Brian Cache,
Dry Lake, High Desert,
Southern Continent, The Rack,
The Periphery
"Okay ma'am, stand back please", said the Adept technician, ushering her behind the hastily erected safety screen, as the 90-ton Fusillade lumbered into position in front of the fortress' main entrance.
Robyn de Chastelaine worried that this would be a serious case of overkill, but so far the massive armoured gates had resisted the techs' attempts to open them, using cutting torches, vibroblades and even thermite charges.
The Adept paused, listening to something in his headset. He tapped the button to send and said, "Okay – commence firing".
There was a whine of actuators as the Fusillade pilot brought his weapons to bear on the gates. There was a low-pitched hum as capacitors discharged their energy through the laser assemblies, followed by scarlet flashes as the amplified light emerged through the ruby lenses in short bursts and sparks, as the intense beams began to melt the armour plating on the doors.
It took several aimed bursts of fire before the last of the armour protection vapourised and several more to destroy the immensely strong locking mechanism. However, five minutes later, it had been blasted out of its mounting, leaving a roughly circular hole, whose red-hot edge glowed and flickered as it cooled in the faint breeze.
There were a few moments of organised chaos while the engineering unit cleared away the debris left behind. A pair of tracked tanks rumbled up, with one parking along side each door. Their crews jumped out and began hooking up sets of heavy chains to their vehicles, while the other ends were welded to the doors. The vehicle commanders then signalled to each driver, who gunned their engines and began to slowly drive in opposite directions, slowly dragging apart the massive doors, which bore the Cameron Star insignia of the SLDF and the designation BC-10/3.
A platoon of infantry stood at the ready, rifles aimed, as the doors slid open, inch-by-inch. However, by the time the gap had reached ten feet, it was obvious that there were no hostiles on the other side. The tanks continued, until the massive thirty-foot entrance was fully open.
On the other side, a dark, cavernous tunnel awaited them. The infantry hustled inside, taking up defensive positions on either side. Although the harsh desert sunlight illuminated the first twenty metres or so, it quickly dissipated into near-darkness, the further inside they went. The beams from the mag-lites attached to the soldiers' rifles did little to pierce the gloom and they soon resorted to low-light goggles to see to the far end.
De Chastelaine and the rest of her command unit followed at a discreet distance, guarded by a squad of riflemen at the infantry commander's insistence. After the stifling heat of their mechs' cockpits, the mechwarriors welcomed the cool of the fortress' interior.
As they continued, the tunnel sloped noticeably downwards and the air became distinctly chilly. Eventually, it opened out into a huge open space, which even through the grainy, green picture afforded by the low-light goggles, was obviously a mech hangar. One of the troops found the lighting controls and shouted a warning to those wearing goggles, to remove them. Seconds later, large fluorescent lamps in the hangar's high ceiling hummed and crackled to life. Even though only half of them worked, it was still like looking into the sun after the dimness of the tunnel.
Robyn blinked as her eyes became accustomed to the bright white glow. Her mouth opened in astonishment as she took in her surroundings. Standing like giant statues in the mech bays arrayed around the walls, were nearly a battalion's worth of mechs. On closer inspection, many of them turned out to be vintage Star League-era designs. She also noted, with a degree of anger and sadness that the pirates had cannibalised many of them for spare parts, though it appeared that the most commonly missing parts seemed to be actuators, joints, armour and other major mechanical items. Missing arms and openings in many of the chassis denoted the removal of weapon systems and other equipment. Nevertheless, it was a truly amazing sight. She noticed that the rest of her command lance and the ground troops were similarly awed by their discovery.
Giving herself a mental shake and focusing her mind on the mission, she called to Adept Iversen, commander of the infantry detachment.
"We believe the Predators customarily took prisoners and made them slaves. We need to sweep the complex and search for any survivors".
"Ma'am", said Iversen, snapping off a smart salute before heading off to round up his junior officers and plan a search of the facility.
The infantry went through the base, room-by-room, floor-by-floor, with de Chastelaine and her unit in tow. The upper levels revealed little out of the ordinary, although the disorderly, debris-strewn interior showed the pirates had obviously cared little about their surroundings. Everywhere they went, broken or damaged fixtures, fittings and inoperative systems showed the decades, possibly centuries, of neglect.
It was while they were searching one of the lower levels that one of the soldiers in their party came to a stop in front of a large sturdy-looking metal door. Unlike most of the others it was locked. A tech was summoned to examine it. She spent a few minutes examining it before opening a panel, set into it, near the frame. Just above it, a red status light glowed. After a quick inspection of the control system, she reached into one of her coverall pockets and extracted a clear strip of plastic. She inserted it between a pair of contacts and stepped back. There was a series of audible clicks as relays de-energised, breaking the circuit that powered the electromagnetic locking system.
The status light above the panel flashed green and the door swung slowly open on silent hinges. Everyone wrinkled their noses as an unpleasant, unidentifiable smell reached them, together with a blast of cold air. On the other side was darkness, illuminated just enough by the light in the passage, to reveal the top of a staircase that led downwards.
Adept Iversen motioned for a squad of troops to go in and scout the area beyond the door. They paused to check the multifunction gas/radiation meters strapped to their forearms, before disappearing inside. As the others watched, the beams from their flashlights gradually faded into the gloom and the sound of their boots rattling against the metal grating of the stairs abruptly stopped as they reached the floor.
Just a few minutes later, one of the soldiers radioed back. De Chastelaine and several others glanced at Iversen as he listened to his headset. Whatever he was hearing, he didn't like it one bit. Motioning for the rest of his troops to follow, he slung his rifle over his back. As he ran, he tapped the channel selector on his headset until he got the one he wanted.
"Francis, this is Iversen. We need a medical team down here, on the double!" he said, his voice sounding strained. On catching the Demi-Precentor's inquiring glance, he merely shook his head. Robyn's eyes widened slightly in understanding, his grim expression telling her far more than mere words ever could.
The minutes that passed as they waited for the medical team to arrive, felt like an age. When Adept Davina Francis and her team finally reached them, Iversen signalled for the rest of his men to enter the passageway, with the medics following and de Chastelaine and her mechwarriors bringing up the rear. They thundered down the stairs and along a short passageway, before stopping dead in a large open area, with numerous barred doors set into the walls. The scouts were waiting at the far end, their faces masks of shock. One of them had evidently found a light switch as the whole room was bathed in a harsh white light that only served to highlight the tableau of horror and misery that confronted them.