The Last Hero (27 page)

Ducking into the heart of the beast, a dozen defenders met the charge.

Their spent bodies offered no resistance. Blue blood dripped down the silver walls. It soon froze creating odd-looking blue crystals. 

The curvature of the corridor was more pronounced than expected. A quick examination down either direction revealed no additional enemies. For a fleeting moment, Trent allowed himself to think this would be easy.

The dream of a cheap victory gave way to harsh reality. Bearcat soldiers shot out of an elevator in between the tubes.

A brief gust of wind foretold the strike, but it was an insufficient warning to prevent the legionnaires from being taken by surprise.

The massive creatures fired in both directions, in some cases at pointblank range.

Helmets exploded, chests disintegrated, and Legion soldiers fell, cut in half by the brutal assault. Red blood mixed with blue.

The enemy projectiles appeared to be the same highly effective large caliber rounds encountered so many other times. This time, they came as an increased rate of fire.

By the time Trent and Amanda dove further down the corridor, seeking safety in the  corridor’s curves, fourteen soldiers had died in the chaos.

More would have surely perished but for the counter-fire emanating from the holes in the connecting tube doors.

Grenades detonated in midair all around the Bearcat team. Shrapnel tour through leather, fur, and the silver plate fixed to their chests.

Springing to his feet, Trent sprinted for the elevator doors. They started to close. Using a dead Bearcat as a springboard, he lunged, catching it centimeters from closing.

Sliding a severed human leg in the door’s path assured no additional reinforcements would arrive in the same fashion. 

Trent stood tall amid the garden of the dead.

“I want a squad per tube to defend this area. If we have to bug out in a hurry, I don’t want to have to worry about getting out this way. Where’s Simms?”

A kneeling private attending to a wounded soldier answered, “He’s down, sir. Have him right here.”

Trent made the mistake of walking over to his wounded friend. He wasn’t prepared to see him in such a terrible state. Nothing below the waist existed, along with his right arm to the shoulder and most of the left.

“He’ll live,” the private announced. “Recovery will take a while, but the docs will get him back together.”

Acting as if Simms’ condition warranted no more emotion than any other soldier, Trent pushed forward.

“Move out! Stick to our part of the plan. We need to secure the other tubes to head off any reinforcements before locating the bridge.”

***

With a violent vibration that shook
Earth’s Fist,
the smoke lingering in the bridge air grew thicker. Dim emergency lighting flickered. Buzzing alarms signaled every one of the numerous system failures or inner hull breeches. Medical personnel attended to crewmembers suffering injuries ranging from electrical burns to lacerations.

Captain DeWalt hunched next to the sensor panel. The shattered holo display table behind him threw sparks into the air. 

“How many left?” he asked.

“Three.”

“That’s bad enough,” complained Pate. Blood ran down his arm from an untreated gash in the right shoulder. “Most of my guns aren’t responding.”

“Make do, Lieutenant. We can’t take much more of this pounding.”

“Here they come!”

***

The three Bearcat pilots understood the desperation of their charge.

They didn’t know why their pleas for reinforcements only received promises of aid from Supreme Command. Promises in word only, as the tone of the replies clearly spoke to their true meaning – they were on their own.

Abandonment from their leaders didn’t matter. Decades of training and social conditioning had forged their will and resolve to be unbreakable. If their last act in this life was to demonstrate this fact to the enemy by virtue of their deaths, then that’s what they would do. 

Flying side by side, they bravely closed on the monolithic vessel, determined to end the battle once and for all.

None wept, for a glorious death awaited them.

***

DeWalt changed stations to stand with Commander Sanchez, who diligently worked to coordinate the extensive damage control operations. By his estimation,
Earth’s Fist
should have been a floating mass of space junk. Their survival was a testament to the excellent performance of the XO, who seemed unbothered by a painful looking electrical burn over half his face.

This position gave the captain a good view of Lieutenant Pate, whom he wished to watch without hovering for fear of distracting him.

The three attacking craft aggressively maneuvered, frustrating numerous shots that harmlessly headed off into distance space. Then on the panel, DeWalt saw a kill just as the enemy reached their weapons range.

Not long ago, he would have ordered the helm to initiate a roll, to bring a section still protected by the outer hull to bear. Now, such impotent tactics only wasted fuel as the outer hull hardly existed.

Dual beams of powerful light plowed into
Earth’s Fist’s
metal skin. The dark alloy dissolved before the intense heat.

The shots bored deep into a point already struck. Reaching the core, the strike knocked out the battle computer, rendering the bleeding Lieutenant’s weapons panel dark and useless.

Fate took pity on the human ship.

Microseconds before the weapons went dark; two shots with true aim struck the enemy craft. One landed directly on a dart’s nose, destroying it on impact. The other grazed across the side, inflicting a mortal wound.

The sensor officer relayed the hits to the crew, causing an energetic cheer to ring out, followed by a chorus of coughs. The young officer’s victorious demeanor quickly changed when she realized one of the enemies was still capable of fighting. Her frightful expression grabbed DeWalt’s attention, wiping the smile from his face.

“What is it?” he walked up behind her.

“One...one is still heading for us.” Fear dominated her voice.

“
Weapons
?” DeWalt shouted, praying for a positive reply.

The lieutenant, on his knees with the weapon station’s maintenance port open, fiddled with wires and computer boards in a desperate attempt to restore weapons by tapping into the ship’s primary supercomputer, a failsafe that should have occurred automatically.

“I...I don’t have…” Defeated, he lowered his head. “Sorry, sir.”

“It’s alright, son. You did everything you could.”

DeWalt returned his attention to the sensor. He helplessly watched the dying enemy fighter haphazardly steer itself on a collision course.

“Hold on!” the sensor officer yelled.

The impact of a solid object at high speed against the hull sent a tremendous wave throughout the battered ship.

The concussion threw DeWalt to the floor, along with several others. On his back, he looked up to see the beam over him crack and buckle. It squealed as it gave way. Rolling, he managed to escape as it fell, slamming onto the deck with tremendous force.

Staggering to his feet, DeWalt examined the tangled wreckage. Blood oozed out from beneath the mess of metal and wires. Looking in, he saw a crushed body, unrecognizable expect for the visible rank insignia. He briefly mourned Commander Sanchez’s death, but a secondary explosion deep within the ship focused his attention to the critical task at hand.

“Somebody get me a Goddamn damage report!”

***

Fortunately for Trent, the majority of the base’s defenders planned to meet the invaders in the outer ring. With control of all four access points to the center structure, he felt confident enough to begin a search for the command and control center.

He could feel time running short. Captain Thomas and Major Jones’ teams continued to fight off constant Bearcat counterattacks aimed at retaking the outer ring and with it their avenue of escape. Grenade ammo started to run low, whatever he wanted to accomplish, he needed to do it fast.

A hurried search determined the target wasn’t on their current level.

Blasting open the stairwell, they gained access to the rest of the center structure. After the alien air finished draining, four squads filed in. Two headed down, two up.

Trent climbed the large steps as fast as he could. He ordered one of the two squads under his direct command to enter the first level they reached. The other one followed him to the next level.

Amanda placed the last of her demo tape on the door when they reached the landing. Holding tight onto the railings, the squad endured the windstorm through the narrow chasm.

Pouring through the gap, Trent found what he sought.

Instead of discovering a smooth silvery corridor, a dizzying array of screens and control panels, flashing lights and data illegible to his alien mind confronted him.

The distracted invaders paid a grim price for their rushed incursion.

Two enemy soldiers rose from behind a desk on his left and opened fire with their large pistols. The small caliber rounds claimed four of the team by the time everyone reached cover.

Several legionnaires returned fire, but forgetting the warnings, did so with standard MRG BBs. From his vantage point, Trent witnessed what Thomas and Jones already knew.

The supersonic projectiles simply bounced harmlessly off some type of invisible barrier centimeters from the Bearcats’ bodies.

By the time the mistake was realized, the ambushers had retreated further left. The center shaft that carried the attackers now hid the enemy’s movements.

Amanda grabbed the nearest soldier by an arm and shouted, “We’ll head them off in the other direction. You follow them.”

Trent responded as if the orders came from a General. “Let’s move,” he shouted to the two idle warriors.

Staying low, with weapons at the ready, he and his companions sprinted from cover to cover as they made their way around the command ring. They didn’t move fast enough to catch the enemy before Amanda made contact.

Bright flashes signified they’d remembered to use grenades.

“
Awwww
!”

Trent knew the painful cry was Amanda’s.

His heart jumped into his throat before pounding into the pit of his stomach. Abandoning all rational tactical thought, adrenaline propelled him forward.

Accelerating to full speed in just a few strides, he came face to face with his worst nightmare. Processing everything in a fraction of a second, he didn’t break stride as he rushed to his lover’s aid.

One soldier was dead, having been riddled with shots.
Not Amanda, thank God.
She dangled from the clenched claw of an enraged Bearcat. The creature held her high by her shattered left arm. It took hold of her other arm and pulled them in opposite directions. His dead comrade lay spread across a tabletop, guts blown out.

Not wanting to risk Amanda’s life with a grenade and not having even a microsecond to take hold of his Bowie knife before contact, he did the only thing he could. He trusted in the MRG.

Taking flight, Trent flew the last several meters and took hold of the mighty fur covered arm. His weight failed to register. The muscular appendage didn’t budge.

Jamming the barrel up into the creature’s armpit, he hoped to circumvent the enemy’s modern defenses.

One pull of the trigger told Trent that what he’d hoped for had happened.

The beast roared as its arm detached at the shoulder, dropping him to the floor. It let go of Amanda with the other. As it flared in agony, Trent sat up and stuck the barrel into its crotch. Pulling the trigger turned the once terrifying warrior into a fountain. Blue blood carried by the MRG rounds blasted out the top of its head.

A death rain fell all around him. The three-meter tall tower collapsed to its knees and slumped to the side.

Amanda cradled her broken arm. Trent, in a panic, asked, “Amanda...I mean Sergeant Roth. Are you all right?”

“I’ll live,” she said, pain evident in her voice.

He stood and helped her to her feet. The other two in their party finished clearing the rest of the area.

“Colonel?”

“Yes, Corporal?”

He attended to Amanda, even though there wasn’t anything he could really do for her.

“You should see this.”

Walking to the corporal’s position, Trent found the young man staring at a large screen. On it, a series of symbols constantly changed.

“Sweetie,” he said to his CAL. “Do you know what these symbols are?”

The pause stretched forever, along with his nerves.

“Yes. They are numbers counting down.”

Counting down? Holy shit!

“All units!” he yelled through a broadcast link. “Evacuate the station! I repeat evacuate the station. A self-destruct has been activated. Shuttles, we are going to need extraction from the drop off point. All units converge there.”