Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Right

The hatch chugged open and he smiled as he saw the assembled security team on the other side. The Blackshirts were clearly unprepared to come face-to-face with armed Marines; at a guess, they’d been scattered through the ship when the Marines had landed inside their shuttlebay and their commander was still trying to coordinate a response. The Blackshirts had no time to react before the Marines scythed them down and kept moving. The massive superdreadnaught might have an equally massive crew, but few of them would be armed. The Marines could, he hoped, secure the vital compartments… and then the crew would have the choice between surrendering or dying when the air was pumped out of their quarters.

On the bridge, Jeremy was watching helplessly as disaster started to unfold. The first warning they’d had was when the security sensors lit up when the plasma cannons fired, by which time it was too late to fire on the shuttles and destroy them. The armoured intruders — they were wearing Marine armour, although that didn’t prove that they were Marines — were already spreading through the ship and taking out the security sensors as they moved. Three entire compartments were already completely black, with no way of knowing what was happening inside. The handful of security personnel they’d encountered had simply been brushed aside.

He looked up at Stacy, who was staring at the screen. “Do something,” she ordered, hysterically. Jeremy could almost sympathise with her position. It had been her orders that had allowed the intruders to board all nine superdreadnaughts, her orders that had exposed the entire squadron to boarding missions. Even if they rallied and defeated the intruders, it would still look very bad on her record, although he was sure she would find a way to pass the blame to someone else. “Do something!”

Jeremy considered and then started to redeploy the security teams towards the intruders. There had been no warning, so there had been no internal security alert and the counter-boarding parties had to make their way to the armoury first, just to arm themselves. The intruders, who clearly knew their way around a superdreadnaught, would also be heading to the armoury, where they could cut off all hope of a successful defence. Even the dreaded security troops — the Blackshirts — were not permitted weapons onboard, unless they were on duty. He glanced down at the link to the transports, wondering if it would be wise to order them to start unloading their troops from the stasis units and prepare to transfer them to the superdreadnaughts. It was against regulations, but he couldn’t think of any other way to resist.

“Yes, Commodore,” he said. Keying his console, he started to contact the various transports. At least the Observation Squadron hadn’t opened fire on them, although he suspected that that would just a matter of time. The transports might have been larger than superdreadnaughts, but they didn’t have the defences or weapons protecting the most powerful weapons in the Empire’s arsenal. “I will redeploy troops from the transports and have them brought over here.”

He glanced down at the internal security monitors. Several more compartments had gone black, with brief reports of weapons fire and intruders before they went silent. The intruders were definitely heading towards the most vital parts of the ship, including the armoury, engineering… and the flag bridge. It was funny how the best-protected sections were also, in some ways, the most vulnerable. He caught himself glancing over towards the hatch sealing the bridge off from the rest of the ship. How long would it last against fire from a heavy plasma cannon?

Another compartment went black and he swore. “I think we also need to evacuate this compartment,” he added. He’d sealed the compartments, but the intruders weren’t slowing down at all. “We may be at risk.”

“Impossible,” Stacy said, flatly. Her eyes were wide with panic and stubborn determination, unwilling to abandon her bridge. He swallowed several words that came to mind. There was a point when one just had to abandon an untenable position and move elsewhere, or die in place, for nothing. They had reached that point, but Stacy — used to seeing the universe bend to her will — hadn’t realised it. “We must not abandon the bridge.”

The ambush had been hastily organised, but that hadn’t stopped it taking out two Marines and seriously injuring a third. Neil ordered a quick fallback to safer positions, where the Marines threw grenades into the compartment to destroy the plasma cannon the Blackshirts had used to ambush them. The resulting explosion shattered the compartment — superheated plasma burned through almost everything it touched — and left the Blackshirts in no position to fire. The only survivor ran screaming towards the Marines, his entire body ablaze. He was clearly beyond help, so Neil punched him in the face and shattered his skull. It was the only thing he could do for the dying man. The Marines advanced more carefully, pressing through the compartments one by one, watching for a second ambush. They were approaching the armoury.

Neil stood aside as they opened the final hatch, one heavy enough to resist even plasma fire for several minutes. The Blackshirts were desperately trying to distribute weapons and armour, but it was too late. The Marines cut through the unarmoured Blackshirts with stunners, saving the heavier weapons for the armoured enemy soldiers, who either tried to fight or surrender. Neil was unimpressed by their conduct. The Blackshirts were used to being nothing more than a cudgel, used by their masters to crush resistance with the liberal application of heavy weapons; the Marines were a precision force. They were unused to heavy resistance, let alone something attacking them in the heart of a starship. It was beyond him why Commodore Roosevelt had chosen to use them as an internal security force, unless she felt that the Marines could not be trusted.

His lips twitched as he detailed a platoon to secure the armoury and ensure that no newcomers could claim weapons and use them against his team. It was quite possible that most of the crew would join the rebels once they realised what had happened, but for the moment he had to be careful. If there had been no less than seventy intelligence agents on the Observation Squadron, there could be far more on the superdreadnaughts, ships the Empire didn’t dare lose. He checked with the communications tech, who was using the main security terminal in the armoury to access the main system and smiled. Suddenly, the Marines had access to their enemy’s security sensors.

He detailed several platoons to seal all the approaches and then checked in on the platoon approaching engineering. The heavy armour surrounding the starship’s flicker drive was impeding their advance, but they’d be in the main compartment within twenty minutes at the most, unless the enemy had prepared a nasty surprise for them inside. He checked their own sensors and allowed himself a nasty grin. The engineering crew were clearly unable to put up a defence, leaving it solely in the hands of the Blackshirts. Once they were gone, there would be nothing stopping the Marines from taking engineering — and, with it, control of the ship.

“With me,” he ordered, and led the final platoons towards the bridge. There were no internal monitors in the bridge itself, but he checked all around the bridge and saw only a handful of Blackshirts, preparing to give their lives in defence of their superior. He wondered, briefly, if Commodore Roosevelt would have the nerve to hit the self-destruct and destroy the ship, before putting the thought out of his mind. There was nothing he could do about it.