John Ringo: Vorpal Blade

In space, there was no way to do damage much beyond where the blast spread. But in this case, the dragonfly formation had been entirely in the blast zone. None of the dragonflies came out the other side.

“Tactical, what do you have on the scope?” the CO asked.

“We had to shut the radars down, sir,” Lieutenant Souza said. “Otherwise we would have lost them to EMP. We’re coming back up, now.”

“I don’t see anything,” the XO said, looking at the visual scope. It had only shut down temporarily, to prevent “blinding” the CCD camera.

“Come on, Tactical,” Spectre said impatiently.

“Coming up now, sir,” Lieutenant Souza said. “Stand by…”

“Nothing there,” the NCOIC said. “Spread the scan.”

“Opening up on spread scan,” the tech said, then gulped.

“Oh, maulk ,” the NCOIC said.

“Conn, Tactical.”

“Go.”

“We have five… six… increasing groups of bandits approaching. They’re coming from all over the world, sir.”

“How far?” Spectre asked.

“Nearest is about two hundred klicks, sir, approaching from zero-one-eight mark minus five.”

“Pilot,” Spectre said. “Get this tub out to warp point. Then punch it for 60 AU from the sun. We’ve got to chill.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the pilot said, backing away from the planet.

“The Marines are on their own,” the CO said, shrugging. “Let’s hope they can figure out a way for us to come back. If not, we’ll be back some day.”

“Yes, sir,” the XO said.

“Damn this planet.”

“Conn, Tactical.”

“Go.”

“I’ve been doing some computations, sir,” Lieutenant Souza said. “We’re deep inside the grav well of this Jovian. I don’t think we’re going to reach warp before we’re swarmed.”

“Lieutenant, you’ve got two torp tubes and four SM-9s at your disposal,” the CO said. “Do something about that.”

Berg passed four kills for Gunny Frandsen before the latter’s luck ran out.

The tunnel had descended deep into the earth, the walls changing from stabilized earth to limestone, then back upwards. As they abruptly changed to granite and he negotiated another of the snaking turns, Frandsen stopped and then started to backpedal.

“Dra—” he shouted over the team net. Then a head snaked around the corner and snatched the armor off the board. With a crunch that echoed through the tunnel, the gunny’s armor crumpled like a beer can under a foot and splashed bright red.

The head of the dragon was twice the size of a suit of armor and armored itself with heavy overlapping plates. The head was bright red, shading backwards through purple to a blue body with red highlights on shoulders and hips.

That was about all that Berg noticed as he opened fire with his Gatlings. But as he had halfway come to expect, the rounds bounced off the bullet head of the thing, which slithered forward fast and low, snatching Sergeant Jaenisch off his board and crunching again.

“JAEN!” Berg shouted, his hands dropping to his hips. “Hatt! Back, back!”

“ Grapp you!” Hatt shouted, backing slowly as he pumped grenades at the thing. The explosions were damaging some of the plates on the thing’s head, but they weren’t penetrating. Whether Hatt was cursing Berg’s suggestion or the dragon wasn’t clear since he was the next to go. The dragon snapped him off the board then hammered him back and forth on the granite walls.

Berg fired three of the .50 caliber rounds in various spots, juncture of the neck and shoulder, throat, leg. All three sparked off the refractory armor of the beast.

Then it was his turn as the beast charged down the granite tunnel. Its maw opened and for a moment all he saw was teeth and tonsils. Then he opened fire with all three guns.

The thing was fast . It was on him before he could trigger more than two rounds from each pistol, but he was biting down on his fire clamp at the same time and looking right down the thing’s throat.

The 7.62 mm rounds chewed into the back of the beast’s mouth, ripping the soft flesh but not stopping it; the thick bone on that portion of the head caused them to do no more than embed in flesh. It was hurt but nothing the Gatling could do was going to kill it.

The .50 caliber rounds, however, punched through the bone. One buried itself in still more bone in the thick skull of the beast. Another ricocheted down and out, punching a hole in the bottom of the monster’s mouth. The third ricocheted down its throat, lodging deep in the neck of the beast in a spot that would, eventually, kill it.

The fourth, however, punched through a thick ridge of bone, then struck the beast’s backbone, cracking a vertebra and severing its spinal cord.

The dragon dropped ten feet from Berg, its mouth still thrashing open and closed and its body thrashing. But it had no voluntary control over its limbs, which rattled in convulsions, shaking the refractory walls of the tunnel and causing rocks to drop from the ceiling.

“ Grapp me,” Berg muttered, sliding forward on his board and emptying his pistols into the thing’s head. He stayed up near the ceiling, avoiding the clashing teeth, until it finally gave a shudder and died.

“We’re blown,” Captain MacDonald said. “Move up the pace. Alpha Team, point.”

“ Grapp , grapp , grapp ,” Berg muttered, reloading.

“Are you sure it’s dead?” PFC Wangen asked as he flew past. As he said it, the thing convulsed again, shaking down more rock.

“It’s as dead as I can make it,” Two-Gun said, jacking a round into the chamber of the converted rifle.

“Two-Gun,” Top said. “Close up behind Bravo Team.”

“Aye-aye, Top,” Berg said tiredly. He didn’t look at the bodies of Hatt and Jaen as he passed. The Marines made a big thing of leaving no wounded or dead behind. But there were times when it just wasn’t feasible to try. Maybe, if any of them survived, they could pick up Hatt and Jaen. If they could get the armor cut off.

If any of them survived this grapping madhouse.

“Contact!” Staff Sergeant Sutherland shouted.

“We’re up to nineteen contacts,” the Tac NCOIC said.

“Fine,” Lieutenant Souza said, tapping at his computer.

“Closure rate is forty kkps on the nearest. Ten minutes until we are in range of their lasers.”

“I can see that,” Lieutenant Souza said. “Just keep an eye out for new tracks. I’ll send over the fire spread as soon as I’m done with it.”

“Yes, sir,” the chief petty officer said.

The smaller Demons fell in windrows to the fire of the Gatlings as the Marines pressed forward. Alpha Team had formed a stack with the two Gatling gunners low and the grenadier high. Any of the Demons who survived their assault were being picked off by Bravo.

But there was one problem.

“I’m clocking out!” Wangen screamed.

“Bravo, move forward,” Lieutenant Berisford said. “Alpha, prepare to pass Bravo forward.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Sutherland said. “Wanker, split right and lift …”

The two lower boards separated and lifted, maintaining fire, as Bravo Team came in low and under them and took over fire.

“Sir, there’s light up ahead,” Staff Sergeant Sutherland reported. “And increased particle emissions, mostly mesons.”

“Roger,” Lieutenant West said. The platoon leader was just about the last officer left in the company except for the CO. “Commander Weaver? We’ve got meson emissions ahead.”

“Could mean anything,” Weaver said. “Let’s see what’s up there.”

“Demons are discontinuing assault, moving forward,” Staff Sergeant Sutherland said, then gasped. “Sir… I’m not sure how to evaluate this.”