Epic: Dawn of Destiny

by Lee Stephen

Jayden squinted through the scope of his sniper rifle as the Bakma exchanged fire with Becan and Donner. He eased the crosshairs over the nearest Bakma’s forehead. His finger flexed, and the gun barrel exploded with a flash of orange. Blood sprayed from behind the Bakma’s head.

  “One down.”

  He cracked the bolt-action and slid the crosshairs over a second target. His finger flexed.

  “Two down. They’re onto me.” The Texan rolled back.

  Scott closed his eyes, took a breath, and slammed his body against the steel door. The door gave way, and momentum carried him into the alley, where the two battle-scarred Bakma whipped around to face him. His finger took control, and he yanked the trigger. The two Bakma toppled backward before they could fire a shot.

  For several seconds, Scott stood paralyzed. Gun exhaust filtered the air. The Bakma lay crumpled, face-up on the concrete. He stared at their corpses. Assault rifle shouldered, he drew nearer to them.

  He had never seen Bakma at such close range before. Their cheekbones bulged from the crimson-purple leather of their skin. Their eyes—black eyes without visible pupils—stared lifelessly skyward. Alien insignias covered their breastplates in a grotesque gold, and their plasma rifles lay strewn beside their talonless claws. Beneath them oozed a puddle of dark red blood. Scott propped his hands against his knees and gazed at them. It was still surreal. Finally, he breathed into his comm. “Targets down.”

  Tacker ducked to avoid plasma fire as he stumbled toward David. “Jurgen!”

  David held his fire. “Yes sir?”

  “We have reinforcements coming right now,” Tacker said. “They’ll be here in about ten minutes! Once they arrive, we’re going to press over the mound and into the avenue. Be ready!” Tacker glanced at Henry. “How is he doing?” he whispered.

  David hesitated. “Very good, sir.”

  “You take care of him.” Tacker half-frowned.

  David eyed Henry, who continued to open fire. He replied to Tacker. “Yes sir.”

  Tacker nodded and continued across the barricade.

  Shouldering his assault rifle, Scott approached the now-clustered team. “Attention, everybody. Henrick is incapacitated, therefore I am assuming command. If something should happen to me, leadership falls to Becan.” The Irishman looked impassive. “Get Wilkins’ body and put it in the alley for now. If anyone is low on ammunition, take his. He won’t be needing it,” he added needlessly.

  Becan raised a brow. “An’ Henrick?”

  Scott appraised the lieutenant. “Sir, can you still walk?”

  Henrick stifled a groan. “I don’t think so.”

  He turned to Donner. “Get him to his feet and help him along. We can’t bog down here.”

  Scott inspected the building alongside the far alley, where he noticed for the first time that it was the same building that caused the rubble. Though the top half of it had been blown across the street, the lower half remained intact. It must have been a strafe attack on the two streets, but the bottom of this building still looked passable. “Come on,” he said, “we’re crossing through here.”

  Becan eyed Henrick. “We should’ve been doin’ tha’ all along,” he said brashly.

  Henrick tried to defend himself. “For all I knew, the foundation was damaged!”

  Scott didn’t bother with a response. He slung his assault rifle over his shoulder, jerked open a side door, and stepped inside.

  Dust hung in the building, but it was passable. The group exercised caution as they trekked from office to empty office until they emerged clean on the other side. South Wabash came into full view. Gunfire echoed ahead, and Scott crept up the alley to the edge of the street. The scene was clear now. The pinned operatives from Cougar Platoon took cover behind two wartorn cars at the edge of a squat structure. Farther down the street, plasma bolts shot in their direction.

  Scott’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not going to get them in the open—that plasma fire is too heavy. We’re taking the inside route again. We’ll keep moving through buildings until we get to them.” He turned to Sasha. “Take Henrick. I want Donner free.”

  The plan was set into motion, and the team traversed from one building to the next. When they reached the alley along the squat structure’s edge, Scott searched for a door. He found one, but it was locked. He launched two solid kicks against the doorway, and it burst open.

  “Find a room in here that can act as a temporary hospital,” he said to Sasha as he slipped inside. “We have to assume they have heavily wounded—they wouldn’t still be here if they didn’t. Jay,” he said, “get as high as you can again, find a window, and work on those Bakma. You’re on your own, just go do your thing.”

  Jayden acknowledged and weaved up a stairwell. Scott led the rest of the team ahead. The structure was undamaged, though projectile and plasma fire erupted from beyond the walls. Muffled shouts echoed outside. They were close. When Scott stepped into the large room that formed the building’s corner, it became clear why the operatives were still outside.

  One window. Only one window offered access to the inside. The corner lacked anything else. Scott pressed against the edge of the window and peered outside. He could see the pinned soldiers. Three wounded were among them, sprawled behind the cover vehicles. There was no way they’d last there. Plasma flashed toward the window, and Scott ducked back inside.

  Three wounded. One window. The vehicles were on the verge of destruction. Scott knelt as the other operatives watched him. His mind raced. The vehicles. If only the vehicles were closer to the window. Then they’d have enough cover to ferry the wounded inside.

  He blinked hard. It hit him.

  Scott leapt to a stand and returned to the window. “Guys,” he shouted to the pinned unit, “sit tight for one minute! We’re on our way!”

  Scott swiveled to face his team. “Who can hotwire a car?”

  Donner raised his hand.

  “Becan, go with Donner outside and see if you can’t find another vehicle. The bigger the better.”

  Becan rubbed his neck. “I saw a big ol’ van across the street on the way here.”

  A van. Perfect. “That’ll work. Go get it. Give Donner as much cover as you can. You’re going to park that van right in front of the window. We’re extending the wall of cars.”

  “Righ’,” Becan said as he and Donner retreated back through the building.

  “Hurry!” Scott urged. “We don’t have much time!”

  Jayden knelt down beside a fifth-floor window and leaned against the wall. He was right above the pinned operatives—perfect position. He snaked his hand toward the window, unlocked it, and slid it upward just enough to leave a slit for his sniper rifle. Maneuvering the rifle into position and slipping the barrel outside, he squinted through the scope. The Bakma suppressors were, as before, clustered in an alley.

  “I think there’s ‘bout five or six,” he said through the comm. He eased the crosshairs over the corner of the alley and waited for one of the suppressors to lean around. It happened right away. There was a puff of red, and Jayden worked the bolt-action. “One down.”

  Becan and Donner bolted across the street. “Keep at ‘em, Jay,” Becan said. “We need time to hotwire.”

  “I’m on ‘em.” The bolt-action cracked through the comm. “Two down.”

  The Bakma suppressors halted their assault as a third fell. Becan and Donner skidded to the van. Unlocked. Becan slid into the passenger seat as Donner set to hotwire. Several twisted wires later, the van roared to life.

  Becan jerked his door closed. “Go, go!”

  Donner slammed the van into reverse and manhandled the wheel toward the wall of cars. Only seconds later, it screeched to a stop in front of the window. Becan leapt from the passenger door as Donner climbed over the center console. The wall of cars was extended. The window was covered.

  Time to move. “Let’s go!” Scott said. He scampered out of the window, rolled to the ground behind the van, and dashed to the pinned operatives
behind the wall of cars.

  A goateed man awaited him. His armor was charred with scorch marks. “Delta Trooper Grammar of Cougar Platoon, sir! We have three wounded, two good to go. Everyone else is dead.”

  Scott’s ears perked. “What’s the condition of the wounded?”

  “They’re pretty bad off.”

  “Can they be moved through the window?”

  Grammar glanced to the window. “Better than keeping them here, sir.”

  Scott pivoted around. “Becan, give us a hand!”

  As Scott, Becan, and Grammar transferred the wounded through the window, Donner, Jayden, and another unidentified man behind the cars held off the Bakma attack. After several minutes of suppression fire and struggle, the transfer was accomplished. Sasha wasted no time in attending to the wounded as soon as they were secure. Becan, Donner, and Jayden continued to engage the Bakma as Scott, Grammar, and the unidentified man slipped inside.

  Grammar caught his breath and turned to Scott. “Our team, sir.” He motioned toward a stocky individual—the only other uninjured man. “Gamma Private Vause, our techie, and the three wounded are Commander Jose Diaz, Lieutenant Bowen, and Gamma Private Parsons. Commander Diaz took command when our captain fell. We’re all that’s left of a team of twenty, sir.”

  Scott lifted a brow. Sir? He shifted his peripherals down to his armor, where dried blood—Wilkins’ blood—crusted over his name badge. His insignia was completely hidden. Grammar didn’t know he was an alpha. A moment of decision ticked in Scott’s mind, and he answered. “Scott Remington. What were you doing here?”

  Becan’s voice interrupted from outside. “We could use a bloody hand ou’ here!”

  Scott hurried to the window and motioned for Grammar to follow. “How many down?”

  Becan laughed. “None!”

  “What about you, Jay?”

  The Texan’s voice crackled through the comm. “I been workin’ on the ones farther up the road, I killed one and hit another, but there’re still more. I think there’s two or three still here but they know I’m here now. S’about five or six more down the road.”

  “Are the only Bakma here the ones in the alley?”

  “Yep.”

  Scott climbed out the window and ducked behind the van. He glanced to Grammar. “I guess if you had any grenades left you’d be using them?”

  “Yes sir. We used them earlier, you should’ve seen how many Bakma there were before—way more than we thought there’d be. We think they must’ve used up all of theirs, too.”

  Scott unfastened a grenade from his belt and placed his finger on the activation button. “Give me three seconds of cover! Fire everything!”

  Becan, Donner, and Grammar opened fire. Above, Jayden did the same.

  Scott pressed the button, whipped up from behind the van, and flung the small orb toward the alley. The operatives ducked down as soon as he released it. The grenade ricocheted off the wall of the alley and bounced out of view. An explosion boomed.

  Scott leapt over the hood of the van. “Charge the alley! Come on!”

  Jayden’s voice sounded through the comm. “I got ‘em pinned down the street—go, go, go!”

  They reached the alley several seconds later. The smell of open flesh hung in the air as they penetrated the smoke, assault rifles poised to fire on any survivors. Remains were scattered across the ground, and entrails dripped from the brick walls. The ground beneath them turned moist.

  “They’re movin’!” yelled Jayden through the comm. “The Bakma down the street are movin’!” His sniper rifle exploded through the line.

  They were trying to escape. Scott charged into the street. There were three Bakma in full retreat. “Stop them!” As soon as he, Becan, Donner, and Grammar were in the open, they knelt, propped their assault rifles, and attacked the triggers. The Bakma toppled over. Scott leapt to his feet and bolted toward the alley where they’d come from. The other three men followed close behind. They charged around the corner and trained their assault rifles, but without need. There were no Bakma left. Their mission was accomplished.

  As reinforcements arrived from Richmond, the battle on South Michigan turned in EDEN’s favor. Several colonels—Lilan included—led a full assault against the Bakma foot soldiers. They charged into the Bakma stronghold, where an intense melee began.

  David and Henry were in the onslaught and adopted a back-to-back protection system. With David’s on-the-spot tactical commands, the two men formed an effective duo.

  Nonetheless, the battle was far from over.

  Once the Bakma corpses were collected, Scott and his team returned to the squat structure. Jayden remained on his fifth-floor perch, where he kept watch over South Wabash.

  As soon as Scott re-entered the makeshift hospital, he stepped over to Sasha. “How are they?”

  “Diaz is stable,” she answered. “Parsons should be shortly. Bowen will be okay, too. They should all be okay, provided they aren’t here much longer. They will need more medical treatment, though. More than I can give them.”

  Scott turned to Grammar. “Why were you out here?”

  Grammar saddled his hands on his hips. “We were initially sent to disable the southernmost Carrier,” he motioned down the avenue, “but we met far heavier resistance than Command expected. We had a cover unit, but they got ambushed before we were even set up to go. The five of us are the last alive out of a strike force of twenty.”

  Scott’s brow furrowed. “You were sent to disable one of the Bakma Carriers?”

  “Yes sir. Command wanted salvage, and that was the best way to get it. It also sends a strong message to the Bakma when their ships don’t come back home.”

  A thought materialized in Scott’s mind. “How far is the Carrier from here?”

  “Not that far. Stay down Wabash, take a right on Harrison, then take a left down Clark. The Carrier’s in the Clark, Polk intersection. That was the plan.”

  Scott looked away for a moment, still thinking. Five men. That’s what he had. Was that crazy? His gaze returned to Grammar. “Is it still possible to disable it?”

  Grammar’s jaw sagged, and he cleared his throat. “Uhh…yes sir, we still have Vause, he was the assigned technician for this thing…” Becan eyed Scott from the corner of the room.

  Scott turned and stepped out of the room, where he adjusted the frequency of his comm. “Major?”

  There was a moment of static before Tacker’s voice emerged on the other side. “Tacker here. You get them out yet?”

  “Yes sir, area cleared.”

  “Great.”

  Here it went. “Sir, with Command’s permission, I’d like to complete Cougar Platoon’s objective. They were ordered to disable the southern Bakma Carrier.”

  Silence hung over the line before Tacker replied. “Are you joking?”

  “No sir, I think we have a chance. The Bakma here have been isolated and things are quiet. I think we might be able to get close enough in to make a real run at this thing.”

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Five able to go.”

  “You want to assault a Bakma Carrier with five operatives?”

  Was it crazy? No…it couldn’t be crazy. “Yes sir. It’s the last thing they’d expect.”

  “You got that right,” Tacker said. “Give me a minute to talk to the colonel.”

  Lilan was in the midst of the offensive when Tacker’s voice burst through his headset.

  “Colonel, I have Remington on the line. He wants to make a run at the southern Carrier. You know anything about that?”

  Lilan ducked behind a barricade. Around him, the orange flashes of assault rifles blazed as gunfire saturated the air. “Yes,” Lilan answered, “Command wanted salvage, that’s what Cougar was doing befo—…Remington wants to do what?”

  “He wants to assault the Carrier.”

  “Did he get shot in the head?”

  “I have no idea, sir.”

  Lilan reloaded his assault
rifle and opened fire into the Bakma foot soldiers. “How many men does he have?”

  “He says five. I shouldn’t even be asking you this.”

  “What the hell? He wants to assault the Carrier with five men?”

  “That’s what he says, sir.”

  “I’m talking to him.” The channel closed, and Lilan adjusted to message Scott. “This is Lilan. Are you requesting permission to assault the Carrier?”

  There was a moment of silence before Scott answered. “Yes sir. Things are calm on this end, I think we can catch them off guard.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”

  “Yes sir. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think we could do it.”

  Lilan grew quiet. The request was suicide, but there was something unexpected in Scott’s tone. It was confidence. Even in addressing the colonel, it was total confidence. It was the tone of a veteran.

  EDEN loved salvage. They grew giddy at the mention of it. Five men would never survive a Carrier assault, but they didn’t have to. None of them had to. If a technician survived long enough to reach the engine room and shut it down, the mission was accomplished. Their survival was unnecessary. But was a captured Carrier worth the lives of five men? Could five men even reach the engine room?

  “Do you really think you can do this?”

  “Positive, sir.”

  Lilan barely hesitated. “Do it.”

  “Thank you, sir!”

  “Just get to the engine room. Make that your priority, then do what you can.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good luck,” Lilan said before he closed the channel. He stared down at the assault rifle in his hands. He had just given five men permission to kill themselves.

  Scott returned to the hospital. “Listen up, everyone! The original objective for this mission was to disable the southern Carrier.” Becan stood from his perch in the corner. “We are going to take it upon ourselves to complete this objective.”

  Vause’s jaw hung loose. He was speechless.