Sean-Michael Argo - Trade War

“This place is a tomb so far, Boss, just empty rooms and lots of broken spaceship,” stated Samuel as he pushed his way through the ranks so that he could join Ben at the front of the line and see what the soldier was silently pointing at. “No tags dropped so far either, we’re still moving through what look to be munitions and gun crew quarters. From the scorch marks, I’d say there were tertiary explosions throughout the deck after the first cache went nova. Everything was either slagged or voided.”

“Copy that, we can see your lights down there, looks like you’ll reach the end of the outer hull damage points in a few minutes, so expect to start finding sealed hatches soon,” Boss Marsters responded. “Ulanti report.”

“We’re almost to the hull opposite. Decided to thread the squad and follow the artillery craters,” came Boss Ulanti’s voice, with a slightly audible click pattern just behind the main volume of her broadcast, “I can see void and stars on the other side of the craters, looks like the det-rounds went all the way through and exploded just outside the hull, somebody needs to go back to Grotto gun school and learn how to time their charges.”

“Copy that,” answered Boss Marsters.

Ben pointed down the corridor to where part of the flooring had been melted away to reveal the corridor one level down. Just beyond that, a hatch was in full view. It had been sealed and a glowing green light pulsed weakly from the keypad, indicating that it not only had power, but a clean seal.

“Good catch, Takeda,” said Samuel, “If we’d rushed, the whole squad might have crossed the breach and never realized we’d over-shot the start of their perimeter.”

“Boss, we’ve got the first hatch just below us, maybe thirty meters through a few holes in the deck plating, going to advance,” Samuel stated to his com-bead on the platoon channel.

“Roger, we will make our way down to support, nothing but solid bulkhead up here,” responded Boss Marsters, sounding almost disappointed that his group didn’t make the catch first. “Remember to seal the hatches behind you as you advance, we don’t know if the survivors have any void suits and I don’t want to lose them to a sloppy cordon. No offense people, but we haven’t executed a live ship sweep in years, stay alert and focus on your movement protocols.”

“You heard the man, let’s keep it tight,” nodded Samuel as he turned to face the rest of the squad, “I’ll pop the lock and we push in behind Takeda. Marcus you re-seal the hatch once we’re inside, the whole deck will be bleeding atmosphere so everyone be prepared to get hit with lots of random debris.”

“Hope this ain’t the privy,” grumbled Ben in his gravelly and digitized voice as he set his shotgun on the firing brace at the center of the shield and faced the hatch.

As Bianca, Holland, and Marcus closed ranks behind Ben, Boss Hyst took out his hand-welder and went to work on the lock. The hatch was easy enough to cut with the high-grade torches carried by the Reapers, which were much more powerful and yet more compact than what most civilian salvage operators would have access too.

The hand welder was the one tool possessed by the Reapers that was of the highest manufacture, making the low quality of their patchwork armor and mass produced cheap weapons all the more noticeable. They were better armed and armored than the average pirate, scavenger, or planetary militia; though any hereditary corporate soldier or mercenary elite had gear that made the Reaper kits look like they were the low bid crap that they were. Within seconds Samuel had cored the lock, and just before he rose to take his place behind Ben he depressed the green button that opened the hatch.

Instantly Ben was buffeted by atmosphere as it burst out of the open hatch, though it was not enough to knock him over. The big marine pressed onwards and rushed into the room with his shield and shotgun at the ready. Directly behind him came the rest of the squad, literally shoulder to shoulder, and in Marcus’s case back to back, as the squad entered the room.

Their lights revealed a small repair bay, judging by the disarmed munitions and various work tables. Some of the smaller hand tools had been flung through the air to clang against Ben’s breaching shield, though most of the room was filled with machinery that was bolted in place. Marcus immediately depressed the hatch and used a foamcore dispenser to fill the now slagged lock cavity with rapid hardening foam that would hold the seal and yet be easily burned through when Squad Marsters reached them.

The squad swept the room and made their way to the next hatch, which had a small viewport. They could see part of the face of a man looking at them with wide eyes from behind the hatch, his expression a mixture of fear and anger. Samuel peeked through the viewport and witnessed a man in engineer duds retreating through another hatch that was clearly marked as hard services.

“Marcus, move up and core this lock, everybody else stack on Takeda. Looks like at least some of them are holed up in the main service chamber,” said Samuel as his orders were met with groans from the other marines.

“Main service chamber. Wow, Takeda, you really did jinx us,” moaned Holland as he joined the formation.

“We go in hot,” said Samuel in a tone of voice that broached no argument, channeling some of his old squad leader, Mags, as he broadcast to the squad channel, not wanting Boss Ulanti or Boss Marsters, much less Reaper Command, listening in. “If they’re prepared to surrender, then they won’t open up as soon as we pop the hatch, but if we start taking fire then let’s show them we mean business.”

The molten lock lost surface tension and collapsed in a flood of hot metal. As it did, Marcus depressed the release key and the door slid open as the marine hurled himself out of the way.

Takeda growled and charged through the entrance, fully prepared to take the brunt of enemy fire against his thick breaching shield. Samuel pressed his armored body against Ben’s, and Bianca to his, then Holland to hers, and finally as the tight wedge of marines cleared the entrance, Marcus fell in step behind them.

Boss Marsters had been hopeful about sending the surrender agreement. From what Samuel had heard around the fleet, sometimes ships that had been captured would make that choice. It happened infrequently, but being able to seize a claim without the expense of battle was certainly worth the effort of a simple phase exchange.

Sadly, it was probable that the phase was sent to a multitude of dead stations, and none of the men and women surviving aboard the ship were aware that surrender was an option. Several months, perhaps even years of custody within a Grotto labor camp while they waited for one of the ransom exchanges was, whether they realized it or not, a preferable alternative to the abuses they’d suffer at the hands of slavers and their black market clientele.

No sooner had the wedge of marines entered the service chamber they were under enemy fire. Ben’s breaching shield bucked and shook violently from the impacts of dozens of low velocity clouds of shot. Several errant pellets managed to thud into the armor of the marines behind him. Ben responded with a salvo of his own and with the precision and alacrity that only comes from continuous training the Reaper began mowing down the hostile shooters. The marine’s assault shotgun roared over and over as he hosed the chamber with a hurricane of shot. The assault tactic of the Reapers entering a hostile chamber during ship-to-ship missions was a time-tested method, and this time was no different.

Samuel kept his rifle in a mid-guard position so that he could quickly survey the battlescape even as he let his instincts guide his aim and trigger finger. With a quick thermal scan his helmet display detected no less than thirty-five people in the chamber.