his armour. It was the thickest armour on his body, and probably the only place that would have saved him. But he wasn't thinking of himself any longer. A huge flash lit up inside the Washington, and explosions erupted out of new holes that were blown out of the outer hull. The last of the lights and engine power faded, and she was finally gone for good. Taylor raised his hand in a casual salute to her.
"You did us proud, and far more than we could have asked for," he said, as if speaking at a close personal friend's funeral. It seemed the beginning of the end. But then he turned his attention to their allies. The battle was still far from over, and what remained of the humans were still fighting and battling on.
Chapter 4
Almost fifteen minutes had gone by as Taylor watched the battle unfold. His boosters had largely recharged from the solar energy that was in abundance. He checked his air supply and was content it was at an acceptable level, but he looked around for any way of getting either in or out of the battle rather than watching from the sidelines, which was both dangerous and useless.
He looked back towards the planet that the barges were reaching and knew that if he used some boost, he could likely make it, but watching the apocalyptic battle he realised he couldn't leave. There were more than thirty ships on either side battling it out now, with almost as many floating as empty hulks. He knew that even if the Inter-Allied forces still remained, he had no chance of finding them, so he looked for something recognisable and some place he could be of use.
Looking around for some point of entry into the battle, he saw one of the enemy fighters crash into the lower hull of the French Heavy Cruiser, the Diderot, where Major Moye was based. A few seconds later, one of the enemy heavy assault craft hit the breach and burst through, in what seemed a calculated assault. Taylor knew this was his chance. He hit his boosters and fired towards the breach in the cruiser's hull. Fighters weaved in and out around him, and it was sheer luck alone that he wasn't hit. As he closed the distance, he found he was slightly off course and tried to redirect, but it was too late.
Taylor slammed into the hull a metre off the breach, but he held on with one hand to a ribbing in one of the plates of the hull. He hit his boosters just a little, and it provided the forward motion to get him to the breach to manoeuvre in. As he did so, his grav boots locked onto the deck he was entering and allowed him to walk almost as if in normal gravity.
"Time for some payback," he whispered.
He looked around for any sign of the enemy to strike down, but there was nothing. He carried on to the edge of the room where the blast doors had sealed and found a decompression chamber. The security had been overridden, and it was open for anyone to pass through. He stepped inside and waited for it to pressurise. He stood wondering what he would find on the door the other side, and he had only one thought.
I wish I'd brought my damn shield.
The door opened, and his rifle was at his shoulder ready to fire, but he did not find the enemy. He was met with the bodies of five French Navy crew scattered about the corridor. Not a single Mech lay dead amongst them. There was no sign of weaponry, and it was obvious they had been taken by surprise. Two stretchers lay there with them; it looked as if they had been carrying wounded. He shook his head. He had fully expected to find casualties, but to see they had not even been armed and able to put up a fight made him feel sick.
He carried on and took a bend, finding five Mechs dead and three marines with them. As he stepped cautiously past the bodies, he heard a groan from one of the marines and knelt down to check for a pulse. As he did, he felt movement and so helped the man roll over. It was Moye himself. He was cut and bleeding on his left arm and looked like a train had hit him. He mumbled in French, and for all
"You did us proud, and far more than we could have asked for," he said, as if speaking at a close personal friend's funeral. It seemed the beginning of the end. But then he turned his attention to their allies. The battle was still far from over, and what remained of the humans were still fighting and battling on.
Chapter 4
Almost fifteen minutes had gone by as Taylor watched the battle unfold. His boosters had largely recharged from the solar energy that was in abundance. He checked his air supply and was content it was at an acceptable level, but he looked around for any way of getting either in or out of the battle rather than watching from the sidelines, which was both dangerous and useless.
He looked back towards the planet that the barges were reaching and knew that if he used some boost, he could likely make it, but watching the apocalyptic battle he realised he couldn't leave. There were more than thirty ships on either side battling it out now, with almost as many floating as empty hulks. He knew that even if the Inter-Allied forces still remained, he had no chance of finding them, so he looked for something recognisable and some place he could be of use.
Looking around for some point of entry into the battle, he saw one of the enemy fighters crash into the lower hull of the French Heavy Cruiser, the Diderot, where Major Moye was based. A few seconds later, one of the enemy heavy assault craft hit the breach and burst through, in what seemed a calculated assault. Taylor knew this was his chance. He hit his boosters and fired towards the breach in the cruiser's hull. Fighters weaved in and out around him, and it was sheer luck alone that he wasn't hit. As he closed the distance, he found he was slightly off course and tried to redirect, but it was too late.
Taylor slammed into the hull a metre off the breach, but he held on with one hand to a ribbing in one of the plates of the hull. He hit his boosters just a little, and it provided the forward motion to get him to the breach to manoeuvre in. As he did so, his grav boots locked onto the deck he was entering and allowed him to walk almost as if in normal gravity.
"Time for some payback," he whispered.
He looked around for any sign of the enemy to strike down, but there was nothing. He carried on to the edge of the room where the blast doors had sealed and found a decompression chamber. The security had been overridden, and it was open for anyone to pass through. He stepped inside and waited for it to pressurise. He stood wondering what he would find on the door the other side, and he had only one thought.
I wish I'd brought my damn shield.
The door opened, and his rifle was at his shoulder ready to fire, but he did not find the enemy. He was met with the bodies of five French Navy crew scattered about the corridor. Not a single Mech lay dead amongst them. There was no sign of weaponry, and it was obvious they had been taken by surprise. Two stretchers lay there with them; it looked as if they had been carrying wounded. He shook his head. He had fully expected to find casualties, but to see they had not even been armed and able to put up a fight made him feel sick.
He carried on and took a bend, finding five Mechs dead and three marines with them. As he stepped cautiously past the bodies, he heard a groan from one of the marines and knelt down to check for a pulse. As he did, he felt movement and so helped the man roll over. It was Moye himself. He was cut and bleeding on his left arm and looked like a train had hit him. He mumbled in French, and for all
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