The breaching charge went off in the armored stairwell opposite the main doors. The electrically-generated pulse sounded like starships colliding: sharp, metallic, and immensely loud.
The well channeled the backblast upward to tear a ten-foot hole in the bullpen ceiling. Farrell hoped none of the squad clearing the second floor had been standing in the wrong place. A striker with a grenade launcher chugged his entire magazine through the opened door at the bottom of the stairs.
The stairwell belched red flame. Two strikers went in with their stingers pointed. Spooks couldn’t carry the weight of armor sturdy enough to survive the grenade blasts, but it was possible that the first door opened onto an anteroom and the real control room was still sealed.
Farrell instinctively started to follow his troops; Leinsdorf blocked him without hesitation. Art Farrell was a big man. Leinsdorf was bigger and even stronger.
Leinsdorf’s job was to keep the major alive. When that meant stopping Farrell from doing something stupid, Leinsdorf did whatever had to be done.
Nadia Broz carried a jamming rig instead of extra weapons. While shooting was still going on she’d attached the jammer to an antenna lead from one of the building’s wrecked consoles. An anti-emitter missile had cut the roof mast while C41 unassed, but the stump was sufficient for Nadia’s purposes.
She glanced up from her display and caught Farrell’s eyes on her. “The port defenses shut down when we blew the vault,” she said, shouting over the racket instead of using helmet commo to speak to Farrell ten feet away. “The missile batteries at Active Grid are live, though, and the base has links to the sensors here. There’s nothing I can do about that.”
“We’ve got support coming,” Farrell said, wondering how many of his people were going to die before that support arrived. “They may be hitting Active Grid already.”
There were in the order of 50,000 Kalendru troops quartered at Active Grid. The sprawling base was targeted for massive strikes: initially from orbit, followed by dedicated ground-attack vessels making low-level passes. The crucial low-level phase couldn’t begin until the Kalendru hemispheric defenses had been knocked out.
It would take the Spooks hours, maybe days, to bypass the control net centered on the vault Farrell’s strikers had just opened and destroyed. The missile artillery at Active Grid could pulverize C41, though.
The jammer provided a partial defense. Terminal guidance made artillery accurate to within ten feet. If the missile depended on data loaded into it before launch, accuracy dropped to a Circular Error Probability of sixty-five feet.
The captured freighter erupted when half a dozen Spook rounds hit it in rapid succession. The starport and military base had been designed and built as a mutually-supporting pair. Buried cables linked sensors in the port area to consoles at Active Grid, allowing the Kalendru gunners to refine their targeting with sensor data. While the result wasn’t as good as terminal guidance, it was good enough for targets the size of a starship.
Pretty quick it would dawn on the Spooks they could now shell the port administration building off the map without harming any of their own people.
“The building’s secured, sir,” reported Sergeant Bastien, the acting commander of Third Platoon. “Shall I shift a squad across to help Abbado?”
A 50-pound rocket slammed from its launcher, supersonic within the first twenty feet of flight. The missile screamed downrange.
C41’s plasma cannon were firing also. One of Farrell’s overlaid remote images showed a huge explosion in the distance along the highway. The shockwave reached him in two pulses, through the ground and an instant later on the air. Leinsdorf, restive as he looked across the concourse and out the back door, unslung his single-shot plasma weapon. Another Spook tank was maneuvering past the mushrooming tombstone of the first.
“No, withdraw both squads to the warehouses,” Farrell ordered. “Abbado has to take his chances. Nobody’s going to make it across that bare concrete till the fleet takes care of Active Grid.”
He turned. “Nadia,” he said, “leave the jammer set up, but we got to get out of here. The—”
Farrell’s visor flashed red, indicating a signal from orbital command. One of his supplementary commo units was a dedicated link to the flagship.