Hell's Gate

Moog.
        They went through into the dark interior, letting their eyes adjust. At last, when they could see well enough, they found they were only through the outer hull, in an air space full of beams and supports; three feet away, there was another wall, the inner wall, the partition that was part of the armory.
        “Well? “Moog asked.
        “If this is as thick as the first, we're in trouble,” Salsbury said gloomily. “The gun is getting lighter; it's low on gas.”
        “Nothing to do but try,” Moog said, slapping him on the shoulder.
        Salsbury tried. They were fortunate indeed, for the wall was of half-inch steel which parted much more easily under the gun's assault. When a second hole had been cleared, they stepped into the darkened armory, looked around joyously. Moog went back to usher the others inside.
        Fifteen minutes later, the cache of vibratubes and slug guns the size of shotguns had been broken open. They were armed to the proverbial teeth. No, clear up to the hairline. Moog stationed himself by the door to the anti-room, looked back to make sure everyone was prepared. Then he swung it inward and went through fast, a vibratube in one hand, the heavy bulk of a frag slug gun in the other.
        The others followed. Salsbury was fourth in line, willing to let two other of these Earthmen follow Moog before sticking his own tender neck out. When he entered the chamber, the vacii armory officer was lying in a crumpled heap to the left of its desk. The vibratube had done the job. It was quieter than a frag slug, but every bit as effective.
        When the last member of the war party had filed in, Moog recited the plans that had been gone over so hastily before their departure from the caves. The layout of the ship was not complex. Thanks to Moog, the Earth-men had a rough blueprint in their minds. The party divided into six groups, five men in each of the first five parties, five men plus Moog and Salsbury in the sixth. The others were to spread into selected portions of the starship as fast and efficiently as they could. Since the vacii in the ship were not generally armed, the battle would be heavily weighted in the Earthmen's favor. The sixth group's objective was to get Salsbury to the teleportation room. They would destroy vacii and vacii machinery as the other five groups, but only as the opportunity arose during their flight to the teleportation cart.
        Moog opened the door, and they went into the corridor, leaving the other groups to go their own ways, intent now on reaching the transportation that might or might not take Vic back to his basement, back to Lynda. They raced along the main corridor, not bothering much about quiet now. Behind, the detail assigned to this hall was already opening doors and cutting down the vacii within. The noise was nearly deafening. Farther away, echoing from other parts of the ship, more sounds of battle arose.
        They rounded a corner and confronted a small group of vacii that had come out of the rooms to see what the noise was all about. One of the men beside Salsbury pumped three frag slugs at the assemblage. The vacii dropped in twos and threes. The six still standing got themselves vibrabeamed by Moog. Then they went over and around the bodies, trying not to breathe in the stench of burned alien flesh.
        Two turns and six dead vacii later, one of the boys in their group got his chest pounded open by a guard's personal pistol. Moog fired at the vacii. So did Salsbury. Their vibrabeams caught it from both sides of the head, finished it messily.
        “This is it,” Moog said, turning into a room on the right. He bounced back, a vibrabeam sear along the top of his right shoulder.
        Salsbury went down, rolled, narrowly avoided a second blast from the vacii operator's weapon. When he came onto his back, he fired, swept half the room, nearly cut the alien in two. The thing fell forward, trying to groan, and was very still. He went back to Moog. “How is it?”
        “Just a burn. Nothing important.” He wasn't even clutching at the wound. Not even moaning. Or grimacing.
        “That's the cart,” Salsbury said.
        “Do you know how to operate it?”
        “I can try. The worst I can do is blow myself up,” Salsbury said.
        One of the men from the doorway called something. Moog looked concerned. “A heavy vacii force is at the head of the corridor. They must have guessed we