Peter David - Battleship

“Four minutes, sir,” said Ord, reminding him of their rapidly closing window of opportunity.

“Got it, Ord,” said Hopper.

Beast slapped his hands together, squatting like a sumo, getting a grip on the shell. He hoisted, grunted, and the others got in there with him. It took a few moments to sort it out so that they weren’t in one another’s way. Soon they all had their hands on the shell, grabbing and straining to lift it, wrestling it out of the hold.

They struggled with it through a series of passageways and ladder-like stairs, at one point losing their grip on it completely. It slid down the ladder and nearly crushed Beast, knocking the wind out of him. But he recovered quickly and got his hands back on it, aiding the others as Hopper, through clenched teeth, kept a steady stream of directions going: “Turn here, hold on, slow, together, watch your angle there.” He felt like one of those guys who directed a rowing team.

They finally made it to the immediate destination: a single, long passageway that ran the length of the ship. There was a sort of monorail there, like a zip line for moving cargo, with a series of webbing straps hanging down. “Three minutes,” said Ord.

“Not helpful, Ord,” said Hopper as they slid the shell into the webbing straps and then looped a chain through it. They made damned certain the shell was secure in it—the last thing they needed was for the weapon to slip loose. Then came the trickiest part, the men grunting and screaming with effort as they lifted the shell onto the trolley hoist hook.

“Put your shoulders into it, boys! Let’s take it down Broadway!” They proceeded to do exactly that, running like linebackers as they sprinted the length of the ship to get the shell where they needed it to go, so they could fire it where it needed to go.

Two minutes later, Hopper, Nagata and the others—drenched in sweat and exhausted—made it to the gun turret and shoved the shell into the loading elevator. As it hauled the missile upward, Hopper and the others scrambled to reach topside.

Meanwhile, the grizzled gunner who was waiting for the shell grinned in relief, smiling, and patted it lovingly as it rose into view. “Come to Papa,” he growled as he used a lever to slam it home.

Hopper reached the flying bridge just as Ord said, “Thirty seconds.”

Nagata said, “Shut up, Ord.” Ord looked as startled as if he’d been smacked across the face. Despite the dire nature of the situation, Hopper allowed himself a brief smile.

“She’s hot and ready,” said the gunner over the radio.

Hopper summoned an image of Sam to his mind, and thought, You better be out of there. Because if you die, I’m going with you. Even if I live, I’ll be dead. So save both of us, baby .

His mouth was just in the process of forming the word “fire” when abruptly Ord shouted, “Shit! Look!”

Despite his predilection for pronouncements of doom, this time Ord’s reaction was fully understandable.

There was movement from the ruins of the flagship. Something was rising from it, some manner of launcher. And poised atop, clearly prepping to be deployed, were two familiar silver metal spheres.

Shredders.

Hopper knew that as bad as the last time had been, this was going to be way worse. The shredders were unstoppable, and this time they very likely wouldn’t settle for gutting the ship. This time, with nothing to lose, they’d annihilate everyone in sight. No one and nothing was going to get out alive.

But they hadn’t launched yet. If the Missouri fired on them before they were airborne, chances were excellent that they would blast the lethal devices to pieces before they could pose a threat.

Except then they’d have nothing to fire at Saddle Ridge.

“We’ve only got one round left, haven’t we,” Hopper said, already knowing the answer all too well.

“Yeah,” said Nagata.

“Save ourselves… or save the world?”

“Not much of a choice, is it.”

“Sometimes there’s only one choice you can make.”

And that’s what it comes down to, Sam. Good news. If this missile kills you… I’ll be along to join you way more quickly than I thought .

“Fire on Saddle Ridge,” he said.

Instantly the 16-inch shell leaped out of the launcher. It took off straight to Saddle Ridge, hurtling away at top speed, flying straight and true for the communications beacon.

At that exact moment, the shredders launched…

…and, turning at a sharp angle, went in pursuit of the shell.

“No!” screamed Hopper. Because now it was a race. The shell had a head start, but there was no way of knowing how fast the shredders were. If they overtook the shell, they could cut it to pieces effortlessly, then turn around and come after the Missouri . Hopper and his crew would die on the eve of his planet’s destruction being assured.

The Land Commander dies inside, even as he finishes putting the last touches on getting the power up and running on the communications grid .

He feels the death of his hatchling mate, the Sea Commander. He senses that, with his last breath, his hatchling mate launched a final retaliation against these… these insignificant creatures that have dared to challenge them .

But that retaliation will not be enough. Not in the slightest .

Mere seconds remain for full power to be reached so that the signal can be sent and a full fleet dispatched. Once that has been accomplished, however, the Land Commander will have no more immediate duties. He will have no vessel—the troop transport had returned to the flagship during the night and by now was doubtlessly nothing more than scrap. He will have no warriors at his disposal—they are all dead .

Still, there will be matters to be dealt with .

First and foremost will be pursuing the humans who inflicted this damage that he is attending to. They are racing down the hill on foot. As soon as the signal is broadcast, he will pursue them. He will overtake them. He will destroy them .

Then he will continuously strike from hiding, finding ways to harry and harass the humans, conduct ongoing guerilla warfare to make certain that they—

That is when he hears a sharp, high-pitched whistling that is unfamiliar, and more sounds that are familiar .

He looks up .

He has just enough time to realize three things: a human-launched weapon is about to strike home just before sufficient power has been reached to send the signal; the Regents-launched spheres are not going to stop it in time; humans were really, really not worth this much trouble .

Then the world explodes in white, and his hatchling mates welcome him .

A huge cheer went up from the crew as a great plume of smoke billowed from Saddle Ridge.

“Target down!” Nagata was shouting with joy, proving, somewhat to Hopper’s surprise, that he was indeed capable of displays of emotion.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. I saw the entire tower collapse about two seconds after the missile hit! And the explosion must have taken the shredders with it!”

Hopper stared at his cell phone. Call me, baby. Just… call me. Let me know you’re okay. If you were clear of it, you would have seen it hit, and you’d be calling to tell me you’re okay. If you aren’t…

If you aren’t, then you won’t answer if I call you. You won’t answer and I’ll be listening to that ringing, over and over; and worse, I’ll hear your voice telling me you can’t answer the phone right now, but you’ll call me back as soon as—