by S. A. Lusher
His fingers wrapped around a gun, he wasn't sure if it was his, and he began to bring it up just as he noticed that Enzo had recovered his pistol.
And he was pointing it right at him.
Enzo squeezed the trigger.
* * * * *
Callie felt panic began to shriek into her system when she saw Enzo shoot Allan twice in the chest. But she clamped down hard on that emotion and eradicated it. No time for panic. She zeroed her sights on Enzo and squeezed the trigger. She managed to hit him in the arm, his fake arm, but it was enough to convince him to turn and begin running away. She took another few potshots at him, but as soon as she was clear, she called for the others to cover her. What remained of the Rogue Ops troops were getting ripped to shreds as they got caught in between the spiders and flies. Callie ducked, dodged and dove until she reached Allan.
He was still alive, but he was out.
She hastily slapped a suit repair patch over the two bullet holes. At a casual glance, it seemed as if his heart would have been missed, and his spine, but his lungs might not have been so lucky. He didn't react to her slapping the sealant over his wounds, so he really must have been out. It would have to do. They had to get this done.
Callie looked up at the platform but it was vacant.
“Converge on my location! Provide cover fire!” she called over the radio.
There were a string of affirmative responses. Callie hustled up the platform and found it empty. She spied Enzo off in the distance, limping away, as always. She was tempted to take some more shots at him, but she didn't have time. The mission came first. She looked around her as she stood atop the platform. There were three consoles, all of them different and distinct. She found the one she wanted, marched over to it and looked around, checking her surroundings. Mertz, Genevieve, Martel and Parker had made it across.
Mertz stood over Allan, defending him, while the other three had found other positions. What remained of the Rogue Ops element had been chopped and diced by the two warring alien parties. For the moment, they didn't seem interested in the remaining humans. Fine. Callie turned back to the alien console and set to work, bringing up the appropriate menu, working off of pure memorization, trusting that the data was right, because she didn't even remotely understand any of the characters she was seeing on the screen in front of her.
It took close to a minute, but she got it done.
At first, nothing happened, and immediately worried thoughts filled her mind. What if she'd done it wrong? What if there was no way to tell if she'd done it right? What if-abruptly, the screen died, then flared a deep yellow color that began to pulse rapidly. All around them, the entire cavern began to resonate, a low, deep sound. At once, all the creatures paused in their wholesale slaughter. And then they began to leave.
“Shit, that's probably a damn good sign that we should get the hell out of here,” Callie said. “Grab Allan and let's go!”
“Back through the city?” Mertz asked as he picked up Allan and Parker gave him some help.
“No, too long.”
“The tunnel Enzo mentioned?” Parker asked.
“No, we can't trust him. We'll follow him. He went through that tunnel ahead. Obviously it's got to lead somewhere. You can remote pilot the ship to us, right?”
“Yeah, I can do that,” Martel replied.
“Let's get the fuck out of here then.”
No one argued with that sentiment. Callie made sure Mertz and Parker had Allan between them, then she set off down the opposite side of the platform, making for the tunnel ahead that Enzo had escaped through. She began following the bloody trail he'd left, though it didn't last long, as he must have slapped a few repair patches over the holes in his armor. They hurried out of the cavern, narrowly dodging a few massive falling rocks. She honed her focus down to a narrow beam, intent only on survival and getting her team out.
They reached the tunnel and she did another headcount. Everyone was still with her. Good. She beckoned them onward and upwards. The tunnel began to slope up at a sharp angle, not unmanageable but not exactly easy. Especially with the whole place shaking apart around them. The scant data available on the site seemed to indicate that the self-destruction should be mostly underground and, theoretically, they would be fine if they made it to the surface. Of course, theoretically, shit usually went wrong.
So Callie kept running.
They were so close to being finished, so close to being done with all this shit. She refused to get it all done and then die from some falling rocks. Speaking of...another one came crashing silently down from overhead. She veered right and shouted a warning to the others, then she put her head down and kept up the sprint. Her feet pounded up the rock, sending jarring impacts up her armor. There was nothing in the universe right now but the tunnel ahead of her and her team behind her and the way out, the way to survival.
Ten meters passed.
Then fifty.
Finally, her muscles burning, breath short in her lungs, Callie passed a hundred meters and breached the surface of the dead world. Just in time to see the dying light of engines in the sky. Enzo. He'd had a ship waiting here and was leaving, one last time. She ignored it, checked the immediate area for hostiles and found none.
“How are we on that ship?” she asked, turning to face the others. She quickly counted heads and was relieved to see everyone who was supposed to be here was.
“Already on it, just a few minutes until it arrives,” Martel replied.
“Allan? How is he?” Callie asked, coming to stand over him as Parker and Mertz laid him down on the rocky ground.
“Still breathing at least, but there's only so much we can do in this environment, honestly,” Parker replied.
Callie decided she'd have to be satisfied with that. She stood over Allan, hoping he'd come back around, but by the time the ship arrived, he was still out. She watched as the vessel settled down on a relatively flat patch of rock and the back ramp slowly cycled open. She helped Parker and Mertz carry Allan aboard while Martel hustled up the ramp ahead of them and Genevieve watched their backs. Soon, they were all inside.
They carried Allan to the small but high-tech infirmary stuffed into one corner of the ship. They laid him down on the examination table and began getting his armor off. Callie stepped back, letting the two medics work. She felt the ship begin to rumble as the engines spooled up and they took off, leaving the planet, their work done.
She tried to refrain from asking stupid questions like 'is he going to be okay?', since it was obvious that neither medic knew the answer to that question yet. Now that they had actually finished their job and were leaving, she had time to think instead of just act, which meant that she had time to worry. Panic and fear were seeping in, filling her with doubt and terror. What if she lost Allan? He was the first person she'd connected with in a long time...
They got his armor off and began running a scan on him while cleansing his wounds. Both bullets had gone straight through.
“Shit, he's lost a lot of blood,” Mertz muttered, crossing the room to a cold case and yanking it open. He pulled out a bag of blood, hurried back and hung it, then slipped a needle into one of Allan's primary veins.
“Heart's good,” Parker said. “Lungs are fine...” She nodded. “He'll be fine. Nothing serious got damaged. He'll just need a bit of rest and recovery.”
Callie let out an immense sigh of relief. Just one more thing to worry about. She accessed her radio. “Martel, any sign of Enzo or Rogue Ops?”
“No, Enzo's long gone and we're alone out here,” the pilot replied.
Callie sighed. She supposed it would have to be enough.
She wondered how the others were doing.
CHAPTER 15
–Something in the Mist–
This was it. The end.
The final mission that would decide everything.
They'd dropped out of FTL flight twenty minutes ago. Everyone had memorized their data on the way there and he'd made su
re the pilots were both suited up with armor and guns. They were going to be the only back up he'd have on this mission besides Keron, a Japanese Spec Ops heavy weapons expert. He was a squat, bulky man with a black crewcut, calm gray eyes and an air of easy death. He didn't say much. Greg supposed the man subscribed to the philosophy of speak softly (or rarely) and carry a big fucking gun. That he did. A custom-made, long-barreled machine gun with an underslung grenade launcher. It also took hundred round magazines. The two pilots, Hoyt and Morrow, were a bit more easygoing.
Hoyt was very laid back. She was tall and thin with a shaved head and an easy smile. Greg had been glad to learn that she had once been a sniper before deciding she enjoyed piloting ships more. Morrow as fidgety and morose, a tall man built like a bodybuilder with olive skin, his mouth seemed caught in a permanent frown. He seemed to grumble about everything and Hoyt explained that his main fuel in life was bitterness but that he was surprisingly good at his job. Greg figured he'd have to be, given that he'd made it to Spec Ops.
Now Greg stood on the bridge between the two pilots. Everyone was ready to go. All that was left was to actually land. They were burning through the atmosphere right now, running every sensor and scanner they could, seeing what kind of hell was waiting for them on the surface. Greg shifted uncomfortably in his armor.
A sharp chime filled the bridge.
“What's that?” he asked.
“Scan is done,” Morrow replied. He heaved a sigh. “I'm reading tons of life signs down there...though only about a third of them are human. No idea what the rest of them are but they're definitely alive and I'm sure they're going to try and kill us.”
“Wouldn't be the first time,” Greg replied. “How close can you get us?”
“It looks like everything is centered around a mountain, which is where the primary objective should be. There's a handful of encampments scattered around...I should be able to put us down on a flat patch of ground about a half-mile from the outermost encampment. The terrain is mostly forest all around the mountain...”
A sharp, rapid beeping began to fill the cockpit.
Greg didn't even have to ask what that one was. He was all too familiar with it. He stumbled as the pilots jerked the ship to the right, trying to get out of the way of the missile that had been launched towards them, but a tremendous explosion ripped through the ship. Greg was thrown to the floor. A confusion of voices suddenly sprang into existence on the general comms.
“What the fuck was that!?” Drake demanded.
“Are we going down?” Keron, calm as ever.
“Everyone shut up!” Morrow snapped. “A missile has hit us. We're going down. Get to the fucking pods quick as you can!”
Everyone responded affirmative. Greg got to his feet and saw Hoyt standing up to join him, but not Morrow. “Aren't you coming?” Hoyt asked.
“No! They're launching more missiles. I've got to keep us dancing in the wind so everyone can get to the pods in time. Another hit will probably destroy us complete now go! I'll join you as soon as everyone is out!”
Neither argued. Greg stumbled into the main corridor and raced down it, towards the pod bay. All around him the ship trembled as it made a nosedive for the ground. With no way to know how much longer they had until they hit dirt or until another missile turned them into a giant fireball, Greg could feel the press of time. As he came into the pod bay, he saw one of them launch. Three were gone altogether. Perfect, Keron, Eve and Drake had made it out. The pods were single-person, so Greg climbed into one and Hoyt into the other. He quickly strapped himself in. The pod was little more than a metal shell with very slight maneuvering capabilities, meant to survive a hard landing. As soon as the door was closed and he was strapped in, Greg hit the launch button. The pod shot out of the crashing vessel, towards the ground.
Greg closed his eyes and hoped for the best.
* * * * *
At this point, Drake wasn't even surprised to find himself careening through the air, headed towards an alien forest. He was just glad he'd taken the time to gear up, arm and armor himself, because no doubt there were men and women out for his blood already. He tried to scan the immediate area around him as he burst from the clouds, looking through the glass front at the array of trees that seemed to go on forever, but the whole area was wreathed in an obscuring mist. That, and, he only had about three seconds before his pod smashed into the ground. The impact drove the breath from his lungs, even with his armor.
Not wanting to waste any time, he undid the latches holding him in and smashed his fist on the open button. The front of the pod popped open and he stepped out and into a crouch, rifle raised and tucked into his shoulder, scanning the immediate area. His suit's visor seemed to be having difficulty cutting through the thick gray mist. He couldn't see more than maybe three meters ahead of him. Fantastic. Just fantastic.
There didn't seem to be anyone around, but Drake knew that wouldn't last. He returned his attention to his pod and activated the limited scanning equipment it had available to it. The sensors reached out over the area, searching for power signatures or other pods. After a moment, the results came back. Drake frowned. Something was interfering with the scanners, but he at least had a lock on another pod that came down about a hundred meters north of his current position. He activated his radio and set off.
“This is Drake to anyone, do you read me?” He waited a few seconds. Silence mocked him. He tried his message once more. “This is Drake, is anyone out there?”
Still nothing.
Drake sighed and picked up the pace, walking into the swirling gray mists.
* * * * *
Greg heard voices.
For a few seconds, he had no idea where he was or what was going on. Only that his head hurt greatly and there was something marring his vision. He finally realized that it was a crack in his visor. Fantastic. He remembered...the ship going down. The pod. And the voices. He fully opened his eyes but didn't move. Fifty-fifty chance of it being either friends here to help or bad guys here to kill him. Whoever they were, they'd pulled him from the pod. He saw a figure in dark armor standing over him, facing away from him.
No silver trim. Not Spec Ops. Rogue Ops.
Carefully, Greg flexed his limbs, his fingers. They were stiff, but functional. He saw an opportunity. The man facing away from him had a pistol on his hip. The latch was undone. Perfect. Greg suddenly reached up and snatched the pistol from the holster. The man shouted and turned. Greg remained prone and fired up two shots into his faceplate as soon as it was presented. Still prone, he aimed at a second trooper and fired twice more, putting a round through his neck and the visor. The man screamed and flopped back, dead.
Greg scrambled to his feet. He could hear more footfalls, running towards his position. He snatched up a rifle from the fallen soldier, turned and ran into the gray mists that surrounded his crash site. No time to think.
Only time to run.
What a shocking change of pace.
* * * * *
Drake hesitated. Something wasn't right.
He kept sensing some kind of movement behind him. He turned and scanned the area again, but once more, there wasn't anything in visual range. The biggest problem was that he wasn't entirely sure something was there. It could have been a Rogue Ops trooper, but they were rarely that quiet. So what the hell could it possibly be? After another moment of staring into the swirling gray mists, Drake sighed and kept going.
He was positive that he was going to find out one way or the other. Drake checked the compass built into his heads up display, aligned himself along the appropriate heading and kept walking. He wasn't far from the other pod. At least, he shouldn't be. He found himself wondering how the others were doing as he walked through the mist. Allan and Callie and Gen. They should have arrived at their destination by now.
Were they dead? Were they succeeding? Was Enzo there?
Drake's grip tightened on his gun. He hoped not. He hoped that Enzo was here and that he could fi
nally put an end to this whole thing. His soul felt like someone had smashed the pause button and he was stuck in that state of horrified rage, the thought of Trent's dead eyes staring up at him haunting his mind's eye. It was like he was frozen this way, and so far, the only thing that even came close to easing the pain and could possibly help him move on was the thought of killing Enzo Rains. Then, maybe then, he could begin to heal.
Abruptly, the escape pod appeared out of the mist. Drake walked up to it slowly. The door was open and he couldn't see any bodies in the immediate area. So, whoever had been inside the pod was gone now. With a sigh, Drake activated his radio and once more reached out over the airwaves. Sadly, radio silence was maintained. He muttered unhappily to himself as he slung his rifle and set to work trying to find some clues.
He'd just managed to get the computer inside the pod up and running when he heard a sound behind him. Spinning around, he grabbed his rifle and snapped it up. He nearly squeezed off a shot but saw, at the last second, that whoever was standing at the edge of the clearing wore not solid black armor, but black-and-silver armor.
He sighed and relaxed his trigger finger.
“Jesus, you are fast as hell,” Eve said as she moved closer. “Have you seen anyone else?”
“No...what are you doing here?”
“When I couldn't raise anyone on the radio, I figured someone would come check out the pod. Then I figured there was as good a chance of them being friend as being foe, so I hid,” Eve explained as she fiddled with her rifle.
“Wow...that's pretty smart,” Drake replied.
“Thanks...hey, why do you sound surprised? I'm smart!”
“I know you're smart...behind a computer. I just wasn't sure that you were ready for the field yet,” Drake said.
Eve let out an exasperated sigh. “There's a power signature about fifty meters east of here. I think it's one of the camps. I thought we would head for it. We might be able to boost our comms, cut through the muck.”
