CHAPTER
FIVE
INSURRECTIONIST FREIGHTER FINNEGAN’S WAKE,
OUTER FRINGES, ECTANUS 45 SYSTEM
Four more explosions rocked the inside of the cargo bay. Debris flew through the air and clattered off the walls, then rained down to the floor. A thick haze of smoke filled the air, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Keyes lay on his side, blinking away the blood trickling down his forehead into his eyes.
He tried to get on his hands and knees to stand, but he couldn’t quite manage it.
An ODST Helljumper grabbed his arm. “Come on, sir, you just got your bell rung.”
The man was right. Keyes could hardly focus on the grating of the floor right under the Helljumper’s boots. He leaned against the Helljumper’s body armor, struggling to keep under his own power.
The thick haze was starting to clear. Keyes let the Helljumper set him down against the side of the container where they’d come in. Keyes could see the high tail of the Pelican around the edge of the container in front of him. The other wounded ODSTs sat by him, armor ripped open or dented from container shrapnel.
Several of the bodies just lay still, flat out on the floor.
Keyes swallowed and rubbed his sleeve over his face to get the blood off. He could feel the warm trickle of more coming. “Where’s Canfield?” He wanted to find out what the veteran ODST commander was doing.
“Canfield’s dead, sir.” The soldier who’d dragged him to safety was checking people for injuries, spraying biofoam into wounds to try and stabilize things. They needed to evacuate quickly before they lost more soldiers.
“Dead?” Keyes blinked more stinging blood and sweat out of his eyes. “Who’s in charge?”
Keyes was overwhelmed with the thought that the entire cargo bay had been a trap that he had led good men into.
“Faison, sir.”
Keyes felt for his earpiece and realized he’d lost it in the shock-wave. “Someone toss me their helmet ASAP. I need a heads-up and comms.”
A wounded soldier threw his helmet over, and Keyes slapped it on his head, wincing when it touched. Whatever hit him had glanced off his skull, giving him a head wound and most likely a concussion.
“Faison, this is Keyes, give me a sit rep.”
“Shaped charges on the containers, sir. Insurrectionists no doubt. Three of them attacked us when the explosions happened.”
“Any survivors?” Keyes had hoped that they’d captured them alive, to get some information out of them.
Faison cleared his throat over the air. “One. He’s with the wounded. Sir, they were shooting at us. We thought it prudent to return fire.”
“I understand that.” Keyes said. “I was hoping for intel—like how many more surprises might be waiting. You’re securing the ship, checking for others?”
“Yessir.” Faison sounded a bit annoyed. “Of course, sir. And an emergency beacon has been triggered to bring the Midsummer Night in with reinforcements. We’ll move right on through every inch of this boat, sir.”
“I’m sure you will,” Keyes muttered.
“And if you don’t mind, sir, I don’t need someone second guessing my orders and looking over my shoulder. All things considered, sir, you’re Navy, I’m the marine. Let’s stay out of each other’s way.”
The loud roaring in the cargo bay had grown a bit more noticeable. Keyes looked at the soldier checking the wounded over and ignored Faison’s disdain for a more immediate concern. “Son, where are we losing air from?”
“Everywhere. The explosives punched holes all over this little tub,” came a response.
“Wish I were a marine right now,” Keyes said, looking around at the ODSTs. “I’m not in vacuumproof armor.”
“We’ll think of something,” the Helljumper said, glancing over at the Pelican.
Keyes tapped his earpiece. “Jeffries, Keyes here. Acknowledge.”
Silence.
With a grunt Keyes got to his feet and stumbled over to the container. He leaned against it and slid around the corner.
He stared at the gaping hole in the side of the Pelican.
“They pulled him out, sir.” Another Helljumper tapped Keyes on the shoulder. “We pumped him full of foam; he’s in bad shape. But Midsummer Night should jockey in here soon. We’ll have them transferred over.”
Keyes looked at the line of wounded and dead ODSTs. These were the best of the best. Ask for volunteers to hold a line and kick ass, they were the first with their hands up. Happy to face the long odds, happy to face the enemy in the eye.
All dead from a routine boarding.
From a trick.
Keyes knew there could be more. He turned to the one Finnegan’s Wake crewman still alive. He was lying on the deck with the wounded. A Helljumper sat near him, keeping a pulse.
Keyes looked around the cargo bay. Think laterally, he told himself. This wasn’t a typical fight; he needed to think a step ahead.
The Helljumpers were combing the ship for more Innies. They’d need transport off the ship once they’d combed it, since the Pelican they’d come in on was holed. Keyes triggered the Midsummer Night’s ship-to-ship channel and tried to make contact, but got nothing.
Keyes bit his lip. “Commander Faison, Keyes here. Did you trigger the beacon calling the Midsummer Night in?”
“Faison here. No, sir.”
“Then who did?” Keyes felt a cold stab of fear. They could all hear the beacon just by flipping to the emergency channel. A steady series of digital beeps tapping out a number code that, when translated, told any UNSC listening: men down, need backup and medical assistance with all possible speed.
“I don’t know, sir.” Faison said, annoyed. “We’re in the middle of sweeping the ship…”
“Commander, I’m pulling rank. I’m ordering you to stop the sweep, get a response from every single marine under your command. I want to know who set the beacon off.”
“Yessir,” came Faison’s clipped reply in Keyes’ ear. “Don’t suppose you want me to interview any of the dead, sir? Could be somewhat difficult.” The Helljumper’s passive-agressiveness was turning into anger. Faison obviously wanted to kick back. And hard.
“No, Faison. We’ll do that here.” Keyes turned to the Helljumpers standing around him. He couldn’t see any expressions behind those dark blue faceplates. He had a feeling that there wouldn’t be any smiles. But knowing exactly what was going on in a battle was extremely important. And while they might not respect the man right now, Keyes would make sure that even the ODSTs would damn well respect the rank. “Pull the chips on any soldier’s helmets, check the footage and audio, look to see if anyone triggered a beacon.”
They all stood silent. Then one marine managed a “Sir…”
“Don’t stand there and stare at me,” Keyes shouted, the crack of a whip in the back of his tone. The words echoed in the cavernous bay. “Just do it!”
They jumped to, pulling chips out of their fallen comrades’ helmets and checking the footage. Keyes looked at the soldier who’d tossed him his helmet, and the man shook his head. Not him.
As they worked, Keyes switched frequencies and continually called out to the Midsummer Night. Nothing. They could talk inside the freighter, but it seemed nothing was getting out.
One by one, the Helljumpers all reported their beacon results: nothing.
“Faison?” Keyes called out over comms.
“Nothing here, sir. No one standing did it.”
“Nothing on the wounded or dead.”
“Sir?” Faison wasn’t questioning Keyes this time, or annoyed. He wanted to know what Keyes was thinking.
“The Pelican is down. If any of your men find a way to talk to the Midsummer Night, have them tell Zheng to stand off for now. That we have things under control.”
“I’m on it, sir.” Faison went quiet.
Keyes took a deep breath and another wave of dizziness hit him. They were losing too much air from the cargo bay. He had maybe another fifteen minutes before he’d start gasping.
“Sir?” Faison was back. “We’re being jammed. Nothing’s getting out. There are some pretty hefty blast doors between us and the cockpit. We can start working on blowing those out to see if we can gain access to this ship’s comms.”
“No,” Keyes said. “They’ll have more surprises. Not worth it right now. Get back and let’s regroup, figure out what to do.”
“You have a plan?” Faison asked. Keyes smiled inside his ODST helmet. He sure as hell had a plan. But Keyes wasn’t going to broadcast it over a suit radio, not when the Insurrectionists aboard already showed a capacity for messing with their communications so easily.
“No, Commander. I just want to regroup, take care of our wounded, and get ready for the Midsummer Night to come in. Get every ODST back to the cargo bay ASAP. Move it.”
He motioned one of the Helljumpers over. The man’s tag read markov.
“Sir.”
“This armor really vacuum proof?” Keyes asked.
“Yessir.”
“How long can the air hold?”
“Fifteen minutes, sir.” Good, that hadn’t changed in his years off.
“Alright, Markov,” Keyes looked around, then lowered his voice. “We need explosives. We’re going to widen one of these debris holes in the hull large enough to shove one of these containers through. Say nothing over comms, ask for anything you need in person and quietly. Grab as many battle rifles as you can, a pair of field goggles, and all the ammo you can hang onto. Move it.”
Markov took off, and Keyes walked over to a puncture in the far side of the hull from the cargo bay doors. The ragged edges whistled as air leaked out the gap.
Keyes walked back toward the wounded. “Listen, as everyone comes in relay this in person. Not over comms, understand? I need all these cargo containers searched and cleared out. Put the dead in one, the wounded in another.”
Helljumpers flooded back into the cargo bay. As word of the order spread, each man started pulling their comrades toward the empty pair of containers.
Markov came back with a pair of battle rifles and extra ammo magazines tucked into every pocket of his armor. Keyes looked him over. “Strip your armor, son, and hand me those rifles. Then I want you in the container with the wounded.”
“Sir?”
“I’m going to need to get out there in front of the containers.”
“There’s other armor,” Markov protested. He pointed a black-gloved hand at the rows of dead men.
Keyes got up close to the man’s helmet. “You want me to use body armor that may have been damaged in the explosion, that may have caused their injury or death? We don’t have time to check them over.”
“Markov, strip your armor down, now!” A Helljumper with squad leader paint on the shoulder of his body armor had walked up behind the two of them. Faison.
Markov removed his armor, and just as quickly Keyes started buckling up.
“No plan, huh?” Faison said out loud. “Sure doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.”
Keyes finished snapping up. He was now another black-clad ODST Helljumper for all appearances. He slung the pair of battle rifles over his shoulder and checked to make sure the ammo was all secure.
He looked at Faison. “I lied. I have a plan. They blew us up at the boarding, and they’ve set off the emergency beacon that’s bringing in the Midsummer Night. Because we obviously didn’t set it off. What do you think is the next step? I’m willing to bet this whole freighter is ready to blow the moment our ship gets close enough. So for now I want you to get this gap lined with explosives. I want a hole big enough to shove a container through. Wounded are in one container, dead in another. Any walking and fit Helljumpers I want jumping outside and throwing themselves clear of the freighter.”
“We’re blowing out of here?”
“Literally.” Keyes held up a battle rifle. “When you’re in zero-gravity training, rule number one about firing a gun! Make sure you’re braced or you’re intending to go flying.”
“Newton’s third law, sir!” Faison nodded his head. “For every action there’s an equal, and opposite, reaction. You want us to use our weapons like pocket rockets, sir?”
“Now you’re talking my language,” Keyes said. “Yes. We’re all going to jump ship and use our weapons to maneuver, but me first. I can get far enough clear of this jam to warn the Midsummer Night what’s happening, we don’t want them shooting at us by mistake.”
“And we’re not using the bay doors because?” Faison asked.
“When terrorists set off a bomb, it’s often designed to create panic so they can do real damage when people start to flee. And what’s the natural escape route here? Can you guarantee me that there are no weapons outside covering it?” Keyes asked.
“Bay doors…” someone muttered.
“Exactly. Plus, it’s pointed the wrong way. We have only fifteen minutes of air. We all need to head straight for the Midsummer Night. I want ODSTs hanging onto the container with the wounded, so they can navigate it as best they can away from the ship using their guns. Leave the dead tagged with a beacon, we’ll pick it up after-action.”
Faison shook his head. “This is crap, sir. We’re risking our lives to jump clear of a ship with limited air when we should be taking the fight right to them…”
“I’m not asking for your feedback, Faison,” Keyes said firmly. “This is an order.”
For a moment they stood and glared at each other, then Faison backed down with gritted teeth.
It only took another two minutes before the Helljumpers had the containers sealed, explosives primed, and were ready to rock. It had to be done quickly. If there were Insurrectionists still lurking around on the ship, somehow, it wouldn’t take long for them to realize Keyes had figured out what they were up to.
The ODSTs had performed well, organizing the whole thing with quiet efficiency. The wounded waited inside a cargo container that had been dragged to the hole and the other Helljumpers got ready for their departure.
“Let’s do it,” Keyes said, from a safe distance.
“Fire in the hole!” Markov pressed a remote.
The explosion rocked Keyes back, slamming him against the container behind him. Fortunately, this time he had on a helmet. Molten metal rained down, sizzling as it hit the cargo bay floor.
Four Helljumpers rushed to the edge with Keyes. He felt the suit kick over to internal air as the pressure dropped. They grabbed his arms and legs.
“You sure about this, sir?” one of them asked.
“Get on with it,” Keyes said.
They wasted no time asking him again; all four held him between them like he was a battering ram. They ran toward the side of the hull at a sprint, and then threw Keyes through the center of the ragged hole. One of the rifles caught on an edge and was ripped free.
But he still had the other.
Keyes flew out in a cloud of crystallizing vapor.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a series of muzzle flashes. Something struck him in the back, spinning him out of control. Stars cartwheeled around him. No more bullets struck; he was probably already far enough away that the black armor was too hard to spot. He’d only been visible because of the cloud of vapor ice around him.
“Midsummer Night this is Keyes, come in.”
He waited for a moment. There was no reply.
Keyes grabbed his remaining battle rifle and tried to gauge his rate of spin while he breathed slowly to remain calm. He fired against the direction of his spin until he’d stopped and he could see Finnegan’s Wake off like a toy in the distance. He looked around.
He couldn’t see the Midsummer Night out there, but he’d cleared the freighter in roughly the right direction. He just needed to get farther away.
He tried to radio in again as he lined up a shot that would move him farther out in the right direction, but not fire bullets right back at the freighter where the ODSTs would be following. “Midsummer Night, this is Keyes, come in.”
Again, no reply. Keyes fired the rifle off, a burst of fire aimed below the freighter, a few seconds above to compensate, moving him farther away into the quiet darkness. Keyes’ heart sped as he thought about how little time he had left. If Zheng had moved away, or to the other side of the freighter… Keyes willed himself to remain calm, and follow the plan. Life was full of what-ifs and they had no place in an emergency.
Keyes emptied the battle rifle’s magazine, and ripped through the spares as fast as he could.
In the far distance the Wake looked about as small as his thumb. He could see two specks of red metal falling away from it, and hoped it was the two containers and the rest of the ODSTs getting clear of the freighter.
“This is UNSC Frigate Midsummer Night,” Zheng’s voice suddenly crackled in Keyes’ ears. “Identify yourself.”
“Lieutenant Keyes, sir!” Keyes grinned. “The rest of the ODSTs are jumping clear of the freighter. We were attacked. Wounded and dead are in the two containers that were just shoved out. The freighter is most likely a big trap, sir, probably rigged to blow when you got close.”
Keyes raised field glasses up to his helmet. Recognizing the model, the helmet’s heads-up display accessed the device and the view of the distant freighter zoomed. He could see a steady stream of Helljumpers using their weapons to propel themselves away from the gray craft: a swarm of black dots drifting out in the vacuum. “Well done, Faison.”
The two containers became visible, the tiny figures of Helljumpers hanging onto them, their guns aimed at the ship. Once the first group cleared the ship, the Helljumpers hanging onto the containers started firing their weapons to get the bulky boxes moving outward.
In the distance Finnegan’s Wake collapsed, sections of the ship straining against the ribs of its bulkheads and then caving inward. The Insurrectionists hiding on the outer hull had realized that the ODSTs were abandoning ship on the double, and were blowing it up while they could still take out what UNSC forces they could.
“Helljumpers empty your magazines!” Keyes shouted, even as Faison screamed for them to do the same.
The freighter blew out in a white-hot fireball of debris, the brightly colored Shockwave of gas and debris stripping the containers of the Helljumpers clinging to them.
In the bright light, and under magnification, Keyes saw the outlines of Helljumpers splayed out and spinning as they were tossed away from the vicinity of the destroyed freighter.
Keyes stared in horror, forgetting to breathe. They hadn’t gotten clear in time, and because he insisted on going first, taking the risk of any Insurrectionist fire on the way out, he might be the only one to survive.
“Scramble recovery vehicles!” Zheng shouted as a shock-wave of glowing gas slammed into Keyes.
In the wake of the fireball came debris, and Keyes felt himself thrown farther away as a constant pitter-patter of chunks of the ship, along with even larger pieces of deck plate and machinery, flew past.
A numb feeling of shock filled him.
His first mission back was a failure. He wasn’t fit to be out here at all, and he had gotten some extraordinary men killed because of it.