Operation Orion - Kevin Dockery [16]
Abruptly, a blast of gunfire erupted from the corridor of retreat, and the fleeing pirates were shredded by the new attack. Two bodies drifted forward, blood trailing from the lethal wounds that had been inflicted on their backs. More fighters, carrying assault rifles and wearing bright white space suits trimmed with red braid, came charging in from that direction.
“Wait—don’t shoot!” Jackson shouted as chaotic bursts of fire ripped into the compartment where the pirates were holed up. With Sanders and the LT attacking from two sides and an unknown ally firing from the third, the enemy didn’t have a chance. The shooters were new arrivals—not SEALS, but they seemed to have the same enemy.
The surviving pirates in their redoubt were shooting wildly now, under attack from three directions. Jackson saw a burst of some kind of energy weapon—definitely not Terran in origin—tear through one of the hostiles, cutting his body almost in half. The riddled corpse drifted grotesquely through the air as the SEALS punched home their attack, six or eight Teammates tumbling into the large compartment at once.
Marannis had his small breaching ax out and used it to crack the helmet—and the skull—of one struggling pirate. Another was hit while he was trying to shoot and tumbled over like a child’s toy, drifting eerily. A third fired, his slugs sparking off a metal table as the recoil forced him back. Ruiz fired one round right through the center of the shooter’s faceplate, and the pirate immediately went limp, his gun drifting out of his lifeless hands.
The two attacking forces converged in the large compartment, and Jackson identified the white and red suits of their allies as Shamani. He guessed, correctly as it turned out, that these were some of the original crew of the Lotus who impulsively had joined the attack to reclaim their ship.
In less than a minute the firefight was over. Several of the white-suited crewmen saluted the wary SEALS, and Jackson returned the gesture, encouraged by the discipline displayed by his men.
“We got one prisoner, skipper,” Smokey Robinson reported as he and his partner, Keast, held the arms of a pirate behind his back.
“Take off his helmet,” Jackson ordered, gliding up to have a look at the fellow.
The man’s face was swarthy, needing a shave. His eyes were too dark to determine which of the three empires he belonged to. He glowered at the lieutenant as Jackson halted and stared at him.
“Does he have a translator in his ear?” the officer asked. His suit contained software that could translate any known language into his earpiece, but he wouldn’t be able to communicate with the prisoner unless the fellow was wearing a device of his own. Fortunately the translators had proved to be very common among space travelers, and Keast quickly confirmed that the pirate was wearing one.
“Your ship is gone,” the lieutenant declared bluntly. “We chased it off, and they left you and your comrades behind to die.”
The pirate merely smirked. “We’re all going to die,” he spit after a second.
Abruptly he convulsed, his eyes rolling back in his head. White foam drifted from his clenched jaws, and by the time Baxter pressed a hand to the man’s neck, there was no pulse to be found.
“He suicided, LT,” the electrician’s mate declared grimly. “Musta had some secrets he didn’t want to share.”
Only then did Jackson turn his attention to the Shamani crewmen who were drifting through the compartment, checking the bodies of the slain pirates. The newcomers abruptly parted, moving to open a path and saluting a new arrival, an officer who came gliding into the increasingly crowded compartment.
From the alluring outline of that person’s suit, Jackson guessed her to be female. Even so, he was shocked when she removed her helmet to reveal an attractive, olive-skinned face with startling—and unforgettable