by L. E. Thomas
“Your orders, sir?”
He smiled. “Let’s start the show.”
Towers and Tommasino moved down to the freighter’s cargo area. The Serpents stood and faced them as their boots pounded on the load deck.
“Here we go, boys,” Towers said, glancing at his tablet. “I ran a scan of the station the moment we landed, hiding it beneath our conventional sensors. I also sent out all manner of jamming to support the alleged damage we received from the Scorpions. Flyboys did their job well today. No one will be able to confirm the ship damage without a physical assessment. Now, we rescue these people and get outta here.”
Studying the tablet’s information, Towers focused on the area of the station surrounding the brig. “This station is just like a hundred more within the Zahl Empire. Not much traffic on board due to a recent disagreement down on the surface and we all know how the Zahl Empire hates dealing with different ideas.”
“Oh, yeah,” Tommasino grunted.
“In other words,” Towers said, “we stick to the plan we formulated. I know this was planned at the speed of light, but it’s a simple rescue op. Our people are waiting for us to save them. Use your shrouds to the maximum. If you have to kill, do it quick and quiet. In the event things go loud, show no mercy and get back to the boat ASAP. I’ll call it if I have to, but let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Towers turned to Tommasino. “Team One, you and Faltrip proceed to the communications array. Set charges and avoid contact at all costs. Use those shrouds at quick, controlled bursts and avoid detection. Once you’re set, let us know. Then, Team Two gets to work on rescuing the prisoners. Understood?”
“You got it, Cap.” Tommasino smacked Faltrip, a wiry, yellow-eyed member of the Serpents, on the shoulder. “Ready, hoss?”
Faltrip squinted, slapping a pack into his rifle. “Let’s do this.”
Using an escape hatch at the stern, Team One left the freighter. They utilized the shroud to maneuver across the hangar without being detected.
Towers pressed his Whisper earpiece into his ear and looked at the remaining six Serpents in the cargo area. While splitting up the team to carry out objectives was a necessary part of the job, he hated doing it. If his men were going to see action, he wanted to be right there with them. But Serpents excelled in close quarters combat, which is what would be needed today.
Still, he wanted to leave this ship and carry out this mission.
“The rest of you know what to do. Once we get the signal from Team One, I’ll lead Team Two—Freeman, Molto, Vickers—to the brig. Dunn and Tavers will stay behind and safeguard the ship. Let’s get ready to move.”
“Team Lead, Team One,” Tommasino’s voice whispered into Towers’ earpiece. “Charges are set.”
Towers’ heart jumped into his throat, and his chest tightened. It was time.
“Good job, Team One,” he said, gripping the handle on his Vision XL repeating laser rifle and nodding to the rest of his team. “Proceed with the plan.”
“Consider it done.”
In a moment, the charges set by Tommasino and Faltrip would detonate in a powerful explosion and rid the Nesteel Station of their communications array. The effects of the blast, he hoped, would ripple through the operations of the entire station and allow his team to move toward the brig with relative ease.
Reaching down to touch the holstered pistol, Towers leaned against the bulkhead adjacent to the landing ramp. Lowering his goggles, which allowed him to see his men when shrouded, he glanced at the Serpents under his command.
“Goggles down, gentlemen,” he said.
The three Serpents complied. Freeman, the youngest of his crew, stared with his dark eyes at the top of his rifle. Moltov and Vickers stood behind them, a casual expression on their faces he recognized from countless previous missions. The lack of projected fear meant the soldiers were concentrating; it didn’t mean they lacked emotion. It was all part of what he liked to call the pregame ceremonies. Each Serpent found courage within themselves in their own way, finding their peace before moving through the operational maneuvers they had practiced a thousand times before. Both of them had taken fire for him, and he had returned the favor. These soldiers weren’t at his side on the secret Wraith mission, and he was glad for it. Most of the Serpents on that mission had not come back.
The freighter rumbled as if hit by an earthquake. Towers grew rigid. Several subsequent explosions followed, the shockwaves booming through the station. He hoped Tommasino and Faltrip had been far enough away from the blast. With any luck, Team One was on their way back to the freighter.
“Let’s move.” He looked to Freeman. “Stay right on me.”
The Serpents spilled out into the hangar. Vickers and Moltov covered the flanks at the base of the ramp. Chaos swept the expanse, station crew and Zahlian pilots running to their Interceptors. That could cause problems later.
Shaking his head, he nodded to his soldiers. All of Team Two slapped the devices on their chests and disappeared as the shrouds did their work. Through his goggles, they appeared with slate-blue outlines like a ghostly aura. He nodded at Vickers, who stood at the edge of the ramp with her paralyzer in her right hand.
Twenty seconds until they were visible.
“Go!”
Towers sprinted across the hangar, counting down in his head.
Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen.
His soldiers’ boots pounded the deck behind him. Recalling the station’s layout, he knew the brig would be down the middle corridor. Just inside the hall, a maintenance closet should be on the left. He ran until his lungs burned.
Nine. Eight. Seven.
Come on, he thought. Faster!
The hangar flashed the burning red of an alarm. Chatter blasted from the station’s intercoms, relaying information for the fire control teams. As if responding to the messages, three members of the Zahl Navy’s firefighting unit sprinted from the middle corridor, blocking their path. The men stood in the hangar for an instant, the leader barking orders into a transmitter and probably sending a report of the hangar’s condition.
Four. Three. Two.
The firefighters moved into the room, rushing to inspect the nearby line of Interceptors for damage.
The invisible Serpents sprinted into the corridor and away from the massive hangar. Taking a deep breath, Towers saw no one in the hall. He opened the door to the maintenance closet.
One.
Closing the door, the Serpents materialized in the safety of the closet full of cleaning supplies and first aid kits. Freeman’s eyes flashed as a trickle of sweat slid down his face. Holding his finger to his lips, Towers listened for a pair of heartbeats.
Two pairs of boots sprinted down the hall.
“Fires spreading to Deck Ten!” a voice cried. “Command’s ordering all units to respond!”
“Are we under attack?” another asked.
“Who knows?”
The voices moved away, and the corridor fell silent.
“All right,” Towers said with a nod, “you know what comes next.”
His soldiers nodded. Freeman raised his rifle to his belt.
“Don’t use this unless you have to. You got that?” Towers asked, pointing at the laser. “Paralyzers first. I don’t want us to hit any friendlies.”
“You got it, sir.”
The paralyzer guns didn’t pack the benefits of rapid fire, but Towers hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. He looked to Vickers and Moltov.
“Shroud’ll get us to the brig corridor. Should be guards on duty. You two take them out. Then I want the three of you to get our people back to the boat ASAP.”
For the first time since they left the freighter, Vickers changed her expression to one of concern. “What are you doing, sir?”
“I’m making a check for our Star Runner not in the brig.”
“Not by yourself.”
Towers tho
ught of Lieutenant Austin Stone. During his service as a Serpent, Towers had seen many Star Runners, and they all did their job well. But this Stone character was something else … something special. He’d never seen a Star Runner come back for his men, defying orders and risking his life for Serpents. Such loyalty demanded respect, and Towers was going to give it.
“I owe someone.” He tightened his grip on the laser rifle. “Focus on the main group. I’ll meet up with you at the Lure. Now go!”
He slapped his shroud and watched his body disappear. Throwing open the door, he checked the corridor before his team.
All clear.
Stepping out of the way, he slapped Freeman’s shoulder and whispered, “Go, go, go!”
The invisible Serpents moved down the corridor, parting as two crewmen sprinted between them. Towers moved to the left, saw two guards behind a wide desk in front of the brig.
Towers focused on the two targets. The larger guard stood and stared nervously down the hall bathed in red light, a pistol in his hand. Had he seen the shroud bending light in the corridor? Or had the Serpents made a sound when they entered the area?
Ten seconds. Nine. Eight.
The second guard focused on the computer terminal, typing furiously and yelling into a headset.
“I haven’t heard anything from Command since the explosion!” the guard screamed into the headset. “Are we under attack? Be nice if the officers told us something!”
“I don’t know,” the standing guard said, his eyes focused on the corridor. “Just shut up!”
“Oh, that’s nice!”
Towers leaned against one wall and motioned for Freeman to take position on the far side. Vickers and Moltov moved like silent angles of death, taking place behind the two guards. Reaching out the barrels of the paralyzer guns, the Serpents inched toward their prey.
Four. Three. Two.
The paralyzers ignited in unison, filling the room with blue light. The crackling bolts flashed into the guards. Writhing in agony, the men tumbled to the deck like sacks of meat. Now visible, Vickers and Moltov dragged the guards under the desk and stuffed them out of sight.
Now for the cells, Towers thought as he kneeled. Freeman took the opposite side while Moltov moved behind Vickers. Towers felt sorry for the poor soul unfortunate enough to wander down this corridor and meet the accuracy of his Serpents.
“Shockers, boys,” Towers said, reminding the men to continue using their paralyzers.
Without saying a word, Vickers took a knee and ripped out her hacking gear. Towers grinned as he watched her move. Sweet perfection. In six seconds, Vickers had hacked into the computer system and run her program. The cell doors would soon open.
Muffled laser blasts echoed from above: four quick shots followed by the wailing alarm. Team One had met the enemy on their way back to the freighter, but how bad was it?
Towers stared at the ceiling, listening for more. Only the screeching alarms sounded through the corridors. This meant Team One must have met resistance and vaporized it.
With their primary communications out, the commanders on Nesteel Station would struggle to find out what was happening. He pictured the chaos in the command station, disorder caused by his men. Whoever was in charge would be receiving messages from dozens of sources, some delivered by hand, as he or she tried to decide how to respond. He had seen the wave of fear and confusion rip through an organization before, and it wasn’t pretty. They would wonder if they were being attacked from the outside, some suspecting revolutionaries from Nesteel and others claiming it was an accident. By the time the commanders had realized what was happening, the Serpents would be firing up the Lutimite Drive on their way out of here with all the prisoners.
Oh, how he loved this job.
“‘Bout to get hot in here,” he whispered. “How we doing?”
“Ten more seconds,” Vickers shot back, her eyes on the hacking gear. “Almost there.”
Running footfalls echoed down the corridor, coming closer.
“Heads up,” Towers whispered, his grip tightening around the rifle’s handle. He would only fire if his people missed with the paralyzers, but they never missed. “Hit those shrouds.”
The four Serpents slapped their chests, and they disappeared.
Two armored Zahlian Marines carrying standard lasers sprinted around the corner, their attention on the hangar. One jerked his head to the right on their position. The Marine stopped his comrade and gestured toward the desk.
“Where are the guards?” the Marine asked, nudging his partner.
Towers swallowed as the soldiers moved toward the desk. Two more steps and they would see the feet of the paralyzed guards under the desk. He tensed as they lingered over the desk.
One more step …
“Fire!” Tower yelled.
Two paralyzing bolts hit the closest Marine in the neck and sent him to the floor in a shuddering heap of flesh. The paralyzer struck the second soldier in the torso armor. Sparks flew from the Marine, sending him spinning and twitching against the wall.
But he didn’t fall.
As he spun, the Zahlian Marine fired out of reflex and filled the corridor with lethal laser bolts. A torrent of fiery cinders showered down from the unfocused barrage. Towers squeezed his trigger, three bolts smashing into the Marine’s head. The soldier dropped. Candle-like fires burned on his helmet, but the man remained still.
“Got it!” Vickers yelled.
At her command, the main gates leading to the brig moved up and revealed a long hallway with cells on either side. A second after the gate opened, thirty cell doors parted. Curious prisoners poked their heads from the cells, their faces bruised and bleeding.
“Move it!” Towers said, keeping his rifle aimed toward the corridor.
As the Serpents filed the prisoners out near the desk, more explosions rattled the deck from inside the station. Soon, a crowd of two dozen haggard prisoners lingered near the guard post. Based on the fresh bruises and the skeletal frames, all the prisoners appeared to be in various stages of abuse and neglect.
“Thank you!” one prisoner said, throwing her arms around Vickers’ neck. “Thank you so much!”
Vickers grabbed the woman’s shoulders. “We’re not out of this, yet, ma’am.”
Towers stood straight and held his hands up. “All of you pay attention, and you’ll live.” He pointed his rifle toward the hangar. “Freedom is that way, but you have to move and move fast! Now, go!”
Covering the opposite end of the corridor, Vickers knelt down with her rifle as planned. The time for paralyzers had passed. With their lasers ready, Freeman and Moltov led the prisoners toward the hangar.
A disheveled man approached Towers. He wreaked of a pungent mix of body odor and vomit. “Are you in command here?” he asked, his voice full of authority despite his appearance.
“You need to move, sir,” Towers said. “Follow these—”
“Thank you,” the man interrupted, “but I know we need to move. There’s another captured Star Runner. I’ve seen her.”
Towers froze. “Where?”
“One more corridor from here,” he said, coughing. “She’s their poster pilot for this operation.”
Looking at the man’s shaved head, Towers nodded. “Have they gotten to you, yet?”
“Not, yet, but I’m new. I’m still in the softening-up phase.”
Towers placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’ll get to her.”
“She might not understand. Things here have been very confusing.”
“I understand, my friend.” He nodded toward the hangar. “Go!”
The man smiled and limped down the hallway to follow the group. Spinning around, Towers lifted his rifle in one hand and yanked his pistol from its holster. He marched toward Vickers, who kept her repeating laser trained on the corridor.
“Don’t wait for me,” he said, nudging her shoulder with the muzzle of his rifle.
“Like hell, sir,” she said with a smi
le. Tossing a piece of gum in her mouth, she smacked and grinned. “I’ll be right here.”
Towers shook his head. No time to argue.
Ryker Zyan, he thought, I’m on my way.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Ryker Zyan leaned against the cold wall of her quarters and stared into the fluorescent red emergency lights. Following the first explosion, she asked the Marine in the hall about the situation. He said an internal fire had broken out, scrambling all communications onboard. Motioning her back into her quarters, the Marine yelled into the worthless communicator.
Taking a deep breath, she locked her fingers together at her belt. If the station were under attack from outside forces, Captain Rufino Rampa would have ordered her to the fighter. But the communications onboard had been knocked out, so how could he have sent orders to her?
She shook her head. There were many more pilots on board to do the bidding of Rampa and the Zahl Empire.
The sound of soldiers and crew running outside her quarters echoed. The emergency lights bathed her room in dark red. Pacing the room, she tried to keep her mind focused. They would get her if anything were wrong. If the station had to be evacuated, they would come to rescue her. Wouldn’t they?
Footsteps, much closer now, boomed in the corridor. Two pairs sprinted by, their boots pounding the steel deck. Leaning against the wall, Ryker pressed her ear to the cold metal.
“What have you heard?”
It was the voice of her Marine guard.
“We’re heading down to the brig!” a woman yelled, gasping for breath. “We lost contact!”
“How?”
“Switch to short-range pulse transmitters. Station’s systems are fried.”
After a pause, her Marine guard yelled, “Good luck!”
Gazing at the floor, Ryker exhaled. What was going on at the brig? Had one of the new Star Runner prisoners broken out? How would they have escaped the clutches of Rampa and his team when she had spent so many weeks trying to accomplish the same task?
No, she thought, think of my loyalty to the Empire. Otherwise, the pain will return. The spikes will stab into my skin at the slightest negative thought toward the Empire—the glorious Zahl Empire.
