Epic: Book 02 - Outlaw Trigger (2 page)

“
Guns only—no grenades.” Scott’s free hand returned to his rifle as he lifted to his feet and proceeded forward. “Keep an eye on it, Travis! Becan, David, you’re with me. As soon as we clear the antechamber, I want Max and Oleg in the bridge. We hit the troop hall together. Varvara, you wait outside.”

The soldiers affirmed as they stormed toward the Noboat’s door. Scott was on the comm once again. “Travis, give us a burst, then fall back!”

The
Pariah
launched a volley toward the door. Then it veered up and away.

Scott wasted no time. “I’m left, Becan’s right, David’s got center!” He burst inside, just as the Bakma had fallen back from the
Pariah
‘s barrage.

Before the aliens had a chance to engage them, the three soldiers from EDEN opened fire. Their gunshots rang out through the antechamber, and the Bakma warriors fell.

“
Max!” shouted Scott.

“
I’m in!” With Oleg at his side, Max rushed straight into the bridge.

From the antechamber, Scott could hear Max’s shouts.

“
Call grrashna! Call grrashna, you apes!”

The garbled sound of the Bakma followed next. “Grrashna—”

More gunshots rang, and bodies were heard slumping to the floor. Max’s voice came back moments later. “Nothing like a little false hope. Bridge secured.”

Scott glared in the direction of the bridge, then turned his attention to the troop hall, where he took in interior damage. Lights flickered down the hallway, as various cables sparked from the ceiling. Blood was splattered on the walls. Bodies were strewn on the floor.

“
Moving in,” Scott said. He readied his rifle against his shoulder and tracked down the hall. David and Becan followed right behind him. “Same formation: I’m left, Becan’s right, Dave’s got center.” There were six separate rooms in Noboats—three on each side of the troop hall. The first two were living quarters, the next two were supply rooms, and the final two consisted of a kitchen and an engine room.

Though Noboats were classified as medium-sized vessels, they were borderline small in size. Nonetheless, they could support over thirty Bakma. But there weren’t thirty bodies on the ground.

Scott darted around the corner of the first left-side room—one of the living quarters. It was clear.

“
My room’s clear,” said Becan from the door on the opposite side of the hall. “Movin’ to the second.” Before he could, David opened fire down the hall. A Bakma fell to the floor.

“
Ex down,” said David.

Scott returned to the hall and spotted the Bakma that David had killed. It had come from the very last room on his side. “They’re in the kitchen.”

From behind them, Max and Oleg approached. Scott addressed them without turning around. “Stay with me and Becan. We have hostiles in the back.”

“
Yes, lieutenant,” Oleg answered.

Max said nothing.

It took nothing more than a quick glance for Scott and Becan to check the supply rooms. Both were empty. Noises clanged from the kitchen up ahead.

Becan shook his head. “They’re not in the bloody supply rooms, with the
guns
, but they’re in the kitchen. Figure tha’ one ou’.”

“
When you’ve got the munchies…” Max mumbled.

“
Still want to do this guns only?” David asked Scott. “One grenade can clear that whole room.”

Scott’s answer was immediate. “Yes.” By that point, it was all about salvage—even if it was only foodstuffs. Everything gave EDEN insight. “Becan, get behind me. Max, take Oleg to the right.”

They all fell in line.

“
Move.”

As Max and Oleg turned into the engine room, Scott and Becan burst into the kitchen. There were two Bakma lying in wait—but only for a moment. Scott and Becan got the preemptive jump on the triggers, and the stragglers fell to the floor.

There was a single shot from behind them. “Engine room clear,” said Max. “One monkey down.”

“
Kitchen’s clear,” Scott answered. “Body count?”

“
Four total dead in the bridge, I have two corpses in here right now, counting the one I just killed.”

Scott glanced on the floor of the kitchen. “Three here.”

“
There’s six in the antechamber,” said David.

Scott gave Becan a glance. “How many did you have in the right-side living quarters?”

“
Four bodies,” the Irishman answered.

“
I had two on my end. Supply rooms?”

“
One.”

Scott did quick math in his head. “That’s twenty-two.”

Becan gave him a look. “Twenty-two’s low for a Noboat.”

Scott stepped into the hall. “Dave, run a check of the antechamber and bridge again. Oleg, give me a recount in the living quarters and supply rooms.”

Becan stepped into the kitchen and glanced around. Scott followed.

Bakma kitchens were surprisingly like human ones. They had counters, like human kitchens, and preparation tables. Metal cabinets acted as storage compartments.

“
Here’s this stuff again,” Becan said, as he stared into one of the food containers. It was filled with a substance named
calunod
. According to EDEN, that’s what Bakma prisoners called it. It was the equivalent of brown, slimy seaweed. Its odor was equally putrid. “Tha’s bleedin’ gross.”

But Scott wasn’t interested in calunod. He wanted the ship cleared. He stepped back into the hallway, looking for David. “What’s the verdict?”

David was kneeling over one of the bodies, though his gaze spanned the whole room. “There was one more body I didn’t see before, so that makes twenty-three dead. That’s more than twenty-two, but it’s still small.”

Scott knelt beside David, where he allowed himself to silently study the alien corpse before them. No matter how many times he’d fought the Bakma—and they were the most common enemy by far—he couldn’t get away from their sheer ugliness. The alien’s lifeless blue eyes bulged out above its obnoxiously protruding cheekbones. It looked hideous; all Bakma did. It was only fitting that they utilized the spider-eyed canrassi—the miniature fur-covered tyrannosaurs. They looked hideous, too. Thankfully, no such war beasts were there.

“
Looks like a standard crew,” David said. “Same arsenal of plasma weapons, nothing too heavy.”

“
Scouting party?” Scott asked.

“
Who knows?”

There was truth in those two words. None of them knew a thing. Not Scott, not David, not the president of EDEN. Or at least, whatever the president knew wasn’t important enough to be passed down the ranks. They were in the middle of a war without a reason.

David picked up the dead Bakma’s plasma rifle. The gray contraption fit in his hands well. Plasma rifles consisted of two barrels, one atop the other, and a trigger system that worked startlingly like human technology. If EDEN wanted to, they could have easily confiscated and replicated the alien weapons. In fact, high officials had at one time tried to experiment with Earth-made plasma guns. But the willingness to experiment stopped right there. EDEN soldiers flat-out refused to use them. Plasma was for the Bakma. Humans liked their projectile weaponry just fine.

From behind them, Max ignited a sprig. He inserted the end of the small metal cylinder into his mouth, and sucked in a deep breath. When the blond-haired technician exhaled, a misty plume of cinnamon scented the air. “Ship looks pretty clear to me.”

Scott kept his eyes on the bodies. “Max, has anyone ever relayed to you the number of false surrenders we’ve received from the Bakma?”

“
Nope.”

Scott turned to face him. “None.” He stared at Max. “Don’t ever kill a Bakma when he’s calling grrashna again.”

“
Not ever?” Max asked, exhaling a cloud of cinnamon.

“
Not ever.”

Varvara greeted Scott as he stepped outside. “All clear?”

Scott nodded. “Ship’s clear, no injuries.”

She smiled.

Becan was seconds behind Scott. As soon as he passed Varvara, he cupped his hands over his mouth and let loose an obnoxiously over-dramatized sneeze. He flung a handful of calunod on her breastplate, where it splattered against the bottom of her chin.

“
God bless me.”

Varvara stared at him in disbelief, as the brown substance dripped from her neckline. She wiped it off and flung it down. “You are disgusting.”

Becan ran before she could sling it at him.

As Scott walked back to the hill, Jayden’s voice came over the comm. “Aw man, that’s it?”

“
That’s it, Jay.”

“
I didn’t do anything!”

“
He watched Varya through his scope the whole time,” Galina said.

“
I did not!”

“
You trying to take out your girlfriend?” Scott asked.

“
No, man, I wasn’t doin’ it to kill ‘er.”

“
So you
were
watching her,” Scott said with a smile.

“
Man…veck.”

The Fourteenth took care of the initial cleanup themselves, packing not only the twenty-three Bakma corpses into the
Pariah
, but a small cache of weapons and equipment. The rest of the Noboat, including the engine components and foodstuffs, would be taken care of by cleaning crews later. Right now, it was time to go home.

The flight back to
Novosibirsk
was typical. Jokes were exchanged back and forth as a jovial air filled the ship. The Fourteenth had become accustomed to that. Despite being undermanned, they were one of the most reliable units at the base. They knew it. Thoor knew it. Everyone knew it. From Bakma crash sites to necrilid bug-hunts, they were the only unit that could launch with ten operatives.

It didn’t hurt that one wore a golden collar.

When they returned to the base, Clarke met them. After a brief retelling of the mission, they were dismissed. As usual, it was their only call that day. It was rare to be called out more than once. The rest of the afternoon was spent in rest and relaxation, with alcohol and banter in the lounge. Though Scott didn’t drink, he still hung around. There were too many good reasons not to leave.

When the nine o’clock curfew came, the Fourteenth retired to their bunks. As an officer, Scott had the luxury of his own room. For that, he thanked God every night. There was nothing quite like a quiet room to put the day’s events in perspective. Another successful operation. Another day with a purpose.

Another day done.

2

Monday, August 1
^st
, 0011 NE

0520 hours

The next morning

Beep! Beep!
Beep! Beep! Beep!

Scott squinted beneath the covers. His entire body tensed. As he slid the topmost sheet over his head and rolled to face the wall, he grumbled under his breath.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

It wasn’t the sound of a comm. It was the tone of an alarm clock poised on his nightstand. As it pulsed through the silence of his private quarters, his mind returned to the realm of the conscious world.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

“
I’m up,” he mumbled hoarsely. “Zatknis.” He flung the sheets from his body and eased himself upright, his brown hair a tangled mess. His hazel eyes peered through the darkness; blood rushed up to his brain. He groaned and closed his eyes, then pressed his palm to his forehead.