by Bobby Akart
With blow after blow, Chief Rawlings was beaten by Sokolov and Chernevsky. They were merciless, hurling insults and cursing the revered astronaut who’d served his country, and humanity, in space.
He tried to warn Gunner by calling out his name. “Gun—” But a heavy blow to the mouth silenced him, causing him to choke on his blood.
Soon, he was powerless to defend himself against the brutal beating. In less than a minute, his eyes were swollen shut, his face was bleeding profusely, and he was having difficulty breathing.
Sokolov, out of breath, gave instructions to Chernevsky. “Go, comrade. Put down that dog, their hero. Kill him. Now!”
Chief Rawlings tried to struggle under the weight of the much larger Sokolov. He tried again, in vain, to warn Gunner. His mind was fading, along with his ability to fight, as the heavy blows caused his brain to concuss.
Sokolov returned to the beatdown. He stood over Chief Rawlings, whose limp body was no longer able to protect itself. He growled and stomped the defenseless man. Chief Rawlings was unable to move. After several kicks to his groin, his bladder released, and the excruciating pain came to a merciful end as he drifted toward unconsciousness, a growing darkness, and then his mind faded to black.
Chapter 49
Wednesday, April 25
On Board the Starhopper
“It’s been too long,” muttered Gunner as he twisted in his seat and glanced through the back of the flight deck toward the common area leading to other parts of the ship. He’d become concerned for Chief Rawlings and the rest of the crew, but he didn’t dare leave the flight deck of the spaceship unattended.
Gunner turned toward the console to initiate communications with Flight Control One in the Mission Control Center. He hadn’t had direct communication with Mark Foster thus far because Chief Rawlings and the other American astronauts took the lead on piloting the spacecraft.
“Houston, this is Starhopper, Major Fox.”
No response.
Gunner studied the control panels to ensure that he was operating the communications system properly. Unlike the astronauts charged with the operations of the Starhopper, Gunner did not have comms built into his space suit.
He tried again. “Houston Mission Control, this is Major Gunner Fox aboard the Starhopper. Does anybody read me?”
Gunner scowled and began to run his fingers along the vast array of complex switches and dials. Had he missed something during his training in the simulator? Lost communications and the protocols to follow were never discussed. It was always assumed that the other crew members would handle those issues.
“Where the hell is everybody?” Gunner asked aloud, and then he saw a shadow pass across a reflective surface on the Starhopper’s navigation console.
The light that normally reflected off the console emanating from the hallway was eclipsed. Gunner turned his head to find the cause of the shadow and quickly snapped his head back the other way just as Chernevsky swung his clenched fist downward. He was holding a syringe like a dagger.
Gunner was not belted into the seat, so he was able to twist his body to get into a defensive position. Chernevsky, on the other hand, lost his balance as a result of the missed blow. His face crashed into the navigation console, giving him a bloody nose and causing alarms to sound in the crew module.
“Artie, do something!”
“Yes, Major Fox.”
Gunner reached for the cosmonaut, grabbed the collar of his space suit, and flung him backwards onto the floor between the second row of seats. He launched himself out of the pilot’s seat and pounced on his assailant.
Chernevsky managed to hold onto the syringe and made a stabbing motion toward Gunner’s face, which he easily blocked with his forearm. Chernevsky reared back for another try, but Gunner punched his wrist, forcing the attacker to lose his grip on the syringe.
Both men saw it bounce across the steel floor and roll under one of the second-row seats. A scramble full of tangled arms and legs ensued as they both tried to reach the deadly poison.
Gunner was faster and grabbed the syringe just before Chernevsky. They struggled and Gunner forced the needle toward the younger man’s neck. He could see the veins popping out as Chernevsky used all his strength to hold Gunner’s hand away, but, with one final push, Gunner plunged the needle into the Russian’s neck.
Then Gunner lost his balance, and the needle broke off in Chernevsky’s neck. The Russian was feeling the effects of a small amount of the ricin that entered his system, but it wasn’t enough to kill him. He tried to fight Gunner, but he was weakened.
Gunner retrieved the syringe and saw that the needle had come out. He grabbed Chernevsky by the hair, straightened his face so they could see one another, and he tried to shove the syringe into the man’s mouth.
The Russian clenched his mouth shut and flailed about to avoid consuming the poison. Gunner was pressing harder, closer to forcing the syringe in Chernevsky’s mouth. Then he chose another option.
He rammed the needleless syringe into the killer’s nose and forced the plunger down, emptying the deadly ricin deep into the nasal cavity. Chernevsky loosened his grip and began to shake uncontrollably. A white mucous substance flowed out of the Russian’s mouth, and then the expected blank stare of death told Gunner he could relax.
For the moment.
*****
Gunner got to his feet and turned to the console that was still processing the images and data from IM86. During the fight with Chernevsky, Gunner had been unaware that the warning signals screaming throughout the flight deck had stopped.
He took a deep breath and stared out the front windows of the Starship, still seeing darkness ahead of him. He had to find Chief Rawlings.
Suddenly, it felt like a battering ram crashed into his spine, knocking him forward against the pilot’s seat, crushing his sternum against the headrest.
He gasped for air and tried to gather himself when Commander Sokolov grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to the floor of the flight deck. He tried to stomp on Gunner’s face, but missed.
Gunner rolled over and crouched onto his knees. Sokolov tried to kick again, but Gunner was ready this time. He grabbed the Russian’s leg and twisted it, causing him to lose his balance and fall backwards on top of Chernevsky’s dead body.
“I will kill you!” the Russian shouted as he scrambled to his feet.
Gunner, who’d recovered from the initial blow, was ready for his assailant. The two men rushed each other, crashing like two Sumo wrestlers. Toe to toe, they exchanged blows. Gunner took a shot to the kidneys, but he returned the favor with a solid blow to Sokolov’s mouth, causing two teeth to fly out.
Bloodied, but undeterred, Sokolov grinned, revealing the lost front teeth. He reached into his pocket and retrieved two syringes, one for each hand.
“It is time for me to kill another American Fox!”
Gunner was stunned. His body relaxed at first as he tried to understand. “What?”
“Oh, yes, Major Fox. You will be my second kill of a Fox! Arrrgh!”
Sokolov leapt toward Gunner, holding both syringes high into the air. Gunner jumped off the floor with both feet and double kicked Sokolov in the chest, knocking him backwards, but the force also propelled Gunner into the Starhopper’s console again, setting off more alarms.
“Artie! Fix that.”
“Yes, Major Fox.”
Sokolov was undeterred. He climbed to his feet, but realized he’d lost one of the syringes. He paused, giving Gunner the opportunity to strike first. He kicked the Russian’s right knee, causing his leg to buckle and the killer to scream in pain.
Gunner jumped on top of Sokolov, who attempted to stab Gunner with the syringe, repeatedly missing his face.
“What did you do to my wife?” Gunner screamed his question as he pounded the Russian’s face with blow after blow.
Sokolov lost his grip on the syringe and began to cackle. An evil, loud laugh that made him sound demented. Blood spat out o
f his mouth as he talked. “She floated, you fool! We cut her loose and she floated away!” He continued to laugh, which enraged Gunner. He pounded the man’s face and head, landing blows with both hands until his knuckles were bruised and bloodied.
“Floating …” said Commander Sokolov, Heather’s killer, with his last breath as Gunner landed a crushing blow to his temple, ending his life.
Chapter 50
Wednesday, April 25
On Board the Starhopper
Gunner lost it. For three years, he’d bottled up his emotions, going to dark places where no human being should go. Attempting to find answers to why the love of his life was taken from him. Blaming God. Blaming NASA. Blaming himself. Even, at times, blaming Heather. That was when he hurt the most. He begged to go back in time. To have an opportunity to keep Heather on Earth and not in space where he couldn’t protect her.
And now he’d learned the truth. She hadn’t died in a freak accident. It wasn’t some unpredictable mishap during which fate got in the way of what should’ve been a routine space walk to repair the ISS communications system. She’d been murdered.
Gunner spun around and began to kick Sokolov’s dead body, forcing blood out of his face until the entire floor of the flight deck was covered in it. His anger took hold as he kicked again, this time slipping and falling onto his back next to Chernevsky’s dead eyes staring at the ceiling.
Gunner began to bawl. Tears flowed out of him and he shuddered uncontrollably. These men had killed his beloved wife. A woman he adored with all of his being. His partner. His best friend. An adorable, loving woman who’d planned to grow old with him on Dog Island, picking up shells or swimming with the dolphins.
She was gone, murdered, and he’d exacted his revenge against the people responsible. So why didn’t he feel better? Shouldn’t he have a sense of relief? Why was the pain worse than ever?
Gunner allowed himself time to cry and grieve again.
Then Artie brought him back into the present. “One hour until intercept.”
Gunner wiped his face and lifted himself off the floor. He was covered in blood, and his agony of learning the truth about Heather’s death was now replaced with a sense of dread. Throughout the brutal battle with the two Russian cosmonauts, nobody else had emerged from the bowels of the Starhopper.
Were they all dead? Chief Rawlings too?
Gunner gathered himself and entered the hallway leading to the sleeping quarters. He checked each room until he found the dead Frenchman and one of his fellow astronauts. He closed his eyes in disappointment as he witnessed two more good people taken by the hands of the soulless Russians.
He carefully made his way to the mid-deck, being vigilant as he watched for Semenova, the woman who’d intended to kill him that night at Artemis. She could be waiting to attack him.
He eased into the recreation area and found a massacre. Semenova’s dead body lay sprawled in a pool of blood, a syringe protruding out of her eye, bloody sputum trailing out of her mouth and nose.
Nearby, he saw the leg of the Starship commander—a man who, like Heather, had responded to the call of duty at the last minute to aid his country—hanging out of a storage room. Gunner didn’t need to check his pulse. He too was dead.
Gunner shouted, “Chief! Are you here?” He looked around the room and then made his way into the galley.
Nothing.
He studied the blood on the floor. It appeared a body had been dragged toward the laundry and refuse room. Gunner’s chin dropped to his chest. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Please, God, no,” he said as he walked through the blood and slowly opened the door.
Chief Rawlings was doubled over, lying on his side with his face crammed against a cabinet. Gunner approached him and then he saw Chief Rawlings breathing. His chest rose ever so slightly, but he was alive!
“Chief! Chief!”
Gunner dropped to his knees and slowly rolled his friend over to see his battered face. My god, thought Gunner. His eyes were swollen shut. His nose was contorted from the cartilage being broken in several places.
Yet he was still alive.
“Chief? Can you hear me?”
The badly beaten NASA veteran wiggled his fingers. He tried to speak but began to hack up blood.
“That’s okay. Don’t talk. Let me try to set you upright.”
Chief Rawlings’s body was limp, so Gunner had to lift him by himself. His fingers stung from beating Sokolov to death, but it was a pain that suddenly felt glorious.
Gunner reached into the cabinet and retrieved some bath towels. He gently wiped the blood off Chief Rawlings’s face.
“I’m gonna get you some water and clean you up,” whispered Gunner as he lovingly set a clean towel in the older man’s lap.
“Careful,” he whispered back.
“It’s okay, they’re all dead.”
“Ours?”
Gunner exhaled. “Yes. Everyone but us. I’ll be back.”
Gunner raced to the kitchen and grabbed several bottles of water. He spent the next few minutes cleaning the blood off the commander of the Starhopper. Revived, Chief Rawlings began to show signs of life, so Gunner left him for a moment to gather first aid supplies.
Ten minutes later, both men’s uniforms were still covered in blood, but they were no longer bleeding from their own cuts.
Unexpectedly, Chief Rawlings’s swollen eyes opened wide as the realization set in that they still had a mission to perform.
“How much time?” he asked, coughing as he spoke.
“Less than an hour. I have to get to the crew module.”
Chief Rawlings pushed off the floor and quickly sat back down. He held his head and grimaced. “Damn headache. Help me up.”
“Why don’t you stay here and rest?”
“I can help. Please, just pull me up.”
Gunner stood and reached under his armpits, hoisting the badly beaten man onto his feet. His legs gave way at first, and then he found the strength to stand on his own with the assistance of Gunner.
“I’ll help you get up there and seated. Don’t overexert, Chief. I’m gonna need a good wingman.”
Chief Rawlings smiled, revealing the gap from the teeth he lost during the beating. “I think you can manage with Artie’s help. I just don’t want to miss the show.”
He began to cough, spitting up a little blood in the process. As they made their way to the crew module and the flight deck, Chief Rawlings offered Gunner some words of encouragement.
“I believe in you, Gunner, and I know you believe in yourself. There is something inside you that is extraordinary.”
Chief Rawlings began coughing again, with more blood coming out of his mouth. He seemed light-headed and complained about his head aching again. Then he somehow caught his breath and continued. “I know about your struggles and the loss you’ve suffered. It will pass. Heather will help you through it. Talk to her. It’s okay. You aren’t crazy. It will help. I promise.”
He began coughing so hard that Gunner stopped and offered to set him on the floor to rest. Chief Rawlings refused, adamant that he would be all right if he could just get into the commander’s seat.
A minute later, Gunner got him situated in the left seat, helped him drink some water, and moistened a towel for him to use to wipe his mouth. He affixed his mentor’s harnesses and gave him one last look over to make sure he was comfortable.
He turned and dragged the dead Russians out of the crew module. He growled at the dead bodies as he did. “You don’t deserve to be in here.”
Gunner took a moment to rush back to his sleep module and retrieve his duffle bag. He quickly peeled off the blood-covered space suit and donned a pair of khakis and the white, long-sleeve NASA shirt sent to him by Ghost with the words watch your back scribbled inside.
When he returned, he stood and took in the entire flight deck. The clock was ticking down to under thirty minutes. He took a deep breath and smiled. He was ready.
“Okay, Artie. Let’s do this!”
“Do what, Major Fox?”
Gunner rolled his eyes and laughed as he strapped himself into the pilot’s seat and ran his fingers across the nuclear missile launch panel. He flexed his fingers and studied the mapping of IM86.
Channeling Chief Rawlings, he replied, “Kill this booger.”
Chapter 51
Wednesday, April 25
On Board the Starhopper
Gunner Fox put his game face on.
He checked on Chief Rawlings, who’d fallen asleep in the commander’s chair to his left. He checked his pulse and temperature. He considered changing his mentor’s space suit for a fresh one but chose not to for fear of aggravating his injured, battered body.
“Okay, Artie. It’s just you and me, pal.”
“Yes, Major. We are alone. Houston is offline.”
“Artie, have you completed the mapping process?”
“Yes, Major. Would you like the precise composition of 2029 IM86?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. Approximate dimensions will suffice.”
Gunner went through a number of systems checks as he conversed with the onboard artificial intelligence.
Artie provided him the data. “Length is seven thousand six hundred thirty-two feet. Width at its greatest point is five thousand eighty-eight feet.”
Not that it mattered because he had a job to do, but Gunner was curious about how mean this bastard was. “Do you have an estimated impact energy?”
“Yes. The impact energy is estimated to be two hundred four thousand megatons. It registers a nine on the Torino scale.”
Gunner shook his head in amazement. “What would it take to be a ten?” he muttered to himself.
