Short Story, "Re-routed"

-December 19th, 3246-

"Told ya we should haf waited for our own ship to get us down there, this could haf easily waited a day or two," Corporal Valeri said, his voice calm and relaxed as he scratched his nose.

"Hess nee's us now, an' this is the only way we're gettin' to Fyra on such short notice. Think I wan'ed to be in a blockade runner?" Sergeant Moore responded, coldly eyeing his fellow commando and fingering the trigger guard of his assault rifle.

All around them, the ships crew was in a flurry of motion, with dozens of junior officers pacing to and fro, the captain barking off short orders to each in turn.

"The shields are out!"

"Re-route power from the weapons!"

"Starboard engine number two, it's burning!"

"Seal it off, right now, and open the airlock! Make it go out!"

"Yessir!"

There was no denying it, the frigate was being torn apart by alien fire and there wasn't much time left to reach the target. Moore peered over at the rangefinder, cursing silently. Their hopes of making it to the planet itself were dropping every second. A crewman shouted that a second engine was lost. They'd be too slow.

"We aren't making it, are we sarge," Valeri's matter of fact tone carried over the mess of shouting on the bridge.

"We're damn well gonna try," Moore grumbled. The other members of his squad merely watched the spectacle with mild interest.

"We'll make it sarge."

It was Wilhelm, or "Little Willy" as the rest of the platoon called him. He was the youngest member in the entire unit, and his boyish features emphasized the fact. The naive optimism was doing little to help the situation, drawing some cold glares from his other squad mates. He merely smiled and shrugged in response. Kurt, the last member of Moore's squad, turned back to tossing his combat knife up and down, disinterested in the discussion.

"Where's Ryss and his squad. I thought they were checking on the engines?"

"I don't know Val. Hopefully they'll be back soon," it was all Moore could do.

"Boarding craft incoming! Fifty-k clicks to starboard!"

"Shoot them down!"

"Point defense is down sir!"

"Evasive action! Now! Turn right at 'em! Hard starboard!"

The entire ship was falling apart at the seams. Its structure creaked and groaned as its remaining thrusters were pushed to the limits, trying to perform the needed maneuvers.

"Captain! Get this damn ship to Fyra Five, we aren't making it planet side!"

"This is my ship and my orders are to get planetside Sergeant! And goddammit we're following those orders!"

"Damn the orders, we either land on the moon or we don't land at all, we won't make those three-hun'red k's! Land this goddamned ship, land it now!"

The older, bearded man stared at the young sergeant, scrutinizing him for a few moments. Moore held his ground, and the man's gaze, the two locked in a contest of wills.

"Captain, the ship won't make it!"

It was one of the junior lieutenants, racing towards them. Seeing the tense situation, he hesitated for a moment.

"Turn the ship towards Fyra Five."

The words were almost a whisper.

"Sir?"

"You heard me lieutenant, get this ship on course to Fyra Five. Move!

The last word was came out in a bullish roar, stunning the young officer into action. The whole ship shuddered, as if struck by a massive fist.

A technician ran in, a panicked look on his face.

"We've been hit sir, they hit us, the Shvir hit us with a boarding pod! Right by the engines!"

"Goddamit, of course they did! Get the gun crews to the armory!"

Moore spun to his squad. They were already up on their feet, waiting for the word.

"Stay on course cap'in, we'll deal. Le's move boys!" Moore pulled his helmet on, allowing the mechanical seal to snap tight. Instantly, the HUD filled his vision, flooding him with a deluge of information.

"Ryss, where ya at!" He was holding on to his comms, waiting for a response, none was coming.

"Ryss!"

"Right here Moore, get your sorry group down here, we'll need you right bad."

"On it!"

"Right an' down squad, le's go!"

The stairs clattered with the impact of the commandos' heavy boots as they raced downward, headed towards where the breach had been reported. An airlock hissed as it opened. Instantly the HUD external oxygen monitor dropped to zero. The air behind them howled past, carrying all before it. As one, the squad dropped down, hunching over. Magnetic soles latched onto the deckplates, holding tight against the onrush.

"Make sure yer on shor'-range talkies," Moore reminded the group. Once in a vaccuum, they would have no sound without the benefit of their helmets comms. The airlock snapped shut behind them. Instantly, silence. Val moved to the corner and raised his fist. Moore slowly peered around, looking down the long hall that lay ahead. The breach made by the boarding pod was obvious, the wide, ragged hole made by the craft still filled with the pods bulk. Nearly two dozen bodies lay scattered around, some alien, most human crewmen, unarmed and unable to defend themselves. Moore sighed in relief internally, none of the bodies bore the black uniforms and armor of the commando. Brief flickers of light emanated from the halls before them. A clear sign of a firefight.

"Keep going!" he shouted.

"On my left sarge, we got company!" Willy knelt behind another corner, firing down towards the engine rooms, the normal clatter of the Akarn inaudible in the vaccuum. At least a half dozen of the shviri attackers turned around, one dropping to the ground. The alien's short laser carbines returned fire, flashes sparked on the walls and floor. Willy cursed and clutched at his shoulder plate. The black slab glowed slightly from a direct hit, but it was nothing serious, merely a distraction, nothing more.

"Kurt, Willy, take 'em! Val, come with me! We're pushin' on!"

"On it boss!"

More Shvir, five total. Two rifles snapped up, the aliens never had a chance. In a flurry of Akarn fire five bodies hit the ground, weapons falling from lifeless hands. Moore raised his hands to his comms again.

"Ryss, where ya at!"

"We're falling back toward the engine rooms, Jeff's rifle got hit, you gonna be here?"

"Coming in from the bridge, got Val with me."

"What 'bout the others?"

"Pinnin' the rest of those bastar's down!"

"Get down!"

Vals warning came just in time. A shviri officer was swinging his sword in a wide arc, aimed right at Moore's neck. The sergeant ducked, allowing the blade to pass without resistance. Vals rifle came up muzzle flashing, pointed squarely at the officers head. The alien crumpled in a heap.

"More coming!"

There must have been a dozen shvir ahead of them now. The sudden flashes of their lasers interespersed with the sparks thrown up by ricocheting bullets from the commandos' assault rifles.

Ryss was on the comms again, a tone of relief in his voice, "They're falling back! You there?"

"Hell yea, they're falling back on us goddamit!" It was all Moore could respond with.

Four of the Shvir were charging forward, crouching low as their comrades covered them.

"Grenade out!"

Val rolled the spherical device down the hall, right towards the aliens crowding in front. A bright flash and shrapnel filled the cramped area. Blue blood spattered the walls, and the two commandos turned the corner again, opening fire on any survivors left in sight. More flashes came from behind the aliens.

"Ryss, over here!"

Moore called out and jammed a new magazine home, motioning Val to take point.

"Willy, Kurt, y'all ok?"

"Moppin' up," Kurt responded shortly.

The Shviri soldier was facing the wrong way, he only sensed Moore coming up on him too late. The alien swung his bayonet against the small human, too slow, Moore cut him down with a single rifle round. All was clear. A commando's helmet poked out from behind the far end of the hall, and slowly, Ryss his three men walked out, gingerly stepping over the alien corpses.

"The breach didn't self-seal." Moore stated immediately.

"I noticed, sealing pipes are out, the gens got KOed by a las' blast." Ryss responded.

"We need to get out of here, we'll be hitting the atmosphere soon, don't wanna get caught out."

"Atmosphere? Can't be that close to Fyra, can we?" Ryss responded to Moore with some surprise. He didn't ask questions though, motioning the group back towards the blast doors leading into the engine rooms.

"We aren' makin' it to Fyra, ship's too far gone, we'll be crashing on Fyra Five." Moore said in a matter of fact tone.

"Fair enough, not like the Shvir control sixty-five percent of the surface or anything." Ryss was displeased, but there was nothing he could do.

The door slid open, instantly allowing the onrushing air to hurl past. Moore was the last to stride through, striking the control panel with his gloved hand and allowing the door to close shut. Oxygen levels normal, pressure stable. The whole ship was shaking now, shuddering.

"We're going too fast," Kurt said, loading a new magazine.

"Of course we are," Val replied, eyeing him coldly.

"Belly landing in a Boarder, sounds delightful," it was one of Ryss's men, Kwame, and he was cleaning blood off his combat knife, running the blade along his pant-leg.

A few snorts of derisive laughter followed.

"Check your magazines, lets head for the forward ramp, be ready for a rough landing, we're going straight into a warzone. I don't think our boys down there control much of anything, except the fortresses. Moore, the captain know about those? We'll need to land close if we wanna get out alive."

"I'll go tell him. Kurt, come with me, Willy, Val, go with Ryss, now!"

Moore ran his hands over his magazine pouches as he ran, already thinking to the landing, the need to fight through to one of the perimeters as soon as they landed. Fyra Five should have its own atmosphere, should be breathable, terraformed. He tried to remember the divisions stationed there, and wondered if they were all still intact. Those same divisions were their only hope for rescue. The ship had a small armory, but the navy men weren't well trained for ground fighting, they'd have to hold the ship and get reinforcements to reach them. It would be up to him and his men, soldiers of the Special Naval Commando, to get that help, or die trying.

Colonel Vasiliy Zhukov of the 14th Airborne stood in the dugout, looking toward the enemy positions from his command bunker. He and his battalion had been holding strongpoint "Kursk" for two weeks now, defending against the constant tide of Shvir, protecting their orbital defense batteries at all costs. Keeping a constant watch had been key to their survival. Then, a sudden flash above. He peered through his binoculars. A ship, their own judging by the boxy, utilitarian design. He cursed, it was crashing, plunging earth-ward like a comet. It would overshoot the strongpoint. He tried to guess where it would land, couldn't be more than a kilometer out. The whole vessel roared overhead, thousands of tons of steel rushing past, engines howling and trying to slow the ships descent. The hull was glowing red, and the colonel could feel the superheated air pass by him as the craft began to approach the ground. They were going to land inside Shviri lines. He cursed again. The earth shook and shuddered as the massive craft tore a terrible path across the dust covered surface. It could be carrying supplies, reinforcements, anything could be useful.

Zhukov twisted his mustache for a second, then made up his mind and motioned his second in command over.

"Leftenant, get A and B recon on it, follow up vith first company, I vant to get to that ship and whatever it's bringink. Get any survivors and supplies you find back here."

"Yessir!"

"And let's hope there's something left." he said to himself, watching the red glow that hung around the crash-site and wondering if anything had survived.