The Fleet Book 2: Counter Attack Read Online Free
Author: David Drake (ed), Bill Fawcett (ed)
gut instead of her lip. At least ulcers didn’t show when you were out for R & R; that was some consolation.
“Ready,” Olerein told her.
Lutane nodded. “Up!” She pressed the pressure patch between her breasts, and jets roared as lox and hydrogen ignited, sending the squad up in a cloud of mist that wreathed the tower. Not the safest way to travel, Lutane thought dizzily, but effective, effective . . .
Then she realized that Pachue was tilting. “Straighten out!” she called, but the private heeled over and headed for the ground. “Cut out!” Lutane screamed.
Pachue couldn’t have heard her, but must have understood the look on Lutane’s face, because her jets died. Below her the squad scattered, pulling back into a circle as momentum turned Pachue upright again; When her head was at two o’clock, Lutane slapped her fist into her own chest, hoping Pachue would understand the impromptu sign. It must have gotten through, because the jets roared out again, breaking the kid’s fall just in time. She hit hard, but she remembered to fold at the knees, and Lutane turned back to the com center with a sigh of relief. Too bad they had to have replacements, but everyone had to be green once.
It left Lobrin without a partner, though. Lutane thumbed her altitude jet, swooping over to him, then straightening up again just as they reached the window. “Back!” Lutane called, and they both flattened themselves against the wall on either side of the window, throttling their’ jets down to maintain altitude, just as a fountain of bullets sprayed out of the window. Exactly what she herself would have done, Lutane thought grimly, and waited for a pause in the stream of bullets. It came, and she dodged into the embrasure, jamming the trigger down. Lobrin was a quarter-second behind her, but he matched her to the beat when she ducked back out again, loosing another geyser of bullets from inside the building. That was all it took, though; the defenders had had to turn back to Lutane’s side, and Nol’s troops at the opposite windows poured in hot lead as though the building was a crucible. Lutane waited, and waited;, the hail of bullets seemed to go on, and on, and on . . .
Finally it stopped. The com center was quiet.
Very quiet.
Somebody had to take the chance. Lutane ground her teeth. What are lieutenants for, anyway?
She spun through the window, rifle blazing—and let the burst die.
Four Khalia lay on the floor—all around. What was left of their bodies was hamburger, with a few jigsaw puzzle pieces thrown in.
Her stomach heaved, and she just barely managed to choke it back down, lifting her glare to the com gear. There was a lot of smoke rising, but a few consoles seemed intact.
“Come on in,” she called. “Don’t look down.”
Nol ducked in, then Lobrin at Lutane’s back, then the rest of them. Some looked at the floor, and looked away again quickly, turning a delicate shade of chartreuse. Maybe, Lutane thought, that was why they called new troops “green.”
The veterans could have taken it, but they had sense enough not to look. Porthal and Elab went straight to the two intact consoles, frowning down at the dials and sliders.
“Can you figure it out?” Lutane demanded.
Porthal nodded slowly. “Take a little experimenting, Lieutenant—but this grille is either a mike or a vent, and that meter’s either amps or volts.”
Elab didn’t speak; he was already kicking aside the tilt-board and pulling a chair over.
Lutane stared. A chair? What was a chair doing here? The Khalia’s tilt-board backrests, sure—but why would there be chairs in the com center, too?
Later. Speculate after the job’s done. Lutane pressed the patch on her bracelet and talked into the mesh. “Everybody in. Squad one, hold the door and the stairwell. Squads two and three, search the building by the square foot. If there’s anything bigger than a gnat, I want it dead.”
“Yes, sir,” her bracelet answered in
“Ready,” Olerein told her.
Lutane nodded. “Up!” She pressed the pressure patch between her breasts, and jets roared as lox and hydrogen ignited, sending the squad up in a cloud of mist that wreathed the tower. Not the safest way to travel, Lutane thought dizzily, but effective, effective . . .
Then she realized that Pachue was tilting. “Straighten out!” she called, but the private heeled over and headed for the ground. “Cut out!” Lutane screamed.
Pachue couldn’t have heard her, but must have understood the look on Lutane’s face, because her jets died. Below her the squad scattered, pulling back into a circle as momentum turned Pachue upright again; When her head was at two o’clock, Lutane slapped her fist into her own chest, hoping Pachue would understand the impromptu sign. It must have gotten through, because the jets roared out again, breaking the kid’s fall just in time. She hit hard, but she remembered to fold at the knees, and Lutane turned back to the com center with a sigh of relief. Too bad they had to have replacements, but everyone had to be green once.
It left Lobrin without a partner, though. Lutane thumbed her altitude jet, swooping over to him, then straightening up again just as they reached the window. “Back!” Lutane called, and they both flattened themselves against the wall on either side of the window, throttling their’ jets down to maintain altitude, just as a fountain of bullets sprayed out of the window. Exactly what she herself would have done, Lutane thought grimly, and waited for a pause in the stream of bullets. It came, and she dodged into the embrasure, jamming the trigger down. Lobrin was a quarter-second behind her, but he matched her to the beat when she ducked back out again, loosing another geyser of bullets from inside the building. That was all it took, though; the defenders had had to turn back to Lutane’s side, and Nol’s troops at the opposite windows poured in hot lead as though the building was a crucible. Lutane waited, and waited;, the hail of bullets seemed to go on, and on, and on . . .
Finally it stopped. The com center was quiet.
Very quiet.
Somebody had to take the chance. Lutane ground her teeth. What are lieutenants for, anyway?
She spun through the window, rifle blazing—and let the burst die.
Four Khalia lay on the floor—all around. What was left of their bodies was hamburger, with a few jigsaw puzzle pieces thrown in.
Her stomach heaved, and she just barely managed to choke it back down, lifting her glare to the com gear. There was a lot of smoke rising, but a few consoles seemed intact.
“Come on in,” she called. “Don’t look down.”
Nol ducked in, then Lobrin at Lutane’s back, then the rest of them. Some looked at the floor, and looked away again quickly, turning a delicate shade of chartreuse. Maybe, Lutane thought, that was why they called new troops “green.”
The veterans could have taken it, but they had sense enough not to look. Porthal and Elab went straight to the two intact consoles, frowning down at the dials and sliders.
“Can you figure it out?” Lutane demanded.
Porthal nodded slowly. “Take a little experimenting, Lieutenant—but this grille is either a mike or a vent, and that meter’s either amps or volts.”
Elab didn’t speak; he was already kicking aside the tilt-board and pulling a chair over.
Lutane stared. A chair? What was a chair doing here? The Khalia’s tilt-board backrests, sure—but why would there be chairs in the com center, too?
Later. Speculate after the job’s done. Lutane pressed the patch on her bracelet and talked into the mesh. “Everybody in. Squad one, hold the door and the stairwell. Squads two and three, search the building by the square foot. If there’s anything bigger than a gnat, I want it dead.”
“Yes, sir,” her bracelet answered in