The elevator slowed and came to a stop at Level 19. The doors opened to a barrage of plasma fire. “Get the doors shut!” Collin yelled.
Gaetana was already at the panel. “They’re locked open!”
Collin, DiMaggio and Bubba quickly returned fire, not knowing what they were firing at. Level 19 was pitch black. This was a trap and they were sitting ducks. The first hit was Dana Stoker. She took two consecutive hits to her visor.
“Out! Everyone out!” Crouching down, Collin put his free arm around Dana’s limp body and, returning fire with his right hand, carried her off the elevator. He took two hits to his left thigh and felt the superheated section of his battle suit start to scorch his skin. Two more bolts hit him, one in the upper arm—the other to the back of his helmet. His legs were failing and he dropped Dana. Falling forward, Collin watched as his fellow Lone Stars rushed by, all firing weapons into the darkness beyond.
Collin was conscious that he was being dragged. “Dana … wait … don’t leave Dana.”
“She’s already gone,” he heard Darren say as he was dragged for another minute—maybe two. Finally, he was propped up, sitting against a bulkhead. Collin saw in the dim light several other Lone Stars next to him. All were returning fire, shooting between narrow vertical gaps in the bulkhead.
“How many are there?” Collin asked, feeling his senses slowly start to return.
“No more than fifteen. They’re well protected by some kind of barricade,” Darren answered.
Collin checked his HUD. He couldn’t believe that an hour had almost passed. They were living on borrowed time. Feeling somewhat better, he got to his knees and peered through the same slat Darren was shooting through, just above him. “What is this place?”
“I don’t know … looks like some kind of open space that’s still under construction.”
Darren was right, and that could have worked to their advantage, but not now—they simply didn’t have time.
Collin recalled his father telling him about a firefight in Kamdesh—what he’d described as a god-forsaken shit hole in northeastern Afghanistan. Outnumbered, his father’s small Special Forces team had two choices—continue to shoot it out until one side or the other was killed off, or take the offensive and hit their flanks. Even though their military numbers were small, it was better than getting picked off one by one. Collin had heard the story often—it was when his father had earned his silver star.
Collin cleared his throat and spoke into the open channel: “We’re not going to beat them just returning fire, going back and forth like this. And we’ve run out of time.” He looked down the line and saw Humphrey. “Humphrey, take Bosh, Platt, and Hurst and come at them from the other side of Level 19 … flank them to their right.”
“Give us a minute to get in position,” Humphrey affirmed, quickly heading off with the others.
“Tink, Brick, White, Melody … start moving to the right, the area opposite the elevator column.”
“The rest of you, follow my lead.” He quickly got to his feet and nearly lost his balance as vertigo overwhelmed him.
Darren put an arm on his shoulder. “Easy there, man.”
“I’m all right.” Collin looked around for his Doubler. It was gone. He pulled his Ponge 412. “What’s their distance from us?”
“Fifty feet … maybe sixty,” Darren said.
Collin estimated the same. “Let’s take these guys out.”
“Yeah, we’re already trying to do that.”
“No, from above.”
Darren looked up to where Collin was staring. The top of the compartment reached thirty feet above them. Multiple exposed, arching girders spanned across, from one side of the compartment to the other, like a giant rib cage.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Darren asked in a flat voice.
Collin went back on the open channel. “Move it … flanks … make your attack!” He was already on the move, still running parallel with the bulkhead. He cleared the corner and saw flashes from energy weapons coming from virtually every direction. Even when a plasma bolt hit his torso, his forward progress wasn’t impeded. Two more running steps and he leapt, firing down at the enemy combatants below him, as he sailed over their heads into the air. Behind their barricade, Kardon Guard soldiers clad in gray battle suits stared upward in surprise.
He holstered his Ponge and reached out with outstretched arms. His fingers grabbed for the edge of the girder, but his forward quick momentum caused him to lose his left hand’s grip. He hung for several moments, legs swinging down, thirty feet above the enemy. There were twelve below him, fully occupied as their right and left flanks came under assault. Collin reached for his Ponge and began firing down.
Within seconds they returned his fire.
Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.
He’d already taken five shots to his battle suit.
Wasn’t that about the suit’s limit?
Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement—five bodies flying up through the air. First to join him was Darren and, soon after, Bubba, still holding his Doubler in one hand. Bubba grabbed for the girder with his free hand and somehow managed to hold on. He wasted no time before the
thump thump thump
of plasma fire was heard, showering down on the Kardon Guards below.
The Lone Stars held the proverbial
high ground
and, one by one, the enemy fell to the deck—assaulted from the right, left, and overhead.
Collin looked for an open area on the deck and dropped. He didn’t even glance at the elapsed time on his HUD.
What was the point?
Royce White, standing on the deck, his Doubler held at an angle in front of his chest, greeted Collin as he approached. “That was outstanding, man … way way way outstanding!”
Collin was at a dead run. “Do a head count, Royce. Make sure we don’t leave anyone here behind.” He saw Dana’s sprawled body to the left of the elevator column but kept moving toward the right, where he’d entered the alcove. Fast on his heels were DiMaggio, Bubba, Darren and Humphrey.
Collin made the abrupt turn to the left and then again into the stairwell. Practically flying, he took the stairs four at a time—his feet barely touching the steps in the process.
Another turn in the stairwell and Collin tripped over a dead soldier. Apparently the Kardon Guard discovered the hidden stairway. Up ahead, dead bodies lay everywhere, piled on top of one another. Slower going now, Collin had to climb up and over the bodies. He stopped counting them at twenty. A mountain of gray battle suits.
It took ten minutes to reach the end of the stairwell and an opening out to the alcove. Here it was even worse. Bodies stacked high into what amounted to a four-foot-high wall.
“Let me,” Bubba said, chaffing at the bit behind him.
Collin switched places with Bubba and let the big defensive tackle barrel his way through the thicket of bodies. As the last of the dead fell away, and they reached the open expanse of Level 20, energy weapons erupted from four separate directions. Bubba took two hits and stumbled down to one knee. Collin raised his arms high over his head, in what he hoped was a universal sign of surrender, like on Earth.
The plasma fire halted. Collin leaned down next to Bubba. “You okay?”
“I’ll live.” The big guy rubbed at a scorch mark on his chest.
Collin looked up to see armed, gray-uniformed recruits moving forward. They were the Righteous Warriors. Five of them stopped. Nearly unrecognizable, Rocco Puma approached. Blood covered most of his face, and his left sleeve was torn away at his shoulder. As the rest of the Lone Stars entered the alcove, Rocco and his few Righteous Warriors didn’t try to hide the tears welling-up in their eyes.
Rocco said, “We couldn’t escape … too many Kardon Guards … they just kept coming up from Level 19.”
“They’re no longer a problem. The admiral … the principessa?” Collin asked, fearing they’d arrived too late to rescue them.
Rocco gestured to the far side of the compartment—to the reception counter, which was pocked with hundreds of blast marks. Both the admiral and principessa were there, pointing their Doublers in their direction.
The principessa smiled and said, “What the hell took you so long? You do know the station’s about to blow, right?”
Collin smiled back. “Um, yeah, we’re aware of that. How do we get out of here?”
“Level 17. There’s a maintenance airlock still viable. Now that you’ve moseyed up here, maybe we can leave?”
Chapter 42
Admiral Zumpanno hurried around the reception counter. His head was bandaged and he moved with a slight limp. He tapped something on the elevator control panel and, within a few seconds, the doors opened.
“In … Let’s go!” he barked, standing outside the doors while everyone else piled in; only then did he step inside the car and move beside the principessa. The admiral turned his head to assess the Lone Stars behind him. He was face to face with Orman, the cat-like Daccian. They held each other’s gaze for a brief moment before the admiral looked away.
Collin had his visor up and was talking to the captain via his helmet comm: “We’re heading down to Level 17 now … yes … the principessa is alive and unharmed,” he said, looking over at her. She continued to stare straight ahead, but he saw her lips turn up slightly at the corners of her mouth.
The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. Collin felt heat on his exposed cheeks and quickly closed his visor.
“The reactor’s gone critical … the lower levels below us are literally melting,” the admiral said, taking the lead through the hazy, smoke-filled Level 17 colonnade. He suddenly turned toward Collin. “Which airlock?”
Stunned, Collin didn’t know what to answer. “Um … there’s more than one?”
“There’s two … and we don’t have time to get it wrong, recruit. Ask the captain where he’s parked, damn it!”
Collin tried to reestablish his comm link to the captain. There was nothing—dead air. He’d heard his father say it a thousand times …
when in doubt, go right
. Collin gestured to the right, not really knowing what the hell he was pointing to.
“That’s what I thought,” the admiral said, picking up his pace. Collin looked down and to his right, catching Tink staring up at him through her visor. She was smiling and mouthed the words
you better be right …
He shrugged.
The lights flickered out and suddenly they were moving in near-total darkness.
“Stay close to me. I know this station well, with or without lights,” the admiral said with confidence.
Collin found and activated the HUD setting, turning on his helmet light. Suddenly, a wide swath of light cast illumination several feet ahead. Steam or smoke, or both, was rising up from the deck. From the tight expressions on the Righteous Warriors’ faces, they were feeling the blistering heat through their shoes.
The admiral made another series of left-right turns before lifting a hand, gesturing for everyone to halt. He repeatedly tapped at a panel to the right of a double-hatch, but it became quickly apparent the panel was unresponsive. “Shit … no power … no access.”
“We can get it open,” Collin said.
“Well, you better be able to close it again too. This is an airlock, remember? Look around you. More than a few of us don’t have battle suits on,” the admiral said.
“Take our suits,” Collin said, already removing his helmet.
“I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Frost, but that won’t solve the prob—”
“Actually, it might,” Collin cut in. “Remember, sir … we’re not from around here. Different molecular structure … and all that. I think we can last longer.” Collin felt the back of his battle suit fall open as Bubba pulled the flange down from his shoulders. Before Collin could ask for other volunteers, Bubba, Darren, Humphrey, Lydia, Tink, and Royce White were already in the process of extracting themselves from their own battle suits.
“Shit, it’s hot!” Humphrey exclaimed, looking as though he were having second thoughts. Reluctantly, he helped the principessa into his now-vacated battle suit. The admiral fitted himself into Collin’s suit and, within minutes, other suit exchanges were also completed.
Bubba, Humphrey and Collin positioned themselves in front of the hatchway—each grabbed a firm hold along the inside edge. “Pull it towards us,” Collin directed.
They pulled in unison. The threesome’s combined strength caused the hatch to creak and groan as it soon began to give way. Collin felt the soles of his shoes starting to melt and stick to the deck plating.
“Hurry, my fucking toes are on fire,” Humphrey cried out between clenched teeth.
The hatch came free with a loud clang. They hefted the wide double hatch out and away and placed it against the bulkhead, off to the side. First the Righteous Warriors, next the principessa, and then the admiral filed in.
Tears were running down both Tink and Lydia’s cheeks. The rising heat was becoming unbearable, and Collin wondered if they could survive much longer.
“Lydia, Tink, and you, too, Royce … Inside.” The temperature was significantly cooler within the airlock. Collin surmised it was due to its proximity to the open space beyond, but he wasn’t really sure. With the exception of Bubba and himself, the rest of the Lone Stars quickly hustled into the small airlock.
“Help me prop the hatch back into its opening, Bubba,” Collin said. He was now feeling a sizzling on the soles of his feet. He thought he could smell his own flesh burning. They got the hatch propped back on.
At the far side of what now was aptly an airlock chamber, a ship could be seen as it maneuvered into position, through a series of small portholes halfway up the bulkhead.
The space station began to shake, making it difficult for anyone to stay on his or her feet. A distant rumble grew in intensity, to the point they could no longer hear anything else. Nero Station was on the verge of total annihilation.
Collin stood at the back of the airlock; he and Bubba had found vertical struts to pull themselves onto—just enough so their feet were several inches above the scalding deck plates. Both Tink and Lydia jumped onto the backs of two other Lone Stars still wearing battle suits.
“What the hell’s taking them so long?” Humphrey yelled; he was one of the few to look out through a porthole. “We’re being cooked alive in here and all they can do is point to the hatch?”