“I think you can kill it now,” Steropes said to Staff Sergeant Dantone.
“It would be my pleasure,” The Wall said. He aimed and put five 20mm rounds into the Drakul’s head, putting it out of its misery.
Steropes went over to look at what the Drakul had been carrying. “We’re going to want to do something about this,” he said.
“Why’s that?” asked Staff Sergeant Dantone.
“Because it’s a bomb.”
“Really?”
“Well, it may not be a bomb,” replied Steropes, “but it definitely looks like explosives and has something that appears to be counting down. If that’s not some sort of timer, I don’t know what it is.”
“What’s going on?” asked Lieutenant Rrower as he bounded up.
“It looks like they made a bomb,” replied Staff Sergeant Dantone.
Lieutenant Rrower looked at the stack of explosives on the deck. He cocked his head and then reached over and pulled out the timer/detonator.
“How did you know that you could do that and not have the bomb explode prematurely?” asked Staff Sergeant Dantone.
“I didn’t,” said Lieutenant Rrower. He tossed the device down the passageway, where it detonated impotently. “But the timer only said six seconds, so it was either do that or watch it blow up in our faces. I didn’t think they had enough time to make a sophisticated bomb, so I decided to try pulling out the detonator instead of running from it.”
“Good choice,” said Steropes.
* * * * *
Chapter Thirty-Six
Task Force O’Leary, Nearing the Engine Room, 54 Piscium, February 24, 2021
Master Chief stopped to consult the maps that the dreadnought’s AI sent and saw they were finally nearing Engine Room #1. The group had only found one live Drakul so far, although they had found the bodies of four others, as well as the bodies of several Hooolongs, an Archon, and several other things that Master Chief didn’t recognize. It was obvious that the other creatures had given their lives to kill the four Drakuls. The amount of hate required to attack something so much bigger than you must be incredible, he thought. Then again, he never lived under the threat of being eaten every day, so what did he know.
The only living Drakul walked past them with its hands on its head, but once it was past, the creature turned and drew a laser pistol. Although Staff Sergeant Randolph killed it with a burst of auto cannon rounds, the Drakul was able to get off a shot that hit Jet in the leg. Although his suit was working to repair the damage, he was still limping badly.
“We’re approaching Engine Room #1,” Master Chief commed Calvin.
“Roger that,” replied Calvin. “Be careful. We just had a Drakul pretend to surrender. Once he got in close, he attacked Sergeant Tereshchenko. Tereshchenko’s dead.”
“One did the same thing to us,” replied Master Chief. “Jet got shot in the leg, but he’ll be all right.”
“The five minutes are long over,” Calvin said. “If you see a Drakul, regardless of what it does, kill it immediately.”
“Got it,” Master Chief replied; “we will kill them all.”
Master Chief surveyed the troops waiting by the door. This was the third engine room they had checked. Aside from the Drakul they killed, there hadn’t been any organized resistance so far.
This door felt different.
He didn’t know why, but for some reason he could feel danger lurking on the other side of the door. He shook his head, trying to make the feeling go away. Let’s go, damn it, he thought to himself. We’re not getting paid by the hour, and we’ve got a lot more of this damn ship to search.
“I got a bad feeling about dis one,” said Sergeant Margaret ‘Witch’ Andrews. The Jamaican woman’s feelings were usually right on the mark. “I tink dey be here.”
Having Witch confirm his suspicion didn’t make Master Chief feel better; if anything, it only made his feeling worse. “All right, let’s stay sharp,” he said. “I don’t know why, but I’ve got the same feeling. We know there were Drakuls onboard, and we haven’t found them yet; they may well be in here. Jones the spy, in and right. Rozhkov, in and left. Randolph and I will follow and take the center. Everyone else spread out behind us. Look for cover; check your corners. Everyone ready?”
He saw everyone nod their assent. The door had four metal ‘dogs’ on it, one in each corner. Each dog was a metal handle on both the inside and outside of the door that could be pulled down to seal the door in place. He pulled the dog in the upper left open. It appeared to have been greased recently; its movement was smooth and silent. Taking hold of the dog in the lower left, he pulled it clear. Its movement mirrored the first. He pulled down on the handle in the upper right. It moved, but with a ‘screeeeeeeeech’ that would have woken up anyone inside the room. Even if they were dead.
Although everyone was already focused and ready, the noise caused the soldiers to instinctively point their weapons with a hyper-focus known only to soldiers in combat. He winced. “Sorry,” he grunted with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
He took hold of the remaining handle and checked to make sure everyone was still ready. They were; he pulled on the handle. It didn’t budge. He tugged again, pulling with all of his augmented strength. “Wow,” he commented, “this one’s stuck.” He rubbed his gloved hands together and approached the handle another time. “Here goes,” he said.
He took hold of the handle, but before he could pull on it, the handle was thrown open from the inside with a force that shattered his right wrist and launched him, airborne, to the right. The door swung inward to reveal a Drakul with a laser pistol. The creature was unprepared for the number of soldiers waiting for it, though, and the Drakul was driven back under the lash of five lasers and a burst of 20mm from Staff Sergeant Randolph. The Drakul toppled backward, allowing the Drakuls in the room to fire at the soldiers. Laser bolts flew through the doorway.
Although the Drakuls didn’t kill any of the soldiers with their ambush, it effectively destroyed their sequence of entry into the engine room and trapped them on the outside. Seeing the impasse, Staff Sergeant Randolph waded into the onslaught, knowing that he could probably survive a few bolts...as long as they didn’t hit something vital.
Randolph entered the room, Mrowry auto cannon in his right hand and one of his Desert Eagles in his left. A Drakul leaned out from cover to see where the cyborg was and took a burst of 20mm in its forehead. The creature went down, brains flying out in a blue mist.
The amount of fire was a little higher on the right, so he went in that direction. That allowed the other members of the group to go left on entering the room, where there was cover behind several pieces of machinery. Just like the other two engine rooms, Engine Room #1 was over 150 feet long by 100 feet wide. Judging by his thermal scan, there were also at least nine more live Drakuls. No, make that 10; one was down behind a piece of very hot machinery in the back of the room. Randolph couldn’t tell what the creature was doing, but the fact that the other nine seemed to be guarding it told him that the Drakul was something the Terrans didn’t want it to do.
Seeing that the rest of the force had entered the room, Randolph paused behind a large metal junction box to allow the smoking and bubbling patches of his proto-skin to cool. “I’ve got 10 hostiles in the room,” he commed. “Nine of them are screening the tenth, who is at the back of the room behind some machinery that is really hot.”
Master Chief consulted a schematic. “That is probably the antimatter conversion unit,” he replied. “We’ve got to stop whatever it’s doing.”
“I could put a mortar round on top of it,” Randolph said, calculating the bounce angles.
“And set off the antimatter next to it?” asked Master Chief. “No thanks. I don’t know how much antimatter is in there, but I imagine you could effectively write off most of the aft end of the ship if you break the containment. Besides, that’s probably what it’s trying to do in the first place.” He paused. “Randolph,” he adde
d, “you’re going to have to lead; my wrist is broken. The suit is working to stabilize it, but we don’t have time to wait.”
“Got it, Master Chief,” Randolph replied, taking charge. “Wraith and Witch, work your way around to the left. If you stay low, they probably won’t see you. I’ll circle right and draw their fire. There are three that are about 25 feet in front of you. Rozhkov, Jones stay low and see if you can work your way up the center. As tall as they are, they probably won’t think to look at the floor.” He stood up to take another scan and was rewarded with a laser bolt that set his red hair on fire. The good thing about being a cyborg, he thought as he pulled off the burning wig and threw it to the metal floor, was that you didn’t have to smell burning hair if you didn’t want to. He continued to work his way to the right, staying just high enough to continue drawing their attention and, periodically, their fire as well.
Sensing movement to the side, he turned and trained his Desert Eagle on the motion. His finger came off the trigger milliseconds before firing on the cameraman.
“You didn’t tell me where to go,” said Bob ‘Danger’ Jones, “so I thought I’d follow you and see if I could help.”
“Don’t come too close to me,” commed Randolph, “I’m trying to draw their fire.”
“Uh, yeah, I can sort of tell,” replied Danger, pulling out a camera to film the cyborg. “You should see yourself. You’ve got skin hanging off in about six places, scorch marks on the top of your head, and there isn’t enough of your suit left in any one spot to put an eight-inch crease in.”
“Just stay low, OK?” asked Randolph.
“You can count on it,” replied Danger. “Can I borrow one of your pistols?” he asked, pointing at the one holstered on Randolph’s right side. “All I’ve got is a trident, and I don’t want to use it in here.”
Randolph handed the pistol to the reporter, along with another magazine for it. “I want these back,” he said.
“No problem,” Danger agreed.
Randolph didn’t have any more time or attention to spare on the cameraman. Bending low, he crossed further right behind the cover of another piece of machinery. “Everyone ready?” he asked.
Receiving a chorus of affirmatives, he stood up and fired a long burst of auto cannon fire at the Drakul he had flanked. The Desert Eagle was loud in the enclosed space as he fired off its last four rounds into another Drakul. Ducking behind the machinery again, he asked, “Status check?”
“I got two,” said Wraith.
“One here,” added Witch.
“I got one, too,” Mr. Jones reported.
“We’re down to four then,” Randolph said, putting another magazine in his pistol. “Unfortunately, I lost one of my eyes, and it was the one with the thermal sensor, so I can’t see much better than you. With all of the moving machinery in here, my radar isn’t as good as it normally is, either.”
If the Drakuls hadn’t moved, Randolph knew there was only one more of them left between him and the back wall, as long as he stayed along the outside wall. He saw a flash of movement ahead of him behind a piece of machinery. Yep, the Drakul was still there.
There was an open space of about 25 feet to get there. He’d have to be more careful; he couldn’t afford to lose his other eye. He searched the rest of the room, looking for the other two shooters. He couldn’t see them or the other members of his group. Feeling motion at his side, he looked down to see what the cameraman was doing, but instead it was Master Chief, holding his laser pistol in his left hand. His right arm was suit-locked to his chest.
Master Chief nodded toward the generator ahead of them. “You go to the left,” he said, “and I’ll go to the right. Whoever gets there first kills the Drakul. If it gets me, you’re in charge. Stop them from damaging the engine.”
“Stay here,” replied Randolph. “I can take it, and then the path will be open to get to the other Drakul.” He pointed to where the suspected saboteur was hiding. “It’s over there.”
“That’s nice,” said Master Chief, “but we go together. On three. One...two...” he stopped as a loud gunshot rang out in front of them, and the Drakul fell out into the open, unmoving. Danger came around the side, holding Randolph’s Desert Eagle.
“I got him!” he crowed, pumping his arm. “It’s safe—” Six inches of metal burst forth from his chest in a spray of blood, and he was lifted off the ground by the Drakul holding the knife.
Danger dropped back to the ground as Randolph put a burst of 20mm rounds into the Drakul’s chest. Jones stood weakly, before dropping to his knees and then falling onto his side. Watching for the other two Drakuls, Master Chief and Randolph ran up to the reporter. Master Chief rolled him onto his back while the cyborg kept watch. Danger’s suit showed damage that it wouldn’t be able to repair.
“What the hell did you do that for?” asked Master Chief, removing Danger’s helmet.
“Wanted to...help the team,” Danger gasped. “Knew that...Randolph couldn’t take...much more. I was...expendable.” He pulled his camera from a leg pocket, but didn’t have the strength to hold it up. “Take my...camera,” he said, a line of blood running from the corner of his mouth. “Worth... millions.” His head fell to the side, and Master Chief’s monitor showed that Danger was gone.
Putting the camera in his pocket, Master Chief looked down at his frequent tormentor. “Thanks,” he said, nodding to Danger in salute of his sacrifice.
Master Chief stood up. “Let’s go finish this,” he said to Randolph.
“One more down,” Rozhkov reported.
“That should only leave the saboteur,” Randolph commed. He got up and sprinted to where he thought the last Drakul was hiding. Coming around the corner, he saw a Drakul with its back to him stand up from whatever it was working on.
The Drakul sensed motion behind it and turned to face Randolph. The cyborg saw that the Drakul was holding a box with a button. Seeing the Terran soldier, the Drakul made a ‘glub, glub, glub’ noise, and Randolph realized that it was laughing. The Drakul’s hand moved toward the button. Seeing that the Drakul intended to push the button, Randolph took two steps and dove for the Drakul. Randolph’s his left hand covered the Drakul’s hand on the box as it pushed the button.
Randolph clamped down, pinning the Drakul’s finger and holding the button down. As he fell to the floor, Randolph extended a knife blade from his right wrist and cut off the Drakul’s hand in an explosion of blue. Retracting the knife, Randolph pushed off the ground with his empty hand, spinning around to kick the Drakul in the stomach. Without getting up, Randolph drew his remaining Desert Eagle as he turned back toward the Drakul. Gushing blue from its missing hand, the Drakul reached toward him, desperate to get the box back. Randolph triggered off five shots in quick succession, and Master Chief added several more as he came around the corner. The Drakul fell backward to lie still on the floor. A blue puddle began to grow from a number of holes in its body.
Master Chief walked over and inspected the Drakul. “Nice grouping of your shots,” he noted.
“Thanks,” replied Staff Sergeant Randolph. “We’ve got a problem. See this big bomb?” He pointed to a pile of red bricks that appeared to be wired together. A light flashed ominously from a metal box wired to the middle of it.
“That’s a bomb?”
“Yeah, that’s Alliance of Civilizations’ advanced plastic explosives,” Randolph replied. “I saw it once at explosive ordinance disposal (EOD) school. Once the stuff is armed, it’s extremely sensitive to movement.”
“And that little blinking light...” Master Chief asked.
“...means that that the explosive is armed,” finished Randolph. “I’ve got the detonator,” he continued, showing Master Chief the box and Drakul hand he was holding. “The button has already been pushed, which armed the bomb; if I let go, the bomb will detonate.”
“We’ve got to get it off the ship,” Master Chief said. “We need to wrap the button with some tape or something to keep it from going
off.”
“I always knew this would happen,” Randolph said. “This is why I wanted out of EOD. I only had one more week when my partner blew us up.” He shook his head. “I can’t let go of this box, nor can I get any further than about 10 feet from the bomb, or it will explode. I’m pretty fucked.”
“There’s got to be something we can do,” Master Chief argued.
“There is,” agreed Randolph. “You can very carefully pick the bomb up for me and then cycle me through the airlock. Anything else will result in the bomb exploding and wiping out this engine and most of the aft end of the ship.”
“If we let you go out the airlock, what are your intentions?” asked Master Chief.
“I’m going to jet as far as I can away from the ship prior to letting the bomb detonate,” stated Randolph. “It’s the only thing I can do. Trust me. I’m no hero; that’s the only possible option.”
“There’s got to be another way,” Master Chief said.
“No,” Randolph disagreed, “there’s not. I have to do it, and I have to go now. I don’t know how long I can hold this box. The Drakul’s hand makes the box damn hard to hold onto, especially with a mechanical hand.” He looked at the bomb again. “You’ll need help lifting it. The bomb has to be kept level or it will detonate. You’d better hurry. There’s also probably a countdown timer in there somewhere, too. It’s what I’d do.”
“Jones, get over here and give me a hand,” Master Chief ordered. With a twinge, he realized that he didn’t have to differentiate between the spy and the cameraman any more. “Everyone else, get the hell out of here and close any blast doors you can find.”
The two men lifted the bomb and put it under Randolph’s right arm where he could carry it. “I don’t care what you think,” said Master Chief as the cyborg walked carefully to the engine room’s airlock, “you’re a hero in my book.”
Theogony 3: Terra Stands Alone Page 29
