by S. A. Lusher
At least not officially.
Dark Ops had to be it, but this was kind of extreme. Was there something going on here and Trent just wasn't seeing it?
He wasn't always known for reading between the lines.
Trent turned a corner, came to a crossroads and took a left. As he plunged down another corridor, behind him, he heard a short, sharp growl. He picked up the pace, glancing over his shoulder, then really picked up the pace as he caught sight of movement, back in the darkness. Trent ran the rest of the way there and slammed his fist on the open button of the armory. He rushed in, closed and locked the door behind him and looked around.
His heart sank briefly. There was practically nothing left in the armory. The gun lockers hung open and empty. The shelves were practically bare. Trent began moving swiftly along the room, playing his light across the area. He grinned as it came to rest on something, a dark shape resting on a shelf along the back of the room.
Hurrying over to it, Trent heard heavy footfalls just outside the corridor. He snatched it up and saw that it was, in fact, a rocket launcher. He checked it, found a rocket already loaded into it. That's when the Carnivore tore through the door, sending bits of metal flying everywhere. Trent spun around, raised the launcher and, without thinking, fired.
The Carnivore was standing dead center in the doorway, roaring, its massive maw fully open. The rocket hit it directly in the mouth. Trent managed to catch sight of flame, bits of blood and the whole bodily structure of the Carnivore begin to come apart before his vision whited out and his hearing overloaded.
He was slammed forcibly into the back of the wall so hard that he realized he must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was lying face down on the ground. He tried to push himself up but his arms ached almost beyond his ability to tolerate. Crying out, Trent forced himself up. He saw flaming bits and pieces of the Carnivore splattered across the interior of the armory. A small laugh escaped him, followed by a low groan.
He'd hit that wall pretty hard. Slowly, painfully, Trent stood up. After a quick check of his major bones to see if any of them were broken, (none appeared to be), he injected himself with a painkiller and then set off to find the others.
Chapter 15
–The Rescue Op–
It took him nearly half an hour, but Trent finally heard familiar voices as he honed in on the fork in the corridors where they'd originally split up. For a second, he was uncertain, positive that it must be Dark Ops. But the voices lacked the telltale mechanical filters and then he heard Drake's voice, which was unmistakeable.
“I'm coming up on you guys, don't shoot me,” Trent called.
All the voices ceased, then he came around the corner and felt relief wash through him as he saw the others. Drake, Gideon and Trevor all stood in the corridor. They all seemed a bit bloodier, more tired, worse for the wear, but they were still alive. Trent and Drake laughed with relief as they realized the other was alive.
“Where's Tristan?” Gideon asked.
Trent shook his head. “She didn't make it, but we managed to kill two of the unique bastards. The one that was going around flaying everyone, and the Carnivore. That was the one that got her. Bit her fucking head clean off.”
“Goddamn,” Gideon murmured. “You killed both of them?”
“Yeah...but I encountered something else.” He ran through a brief description of what he began referring to as merely the Darkness. The other three seemed even less certain about their survival than before, and they were already looking pretty glum.
“So, you said there was a problem,” Trent said. “What's the problem?”
“Research Three, there doesn't seem to be any way to get to it. I was checking it out on the terminal and I saw that the tramway had been physically destroyed.”
“What about underground?”
“Well, that's the other problem. I don't know, and I can't find out because Dark Ops finally locked me out of the system. They did it good, too. The only way I'm going to be able to get back into the system is with direct access to the command center. I'd say just hell with it and we find out on our own, but that could take time we don't have. And, on top of that, it'd probably be best if we could throw another wrench in their gears,” Trevor explained.
“I get the feeling there's something you aren't telling me,” Trent replied.
Trevor hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I was listening in on Dark Ops frequencies and, well, they've captured Sharpe. She's in the detention center.”
“This sounds familiar,” Drake muttered.
“Yes. Only this time it's much more tightly locked down. But ultimately, I think it'd be in our best interest to spring her, break into the command center and reestablish communication with the central databanks and find out if there's a way to get to Research Three all in one go. Every other option is...not much of an option.”
Trent considered it for a long moment. The others were looking at him. Gideon and Drake's expression both said that they'd go along with whatever he thought best, which sucked, because he wasn't always the best at making decisions. Trevor seemed scared enough to go along, too, although it looked like he really wanted them to spring Sharpe from prison.
If they went, they might lose everything. He felt he could trust Gideon and Drake to pull their own weight, and Trevor seemed at least somewhat competent. He'd survived this long. But Dark Ops seemed very on the ball, not to mention the nightmares that roamed the corridors of the base. Of course, whatever was ahead of them might be a lot more dangerous, and he might, for some reason, need Sharpe and her expertise at staying alive.
What decided him, however, was the knowledge that he couldn't just leave her there. Even if she was a corporate dog, even if she probably planned to knock him and Drake off after they finished the mission.
Because, at heart, he knew she was a merc, and an honorable one. Or at least she had been once. And she probably deserved one get out of jail free card.
“All right, we'll go get her,” he said.
The others seemed fine with this assessment.
The four of them set off, back the way they had come originally, to save one of their own.
* * * * *
Things became busy when they approached the underground portion of the command center. The first sign was when a grenade came sailing down the corridor they were occupying. Trent shouted a warning and made it two steps back before the force of the blast picked him up and threw him into the others.
Trent found himself thanking whatever or whoever might be listening yet again that he was in his suit of armor.
Just like that, it was on.
A hail of gunfire came their way as the survivors fought to get to their feet. Trent realized he was still in the mouth of the corridor and everyone else had been blown behind him, back into a small antechamber they'd just passed through. Knowing he had what little initiative there was to be had, Trent, lying on his back, flipped his rifle to full auto, pointed it down the way the bullets were coming from and emptied the magazine.
That seemed to stem the tide of lead for a moment. He took the opportunity to roll out of the way and get to his feet. A few seconds later the hail of gunfire resumed. Trent pressed his back to the wall next to the open doorway.
“An ideas!?” he called.
“Go around!” Trevor replied.
“Fuck that, suck on this!” Drake snapped, priming a pair of fragmentation grenades and hurling them in rapid succession down the corridor.
Again, the gunfire cut off. There was a small amount of hysterically shouted orders, followed by a pair of thunderclaps. Then silence.
“Come on,” Trent snapped, gun raised, heading into the corridor, trying to push whatever jump they might have gained on the hostiles.
Drake followed and Gideon stayed behind to watch over Trevor. The pair of mercs moved swiftly down the passageway, ducking low. They emerged in another antechamber and spied a quartet of dead Dark Ops troops.
“Damn,”
Trent murmured. “Good throw.”
“Lucky throw,” Drake replied.
They managed to call the all clear when something new emerged into the room. A Bugbear stepped into the antechamber with them and backhanded Trent with an almost casual ease. He grunted as he flew across the room and slammed into the wall, crashing to the ground again. He heard gunfire. First Drake's, then Gideon's massive machine gun, and by the time he lumbered back to his feet, the Bugbear was on the ground, its chest so much chewed up meat.
“That thing ever run outta ammo?” Trent asked, looking at Gideon's weapon.
“Someday,” he replied.
They gathered up whatever ammo they could from the corpses, then pressed on. A few moments later, they arrived at a ladder that would put them in a disused storage room right next to the detention center.
“So how, exactly, is this going to work?” Trent asked as they made their way up the ladder and into the storage room.
“You get me to Sharpe's cell, I break it open, you get me to command, I break the lockout and figure some shit out, then we go on with the plan,” Trevor replied. He smiled. “Simple.”
“Yeah, simple,” Trent muttered.
He reached the top of the ladder first, opening the hatch and looking around gun-first, which was awkward but not impossible on a ladder. There was no one in the storage room and the lights were out. He hauled himself up, then helped the others out. Once they were all ready, Trent approached the door, opened it and looked out.
He spied the entrance to the detention center directly across from him. Further down, at the end of the corridor to his right was the entrance to the command center itself. He said a small prayer to whoever might be listening, then stepped out after determining that the coast was clear. As he crossed the corridor and reached up to hit the activation button, the door opened up before him to admit a Dark Ops troop, just leaving.
Trent reacted mindlessly.
He made a fist and snapped it up, punching them man directly in his faceplate. The plate cracked and the man cried out, stumbling back. Trent shouldered his rifle and put three rounds into the man's head, downing him instantly. Another trooper rushed out into the corridor beyond the doorway and Trent put him down too.
An alarm began to cycle.
“Fuck!” Trent snapped. “Let's go!”
The four of them pounded down the corridor of the detention center, putting down another handful of Dark Ops troops trying to figure out what the hell was going on. They pressed deeper into the center and Trent was the first one through the door that led to the cells.
“Left side! Third one down!” Trevor called helpfully.
Trent glanced in through the windows into the other cells, but saw nothing and nobody. Again, the notion that they were the only reasonable people left alive on the whole planet consumed him. And that was sad, because he wasn't exactly a reasonable man. He found Sharpe's cell a moment later and saw her staring out at him with her black lens eyes.
“How long?” he asked, covering one end of the corridor.
“Just a few minutes!” Trevor replied.
Behind him, he heard Drake and Gideon make quick work of some poor bastard that happened to wander into their line of sight.
“Make it quick,” Trent snapped.
Trevor said nothing, getting to work instead. Trent hated being exposed like this. The corridor had nowhere to hide. He settled for dropping to one knee, butt of the rifle tucked up tight against his shoulder, finger on the trigger.
Time passed.
Trevor worked.
A Dark Ops troop rounded the corner and Trent put him down with a three-round burst to his neck, where the armor was weak. The man died in a crimson spray. Two more appeared in the room at the end of the corridor, not bothering to pay attention to the guy who had just been put down, and they themselves were murdered.
The next one wised up and blind-fired around the corner. Trent spent his last three bullets in the magazine shooting the man's gun out of his hand, then hurling one of his few grenades down the way. While it went off, he slapped a fresh magazine in. Behind him, Gideon and Drake kept up their own rate of fire.
After what seemed like ages and eras, the door finally opened.
Sharpe was out in a second, pulling Trent's pistol out of his holster and helping him put down a trio of Dark Ops troops that were trying to rush them.
“Move out!” Trent shouted.
As they retreated, Sharpe grabbed a rifle and tossed Trent his pistol back. They came back out into the main corridor, put down three more troops they found waiting for them there and began making for the command center.
“What are we doing?” Sharpe asked.
“Get into the command center, try to find a way into Research Three, set this place to blow, get out,” Trent replied simply.
“How are we getting out?” Sharpe asked. “I mean, our ship got blown up.”
“I...well, I'm sure we can find a Dark Ops ship,” Trent replied.
“Oh, Christ. I assume Trevor is the one figuring this shit out. Trevor, find us a ship,” she said.
Trevor chuckled. “Will do.”
Trent felt stupid, but was glad it had been taken care of, at least. He must be a lot more tired and stressed out than he thought. Something like that really shouldn't have so thoroughly slipped his mind. He focused up as they opened the door to the command center and put down a trio of men in black jumpsuits manning the controls.
“Lock us down,” Sharpe said, pointing to the doors.
Drake and Gideon moved over to the two doors along the right hand side, initiating the lockdown feature. Sharpe about-faced and took care of the door they'd come in through. Trent moved to the final remaining door along the left. Trevor hurried over to the main console. Once everything was set down, everyone took up defensive positions and waited as Trevor's skilled hands moved with a furious dexterity across the keypad.
Time passed in muted fragments.
“What happened?” Trent asked, glancing back at Sharpe.
“I was on the run, took down as many as I could. They overwhelmed me. When they had me cold, I gave up, figured I could overwhelm them later, when they thought they had me subdued. But more and more of them joined the squad and before I knew it they were putting me in a cell. No one came to talk to me the entire time, I had no idea why they wanted me here. I was planning on breaking out, but you guys came first,” she explained.
“Huh,” was all Trent had to say to that.
It seemed to be the only thing that was safe to say.
“Okay, I've figured out one of our problems,” Trevor said after another moment. They were beginning to hear a lot of movement beyond the doors.
“Lay it on us,” Gideon said.
“Dark Ops has a ship with FTL capabilities on a landing pad just beyond Research Three. So at least we got that out of the way,” Trevor murmured.
He lapsed into silence again. Trent heard more movement beyond the doors. He kept his gun steady, finger on the trigger, waiting for the worst. Maybe, just maybe, they could get out of this without too much more trouble. Trent didn't let himself believe that it was a possibility, but he hoped against hope for it.
Another minute of silence passed, then Trevor spoke up again.
“Okay, got it! The bad news is that all the underground tunnels to Research Three have been collapsed. The only way we're getting there is in a vehicle, and Research Two has a garage. All we've got to do is get there. And...”
He pressed a button and a hatch that led to the underground in a far corner of the room opened. Everyone began to move towards it, but Trevor halted them.
“Wait, everyone give me your grenades, hurry,” he said.
They hesitated only briefly, then hurried over and passed him their grenades. He piled the eight grenades they had left on them in front of the main terminal, then passed a final, ninth grenade to Trent, who stared at it.
“What's the plan?” he asked as they made for the hatch
.
“You're the last one down. Pull the pin, throw it on the pile, it'll seriously fuck their plans up,” Trevor replied.
Trent shrugged and figured it was as good idea as any. Sharpe went down first, then Gideon, then Trevor. Drake took one more glance around the room. Dark Ops was beating on the doors now, trying to tear their way into the command center. Once Drake was gone, Trent lowered himself into the hole in the ground.
He activated the grenade, threw it and dropped the rest of the way. Landing with a grunt, he barely managed to get free before a series of explosions shook the area, making the lights flicker madly. As the tremors died down, Trent joined the others further down the corridor.
“Almost done,” Drake said as they set off towards Research Two.
“Yeah, but I get the feeling this isn't going to be anywhere near easy,” Trent replied.
Drake laughed. “It never is.”
Chapter 16
–The Cold–
“Son of a bitch,” Trent snapped as he stopped.
He'd stopped so abruptly that Drake walked into him.
“What-oh,” Drake said as he came around him and got a good look at what was irking him so. The others gathered behind them. They'd come to the forked corridor that led to both Research One and Two. The corridor that led to Two had collapsed.
“You've got to be shitting me,” Trevor said.
“Is there any other way to get to Research Two down here?” Trent asked.
Trevor shook his head. “No. This was it. We need to go up through Research One now and take the tram to Two.”
Trent heaved a sigh. “Fine, whatever. Sooner the better. Let's get going.”
He turned and began heading down the corridor. The others followed silently. For a long moment, they walked in silence, which was broken only by the dark hum of energy flowing through the base and their quiet footfalls. Trent listened to the base as he walked. He often found that if he listened, his environment talked to him.
