Junkyard Dogs 1: The Scrapyard Incident Page 18

  "How about weapons?" asked Allen.

  "Outside of the stun rods that my people were carrying when we locked ourselves in here, we've got nothing."

  "Stun rods are way better than nothing," said Haines. "We think the enemy is spread pretty thin. They haven't ventured below deck two, at least not that we know of."

  "You say there's a resistance group?" asked Tresham.

  "Yeah, a bunch of maintenance people, three military men, and a few tourists.

  "What can we do to help?"

  "Steuben and I'll be heading back down. Allen will stay here to work on communications. I'd like to take a couple more security people and at least two of the technicians along. We're trying to come up with a plan to take the station back and we'll need all the expertise we can get."

  "We'd be glad to pitch in any way that we can," said Vasquez.

  "If it's all the same to you, Sal, I'd like to see you come down with us. Leave Marquart in charge up here, he can handle it."

  "Sounds good, Kathy. Let's pick a couple of techs and head down."

  The group gathered around as Vasquez explained what was needed. There was no shortage of volunteers. Tresham picked Brad Larsen and Dee Washington, two of her best engineers, while Vasquez selected James Harper as the other security person. As the others prepared to leave, Allen, who had enlisted the help of several of the technicians to clear the junk out of the old communications room, was already discussing technical details with Tresham.

  "You people ready to go?" asked Haines.

  "Hang on a second," said Tresham, "I just thought of something." She disappeared down the ladder to the level below. After about a minute, she came back up with an object in either hand.

  "What're those?" asked Haines.

  "They're wired handsets," replied Tresham as she handed one of the devices to Haines.

  "Okay... what's it for?"

  "It's a communicator. Come here, I'll show you." Haines followed Tresham over to one of the control consoles for the ventilation system. Tresham flipped open a small panel on the console and pointed to a receptacle underneath.

  "You just plug it into one of these access ports and you can talk to anyone else who's hooked up," she said as she unwrapped two meters of wire from around the handset and plugged the connector on the end of the wire into the receptacle. "The whole station is wired. They used them while the place was under construction. There's still times when wireless doesn't work the best, like during a solar flare or something. Or, like now, when someone disables the wireless communications."

  "How many ports are there?"

  "There's at least ten of them on each deck, not counting the spoke ports. There should be one at the end of the spoke where you guys came up. From now on, we'll leave this headset plugged in. You take that one and call us when you get back down and find the spoke port. That way we'll be able to communicate without someone having to climb all the way up here."

  "Thanks, Jane, this'll really help," said Haines as she examined the handset she'd just been given. "Kresge will be thrilled!"

  "Okay, Kathy, we're ready," said Vasquez. "Lead the way!"

  Chapter 32

  UTFN Reclamation Center, October 7, 2598.

  The armed cargo ship approached boldly, as if the Captain and crew had nothing whatsoever to fear. The ship prowled around in the Scrapyard for more than an hour before finally approaching the tracking station. The ship's commander chose the large main access corridor through the mass of floating junk to stage his approach and mount his attack on the station, just as Carlisle had predicted he would. To this end, the defenders had chosen their ambush point with care. They reasoned that the enemy would bring his ship totally into the cleared area surrounding the station because he needed to turn around to renegotiate the access corridor on the way out after attacking the station. Backing the ship up would have been possible, but far more difficult than simply turning around and executing the dangerous series of maneuvers bow first. If the defenders had to take a shot, they really wanted to fire at the enemy's drive tubes, which presented the shortest route to the main fusion power plant and was probably the most vulnerable point on the entire ship. If they could disrupt main power, they could stop the ship from maneuvering and would also disable the enemy's beam weapon.

  Or so they hoped.

  The enemy ship nosed into the central cleared area of the military section and essentially parked about a half a kilometer from the tracking station. Harris carefully worked the controls on the utility sled and swung the bow of the Terrier in a very slow arc to starboard to align the destroyer with the enemy ship. Without warning or fanfare, the enemy opened fire on the tracking station. The first shot punched a large hole completely through the station. Atmosphere and debris gouted from both the entrance and the exit points of the pulse but the majority of the ejected material spewed violently out on the same vector as the beam. The defenders waited nervously while the enemy recharged his beam weapon and fired again. And again; each pulse dealing as much damage as the last. After ten shots the auxiliary tracking station was a pulverized cloud of junk and the ship finally ceased to attack. The entire affair took about five minutes, though it seemed more like an eternity to the defenders. The attacking ship remained in position for a few more minutes as the enemy apparently scanned the wreckage. The suit radios of the three defenders were set to broadcast on a proprietary military channel, but they had adjusted their com units to receive a full spectrum of communications frequencies.

  The enemy spoke.

  "So, no biosigns from the wreckage. It was clever of you, to evacuate the second station. So, where are you hiding? Is it here?"

  The pulse beam sliced savagely into the bridge area of a wrecked cruiser directly in the enemy's line of fire. Again, a cloud of debris gouted out on the same vector as the beam. Apparently the heat signature of one of the larger pieces of the tracking station, one that had careened off in that direction, had been his target.

  "That's it," said Harris, "He didn't buy it! If he can read biosigns, his sensors are probably good enough to rat us out within a few more minutes. We have to attack, now while we can still surprise them! Vixen? Get ready, we might need you but don't do anything until I give the order.

  "Roger, Java," Carlisle responded tersely.

  "Hawk, have you got a shot?"

  "Aye, Lieutenant, that I do!"

  "Fire!"

  The now familiar sharp tremor rattled through the old destroyer. Harris quickly made a few deft movements at the controls of the Rover as the recoil from the railgun tipped the bow down and drove the ship slightly rearward just as it had when they had fired the practice shot earlier. The projectile ripped into the back of the enemy ship, slammed up into the portside drive tube, and tore out a large hunk of hull and debris as it exited about halfway down the port side of the ship. The shell then ricocheted into a large piece of wreckage on the other side of the cleared area where it exploded in a blinding flash.

  "Good shot, Hawk!" exclaimed Harris.

  "Shit! I be hittin' them, but the damned shell dinna explode soon enough!"

  "What happened?"

  "I dinna know! Sweet Jesus, that'll never do!"

  "Great shot, guys!" chimed in Carlisle, excitement making her voice shake. "Looks like his engine is down."

  "Hawk, was that explosive or armor piercing?" asked Harris, trying but only partially conveying a calm he did not feel.

  "I'll be seein' what I have left," said Hawk. After quickly checking his remaining inventory, he replied somewhat sheepishly, "Damn it! I be mortified, Lieutenant. It was bein' armor piercing."

  "No problem, we hit him and he's hurt bad. Just make sure that the next one is explosive."

  "Aye."

  "Watch out guys, the bow of that ship is swinging towards you!" said Carlisle.

  Sure enough, the impact on the back of the enemy ship had set it cartwheeling. The undamaged bow of the ship, and the lethal beam weapon, would be pointing almost directly
at the Terrier in another four or five seconds. All three defenders held their breath as the bow of the damaged cargo ship continued through its arc but, to their immense relief, no return fire came as the beam weapon moved through and out of alignment with the old destroyer.

  "We must have gotten his engine, he can't fire anymore," said Carlisle.

  "That or they don't know where we are for sure," said Harris.

  "Could they all be dead?"

  "If they aren't and they recover, they may get things working again. Have you got a full charge yet, Hawk?"

  "Two more minutes," replied Hawkins. "I be loading an explosive shell now."

  Carlisle's question was answered a few moments later. There were survivors. The damaged ship attempted to contact their sister ship back at the planetary station.

  "Mayday! Mayday! Armageddon Two to Armageddon One, we have taken severe damage! Request assistance as soon as possible."

  The Stage I Whitney communicators on the two ships made instantaneous communication possible over the nearly eight light minute distance back to the planet. Carlisle's special prototype command suit was capable of receiving Stage I broadcasts and she quickly patched the communication through so her two companions could also hear.

  "...Armageddon one here. Severe damage? What in the hell is going on out there, Jessie?"

  "Our main drive is down. These yokels managed to fire some kind of a weapon at us. Ambushed us from behind while we firing at the auxiliary station. They're hiding out in the cursed junk somewhere. I'll see if I can get you a video next time we swing around to the area where the shot must have come from."

  "Swing around?"

  "Look, I ain't kidding, they hit us with something serious. We're tumbling out of control. I haven't even got maneuvering thrusters. Engineering crew aren't answering, we think maybe they're all dead. Caleb is trying to get the thrusters back on line now. You need to know what you might be facing out here, just in case."

  "I'll be on my way out to help you as soon as I secure a few things back here. I have to talk to Ezra. Standby."

  The man came back on about a minute later.

  "I should be there in... thirty hours. Try not to get into any more trouble, Ezra ain't one bit happy!"

  "I hear you. Video coming now; the area where I think they are should be in view in about ten seconds."

  Harris looked over his shoulder at a sudden movement above him. To his shock, Carlisle was moving her ram towards the enemy ship.

  "Must distract them, Tamara..."

  "Vixen? What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "Sorry, Java. I figured if they see a moving object, they'll think that's where the attack came from. Anything to distract them from the Terrier!"

  Harris was more than a little miffed that she had disobeyed his order not to get involved unless he told her too but decided to let it ride for the moment.

  "Um...Good thinking, Vixen! Carry on!"

  "Hand to hand...boarding party...pulse rifle?...battle armor?... Java? I just thought of something else. It could be important."

  "What is it, Vixen?"

  "Those people came prepared to board the planetside station. They probably have personal battle armor and some pretty effective hand weapons. I doubt that they know exactly where you are...yet... but, if I'm right, they have a huge tactical advantage in any kind of fight. I'm ready to ram him, if I have to, but first I recommend you guys take another shot. There's nothing I'd rather see than that ship totally destroyed and every one of those bastards dead!"

  "I can't argue with you, Vixen. It's them or us."

  "I be havin' her lined up, Lieutenant. Weapon bein' at full charge...Now!"

  "Okay, Hawk. Fire when ready!"

  Again the mass driver hurled a projectile through the barrel of the old railgun. Harris was ready for the reaction from the recoil and, because of his deft hands on the controls, the Terrier barely moved this time. Once again Hawkins' aim was straight and true. This time the shell penetrated the hull of the cargo ship about a third of the ship's length back from the bow. After a short hesitation, the penetration was followed by a muted flash. Less than a second later, a rapidly expanding red-orange ball of debris blossomed where the enemy ship had been. The three Scrapyard defenders had somehow accomplished the impossible! They erupted involuntarily into whoops and cheers as all of the terror and tension built up inside them over the last several days came out in a rush that mingled equal parts of joy and relief.

  "Yeah! Take that you slimy sons of bitches!" Carlisle shouted, almost gleefully.

  As the clumps of debris from the destroyed ship spread outward into the surrounding scrap, several of the larger chunks made contact with other bits of junk and derelict warships. At one close encounter, unobserved by the three Scrapyard survivors, a tether shot out of the partially intact forward cargo bay, followed by a second. Two bulky, spacesuited figures winched themselves over to the rear deck of a gutted battlecruiser. One of them tapped the other on the shoulder and pointed in the direction of the Terrier. The two figures hunkered down and watched for the next fifteen minutes. They saw Ensign Carlisle pull alongside the old destroyer in the Rover II and Lieutenant Harris meet her at the airlock before the two of them disappeared inside. The two terrorists began to move towards the rear of the battlecruiser. When they had moved to the point where they judged that another hulk shielded them from the view of the defender's destroyer, they disconnected their tethers and used suit thrusters to move over to another wreck. They repeated the process, moving to yet another wreck. Their movements were not particularly fluid or confident in the bulky armored suits, but each move brought them a little closer to the unsuspecting crew of the Terrier.

  Chapter 33

  New Ceylon Orbital Station, October 7, 2598.

  Kathy Haines and her small delegation retraced their steps down the long enclosed ladder along the flat, inner wall of the southern compartment of the same spoke they had come up to the spindle in. They felt the gradual return of simulated gravity as they got closer to the wheel portion of the station. After the group reached the bottom of the spoke, Haines looked around and almost immediately spotted the access port for the handset that Jane Tresham had sent with her. She unwound the cord from around the unit and plugged it in. A small red LED on the unit lit up. She pressed the call button and spoke softly.

  "Haines here. We made it to the bottom of the spoke and found the receptacle for the handset. Anybody home up there?" There was a short pause.

  "Comin' through loud and clear," said Tresham. "If there's a power relay on the very outer rim of the fifth level, or a waste collection station, you'll find another access port there. Have a look and call us back."

  "Have we got any more of these handsets?"

  "Yeah, there's dozens of 'em. Steuben should be able to find several in one of the big maintenance rooms if he looks around a bit."

  "Thanks, Jane. We'll be in touch."

  Steuben crept cautiously out of the access door and carefully peeked around the corner to determine if it was safe for them to return. The guard was no more alert than he had been on their way up. Soon the small group was out of the stairwell area and back on deck five. They used the electric cart they had left earlier to get everyone back to the hideout.

  Kresge was relieved to see them. When they showed him the handset, he was delighted. He sent Steuben to the nearest maintenance room to look for additional handsets immediately. Vasquez looked around, impressed with the hideout and more than a little surprised at some of the people whom he knew well, but never suspected were smugglers.

  "Take it easy, Sal," said Haines.

  After introductions the rest of them got right down to business.

  "So you have another six security personnel and eight more station technicians holed up in the lower part of the spindle?" said Kresge. "Who's in charge?"

  "Jane Tresham is the head technician and Sam Marquart is the ranking security officer." said Vasquez.

 
"And each of the security people has a stun rod?" asked Kresge.

  "Yes, including Harper's, mine, Kathy's, Fowler's and the others we should have at least a dozen stun rods."

  "Along with Davis-Moore's hunting rifle and my pulse pistol we may be able to make something happen." Kresge scratched his chin. "Tell me again how effective these stun rods are? Earlier you said the range was three or four meters. Anything else I should know?"

  "You just need to hit your target," said Haines. "It will work through almost any type of fabric."

  "Probably not against battle armor though?"

  "I haven't tried it, but doubt it."

  "What about someone in battle armor who wasn't wearing a helmet?"

  "A head shot? Pretty risky, you'd have to get really close to make sure you didn't miss. At really close distance, there's also the chance that you could hurt somebody; we don't usually aim for the head."

  "Screw 'em, they're the enemy!"

  "Well, there is that."

  Kresge turned to the engineers.

  "I also have some questions about the mechanics of operating the station," he said. "How easy is it to regulate airflow and oxygen content to selected areas of the station?"

  "That's your area, Dee," said Brad Larsen.

  Dee Washington, a short, stout, brown-skinned woman thought for a moment. "It could be a little tricky, but it can be done," she said. "What did you have in mind?".

  "I don't think we'd want to do anything sudden, but if we could slowly cut down on the oxygen content on deck one, we might be able to impair the raiders without them knowing it. I thought I saw some supplemental breathing sets around here somewhere. Our people could just wear one of those rigs when we go up into the upper deck. I'll take any edge we can get!"

  "We'd have to override some built-in safety codes, but once we did that we could gradually drop the O2 level down to about fifteen, maybe even twelve percent and boost the CO2 by a couple percent." Washington smiled and nodded her head. "That would dull their senses pretty good. If we made the change over a couple of hours, they probably wouldn't notice that anything was happening to them until it was too late."