Operation Orion - Kevin Dockery [15]
“Permission to take off the helmets, LT?” Chief Harris asked as he and Harry Teal accompanied Jackson deeper into the ship. The two SEALS were propelling themselves along near the upper deck while the officer flew steadily forward just above the “floor.”
“Denied, Chief. There are too many ways these bastards could surprise us,” replied the CO. He checked the readout on the interior of his Plexiglas faceplate, confirming that the air in the corridor was in fact quite breathable. Even so, he worried about a sudden breach, accidental or planned, that could result in an almost immediate vacuum. Nor could he afford to ignore the threats of poison or disabling gas, which he had learned was a common tactic in sealed operations.
A burst of gunfire ripped out before him, silent but bright with muzzle flashes and tracer rounds. Marannis sprayed a juncture in the corridor before them, and Sanchez lobbed a grenade from his underbarrel launcher. The device exploded twenty meters ahead, concussion and flash punching through the compartment where the enemy seemed to be making a stand. The rocket rounds of the SEALS’ G15s sputtered and spit down the corridor, but the enemy was ensconced behind steel bulkheads to either side of the hatchway and for the moment seemed to be protected against the fire.
“I got six or eight hostiles up here, LT,” reported one of his point men. “They got cover and don’t look to be backing up anymore.”
As if to punctuate the point, a barrage of tracer fire erupted from the large compartment ahead of the SEALS. Immediately the Teammates flowed toward the edges of the corridor, taking cover behind arches and chairs and within the closed doorways that dotted the bulkheads. They returned fire, adding a few more grenades to the party, but even after the explosions the enemy returned a heavy volley, keeping the Team pinned in place.
“Sanders, do you copy?” Jackson barked into his helmet mike. He knew that his subordinate had embarked down a side corridor twenty meters back from their position.
“Loud and clear, boss,” came the junior lieutenant’s reply.
“See if you can take a right turn. We’ve got a tough nut in front of us and could use a little flank support.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
More fire spit from the large compartment before them. Through the smoke Jackson could make out a collection of tables and chairs, like a mess hall. He couldn’t see how wide the space was, but from the firepower a good number of hostiles were forted up there.
“Grenade!” someone shouted, and the men instinctively pulled flat against the walls or hunkered deeper into their doorway niches. Jackson saw the flash and felt the explosion at the same time, the blast knocking him hard against the floor. A number of red lights flashed on his HUD, and he knew his suit had been breached, but when he pushed himself up again, he was pretty sure he hadn’t taken any significant wounds.
“We’re going in, LT.” It was Sanders’s voice, sounding very confident. Abruptly Jackson saw the rocket tracers of his men’s counterattack, the rounds streaking sideways across his field of view into the compartment. His junior officer had found a perfectly located side door, and his men looked to be opening up with everything they had.
“Take it to the bastards!” the officer shouted, activating his jets and shooting forward along the floor. Guns blazing, the rest of the SEALS attacked as well, spilling through the hatch.
They were indeed in a large mess hall with signs of damage—broken chairs and tables, soot-blackened bulkheads and decks—all around. The furniture was anchored to the floor, with many broken parts floating in the weightless space of the large compartment. Several pirates were shooting at Sanders and his men, and Jackson drew a bead and fired a sizzling burst of rocket-propelled rounds, shattering the helmet—and head—of one of the shooters. The enemy’s suits looked as shabby as its shuttles, dirty and patched together. They moved now