the Corps.
The Major began briefing his men just as informal as the Commander had briefed him: "Let me break down the situation for you, Marines. The Commander has engaged and disabled a Phoenix-class pirate vessel. It'll be our job to board it, capture the Captain alive, and neutralise any crew dumb enough to raise so much as a finger at us. Lieutenant Simmons!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" the Lieutenant shouted.
"You'll be in charge of Bravo-platoon. Take a Pelican and board their port side. I'll take Alfa-platoon and go starboard-side. Load up the layout of the ship from Pellerin onto your Helmet Mounted Display. If everything goes smooth we'll meet on the bridge. A case of Scotch for the jarhead who takes their Captain alive. Are we clear, Marines?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" both platoons shouted in unison.
"Then let's get busy! We'll leave ASAP. Dismissed, everyone."
After the two Pelicans had left the bay of the Flying Dutchman Frank asked Pellerin to hack into the pirate's intercom system. It was one of the few systems the AI was able to crack; more vital systems were too well guarded against hackers, even if it were an AI.
It was a proven method to use the enemy's public address system to play very loud music to confuse and terrify them. Most people who did the same work as Frank just played Wagner's 'Ride of the Valkyries', but he had discovered a piece of music which was far more effective; ABBA's 'Dancing Queen'. Sometimes some of the enemy crew were already crying in horror by the time the Marines boarded their ship. On occasion Major Morris switched to 'Staying Alive' by something called 'The Bee-Gees'. This wasn't as effective as ABBA, but Frank liked the irony of the song's name.
"Pilot, what's our estimate time of arrival?" Frank inquired.
"ETA is thirty seconds, sir," the pilot calmly answered.
Both of the Pelicans docked amidships, each at an opposite end of the central section which was still spinning. In this way the Marines would enter the ship from two sides compelling the pirates to split up their forces.
When the Pelicans had attached their side hatches to the hull, a demolition-expert went to work on the door. He used special breaching-charges which channelled the brunt of their concentrated explosion on the hatch of the ship. When they blew they would send the entire door inward like a two tonne battering-ram going a hundred kilometres an hour. This would be accompanied by a blizzard of shrapnel from the exploding hull-plating surrounding the door.
Lieutenant Simmons knew he and his platoon were going to need this kind of an entrance. The pirates were probably waiting on the other side and they weren't likely to be pushovers. These guys were quick on the draw, aggressive, experienced, often psychopathic, and this time desperate to boot. When the demolition-expert was done applying the explosive he gave the detonator to the El-tee. Simmons moved away from the front of the door and gave his platoon a signal to be ready to stream into the ship. He activated his night-vision and flicked on his com-link to make one final preparation: "Pellerin, cut the lights in the adjacent hallway."
As soon as Pellerin gave the thumbs-up through his HMD Simmons squeezed the detonator. The Pelican shuddered ferociously as the door plus surrounding hull disappeared into the ship in the blink of an eye. The thus created hole was shrouded in smoke and dust.
"Here we go, guys! Give'm hell!" Simmons shouted as he launched himself into the cloud. He pressed his MA5B assault rifle tightly to his shoulder, ready to give a lead-salad to anyone asking for it. Once he cleared the dust he stood eye to eye with a pirate still stunned and probably deaf from the intense blast. Six feet behind him stood a second pirate who was less dazed than his colleague and was carrying a submachinegun. Simmons didn't want to waste ammo and planted the butt of his rifle in the face of the first man, leaving an imprint on his forehead and sending him to the ground. After he went down Simmons didn't hesitate and immediately send five shots directly between the eyes of the second pirate. "Buyaa! Tango down!" he exclaimed as his hart was pumping pure adrenalin through his veins.
By this time the rest of his platoon had entered the ship in a standard cover formation. "Where are all the other tangos?" a heavily panting Private Soininnen wondered. It was only by now that the emergency lighting lit up the hallway in a dim red light. This enabed them to see how well placed the breaching-charge had been. The door had ploughed its way through a dozen enemies like a Scorpion-tank and had pinned a machinegun and its operators to the bulkhead behind it. By taking out the two remaining stragglers Simmons had effectively secured the hallway.
"All clear, Lieutenant!" Sergeant Lowery shouted surprised.
"Then move out!" Simmons ordered resolute and took the point of the standard formation himself. With their rifles and shotguns levelled to their faces they moved through the corridor in the direction of the bridge, while 'Dancing Queen' was still coming out of the speakers at full volume.
The entrance of the Major's platoon wasn't much different. The exploding door took some pirates with it, and all Frank and his men had to do was jump in after it and give the remaining buccaneers a one-way ticket to the Almighty.
After making sure he had a safe bridgehead Frank briefly took of his cap and wiped his forehead clear of transpiration. Even though he had performed this kind of boarding dozens of times he still managed to break the sweat almost every single time. In his opinion a good thing; not sweating was his personal sense of foreboding, a sign he was doing something horribly wrong. Let's check in with Bravo-platoon, he thought. "Simmons, what's your status, over?"
"Bridgehead secured, Major. I'm proceeding to the objective, over," the Lieutenant's voice whispered over the com-link.
"Good. We're moving out as well. Morris out."
The moment Frank switched the com of, a panel fell from the ceiling, immediately followed by a pirate suspended from a rappelling cord. He swiftly lowered himself into the middle of the platoon and stopped his descent to hang upside down three feet from the ground. The corsair instantly opened up with two handguns, spraying the platoon like a sprinkler as he gently spun around.
Most Marines stood frozen in utter surprise except for Sergeant LaMarque, who quickly drew her combat knife, stepped in from behind and cut the pirate loose. He fell to the ground like a bag of flour and was delivered to the mercy of the Sergeant. Unfortunately for him LaMarque was fresh out and finished him off with her eight-gauge.
"Where the hell did he come from?" the enraged Major shouted. After the shock from the attack subsided he noticed several Marines lying doubled up on the floor grasping their abdomens. Frank cursed: "Damn it! This isn't happening to me. Medic!" Worried that he had broken his promise to the Commander, he kneeled next to a wounded Marine to tend to his wounds. He searched his body for entry-wounds almost frantically, but to his surprise he couldn't find the slightest trace of blood.
The pale-looking Private Dost moaned, tears welling up in his eyes: "I'm done for, Major. Tell Scott I've always loved him!"
Frank slapped him in the face. "Buck up, cry-baby! The bullet hit you in your vest. Now get on your feet, Private! AND WHO THE HELL IS SCOTT?"
"Nobody, nobody," Dost mumbled shyly as he managed to stumble back on his feet. The Private realised all he had suffered were some broken ribs, just like everyone else who'd caught a bullet. To the Major's delight the acrobatic pirate hadn't killed even a single Marine. Because of his altitude above the ground all his shots which weren't misses had gone into body-armour.
But there was no time to count their blessings. The pirate-Captain was still out there, and he wasn't going to surrender easily. "Enough lying about for one day. Move out, Marines!"
Lieutenant Simmons and his platoon were making their way towards the bridge, constantly following the blue marker on their HMD through the dimly lit corridors which reeked of chemical fire. Many of the grey metallic wall-panels had come undone during the engagement with the Dutchman to reveal pipes and conduits. Some of them had ruptured and had obviously burned. The smouldering ragged ends were sticking out of the wall into the corridor, a small trace of stinking smoke still curling up from them as a testament of the mayhem which had preceded.
When the head of Simmons' platoon turned the next bend they were greeted with gunfire coming from two pirates at the other end of the corridor. A Marine next to Simmons caught a round in his shoulder, sending him spinning. Simmons kneeled and opened fire, forcing the pirates to hide behind a corner.
"Medic!" Simmons shouted while he dragged the wounded soldier out of harm's way by his harness. Field Medic Santiago, who normally stayed in the back of the platoon, kneeled next to the soldier and began applying bio-foam to stop the bleeding. "Santiago, help Private Soininnen. Sergeant Lowery, waste those pricks behind the corner!" Simmons ordered while he assisted the Medic.
"With pleasure, sir," the noncom yelled and immediately went to work. Looking at the other end of the corridor he noticed a gas pipe running along the bulkhead. The Sergeant levelled his assault rifle and gently squeezed his trigger to fire a three shot burst. Two bullets went straight into the pipe which instantly ruptured and exploded, engulfing the pirates in flames.
"Smoked their asses," Lowery stated content.
"Good one, Sergeant," Simmons applauded, "but this isn't the time for a barbecue. Let's get up to speed again!"
Major Morris and his squad reached the entrance to the bridge without encountering much resistance on the way. It seemed as if the pirates had flipped a coin and directed the lion's share of their forces towards Bravo-platoon. That was some tough luck for them, but Frank was confident his El-tee could handle it.
When the head of the platoon was within fifteen feet of the door he signalled his men to halt and crouch.
The entrance to the command centre was sealed tight, tighter than the ass of a Helljumper during a Hard-Drop. The Major realised he couldn't use breaching-charges because that ran the danger of killing the Captain. That left no option for him but to handle this the old-fashioned way.
"Corporal Lee, get this door open."
"Aye, sir," the Corporal replied and moved towards the door while he dug up the spoofer from the depths of his backpack. He was still busy attaching the spoofer to the computer terminal when the door suddenly slid open for a second, and a grenade rolled into the corridor. Lee remained frozen and witnessed in slow-motion how the grenade bounced against the wall and came to rest in front of him. Finally he snapped out of it and screamed: "Grenade! Take cover!"
Although he managed to warn his fellow Marines who took heed and ducked, Lee was still eying the grenade in awe as it detonated. The fierce explosion launched the Corporal into the corridor and riddled his legs and abdomen with a hail of shrapnel. He landed almost straight into the Major's lap.
"Medic!" Frank shouted infuriated. The sight of one of his dear Marines being virtually torn to pieces struck him right in the hart. It would have made him tear up if it wasn't for the fact that his tear-ducts were seared in an explosion once, making it impossible for him to cry. Frank was lucky he wasn't blind, but he had to rely on eye-drops for the rest of his life.
He quickly handed his wounded noncom over to the care of the medic and stood up. He tightened the grip on his shotgun, turning his knuckles white. "That does it it! I'm going to fuck them up beyond repair!" Some Marines saw the frenzied look in his eyes and realised it was not a good day to be a pirate.
The determined Major stepped towards the door and noticed the spoofer had in fact already hacked the door-controls. Frank returned the favour from the pirates by opening the door by a chink and tossing in a flash-bang grenade.
After he had heard it explode he opened the door and threw himself into the fray, his M90 levelled to his face. Once on the bridge he quickly counted almost two dozen pirates. This constituted a problem for the Major since his shotgun only carried twelve rounds and he hadn't waited for his Marines to follow him in. Looked like he would have to do this solo.
The bridge was similar in size and layout to the one on the Dutchman and was rather cramped with so many men on it. There wasn't much room to manoeuvre oneself in, and Frank had to be careful not to hit the Captain who was taking cover somewhere at the far end.
Luckily most of the pirates on the bridge were still stunned and blinded from the flash-bang, making them easy targets. Frank's first three victims went down by crushing blows to the head from the butt of his shotgun. The next five disorientated pirates were taken out of the equation by devastating shots to the torso. At this range the buckshot wasn't even slowed down a bit as it went through flesh and bone, and some pirates standing behind Frank's intended targets were also hit.
Frank quickly moved to the right side of the bridge which seemed less crowded than the left. It became even more devoid of enemies with the help of his M90. By clearing a path the frenzied Officer could keep moving forward and strafe the pirates on the other side. His enemies mustered the courage to fire on him, but none of it could make a hit; he seemed to dance through the barrage of bullets coming his way like a cross-over between Fred Astaire and the Lone Ranger.
Although each round from his shotgun was a hit, Frank was fresh out of shells before he was out of enemies. He ducked behind the empty Captain's chair in the middle of the bridge and began reloading his weapon. The pirates finally managed to open coordinated fire on him, but he had his limited height working in his advantage. He received perfect cover from the chair which was shot to shreds along with the workstations behind him.
Although his position was relatively safe, the pirates totally pinned him down and he couldn't see a way out of it. His precarious situation was suddenly resolved by his fellow Marines which stormed through the door and finished off the remaining pirates with their assault rifles. Because they'd been so preoccupied by the Major's whirlwind across the bridge, the pirates had totally forgotten to watch the door, a mistake that now cost them dearly.
The only enemy that remained was the Captain who was still hiding in a small alcove-like workstation with a handgun in each hand. Sitting with his back against the wall he couldn't see what was happening on his bridge, he could only hear. When the intense noise of the firefight died out he slowly erected himself, his back still pressed against the wall. When he finally gathered enough courage he turned around the corner, only to look straight into the barrel of Frank's shotgun.
"Hi, sweetcheaks. Nice to meet you," Frank chuckled, and knocked him unconscious with a crack to the face.
Simmons' platoon sped its way through the corridors until they came to the ship's wide mess hall. At the other end of it pirates had thrown up a fortified position made out of metal tables. They opened up with everything they had when Simmons appeared around the corner. He could barely dodge the wall of lead coming his way and ducked back behind the corner he came from. He settled his back against the wall and became aware of his hart pounding in his throat like a thing possessed. "It's pissing metal out there!"
With a fibre optic probe he assessed the situation. Behind the barricade stood more than a dozen pirates, firing a motley collection of firearms. They looked extremely agitated by the music; most had bloodshot eyes and some had even burned of their ears. Simmons noticed if he could get to the other side of the hall he could use the food counters for cover and get all the way behind the fortification.
The Lieutenant turned to his platoon. "Sergeant Lowery, Private Chong, Private Anderson; on my mark give me all the suppressive fire you can give me. Don't aim; just keep their damn heads down! Corporal Brown, as soon as they give us cover, we make a run for that counter at the other end of the hall." Simmons moved towards the corner gain. "But first, let me soften them up with some grenades."
He armed two grenades and tossed them around the corner, careful not to expose himself too much. It wasn't possible to throw them behind the barricade, but they would throw up some smoke and maybe take some of the pirates out with shrapnel.
Simmons and Brown braced themselves like Olympic track runners while Lowery and the other Marines got into position to give the pirates a taste of their own medicine. "Ready? Now!"
Lieutenant Simmons leapt from behind the corner into the openness of the hall followed closely by Brown and ran like the wind while his soldiers at the corner opened up with fifteen rounds of armour piercing bullets a second.
Simmons and the noncom were almost at the other side of the hall when a grenade forced his platoon to hide behind the corner for cover. The pirates behind the barricade immediately opened fire on them as if hunting-season was open again. Simmons felt several bullets whiz by his head as he drew near his goal. To reach the cover at the other side he finally took a nosedive over the counter, turned it into a somersault and landed gracefully on his feet again. Brown wasn't as athletic as his El-tee and landed on his chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs.
After the Corporal had gotten back on his feet they used the empty food counters for cover and easily managed to get behind the pirates unseen. Slowly Simmons took the pins out of two grenades and tossed them into the group. As soon as they had exploded he and Brown broke from cover and took care of the stragglers with their assault rifles.
But then as they were moving through the field of dead or dying, Brown got disabled by a shot in the leg. The startled Lieutenant Simmons tripped over a corpse and fell flat on his stomach, his rifle landing four feet out of reach in front of him. As he lifted his head, he looked straight into the eyes of a pirate with two submachineguns trained on his face. Now his rifle seemed more than a light-year away.
"End of the line, sucker!" the pirate grinned. Simmons closed his eyes, cursing his eagerness.
Suddenly the wall behind the pirate exploded in a spray of metal and dust. Almost simultaneously with the spray Major Morris stormed through the brand-new hole like a bat out of hell and gave the astounded pirate a buckshot-shampoo.
"Damn it, Simmons! It was already getting chilly in hell, and the pigs were starting to get airborne too!" Frank shouted pleasantly irritated as he helped his Lieutenant to his feet.
"Sorry, sir, and thank you, sir!" Simmons answered a bit shaken. "By the way, Major, how did you..."
"Know you were in deep shit? I took one look at my motion sensor and knew instantly you might need a hand in resolving your stalemate," the Major grinned. "And luckily for you and me, my demolitions-guy had some leftovers and was happy to apply them."
Simmons tried to downplay his need of assistance: "Thanks again, Major. But really, I didn't need your..."
"Never mind, Lieutenant. Rally your men; our job here is done. We've captured their Captain."
To be continued
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