Op File Revenge Read online

  One hatch broke free and tumbled to the deck. Two long seconds later, the other fell.

  “That’s an Ulric demerit for a late breach,” War Prince teased as he swung back and locked his feet on the highest rung. With one hand he grabbed the ladder. After freeing his anchor hand, he reached and pulled a grenade from a pouch.

  “Throw grenade,” instructed Warlock.

  After tossing his into the hatch, War Prince reached over his shoulder and drew a hilted falchion.

  Warlock mimicked the big Striker’s move. She drew an ō-wakizashi and ordered, “Breach, breach.”

  On the deck, High Moon leaped, grabbed a high rung and shot up the ladder. The Marine under Warlock, scrambled but he lagged far behind the trained Sky Element.

  ***

  The air above the hatch was thick with discharge from the burning white phosphorus. It hid the Strikers approach as they prepared to assault through the smoke screen.

  Warlock placed a foot on the hatch frame and vaulted onto the deck, her sword rising from a low guard position. The closest pirate rotated towards the Striker swinging the butt stock of his long gun. Rocking her head back to avoid the blow, Warlock shoved the sharp blade into the armored joint at the man’s shoulder. She slung him to the side and jumped forward slicing across another’s neck.

  She ignored the sound of automatics firing from the other end of the deck. Grabbing the next sniper by the back of his armor, Warlock used him as a shield. His body jerked as he absorbed a stream of gunpowder propelled bullets. The air fogged from the smoky discharge added to the WP smog, limiting visibility. That was fine. It was a killer’s environment and Warlock and War Prince were the Strikers for the job.

  From her rear, a forty-five rifle began firing controlled rounds. Her Marine was on station and she knew her six was secure.

  A figure appeared from the haze. The barrel of an automatic pistol attempted to reach over the shoulder of the dead weight Warlock held up in front of her. Slinging the dying pirate to the left, Warlock bent her knees, stepped right while whipping the blade back across her body. The hand holding the automatic separated from the arm and the pistol, still gripped in the fingers, fell to the deck.

  Glancing up, Warlock noticed the hostile was a woman with a blond streak in her hair. Having no time for a fashion assessment, the Striker hooked her left arm around the injured pirate and slung her to the rear. The Marine fired once and a heartbeat later, he placed three quick forty-five rounds into the woman.

  “Semper Fi,” Warlock yelled as she sprang forward at the shape of another pirate.

  ***

  High Moon reached the hatch just as War Prince climbed over the frame. With no targets in sight due to the Earth Element’s mass, she spun, tracking towards the other side of the deck with her rifle. At the end of a stack of crates, a sniper dropped her long gun and snatched a distinctly shaped pistol from a thigh holster. As the gunpowder-based weapon rose in the direction of Warlock’s hatch, Havoc added elevation to her sights and double tapped the side of the pirate’s head. The pistol fired a burst as a woman with a white streak in her hair slammed against the bulkhead and sagged to the deck.

  Then, two more automatic pistols rattled out strings of rounds. The discharge overwhelmed the air handling system and a haze hung in the air. High Moon’s view was limited to knee high and she decided she could do more on the deck.

  “War Prince, I have your six,” Moon advised as she closed on the broad back.

  Her Earth Element grunted as he chopped downward with his heavy blade.

  “Some idiot is using gunpowder,” War Prince declared as he shifted forward and swung again.

  A figure appeared in the smoke. Dropping to a knee, Moon stitched a line of rounds from ankles to chest. The pirate fell back and an automatic pistol dropped to the deck.

  “Not good,” High Moon whispered as her additional rounds kicked the pistol into a tumble and shattered the automatic.

  During the assault, neither Warlock or War Prince paid any attention to stacks of boxes dividing the deck. No one shot from over the crates or through them so they were a nonentity.

  “Clear,” announced Warlock from the other side.

  The big Striker cleaved one last time, worked his blade from between crushed armor and replied, “Clear.”

  ***

  High Moon heard a moan from Warlock’s hatch. Racing around the haze covered bodies, she reached the hatch. Warlock’s Marine lay slumped over the frame of the hatch.

  “Speak to me, Marine,” urged the Striker.

  “Caught one in the shoulder,” he replied as he pushed up with one arm. “Who was using gas fired automatics?”

  “Three of the pirates,” replied High Moon. “Can you climb down?”

  “I’m not sure about doing it with one hand,” he explained.

  “Warlock, I’m taking the Marine down for treatment,” she called out.

  “How bad? Do you need help?” inquired Warlock as she watched the air handling system clear the noxious fumes. As the smoke vanished into the vents, the crates became visible.

  “He’ll live. It’s just a shoulder wound,” Moon assured the team leader.

  She was halfway through the hatch and had just reached the ladder to help the Marine, when he put out a hand and gripped her arm. At first, Moon thought it was a problem, but the fingers relaxed as the Marine listened to his network.

  “The Glynis Gavin just evolved in the sector,” the Marine announced. “Reinforcements will be on the way, once the screen is in place.”

  “Well, that’s convenient,” observed War Prince. “I guess we can report in. Although, I’ll miss the downtime on the Mareva.”

  “Noted Marine. Let High Moon help you down the ladder,” ordered Warlock as she bent to a crate on top of the stack. No rifle dings or bullets from the automatics marred the surface. With all the shooting, she would expect some damage. Reaching down, she unsnapped two clamps and lifted the lid. “Gurvan. Come around here and tell me what I’m looking at.”

  While she waited for the Striker, Warlock squatted down and examined the rest of the crates. Braided lines and fiberoptic cables lay like spider webs connecting all the crates.

  “Warlock, that’s an arming device for a nuclear weapon,” the Striker ventured. “And based on the wiring, it’s tied into the ion walls of the Osamu Kaito.”

  “How can you tell?” demanded Warlock.

  He pointed out six fiberoptic cables snaking across the deck and vanishing into the bulkheads.

  “Is that power for the device?” ventured Warlock. “Maybe we should cut them?”

  “No. Disrupt the power loops and we’ll trigger the device early,” offered War Prince.

  “Why a nuclear weapon out here in the middle of a nowhere sector?” she inquired as she stood and examined the shiny metal barrel and the tubes coiling around it.

  “There is a battleship close by,” offered the Earth Element. “If the explosion shreds this massive tramp steamer and disperses a large enough electronic pulse, the Galactic Council Navy will have to scrap one ruined capital warship. And bury a lot of Sailors and Marines.”

  “If there are any bodies left,” added Warlock. “Call Moon, have her send up a Marine while I try and contact the Glynis Gavin.

  ***

  “Calling the Galactic Council Navy vessel Glynis Gavin. Come in Glynis Gavin. This is Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich from Striker command calling for any station,” Warlock radioed on an open channel. “Glynis Gavin, any station, respond!”

  Warlock faced two issues. There was no direct chain of command for her as Striker Command had transferred off the battleship and she and the teams hadn’t reported in yet. Plus, radio traffic was heavy with calls flowing in and out of the battleship as the screen of Bricks, Gunships and Fighters sent and received information. No one was specifically monitoring the networks for a lone Strike Kill team leader.

  “You sent for a Marine, Master Sergeant?” inquired a green armored woma
n as she climbed up through the hatch. “Sorry it took so long. I had to unharness my dance partner.”

  War Prince snapped open another of the crates and whistled. “Warlock. I believe all the crates are nuclear devices. If the lower boxes are, we have six stacked ship-busters.”

  “Come over here. Video these devices and send it to your Lieutenant,” Warlock directed the Marine gunner. “Along with my recommendation to abandon ship and exfiltrate to the Glynis Gavin.”

  “Wait one,” advised the Marine as she moved alongside the bombs letting her camera record the video. “Lieutenant Femke reports that the pirates are withdrawing. The Navy is chasing the slower ones and taking them off the board.”

  Warlock waited as the video was sent to the Lieutenant. Seconds later, the Marine stiffened.

  “Master Sergeant, Four Actual sent an advisory for all Galactic Council forces to collect civilians and withdraw from the Osamu Kaito,” the Marine explained as she swiped her PID over Warlock’s. “Also, this is the frequency for the intelligence division on the Glynis Gavin.”

  “War Prince. Radio Gregor’s team and have them get off this mine field,” instructed Warlock as she waved the Marine towards the hatch dismissing her. Then, she switched her radio and called the battleship. “This is Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich from Striker command calling for the intelligence division on the Glynis Gavin.”

  “Stay off this frequency,” a voice responded. “Be advised, unauthorized use during flight operation is a courts martial offense.”

  “Get me the intelligence officer in charge,” Warlock directed. “This is Striker Team Leader, Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich, with critical information.”

  “Standby,” the voice responded.

  Long seconds later, a new voice came on the radio, “This is Commander Wouter. State your name, rank, section and reason for breaking into my network.”

  “Diosa Alberich, Master Sergeant, Strike Kill command,” Warlock replied as she sent the video of the bombs. “Uploading a video of ship-busters under the main bridge of the Osamu Kaito.”

  Again, there was a long pause before the intelligence officer responded. “Verify your call sign.”

  “Call sign Warlock,” Diosa answered. Apparently, they had searched the records and wanted to validate the Striker.

  “Warlock, I’m relaying your information to the ship’s command staff,” Commander Wouter explained. “Also, early reports state that there are still hostiles on the tramp steamer. Hold there and secure the bombs. I’ll be back with further instructions.”

  “Rodger that, sir,” Warlock said before switching back to the Striker channel. “Shepherd, take Havoc and go with the Marines.”

  “I’m still fit,” the Earth Element responded. “The Marines can evacuate Havoc.”

  “Negative. You will accompany her and leave on their patrol boat,” insisted Warlock. “Go, now.”

  “I copy,” he replied with a hurt tone in his voice.

  “High Moon. Find us the quickest route to our gunship,” Diosa directed. “When we’re released, it’ll be a hasty withdrawal.”

  “I’m studying the schematics of the steamer,” High Moon reported. “From my level, through the cargo holds. Then a direct line to the landing bay.”

  “War Prince. Drop down. You and Moon make sure our escape route is clear,” ordered Warlock. “I’ll stay here and see what the Navy needs.”

  “What the Navy needs is to vacate this sector of space,” the big Striker observed as he jumped through the hatch.

  Warlock walked around the crates. Too many question filled her brain for her to be afraid. How did the pirates know where the Osamu Kaito would evolve to interior drive? Who planned the distraction that drew away the Tres el Fuerte? And, did they know the Glynis Gavin would swoop in to cover the operation?

  Some of the questions answered themselves. The bombs were there to destroy a battleship and its personnel and assets. The attack on the tramp steamer worked as it drew a capital warship into the blast radius. Having Strikers bust up the party must have been a surprise and from the presence of automatic pistols, the users were fanatics. Fanatics with their fingers on the detonator switches.

  All the questions and obvious answers revolved around coordinating the events. There were two organizations responsible for the movement of ships in Galactic Council Realm space. Merchants and civilian vessels registered their course with the Master of Transit network while the Navy logged travel routes with Naval Movement Command. Both governing bodies reported to each other to prevent collisions.

  “Warlock. The Glynis Gavin is getting under way. We’re pulling in the screen and recovering vessels,” Commander Wouter radioed. “I advise you to get off the Osamu Kaito and try to make it to the Glynis Gavin. It seems your gunship is the last vessel. Oh, and thank you for alerting us to the danger.”

  Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich wanted to scream and ask why the Navy had her team standing by while the battleship made preparations to leave. Instead, she maintained her professionalism and replied, “Yes, sir.”

  “High Moon move out. We’ve got minutes to get off this ship,” Warlock radioed as she ran for a hatch and jumped. After free falling for a meter, she grabbed the ladder to slow her descent before letting go and dropping to the deck.

  She spied High Moon standing at a hatch leading to the cargo holds. War Prince wasn’t in sight but reports from a Marine Corps machine gun informed her of a possible location.

  Once High Moon knew Warlock was aware of the exit hatch, she disappeared into the cargo area. By the time Warlock reached the frame, a rifle joined the big gun.

  “War Prince, report,” requested Warlock as she raced through the opening.

  “I’ve got six tenacious fanatics blocking our escape route,” he reported as he swung the harness mounted machine gun back and forth. “Are you sure Striker command won’t approve one of these?”

  “We haven’t got time for this or suicidal pirates,” Warlock said as she pushed the big man forward and indicated the area behind them, “You and me online. High Moon, seal the hatches and catch up.”

  War Prince leaped from around the cargo box and depressed the trigger. As his team leader fell in step beside him, he kept the hostiles heads down. When one popped up, Warlock shot him. Together, they fired and marched down an aisle between stacks of crates. The volume of firing from the Strikers was so heavy and targeted, the pirates had to duck behind cover.

  The fanatics expected a gunfight where they killed Marines before a glorious death. Instead, the Strikers walked through the ambush. Chancing a peek from behind a crate, the fanatics watched as the black armored Strikers turned a corner and vanished.

  Just short of the passageway leading to the cargo corridor, High Moon dropped to the deck behind them.

  “The pirates are still gathering themselves,” Moon reported as she raced ahead. “I don’t think they’re done yet.”

  ***

  Jumping the bodies of dead pirates in the cargo corridor, the Strikers sprinted for the landing bay.

  “Warrant Officer Metta. Spool it up,” Warlock radioed ahead. “We’re out of here.”

  “Need a little help,” their gunship pilot informed her.

  “What’s the nature of the help?” she asked as they reached the landing bay.

  In front of the gunship, a ring of new bodies littered the deck. All were torn apart by exploding large caliber rounds. The type used by the automatic guns mounted on the gunship.

  “I had company while you were away,” Warrant Officer Metta explained. He slumped on the cargo deck of the gunship. “Got most of them. One slipped to the side and got a shot off before I could bring the gun around.”

  He held an elbow up with one hand so the other hand could reach over his shoulder and press a bloody field dressing on his shoulder blade.

  “How bad are you?” asked Warlock as she climbed into the gunship.

  “I crawled back here for the medical kit,” Metta said indicting
the content of the kit spread around the deck. “I can fly, if you secure a compress to the wound and help me into the pilot seat.”

  “High Moon, bandage the wound. War Prince. Drop the harness and get him into the seat,” directed Warlock as she stepped out of the hatch. “I’ll hold the perimeter. Don’t take too long.”

  ***

  Four of the surviving fanatics burst from the passageway. Shooting and yelling, they ran straight down the center aisle and right into Warlock. One took a sonic grenade in the chest. Two were momentarily blinded by gore from their comrade. It cost them as Warlock triple tapped them center mass. The fourth ducked behind a row of shipping crates.

  Diosa angled to the left and slipped from crate to box until she was one row from where the fanatic should be hiding. All she required was one quick step and a pivot to target the woman and end the threat.

  “Warlock. Mount up,” High Moon called from the other side of the corridor.

  The gravelly sounds of an internal drive powering up rolled down the corridor. Warlock gave an ‘enemy in sight’ hand gesture and indicated a row. High Moon slinked forward to bracket her team leader’s target.

  As Warlock pivoted and brought her sights around, she froze. The fanatic wasn’t there. Across the center aisle and near the far side of the corridor, squatted a woman. Before Warlock could adjust and pull the trigger, the woman turned her face, smiled and indicated the direction of High Moon. With the other hand, the woman gripped a handle attached to her shoulder. She jerked the handle and the deck exploded.

  Shipping boxes and storage crates flew in all directions. High Moon, at the end of the row, caught part of the blast and the full weight of a crate. For a split second, the Striker was sprawled against the bulkhead, pinned in place by the corner of a crate. Then, the crate peeled off her chest and High Moon flopped to the deck.