Home Front (Star Kingdom #7) - Lindsay Buroker Page 0,37
stay in contact with it so she wouldn’t float free and hang helplessly in the air, someone strode through the doorway, someone in purple combat armor with a matching cape. Two soldiers in more typical blue Kingdom armor flanked him, carrying luggage and crates of food.
The crusher either didn’t notice the newcomers or didn’t care. It kept coming toward Bonita.
Before it caught up with her, a warning shout came from the ladder well. Qin. She’d managed to kick the crusher she was battling away from her, but she gripped her shoulder, injured despite her armor.
The first of Rache’s men pushed out of the ladder well, with several others right behind. They fired into the bay. One shot at the crusher advancing again on Qin, but most of them spotted the Kingdom men and shot at them. The man in purple had almost reached the ramp leading up to an open hatch, but he flinched as weapons fire bounced off the crushers and skipped off the deck all around him.
One of the soldiers released the luggage he was carrying and shouted, “Guard him!” as he pulled a rifle off his back.
All of the crushers, including the one that had been coming for Bonita, rushed back toward the ship. They arranged themselves around the ramp and the man in purple, his ridiculous cape floating around him even though his magnetic boots kept him on the deck.
Rache’s men fanned out, facing the crushers and trading rifles for grenade launchers. Bonita waved for Qin to come join her. Nobody was paying attention to them now. It was their chance to escape to one of the airlock hatches.
But which one? Earlier, she would have chosen either, but if there was a chance the Dragon could get here in time, she didn’t want to board the mercenary shuttle.
The combat paused, neither side firing for a strangely silent moment.
Rache faced the man in purple combat armor, who now stood at the base of the ramp up to the little shuttle, the hatch open behind him. He could have fled into the interior, but he must have been confident that the crushers would keep him from being captured and that his armor would deflect a few shots.
It had to be Jorg. Bonita hadn’t seen him in his armor before, but only some royal twit would wear purple armor.
Surprisingly, he carried a pertundo in his hand, with the more practical rifle slung across his back. He was probably correct that he was safe. Rache’s men were equal in number to the crushers and Kingdom men, but the crushers seemed to be worth more than any one man, even a cybernetically enhanced mercenary.
“I knew it was you,” Jorg said, and Bonita did indeed recognize the snotty voice. “Running up on us like a coward and firing from behind your camouflage. Like you’ve been doing for ten years. A guerrilla sniper assassinating good Kingdom men and then slinking away into hiding.”
Thus far, Rache hadn’t said anything. He stared at Jorg, his mask on behind his faceplate.
Bonita couldn’t tell if he was debating if he could kill the prince, debating how to get rid of the crushers, or sending silent messages to his men elsewhere in the ship. How many troops had he brought over? She didn’t care. She just wanted to get out of there.
Bjarke? she messaged. We’re in the cargo bay, but there’s a showdown going on here. Which airlock are you coming to, and will you get here soon, by chance?
We’re almost there. We’re navigating through a lot of debris. Rache destroyed Dubashi’s ships before boarding that one, and we’re not sure where the Fedallah is, but it must be nearby. We have to use caution.
“Have you ever fought a crusher, Rache?” Jorg asked.
“Yes,” Rache spoke for the first time. “Several times. Explosions discombobulate them long enough to get past them or throw them out an airlock.”
Jorg had shifted slightly, and Bonita could see his expression through his faceplate. A flash of uncertainty stole his haughtiness for the first time, but he replied as pompously as usual. “I hope you brought a lot of explosives. These guys are nearly indestructible.”
“Will you hide behind them like the coward you accuse me of being?” Rache asked.
“A prince must have an army.”
“You trained as a knight once.” Rache pointed at the pertundo. “Do you remember how to use that thing, or is it merely decorative? The same way you are in your father’s court?”