Operation Musket

[l3wt]

Lieutenant James Arland was currently sailing through space at ridiculous speeds, and this time he was determined to enjoy every second of it. Last time he'd done an EVA mission, he'd been hijacking a freighter in Planet Hamburg low-orbit. He'd been rendered serene, entranced as he had plummeted towards what would have been his death had not the AI JADE been at the wheel, guiding his suit systems with incredible precision towards the moving spaceship. Now, he'd put fatalistic serenity on hold in favour of observing the abyss around hurtle past, three shadows being propelled along with him.

All was to the sound of silence, save for the sound of breathing in sealed helmets. As the docking bay doors were beginning to close around their target vessel, their window grew smaller - but James had faith that the AI would see them through.

"Activating retrothrusters, adjusting for final approach angle. Prepare for landing," she instructed, not an ounce of hesitance in the smooth, synthesized voice. Flameless retrothrusters, emitting little enough heat to render the strike team undetectable, fired off - adjusting their positioning to land in the hangar bay feet first and reduce their speed to survivable levels.

James admired the discipline of his new team - nobody so much as uttered an expletive over the radio as they flew into the bay, clear of the large bay doors by only ten metres - two men on each side of the vessel. "Pack repulsors activating, entering artificial gravity field... now." James felt a wave of nausea as his body adjusted to the new normal gravity, and his EVA pack activated small, but sufficiently powerful repulsor units to guide them to the "ground" in relative comfort. What that entailed was that in all likelihood, their legs wouldn't snap like twigs on impact - and sure enough, James made landfall with a painful, but not unbearable smack of armoured feet on hard metal.

Just to his right, Petty Officer Herrin did the same - he'd bounced once, tucked his legs closer to his frame and skidded to a halt a ways in front of James, who'd already detached and activated his EVA pack's self-destruct cycle - no evidence to be left behind. "Herrin, you alright?" James unfastened his weapon off his chest rig - a standard Navy issue LNC-86 series carbine - quickly scanned the area ahead of him, then rushed forward to help his teammate back on his feet. Herrin grabbed the proffered hand, stood somewhat stiffly, but seemed otherwise unhurt. He began sorting out his own kit, as he spoke. "I'm alright, L-T. Damn, but the simulation made that look easy, I'll probably have bruises for weeks." James got back to scanning the surroundings, especially the ship airlocks and the entrance to the docking terminal hub. "You'll be fine, sailor. Hurry and get sorted, we're on the clock."

A HUD indicator with four green lights shone at the edge of James' vision - good, everyone had made it inside. James licked his lips, spoke. "Team one, team two. We're in - no contacts. Front airlock, starboard side is ours, ETA thirty seconds to breach, how copy?" Herrin was ready to move now, and were covering sectors James weren't watching himself as they proceeded towards the airlock in question. His radio crackled to life with Eisenhart's response. "Affirmative, team two, proceed as planned. Team one is moving to position on front port airlock as we speak. Watch your fire inside, out." The airlock approach consisted of a configurable extension ramp, made to be able to service many different sorts of ships. As the two operators skulked up there, James turned about face, took a knee to cover Herrin, who got to work on the door.

Several moments passed in which absolutely nothing of note seemed to happen. James smirked, still watching the entrance to the hub. Even ops like this had their little moments of downtime. Herrin called out from over James' shoulder. "Lock scrambler's in place, sir. We'll be inside in ten - oh, hell-!" James whirled around just fast enough to see the airlock hissing open. Herrin had fallen flat on his ass in sheer surprise, but his training and reflexes took over and his weapon - another carbine identical to James' - was up and ready before the door was even a quarter of the way open. By the time they saw legs, they both opened fire indiscriminately, aiming for whatever they saw. Two men fell to the floor, legs now bullet-riddled masses of pulped flesh and splintered bone. A last round to the head for each finished the poor bastards. They hadn't even come out with weapons drawn, James noted.

James had learned to not acknowledge his enemies as human beings in a combat situation. There was only you, friendlies, and targets, and anything that made you stop and consider otherwise for a second made you a second slower than the other guy, and then it would be you on the floor with a bullet in your brain instead. James flicked in and out of that mindset like flipping a switch - something others found remarkably unnerving at times. Herrin was not quite there, James recognized, by the way he was now semi-frozen in his firing position, still looking down the sights at the bodies. They didn't have time for rumination. James grabbed the enlisted man by the shoulder, shook him gently. "On me, Herrin. Good job. Take left, I'll go right." Herrin got back up, quickly switched magazines. "Right. Let's do this."

Now that the airlock was open, getting inside was not a problem. James sliced around the corner to the right carefully, Herrin did the same to the left. A general alert was signaled aboard the ship, a klaxon blaring dully. The instance of JADE aboard the station systems ensured any distress call would be duly ignored, luckily. James staked the next course. "Clear, let's head to the bridge. Cover rear." They found themselves in a relatively unremarkable access corridor as they crept forward, Herrin ensuring nobody snuck up behind them. A staircase marked the descent to the bridge area, another bulkhead door sealing off the compartment. Gunfire was faintly audible through it - Eisenhart's team were already inside and engaged, it would seem. "Friendlies coming out, team one." James slapped the door panel, a chaotic scene revealed itself.

The bridge of an Aurochs freighter consisted of a rough semicircle with a few crew stations, a captain's chair in the centre, and a panoramic view of the outside world. Right now other features included most of the bridge crew's corpses leaking blood and bits of brain over the floor, seats and consoles. Two remained, cowering behind consoles and occasionally popping off wildly inaccurate handgun fire. Webb and Eisenhart were trying very carefully to kill them off without damaging the consoles too much. They needed to fly this bucket out of here, after all. James and Herrin took up fire positions parallel to Eisenhart's team, and were ready to fire when the two survivors' will broke completely. "Please, stop shooting!" The cry went. A man stood, trembling with his hands raised in surrender as James examined him through his gunsights.

Male, early-mid fourties. Greying hair, pallid complexion from a long time spent aboard spacecraft. Terror-stricken, shocked - tearful. Confused. His companion had followed his example, younger crewman, likely a fresh posting, terrified out of his wits. Eisenhart raised a hand. James gestured for Herrin to turn around, cover rear again. "We surrender! Please, whatever you want, we-" Eisenhart's hand fell in a sharp forward gesture. James complied, a trio of rounds putting an abrupt end to the man's pleas. Webb cut down the younger man with a short automatic burst. Nobody said anything for a few seconds. Webb shifted uncomfortably. Herrin looked backward, like he was about to say something, but ultimately chose against it. Eisenhart remained still. James moved for a command console, stepping over the dead.

Silence reigned. And they moved on.