Two dozen raiders spilled into the bay behind the man facing Thulani with a knife. Their leader raised his carbine. Thulani took a deep breath and prepared for death. They had put up a good run. Well, Johan had. They had survived much longer than they had any right to. What was the point? Did this defiance at least help his community, or would these pirates retaliate because of his actions?
The war party fanned out behind the final Corsair.
Thulani stooped and swiped Johan's wrench. These invaders would kill him, but he'd be disappointed in himself if he let them shoot him without a weapon in hand. Funny, that sentiment wasn't something he would have considered that morning.
The leader of the new coming war party leveled his carbine, and Thulani started forward. A primitive part of his mind screamed at him, asking what he was doing. He should be seeking cover, scrambling for survival. With Johan motionless behind him and Thshepo dead by the systems panel, Thulani considered his options: die like a tiny coral dweller sniffed out by a barracuda or as a proud pod tech in Joeberg, defending his city.
The raider in front of the new group fired three rounds, and despite Thulani's conviction, he screamed and flinched. The knife-wielding raider gasped and staggered to the ground.
The man who fired dropped his rifle on his sling, and his party continued towards the dangling cords from the breach pod as if Thulani didn't exist. Thulani caught the leader's eye, and the raider pointed a finger gun at the pod tech and winked. Why did he look so familiar?
Mandla? Thulani gaped. Why was Mr. Vermeulen's bodyguard wearing the attacker's livery?
One of the new coming raiders, a squirrely fellow whose combat helmet slipped over his eyes, grinned at Thulani as he passed. "Nice work, Tjommie. You have the highest body count today, Ja? Lekker work with those drives. They sunk a whole war sub."
Thulani's drives? The ones he sold Mr. Vermeulen? Why did these raiders have such strong Joebergian accents?
Three more raiders entered from a side maintenance hatch on the opposite wall. They stopped when they saw their fallen comrades. Then, they hurried toward Mandla's group. None of them seemed to notice Thulani
"Oi," one called. "What happened here?"
Mandla signaled, and his men gunned down the unexpected trio. Mr Vermeulan's bodyguard pinched his receiver at the collar of his armor. "C2, this is Fossil Tide. We were separated from our assault pod and will be taking another back to the sub. Over."
He nodded at the response in his earpiece. "Good copy."
Thulani watched the aberrant war party, confused. What was happening? Was Mandla working for the invaders? If so, why was he killing his men?
"Wouldn't stay here, maat," one of Mendla's raiders cautioned — a heavy-set dark-skinned fellow with a coiled beard. "We're going to take this sub, and the ocean will flood you out." He pointed to the breached hole in the ceiling. Tiny jets of water sprayed through gaps in the seal. The bay pumps worked to maintain the leak, but once they pulled the sub away, like an uncorked bottle, the leak would quickly outflood the pumps.
Thulani cursed and then dropped the wrench to grab Johan. Getting two handfuls of blue Jumpsuit, Thulani grunted as he dragged the mechanic across the grating. How could a limp body weigh so much? For all he knew, Johan was dead, but he didn't want to take the time to check.
Mandla's raiders got to the ropes and started scaling them into the enemy vessel. A few heavier ones each wrapped their arms in a cord and waited at the bottom.
Thulani gasped and set Johan down. After a few dozen feet, his lungs burned, and his back ached. He hoisted Johan again, pulling him back toward the hatch. The mechanic's boot caught something, and Thulani grunted, jerking his burden free.
"Help," A weak voice croaked, and Thulani froze.
From under the forklift's prongs, a raider gasped weekly. "Help!" he choked again.
The black cords dangling from the assault pod's opening reeled in, hoisting those who couldn't climb into the gaping pit.
"Don — don't leave me!" The pinned raider gasped. Thiulani's stomach rolled. Resisting armed combatants was well and normal, but leaving a trapped man to drown was something else entirely. Thulani hurried to the man. His brown eyes begged silently through labored gasped breaths.
Thulani scanned the ground and snatched one of the raider's discarded hand tablets. A lock screen barred him access.
"How do I open this?" Thulani demanded.
Above the beaked drill hatch snapped shut and sealed on the breach pod.
"Help," The man gagged.
"Give me a password, and I'll get you out!"
The man's desperate eyes flicked about in search of an escape. Above them, the assault pod groaned to life.
"Tick, tock!" Thulani shouted, looking up at the pit as the splayed teeth of the drill groaned to life and snapped together, making a tight bit.
"Mobilis in mobile," The raider choked. "No spaces, twenty-seven."
Mobilisinmobile27, Thulani struck the rubber keys off to the side, and the lock screen dropped away. The tech took no time to study the table provided but stuffed the whole pad into his shirt. Then, he hoisted Johan and pulled him again.
"Wait!" the raider cried. "You promised!"
"I'll get him to safety and come back for you!" Thulani shouted, sweat pouring down his face.
The assault pod engine fought the pressure suck but inched back out of the hole. A column of seawater roared as it shot into the bay. A forklift tipped under the thunderous pounding. Thulani made it halfway before the water level rose over the grate, icy cold shocking through his boots and soaking his socks. Thulani tripped and splashed in a few inches of water. Scrambling in adrenaline-fueled desperation, he leaped back up and hauled his unresponsive companion.
Thulani glanced at the hatch. The power doors would automatically seal him outside if water spilled over the elevated threshold. The water rose from four to six inches leaving four inches before Thulani was sealed with the ocean. If he left Johan, he could sprint and make it himself. As if sensing Thulani's treacherous thought, Johan moaned and shifted in a feverish bout of unconsciousness. Damn, the bastard was somehow still alive. The crimson-soaked tail of blood-drenched cloth sprouted from his neck wound like a bloody Molotov cocktail.
Thulani heaved, and the water rose an inch. They weren't both going to make it. Thulani looked at Johan's unconscious face and dropped him. He turned and sprinted for the hatch. The water crept up in a race against the techs.
Thulani reached the hatch as the first drops spilled over. A warning red light pinged next to the portal. Thulani grabbed a metal cart and screamed as he hauled it over.
The red icon flashed faster.
Thulani tipped the heavy cart, spilling it into the hatchway. The red light flashed solid red. The door groaned and swung shut.
Thulani threw himself out of the opening, and the hydraulics in the hatch folded the cart like a spring-loaded beartrap.
Thulani panted as he looked at the two-foot gap blocked by the mangled cart in the hatch. He had just broken every protocol in the book, but he would drown before he abandoned the knuckledragger who had saved his life.
Thulani sloshed to a table, secured a plasma torch, and hurried to Johan just as his face disappeared underwater.
"No!" Thulani grabbed Johan and pulled him up. The water somehow helped and weighed the mechanic down at the same time.
He dragged Johan to the portal. Water rushed up to Thulani's knees, and the pod tech snarled as he hoisted Johan onto his back, an impossible feat if not for the spike of survival hormones pushing his blood to overdrive. Thulani climbed over the cart and through the gap in the door to drop into a foot of water on the other side.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Thulani dropped the mechanic in the flooding corridor, sitting to keep his head above water, and then kicked the cart. The blow sent Thulani staggering back. As he suspected, the cart was wedged tight. Down the corridor, the door on the other side had already sealed, making this hallway a dead end.
The tech lit his plasma torch and went to work cutting the cart. It caved further as he cut away at its integrity.
The water rose to Johan's chest, and Thulani hurried, scoring the metal instead of cutting through. Arching blue light flashes in Thulani's eyes, and fumes saturated the air.
Thulani stepped back, put a boot on the cart, and shoved. The cart squealed and snapped, and an errant shard of metal shot past, opening a gash on the back of Thulani's hand. The hatch slammed shut, and its wheel spun on its own, stemming the flow of seawater. Underneath the grate, Thulani heard the pump working now that the sound didn't contest with the roar outside.
Thulani fumbled in his jumpsuit and produced the data pad. The bottom half had gotten wet tucked in his garment. He flipped it, popped out a plastic tab, and removed the batteries. He couldn't help but think he held the key to this whole riddle.
Water inched down, and Thulani found a high place to deposit the tablet. He turned and jumped, finding Johan watching him through clouded eyes. The mechanic slumped again, and Thulani scanned the corridor. They were sealed in and would have to wait for help. Johan needed a medic an hour ago, or maybe he didn't; the man was like some biogenetic mutant. Thulani's eyes stopped on the wall, and he cried out with relief. He came down this corridor daily to get to work, but it was such a mundane part of his trip that his brain filtered out details.
A WAFAK's dull aluminum box mounted on the wall dimly gleamed in the red light. He staggered to his feet and laughed out loud to see it was a more comprehensive kit that even included blood transfusion bags for every blood type. He rushed back to the mechanic as the last water slipped below the grate flooring. Thulani might actually be able to save Johan, assuming Thulani's medical incompetence didn't kill him first.
********
Mandla pushed his way into the docking bay of the Vortex Rider. Arguing voices and accusatory shouts filled his ears as his comrades, Jobergians in corsair armor, filtered in around him. Groups of fighters, probably a mixture of returned marines from both the Vortex Rider and the now-sunken Eel Fang, tried to organize themselves into some semblance of order. But the disorientation of the failed raid heated tempers to boiling.
Mandla didn't like shouting, and his words probably would have been lost in the chaos, so he signaled his men to congregate separately, one clump of soldiers among many.
Up on the stair landing, Captain Kabelo Levato Molefe gripped the rail, watching the assembly, disbelief sprinkled with shock plastered across his face.
"Captain on deck!" a junior officer called, and the corsairs turned, assuming a position of attention. A small group near Mandla's didn't seem to hear, hissing at each other in frustrated tones, but the silence caused them to turn, and they also snapped to attention.
Mandla mimicked the motion, but most of his men shuffled in a laughable attempt to adopt the proper stance, one even saluting from parade rest. They weren't soldiers and would have stood out if they were in formation, but detection was unlikely mixed in with the horde of wounded and reeling fighters.
Captain Molefe produced an intercom to address them through the bay's speakers.
"Marines of the Cortex Rider and the Eel Fang, we're still unsure if we were betrayed or what happened. This is what we do know. Suicide subs from the city struck the Eel Fang and sank it. We haven't been able to contact them, and we're coordinating a rescue party to find survivors."
The Captain's voice, though tense, asserted control in the chaos, and his soldiers focused on him intently.
"I have been unable to contact Lieutenant Parker, and we've lost contact with several fire teams we assume captured or in hiding in Joberg —"
Mandla smiled inwardly. The fire teams weren't captured or hiding but ambushed and slaughtered by his men.
"— Our best guess is that the local law enforcement, despite assurances from the council, was prepared in ambush. This breach of trust will not go unpunished."
Captain Molefe let go of the PTT, his face quivering with fury. He brought it back to his lips. "The worst thing we can do now is panic. We must salvage this situation. Team leaders take accountability for you, men. Vortex Riders report to Senior Sergeant Dube with a casualty report, and Eel Fang report to Lieutenant Jenson. We'll reorganize and report back to Corsair Command."
The Corsair captain took another breath. "Ah roo hah!"
"Ah roo hah!" The corsairs echoed, though Mendla's corner responded late and scattered, unaccustomed to the war cry. He needed to be careful with his crew; their missized armor and the few carrying retriever fang harpoon guns, in addition to the issued carbine, could expose them.
Mandla signaled his men to rally, and they filtered into a group huddle. They may not have understood Coral Corsair customs and courtesies, but he trained them himself, and they understood his commands.
"Jabulani, take your team and position yourself near the control room," he instructed quietly so his men had to lean in to hear. Leila, hang back and head for the control room if we get made."
"My guys, we're headed to the armory and'll meet at the control room. Remember, knives only until the alarm goes off. The way I taught you. Then, switch to guns. Remember our sign?"
In his huddle, his men displayed their left hands with thumb and index finger curled, leaving three fingers straight.
"Good, and response?"
They made an L with their forefinger and thumb.
"Let's go. Break,"
Mandla and five of his best men split from the group and exited down a side hatch. He unfolded a paper containing a printed map punctuated with pencil markings indicating locations on the blueprints.
By Joberg's standards, the Coral Corsair subs were immense. The destroyer class was modified to accommodate six breacher pods, eight heavy and two medium torpedo tubes, and countermeasures. It required a minimum crew of twenty but could host a hundred sixty additional marines who would all be trained as crewmen themselves. That many bodies called for a small arms armory, one that Mandla was about to raid.
They passed a maintenance hatch with a lone occupant, and Mandla flicked a wrist. Two of his men detached from the group, and moments later, the sound of struggle and a knife puncturing flesh.
His two hitmen exited and closed the hatch as they cleaned bloody knives and then reunited with the party. They rounded a corner where two junior techs argued in hushed tones.
Mandla flicked his wrist twice, and as they passed. Four men pounced. One pair restrained the startled corsairs while the others lay into them with knives. Mandla approached a corner and walked right into a startled marine.
The soldier looked over Mandla's shoulder at his men slaughtering his crewmates, and his eyes widened. His hand flew to his pistol, but Mandla matched him, pinning the marine's hand to the weapon. Mandla whisked one of his knives from his belt with his free hand in a practiced motion, and he slashed it across the man's throat, then rammed it back into his neck.
His adversary spasmed, trying to fight, but Mandla forced him into the wall and waited for him to bleed out.
Behind him, the other four dragged their victims to a secluded hatch, and his final man, Junior, a giant of a man, pulled security on the corner, watching for any newcomers with his retriever fang harpoon gun held at the low ready position. Mandla wondered how Junior could breathe as the brute's armor was several sizes too small.
Mandla's opponent weakened until he slumped, and Mandla allowed the limp body to slide down the wall. Mandla frowned at the blood streak the corpse left. That could be problematic. The leader of the Joberg assault force yanked his knife from the man's neck just as two of his men returned from stashing their target, and they dragged the body away.
"Let's go," Mandla said, and they continued weaving through tight corridors. They passed a group of four corsairs but didn't interfere. The Jobergians would only attack if they outnumbered the enemy two to one, and they could take them unaware. At length, they stepped through the steel hatch into the armory. Mandla stopped; a counter, separated by a steel cage with a closed access hatch to pass weapons, barred them from the three men in the armory.
Manlda frowned at the barrier and turned to Junior. "Get ready to pull one through the equipment slot," He muttered.
Junior grinned and leveled his Retriever Fang harpoon gun at Mandla's back. Mandla suppressed a shiver, praying the brute remembered his trigger discipline and approached the cage.
The three in the armory looked up, and one approached the slot. "What can I do for you?" He asked, his tone friendly.
Mandla shrugged his Retriever Fang harpoon gun from his shoulder. "We're Eel Fang."
The man's face sombered. "I'm sorry about what happened to your destroyer. It's a good thing you were operational when it was hit."
"Most fortunate," Mandla agreed. "A local militia used these weapons when we attacked. I wanted to get your thoughts on who might have supplied them."
"Harpoon gun?" The man said from behind the cage. "And a nice one at that." He slid a protective steel slab, opening the slot. "Let's see then." He motioned for Mandla to hand the weapon through.
"These ones are interesting," Mandla said. "Let me show you how they work. He stepped to the side, exposing Junior's already leveled weapon, and the thug fired.
Decompressed grass hissed as a barbed quarrel spat through the access hatch, spearing the startled man in the sternum. Junior braced himself and engaged the reel. The man screamed as it ripped him to the slot. He slammed against the cage caught on the gap like a button, blocking it entirely.
The other two armory workers cursed and scrambled for weapons behind the cage.
"Junior, let him go!" Mandla barked. Junior manipulated a switch, and the barbs on the harpoon retracted. With a jerk, the harpoon pulled free and whipped back into the retriever fang.
The speared man rolled off the counter, and the other two came up with pistols. Shit.
Mandla fired his harpoon through the access hatch, and it latched to a rack in the armory. He dove, activating the reel, and the anchored harpoon whisked him into the armory, his shoulder banging the side of the slot as he flew. He lost hold of the retriever fang and fell on his back inside the cage between alarmed weaponry officers. They turned their pistols on him, but he drew and fired two shots into both of them.
His shots reverberated in the steel chamber and out the corridor. Shots fired. Great, the option for subtlety was over.
Mandla scrambled to his feet, grabbed several belts laden with grenades, and passed them through the access hatch. He rolled the bodies of the two he shot under the counter just as four corsairs spilled into the armory.
"What happened?" One demanded, his rifle at the low ready. Mandla popped up from behind the cage wall separating him from the other side. "Accidental discharge," He said. "It was a dysfunctional weapon."
Mandla spotted a jet knife — a glove with duel canisters on the back — and grabbed it.
The corsairs seemed to relax, and two more peeked into the armory.
"Wait," the front man growled, his eyes narrowing. "Where is Okoro? I don't know you."
A shape groaned and shifted to Mandla's left, and the man Junior had shot with the Retriever Fang pulled himself to his knees. Before Mandla could react, he slapped a button hidden under the counter and set off the alarm.