Epic: Book 03 - Hero

by Lee Stephen

  “Esther out.” Closing the conversation, the scout looked down at her team. Ozerov was prepped for his lift. Flipping a switch next to the suction, the device began to pull the line in. It tensed but didn’t break with his weight. Ozerov rose from the ground.

  The wind felt good on Esther’s cheeks. It was a welcomed change to the stale air of the Battleship. Scanning the area one final time, she turned around to catch the view from behind.

  Suddenly she stopped.

  Something wasn’t right. There was a clear area where snow wasn’t falling, barely twenty meters in front of her. It was distinguishably different from the rest of the air—like an absence of space.

  An absence of space.

  Esther gasped, her eyes popping. Spinning around, she unclamped the suction. Ozerov yelled and fell to the floor. But she didn’t care.

  She heard the Noboat materialize behind her. Its electric sizzle crackled through the air as its plasma cannons charged to life. It fired as she dove through the hole.

  Scott felt the ship rumble. The two Ceratopians also felt it, and their bewildered looks said what he knew: they were under attack. Scott lifted his weapon, but not to fire. He motioned the Ceratopians to run.

  Dostoevsky, Gabriel, and Tkachenok raced away from the Battleship. They turned their heads skyward to see.

  “That’s the Noboat we couldn’t find!” Seth said over his comm from the Vulture. “The one that disappeared!”

  Still in shock, Gabriel turned to Dostoevsky and said, “Don’t you have a crew en route to the roof?”

  Behind his helmet, Dostoevsky’s face lost its color.

  Esther and her operatives were blown back across the floor of deck three. The blast from the Noboat’s plasma cannon had all but obliterated the ceiling above them. Grunting through the pain of a hard fall and a plasma shockwave, the scout forced herself to her feet.

  No one from the team had been killed. They were shaken up but able to move. Far down the hall, between them and the maintenance shaft, Ceratopians rounded the bend.

  “Everyone, run!” Esther screamed. “Get up and move!”

  Everyone—injured Ozerov included—surged to their feet. Behind them, the neutron attack began.

  Dostoevsky listened as Esther screamed on the comm. “This is Brooking! We’re sealed off from the roof! We have nowhere to go!” The zap of neutron beams verified her words.

  Gabriel thrust his comm to his lips. “Seth, can you assist?”

  “Captain, we’re loaded full of wounded! There’s no way we can take on a Noboat.”

  Dostoevsky felt his heart rate increase. The Ceratopians inside the Battleship would mow Esther and her entire team down. She didn’t stand a chance without help.

  “We have nowhere to go!” Esther shrieked.

  “General Platis,” Gabriel said desperately, “we have Noboats engaging from above! Can your fighters assist?”

  Dostoevsky turned to the slayers. They were away from the Battleship, watching the sky as the Noboat circled for prey. Tkachenok’s crew looked defeated. They were barely able to breath as they recovered from their ordeal. As for Captain Gabriel, the Australian wasn’t even supposed to be there—his team had come on their own free will. Everyone had given so much.

  Everyone but him.

  Dostoevsky’s feet became light. His emotions overtook him.

  I am living in a nightmare I have created. This shame, this confusion, it is my own.

  The knot in his stomach slowly loosened.

  God, Your vengeance is here—I can run from it no more.

  He closed his eyes and lowered his head.

  I give You what life I have left. I pray You are appeased. Have mercy on me, and protect me long enough to do one good thing…

  …let me save as many as I can.

  He opened his eyes. The slayers were still watching the Noboat. Gabriel was still on his comm. It was as if no time had passed at all.

  Dostoevsky loaded a new clip in his assault rifle. He turned to the Battleship’s door and launched himself forward.

  Nobody noticed him leave.

  39

  Friday, November 25, 0011 NE

  1303 hours

  Chaos ruled the third floor of the Battleship. As Esther frantically led her team through turn after turn, time became as much their enemy as the extraterrestrials. They could not reach the second floor without going through the Ceratopians, and the route they’d taken to the third floor was completely blocked. Only so many hallways were open, and they were in no shape to defend themselves.

  Every time they rounded a corner, a barrage of neutron was right behind them. If anyone would have stumbled, they would have been dead. The pain of injuries took a back seat to survival.

  Esther deduced that the Ceratopians were making a sweep, moving as a unified wave, and not only behind her team. Several times, they’d almost been surrounded. Her knowledge of layouts was saving their lives, but even that would soon fail.

  She darted into a storage room, one of three placed back to back that connected two sets of halls on different sides of the ship. Her operatives could pass through the rooms from one hall to the next. If nothing else, it could buy them some time.

  Esther hurdled over containers on the floor as the men stumbled in her wake. Ahead, the next storage room came to view, then the next. She could see the hallway across them. Suddenly, she skidded to a stop. In that same hallway, Ceratopians materialized, cutting her path off.

  There were no other halls and no other means of escape. When the operatives caught up to her, they dove to the floor to avoid neutron beams from ahead.

  “Close the door behind us!” Esther screamed. “Break the panel outside, then close the door!”

  Black did as told, bashing the control panel in the hall before sealing the door from the inside. Esther did the same on her end. Both doors lowered, trapping them in.

  “How long will this hold?” Black asked her.

  “It won’t.”

  Scott was moving as fast as he could. From the moment the first explosions rang out, he and the Ceratopians had made a beeline toward the exit. Hearing Esther’s pleas quickened his pace.

  These Ceratopians are slowing me down.

  It was clear the aliens weren’t in good shape. But what could he do? If he let them go, they could grab weapons. If he killed them…that just wouldn’t have been honorable.

  He knew the only choice he had left, without leaving them free and without taking them along. They were already in front of him, armorless, hobbling, limping.

  Render them unconscious. It’s the only way.

  Scott attacked the larger one first—the black one with green markings. Leaping straight at the alien from behind, he cracked the butt of his assault rifle against the back of its head, beneath the protection of its bone frill. It was a perfect strike, solid and on the mark. There was only one problem.

  The Ceratopian didn’t fall.

  Scott’s eyes widened behind his helmet. Oh, veck.

  The black and green lizard spun to face him. The other one—H`laar—jumped back defensively.

  For a second time, Scott tried to slam his rifle butt against the black and green titan. But the Ceratopian, now aware, swung to block. It was as if Scott’s rifle had hit a brick wall. Then the alien struck back. Scott was punched squarely in the chest; his feet left the ground. Landing on his back, he skidded down the hall, his assault rifle falling from his hands. He quickly looked up.

  The massive extraterrestrial had taken a defensive position between Scott and H`laar. Scott recognized the alien’s mannerisms. He’s acting like a bodyguard. Scott climbed to his feet, reclaiming his gun. He’s capable, but still not in fighting condition. Hit him fast. Go in, dodge low, then uppercut him under the chin. Bursting forward, Scott’s body complied. Ducking beneath the Ceratopian’s defensive strike, Scott rose and smashed the butt of his rifle up and into the lizard’s jaw. Its whole head rocked backward and it stumbled. It only took one more bl
ow while the alien was disoriented to bring it crashing down, out cold.

  Scott focused on H`laar, who raised his hands to protest. But Scott didn’t have time. Spinning around, he slugged the alien’s face with his rifle. The already-battered H`laar fell easily.

  The assault was dirty, but it had to be done. Now Scott could focus on Esther. Stepping away from the unconscious aliens, he bolted full speed down the hall.

  Outside the battleship, a new situation was brewing—the Bakma Noboats were taking off. Gabriel watched as the ships disappeared. “Everyone inside,” he ordered, motioning to his crew and the slayers. “Everyone, inside the Battleship!”

  Scott appeared by Gabriel from the halls. He stopped as soon as he saw the operatives coming back in. “What’s going on?”

  “The Noboats took off. We don’t know where they are. I’ve ordered my Vulture to leave.”

  “You did what?”

  “It’s a sitting duck. They’ve already got wounded—let them go. We’ll wait here until Platis arrives.”

  Scott disliked agreeing with Gabriel’s logic, but with invisible Noboats hovering around, the Australian was right. Anyone outside was asking to be killed. “Esther, give me an update!”

  “We’re locked in a room and surrounded,” she answered. “We’ve got nowhere to go!” There was a burst of static. “They’re beating down the doors!”

  That was all Scott could take. Readying his rifle, he turned to Gabriel. No words were necessary.

  “You and I,” Gabriel said. “Let’s go.”

  They ran for the lift, reaching it within seconds. Gabriel hit the lift’s open-door button. They waited.

  “Umm…”

  “Shouldn’t the lift already be on this level?” asked Scott.

  “I don’t understand.” Gabriel hit the button again. “We just stepped off.”

  “It was working properly, right?”

  “Yes! Dostoevsky and I were just—”

  It dawned on both men at the same time. They swapped a stare, then whirled to look at the operatives behind them.

  The Russian fulcrum was gone.

  Dostoevsky slammed the butt of his assault rifle against the lift’s control panel, leaning away as it sparked. The lift was now stuck on level three. There was no turning back.

  Bursting through the lift door, he charged down the hall. His ExTracker was active—he knew Esther’s precise location. Her team was fifty meters from him, past several intersections and turns. She was in the first of three rooms that stood between parallel halls. But he had no intention of going her way. He had another destination in mind.

  “Esther,” he said through his comm, “get ready to run.”

  “Captain?”

  Dostoevsky rounded a turn onto the main corridor and the bridge came into view, past several junctions and security checkpoints. He could see Ceratopians ahead. It was the place they were most prepared to defend.

  That was the point.

  The massive extraterrestrials turned in his direction. For a second, none of them moved, as if unable to comprehend what they saw.

  Running at full speed, Dostoevsky lifted his rifle. He fired at the closest cluster of aliens. Bullet holes blew through a Ceratopian’s face.

  All hell broke loose. The Ceratopians collectively turned to fire. By the time they did, the fulcrum had killed a second reptile.

  Neutron lit the halls. It came at Dostoevsky like a flood, but instead of flinching or darting back, he dove straight ahead.

  Leaping forward, he dove straight through the wave of neutron. He came out clean on the other end, hitting the floor with a somersault that brought him to a kneel with his assault rifle raised. In the second before the next wave of red appeared, his combat senses kicked in.

  Kill the next closest to firing. He gunned the alien down. Keep the nearest alien alive. His aim found someone else.

  There was a reason he didn’t want to kill the Ceratopian nearest him. As he continued to rush closer, assault rifle blaring, he remained directly in front of the alien. He was making the other Ceratopians fire around it—they would try to avoid hitting their comrade.

  He propelled himself right past the close Ceratopian, leaving it completely ignored. When he landed, he was between it and the ones down the hall. It was exactly where he wanted to be—in the middle of a Ceratopian crossfire.

  All neutron stopped. The aliens were aware of friendly fire risks. If any neutron came from either side and missed, one of their comrades would be killed. Caution suddenly applied to every weapon.

  Every weapon but one.

  Dostoevsky fired at the Ceratopians guarding the bridge. The aliens, unsure whether to fire back, ducked and dove to avoid him. His right hand swept to his belt, unlatching a grenade and flinging the explosive ahead. When it blew up, the aliens’ shouts turned to screams of horror.

  The crossfire is gone. Spinning around, Dostoevsky aimed and fired at the Ceratopian he’d passed up. He blew its neck open before it could react.

  He turned and surged forward. The door to the bridge was before him, but his goal wasn’t to enter. It was merely to threaten the bridge enough to warrant more attention—attention that would have otherwise gone to Esther’s team.

  The door to the bridge was in the middle of a T-junction, and his ExTracker showed Ceratopians around the left corner. Sliding his second and final grenade from his belt, he hurled it ahead at an angle. It bounced around the corner, and he heard it ricochet down the hall. He heard the Ceratopians shout and dive as it erupted, and tortured screams echoed down the hall.

  As he slammed his back against the wall and checked to ensure he wasn’t being flanked, the surviving Ceratopians barked out loud, short commands, spoken quickly. Dostoevsky knew exactly what they were.

  They were calling for backup.

  Esther’s team was still in the storage room, frantically shoving boxes and containers in front of the doors. In the midst of the action, the scout’s ears perked as she heard a sound in the hall.

  “Everyone, quiet!” She pushed past Custer to get to the hall door, where she stopped and listened intently. “They’re falling back. They’re leaving.”

  “They’re all leaving?” asked Custer.

  She hushed him. Listening further, she shook her head. “Not all, but definitely most.”

  Dostoevsky’s voice came through the comm. “I am assaulting the Battleship’s bridge. The Ceratopian forces should be coming to me. Work your way back to the hole in the roof and await General Platis. When he has cleared the area of Noboats, lift yourselves out.”

  Esther grinned. “Yes sir!”

  “Can we do that?” asked Papanov. “Can we climb back out that same way?”

  “If the Noboats are gone and the Ceratopians leave us alone, yes. It might actually be possible.” She readied her pistols again. “Lieutenant Papanov, Black, help me move these canisters from the door. We can still open it from inside.” The scout began to push the canisters away.

  As the door was cleared, Esther stepped back. “Custer, can you shoot?”

  “If I have a gun, I can shoot.”

  “Any clue how many Ceratopians are left?” Black asked.

  “Two to three,” Esther answered, “and they’ll be proper flustered when they see us attack. Don’t spare your ammunition—this is our only chance.” She held her hands over the controls. “Get ready…now!” She inputted the command and the door whizzed straight up.

  Outside, two Ceratopians were caught unaware. The humans opened fire with the ammunition they had left, and the aliens toppled before they could turn. The hallway was clear.

  Dostoevsky was knee-deep in combat. A slew of aliens had emerged from various hallways, cutting him off three directions out of four. The only clear path he had left was directly behind him—the way he’d come from.

  A necrilid appeared from around the near corner. Before Dostoevsky could react, it pounced on him, diggings its claws into his armor and knocking him back. Clutching hi
s assault rifle, he contorted his body to throw the animal off. The necrilid was thrown against the wall, only to right itself in the next instant.

  Dostoevsky grabbed the creature by its throat. It writhed and clawed in his grasp, striking his chest plate, arm guards, and shoulders. He threw the necrilid off as far as he could, only to watch it land on all fours. He managed to lift his assault rifle and gun it down just as it leapt his direction. Limbs askew, it rolled lifelessly down the hall.

  Ceratopians appeared from various halls ahead of him. The fulcrum was directly in line of their fire, with no time to strategically plan and no crossfires to use to his advantage. He had nowhere to go.

  Esther trekked through empty halls; not a Ceratopian was in sight. She soon found herself back in the hall with the roof hatch. The ceiling was demolished, but the sky was clear. Even climbing would be easy: half of a wall had imploded, forming a rough hill up to the roof. They would not even need to suction a line.

  General Platis announced over the comm, “We have arrived.”

  The next thing she saw were Vindicators streaking over the Battleship. Their exit was cleared.

  Outside, Platis’s Agema Vindicators captured the skies. Two Noboats materialized to attack, though they fell quickly to the new human arrivals. No other Noboats appeared. A pair of fresh Vultures landed by the Battleship’s door.

  “Everyone up!” yelled Esther. “Ozerov, Custer, go! Papanov, Black, go!” She waved all of them on while she waited. “Everyone get out!” As they scrambled up the imploded wall, she got on the comm. “Captain Dostoevsky, we’re clear!”

  No sooner than Dostoevsky heard the words, a neutron beam hit him square in the chest. Inside his helmet, saliva flew from his mouth as his eyes bulged. His ribcage audibly cracked. He sailed through the air as though weightless.

  He landed on his back and slid down the same hall he’d initially come from. He saw the metal ceiling pass overhead and heard the scraping of his armor against the floor. He slammed against the back wall.