Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3) by Daniel Gibbs (red novels .txt) 📗

wasn’t simple. Power-armored Marines flailed around, seeking hand- or footholds wherever they could find them. A few got stuck to the overhead and had to walk back down to the deck. While Nishimura had taken a zero-G combat course many years prior, most didn’t train for it in peacetime. This is where defense cutbacks bite us in the ass—reduced training.

MacIntosh went flying by, out of his element, and knocked a Marine over before finally getting footing by locking his boots to a wall. During the confusion and rush to get some solid metal under them, at least two minutes went by.

“Who’s got charges?” Nishimura bellowed.

“I do, sir,” Armstrong replied.

“Set ’em on the far door immediately. Everyone else, covering position. MacIntosh! Get your rear end behind us before I box your ears.”

“Aye, sir,” he replied in his brogue.

It only took the point man—Armstrong—a few seconds to set strips of detcord around the bulkhead hatch. The explosive putty was another story. He molded it to the hinges and contours of the opening before sticking a detonator in. “Charge set, sir!” Armstrong scampered away and stood next to Nishimura, battle rifle pointed at the door.

“Fire in the hole!” Nishimura yelled.

A moment later, a flash of orange flame was followed by a thundering roar. A smoking hole existed where a solid hatch had once sat.

Armstrong charged forward the moment the smoke cleared, bounding through the opening in one leap. “Clear, sir!” he yelled.

Nishimura brought his hand up and gave the signal to move out. The group of Marines made its way through the bulkhead, weapons at the ready. With MacIntosh directly behind him, Nishimura was second to last through. The sight that greeted him was similar to the previous section. A long corridor lay before them, the same dull metal alloy coating seemingly every surface. The far hatch was closed.

“Okay, people, heads on a swivel. Advance slowly, and we’ll take out this obstacle too. One hundred meters away from the bridge.” I hope, anyway. Who knows how these Leaguers build ships. For all we know, they could put the control center in the tail of the vessel.

“Major,” MacIntosh began, “atmosphere is returning to this section, according to my readings.”

“Defensive position,” Nishimura barked. He wasn’t sure what was coming next, but it stood to reason the enemy had something planned for them.

It didn’t take long for them to find out what was coming. The far hatch opened, and what could only be described as a horde of robotic maintenance drones erupted from it. They glided over the alloy deck, a black mass of twirling arms.

Nishimura’s heart twisted as the mechanical beasts rushed forward. “Load armor-piercing rounds now,” he barked as his hands worked on muscle memory to drop the magazine loaded into his battle rifle and slap a new one in.

The drones’ first target was Armstrong and another Marine standing next to him. What looked like plasma spot welders or similar technology flashed at the end of the robot’s arms as it tried to burn through the Terrans’ power armor. Both men went down in a heap, and piercing screams echoed through the communication system.

Breaking through the initial shock, Nishimura finished reloading his battle rifle and switched it to full auto mode with a click of the fire-selector switch. He aimed at the mechanized monsters and squeezed the trigger, sending dozens of rounds into the swirling mass. Other Marines joined in, creating a fusillade of fire that destroyed several attackers as internal electronics fried, and they fell to the deck in twisted heaps, smoking and spraying sparks.

A few of the drones broke free of Armstrong’s suit and headed straight toward Nishimura. The lead robot fired its plasma torch, causing immense heat to radiate through his left shoulder. Struggling to get his battle rifle reloaded, Nishimura fumbled with and dropped the magazine. At the last moment, the attacker took a directed energy beam to its center mass. Nishimura glanced over his shoulder to see MacIntosh aiming his sidearm, while concentrated armor-piercing rounds from the rest of the Marines felled the rest.

Just like that, the battle was over. A few dozen robots lay at their feet, disabled or destroyed. Given a choice between fighting the mechanical drones or League security forces, Nishimura would’ve taken the human foe any day. He caught his breath then flung himself forward, grabbing at the defeated enemies to see what remained of the two fallen Marines. In his HUD, the vitals of both were flatlined. Once he’d uncovered them, it was easy to see why. The men’s armor was pierced in multiple locations, and blood freely flowed down the deck.

Anger took over, and he stood, giving a guttural roar. “Get that next bulkhead open! We’re going to track down and kill the bastards who did this. You hear me?”

Grim, resolute faces greeted him as the squad medic performed life-sign checks on their fallen comrades.

“Some good news, sir,” MacIntosh said, kneeling next to one of the more intact robots.

“We don’t have all day.”

“This thing has a schematic of the ship built into it.” MacIntosh gestured to the tablet he’d hooked up to the thing’s exposed circuitry. “The bridge is beyond the next bulkhead, as you surmised.”

“Good. Let’s finish this.” Nishimura stared at the closed hatch while thoughts of revenge roared through his mind. Civilians, my ass. They tried to kill us, and when I find them, I’ll kill the entire lot of them. Even though part of him knew it wasn’t the right thing to do or think, anger remained firmly in control.

14

Jupiter and its massive red spot loomed in front of Francis Martin’s fighter. Part of his brain said it was just another gas giant, much like the hundreds of other gas giants he’d seen in different solar systems all over the galaxy. He didn’t believe it, though, because they were in the Sol System, home of humanity and headquarters of the League of Sol. Numerous space-based installations ringed the planet. His sensor system identified many of them as industrial complexes,