Echoes of the Storm

Chapter 32

"SEC is looking for you," Cloe said, glancing at the Alert One from Arlee lighting her wrist comm.

"Surprise, surprise," Stone grumbled. It was a nuisance, but not unexpected. And he had no intention of letting it hinder their work deep within ODP-1.

He acknowledged his exec's signal. Comms were masked by the power fluctuations, and there was no indication Galilei had analyzed the sigs. They were good to go, even if Norse had figured out the attack on Nightstorm was a cover for the resistance.

Conduits stretched floor to ceiling and intersected with power boxes of varying sizes in the central substation. To the untrained eye, the main juncture might be the six tall stacked ones inscribed with manufacturers' logos, serial numbers, and Property of Galilei. Stone's instructions from Nightstorm's engineer: ignore those. Which he did, as Redstone had never steered him wrong. And Field had confirmed the one he needed was a T-box, an innocuous half-meter wide receptacle.

"Field wasn't joking. Look at that old-fashioned fob lock," Cloe said. "Colonists, it's good to be back. Let's kick some Galilei butt!"

Old, but cantankerous, Stone thought, working the stubborn T. It finally clicked open after four long breaths. He was about to congratulate himself and Cloe on round one of their mission, when she laid a hand on his arm and brought a finger to his lips.

"Visitors," she said, her voice low.

"I'm hurrying." Stone tapped a code into the digital display of the slender circuit case. Footsteps rang in the passageway perpendicular to their location. "F'ing piece of detritus," he cursed when the case didn't open.

The footsteps drew closer. Stone exhaled, nodded to Cloe. She had drawn her blaster, her hand steadier than most soldiers he knew. Not one vein of fear in the woman. Smiling, but serious as hell. She'd be just his type if she was a he.

* * *

"Signal from Jack. It's a go," Tic said and handed Saber a blasting charge.

"Thought you said we had two more minutes," Saber said unhappily.

"That was two minutes ago," Tic reminded him, wiping his sweaty hands on the leg of his regulation gray jumpsuit.

Several wings of crusaders had been disabled, but maintenance techs at the third hangar had slowed their progress. Problem was, there were five hangars, and this was number four. That translated to a hundred fighters going airborne, and more casualties and damage to resistance operations if he and Saber didn't complete their work.

Tic scanned the cavernous bay. "Spaceport'll be swarming with more security and flight crews in another two."

Or sooner...

Alarms began to blare. Definitely sooner.

Every light in the place powered up. They'd have company any moment now.

The earlier hold-up meant a different tack was needed in hangars four and five. Saber had agreed with Tic that rigging these buildings to blow, bringing the roofs down, was their only option.

Saber attached the charge to the base of a power generator and activated it. "Done," he said. "Let's get five."

Outside, a GPC with flight crews and three pilots screeched to a stop as Tic and Saber rounded the corner of hangar five. Tic pulled his cap low and they joined the parade of men hustling inside. The crews tore across the cold cretesteel floor to get to the ships, too harried to give them a second look. Pilots were climbing into their crusaders, a well-choreographed dance of men and women surrounding them. Procedures in preparation for launch were ticked off. Data on each fighter streamed on the flight operations teams' monitors. Fuel levels—max. Comm package—check. Weapons—check. Up and down the line, crew chiefs signaled. One by one engines came alive in the bay, the roar making conversation impossible.