War of Alien Aggression 3 Lancer Read Free Page A

Chief who gave him the evil eye.
    "Don't mind grumpy here," Burn said when she saw the Chief glaring at him. "Because of us he's pulling an extra shift." To the Chief, she said, "You got some problem doing your duty in the war against alien aggression, Crew Chief? Or do you got a problem with orange, prison-issue exosuits maybe?"
    "I didn't sign up to ferry around a bunch of convicts," the Chief said. He was at least fifty.
    "You didn't sign up at all." She pointed her thumb at him and said, "Just like the rest of his mining carrier, the Chief here got contract-drafted when the war broke out. Used to be a miner on SCS Hardway, out lookin' for the mother-lode. Now, get a load of this mother. Couple of heroic victories... couple of medals...suddenly he's too good for a transport mission." He noticed the Chief hadn't bothered with the sir or ma’am even though Burn had rank insignia on her suit that said she was a 1st Lieutenant. No sir or ma'am in the Staas Privateers.
    The junk's gravity pinch sucked up so much power from the reactor that they only used the artificial gees to counter inertia from maneuvers. There wasn't enough power available to leave it on all the time to make constant artificial gravity, so once they took off and passed primary lunar orbit, the orange suits that had packed into the gunnery module floated free in zero-gee, gripping the few available handholds.
    Kiwi's pilots and crew were on their own internal comms channel, and fifteen minutes into the flight, he could tell the Crew Chief was listening to it and hearing something he didn't like because his eyes shifted to each of the auto-loaders and he began to push through the crowded orange suits as he went from turret to turret and loader to loader to double-check systems. "Move it, people. Get the hell out of the way."
    Burn said, "What's going on, Chief?"
    "Making sure none of your convicts screwed up my loaders."
    Before he could ask if they were going to need the guns, Burn must have patched the junk's internal comms into the local channel because now, he could hear them and the crew in his helmet. "Gunners, clear your throats."
    When the turrets' autocannon fired, they vibrated the atmo inside the gunnery module so the sound of it drowned out everything else even with a suit and helmet on. "All guns and loading systems green-lit and GTG."
    "Don't worry," Burn told the orange suits, "These junks all have four, quad-barrel, 140mm autocannon turrets. Together, they can throw up a hell of a lot of fire."
    The voice of Kiwi's pilot sounded calm enough. " Hardway has just advised us of another enemy incursion and some Squidies coming our way. All gunners stay sharp, all hands brace for ACM."
    "What's that mean?" Jeana said. She didn't look like she liked the sound of that. In fact, she'd looked pretty green since the junk lifted off. She looked motion sick.
    "What's ACM?" Burn laughed. "Really?" It was a hell of a question from a fighter pilot in training. "Aerial Combat Maneuvers," Burn said. "Grab something and hold on or when the pilot rolls this bird, it's going to roll around you." There were handholds on the bulkheads and ceiling, but not enough, so there wasn't much for anyone in the middle of the module to hold on to except each other. Burn said, "C-block, if you've got a handhold, then grab it, if you don't, then hold onto the guy that does."
    He was stuck in the middle of the compartment with Marchett and Burn and Jeana. Cleeg called out on local comms when he saw the enemy from the starboard side porthole. "They're here!"
    Kiwi's pilot said, "We have red bandits coming in hot at 1 o'clock high. 1 o'clock high. Chester and Bunco , go to echelon formation and follow Kiwi's lead. Turning to show 'em our good sides on my bingo in 3...2...1...Bingo." The pilot blasted the junk's nose up and rolled. Flashes of light shot through the portholes. A second later, the port, starboard, keel, and bow turrets all opened up and shook the gunnery compartment