Helen turned. “What?”
“She's right,” Doc said, catching on to the idea. “If we blow an incendiary grenade in the hallway, then the station's fire suppression systems will activate and seal the pressure doors until the fire is contained. If we time it right, the admiral gets trapped in this hallway, with an accelerated fire. Maybe even before foam dispensers put it out.”
“Yeah, great,” Helen grunted. “Just one problem. Got an Arcane grenade?”
Calico started reaching for her pockets, then stopped, frowning. “Uhm… I guess not.”
“Me neither,” Doc said. Suddenly the medic sat up straight. “Wait. Wait wait. I got… I got something else.”
Doc shuffled through his medic’s bag until he found a tubular object the size of a thermos, wrapped in air-sealable plastic packing material. He held it up tentatively.
“Mojave gas canister,” the medic said. “I swiped it off Trent at CC. Figured… better keep it away from the Infantry.”
The ESCs were quite for a second, waiting for someone to offer a better option. No one did.
Helen nodded to herself as she moved to the door. “Alright, we’ll do it. You okay with that plan, Boss?”
No response. Helen turned, eyes squinting through the low light.
“Knight?”
Calico, still stuck behind Doc in the crawlspace, twisted around and looked behind her.
Nathen Brampton was gone.
Chapter 59
Nathen dragged the last of the bodies into the vacant room and slid the door shut. He’d just taken down four guards without raising any sort of alarm. The four Vorch had been posted at a critical waypoint that branched off in four directions, but none had been alert enough to catch Nathen before he took all of them down. Not the challenge Nathen had been expecting when he’d decided to venture out on his own.
Five minutes after the Alpha’s had left Central Command, Nathen had gone off by himself on a little unannounced hunting trip. He still had Kyler's Pitbull, but he hadn't used it yet. A burst of scattershot was more likely to end a messy confrontation in his favor than a select-fire weapon if things got out of hand, but it was also loud, and sound carried in the metal space station. Still, Nathen hoped to keep his enemy contact minimal.
While he’d over-exaggerated the severity of his injuries to the rest of his team, Nathen knew he wasn’t at a hundred percent. The energy burn in his left hip had been tended to, making movement much easier, and the Maul claw wounds and bite punctures had been taken care of with a few adhesive flesh-bonding bandages. Plus the medivest he was wearing really took the edge off everything, and helped his muscles to relax. Everything taken into account, Nathen was not in top form but was at least combat ready.
His mission would be fairly simple to accomplish, and without the gnawing pain present it would be much easier. He knew that if he’d shared his plan with his team, they’d insist on sending someone with him just to make sure he’d be okay. Their efforts would be better spent on their own objectives, and their concentration would have to be one hundred percent. Nathen would rather be alone for this anyway.
He honestly wasn't sure what he was getting into.
After hearing about the thrashing his two teammates had received, a subtle scale inside him had tipped toward this course of action. There were many doubts in his mind, but one stuck above all others. The Elite Stellar Commandos were the best single team in the entire United Race of Humanity. But was that going to be good enough? This haunting doubt that there were enemies that could so easily destroy them... that made Nathen question himself, his choices, and his future success. But he knew, when in doubt, meet that doubt head on and test it.
Nathen had made his guess and placed his bets, and was now lying in wait for the enemy General to pass through the corridor. There was no telling for sure if the General was even coming in this direction, just a hunch on Nathen’s part.
The commando slid the body of a Vorch trooper sideways a little more, giving him some more foot room in case he needed to dodge a counter attack when death started flying. The lever handle of the Pitbull was wedged under his arm, held tightly to his side for stability as Nathen prepared his ambush. The way he saw things, there was one of three ways his plan could turn out.
One, the General appeared with minimal forces, probably a sub-officer or two with a personal assistant, which would provide minimal resistance for Nathen’s attack. Two, the General appeared with moderate forces, enough that would lower Nathen’s chances of success and force him to change tactics. The likelihood of his survival would probably be at fifty percent or lower if he was forced to go up against any more than twenty troops, of any sort. Three, the General arrives within his main forces, making it nearly impossible to reach him, and likely suicidal. Chances of success spun to zero. Still, Nathen suspected that the enemy General would not do that. From what Kyler had told him, this was a daring individual. And Yew commanders were not often the cowardly type, which was what Nathen was counting on.
Nathen quieted his breathing as a series of footsteps sounded just outside the door. He listened for a moment but quickly relaxed as he heard some voices consulting in Gralyyk: Flogs returning from the frontlines. It wouldn’t be much longer before Nathen started seeing some more serious forces. He accessed the manual controls, easing the door open about two inches. Doing so allowed him to see the intersection where he’d found the sentries, and hear anything that was headed his way in any direction.
The ESC took a moment to make sure he was up to the task, taking measure of his physical status and mental fatigue. Though it seemed like he’d been in a fight for his life aboard the Orbit Angel for days, he knew it had only been a few hours. It had just been an intense two hours. As he sat in the dark with the bodies of the sentries for company, Nathen felt himself starting to be lulled into a relaxed state by the gentle pulsing of the medivest. To help clear his mind, Nathen checked the ammo in his Pitbull. He had eight shells, ready to fire, and another twenty secured in the pockets of his jacket.
The commander tensed up as the thump of a pair of heavy boots sounded somewhere close to the intersection. After waiting a moment and watching through the crack in the door, Nathen saw a pair of Golos lumber into view. He frowned. Just by listening, it sounded like only one Golo had been approaching; they were so in step with each other. Nathen waited for them to pass, then knelt down and flattened himself against the deck, pressing a palm and an ear against the cold floor.
Nathen lay like that for several minutes, sensing the vibrations in the deck and listening to the noises of approaching enemies. None matched up to what Nathen was looking for. Then, it happened. Nathen inhaled sharply as he sensed the vibrations from five rapidly moving Vorch troopers in combat armor. Nathen quickly rose to his feet and tossed the Pitbull up into his hands.
“Game on,” he muttered, cranking the door open fully to allow complete access to the corridor. If his guess was right about there being five Vorch troopers, the General would likely be in the very front or the very back, depending on their formation. Single file or two rows of two would be Nathen’s guess. Nathen calmed his nerves as the footsteps drew closer. In seconds, the first Vorch appeared.
It was the General. His armor was clearly distinguishable from the others that followed him. His face was utterly concealed behind a fierce-faced mask that glared with the scowl of the entire heritage of hundreds of years of warmaking. The General walked with a confident stride, never so much as glancing in Nathen's direction. None of the Vorch showed any interest or curiosity at the oddly open door they were passing. No one saw the shadow of the elite pressed into the side of the doorway, waiting for them to pass.
The medivest issued a soft hiss.
The last Vorch in line stopped, just outside the door.
Nathen swallowed, trying to watch out of the corner of his eye. The trooper stood there, cell blaster resting in the crook of his arm. The commander felt his heart rate start to increase. If it did, the m
edivest was going to give him away. He had to act, now.
“Psst!” Nathen hissed under his breath. The shock trooper reacted with dull confusion, turning toward the open door. He'd been listening for something trying to remain silent, not a sound that was meant to get his attention. He hesitated, wondering if the strange whispering noise he’d just heard presented threat to him or not. It did.
Nathen moved faster than the blink of an eye, lunging out of the shadow of the doorway with deadly speed and striking the Vorch fiercely right across the jaw with a snap punch, well beneath his helmet. The crack of Nathen’s knuckles against the Vorch’s skeletal jawbone was almost lost to the march of boots. The hollow crunch of the blow told Nathen that he’d applied enough force to knock the alien into next week. The Vorch trooper only managed to utter a choked grunt of surprise as it blacked out. Nathen wrapped his arm around the slackened alien’s neck before it could fall and swiftly dragged him back into the room.
Nathen’s hand was bleeding slightly from where he’d punched the Vorch. He shook his hand to get the blood flowing again and pumped his fingers back into a fist. Vorch bone structures protruded out in certain areas, making a sort of inner/outer skeletal design. Nathen had just cut himself on one such protrusion, on the end of the jaw. He’d succeeded in breaking it, though, so his minor cuts could be ignored in view of his success.
Nathen grabbed the Vorch around his broken jaw and twisted sharply, feeling the limp neck snap like a twig. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if the alien woke up a half hour or so later and shot a crewmember in the back, so finishing the job was the best thing Nathen could do. He considered it a mercy killing.
Nathen dumped the body onto the deck and sidestepped to the door again, listening as the four remaining Vorch drew to a halt. There was a suspicious exclamation as one of the troopers noted their rearguard was missing. Nathen had no time to adjust to a new plan, and made his next gamble.
“Lien san,” he whispered through the open doorway, quietly reaching down toward his right leg. ‘Lien san’ translated to ‘Help me’ in Vor. Normally, on the field of battle, Yew Alliance races often talked in an easy, common language to avoid complications between races. Hopefully, saying something in Vor would draw the attention of his next victim.
“Lien san…” he repeated, a little softer.
One of the Vorches drew closer to the door, looking for his missing comrade. Nathen shrank down into the shadowy area next to the door, gripping the handle of the shotgun. A second later, the Vorch in the doorway spotted his comrade, lying face down on the floor, motionless.
“Sempe ferana rash!” it exclaimed, hastily moving to assist his fallen friend. It never took the time to look back toward the door, where Nathen was. Then the second Vorch entered the room.
Nathen slipped in behind him, wrapping the length of the Pitbull under his chin, and crumpled the alien with a shattering kick to the back of the knee. The trooper was only beginning to scream when Nathen wrenched, breaking his third neck of the day. The first trooper spun, backing into the room when it spotted Nathen.
CHA-POW!
The trooper slammed back onto the floor as the shotgun blast hit it in the stomach, laying it out flat. Still alive, the trooper started screaming as it clutched its own midsection where some off the pellets had managed to pierce its weaker armor. Nathen turned just as the third Vorch charged into the room, heading straight for the Human.
“Hgn!” Nathen exhaled sharply as he sprang to meet the attack and exploded his leg out, catching his attacker square in the chest with a side kick. The attack backfired slightly as pain shot up Nathen's weak leg like a spike. The Vorch trooper staggered back, finding his balance while also trying to bring his weapon to bear. He never had the chance before Nathen sank his retractable dagger into the trooper's neck, perfectly aimed between the gel scarf and the combat armor, piercing its right heart with one hefty stab. As if just not realizing it was dead, the trooper dropped his cell blaster and seized Nathen's collar with both hands, angrily opening his mouth to speak but only emitting green burbles. It’s one remaining heart was pumping overtime. Nathen dropped the Pitbull and grabbed onto the hands that held him and rammed his shoulder into the swiftly fading Vorch. But the Vorch wasn't dead yet.
Nathen launched forward, carrying them both into the hallway as the dying trooper's legs started giving out like stilts. He had to keep pushing the attack, because if he let up, his injured body would stall, and the general would get aw-
Nathen's sixth sense went to red alert.
He twisted with a sharp inhale through his teeth, pulling himself in tight against the body of his opponent as the two grapple combatants burst through the doorway. Nathen saw the flash right before the sledgehammer slam of the Xazzler pulse thrower smashed into the back of the entangled Vorch trooper, killing him instantly. Nathen staggered back like he'd been kicked by a mule as the now dead Vorch trooper's body absorbed all the lethal damage from the close-range pulse. About six feet behind him, the general calmly charged for another shot, indifferent to the fact that his first attempt killed one of his own men. He'd lured Nathen right into his sights.
Alright, Nathen thought with a flash of determination. Let's see how good you really are.
Nathen rebounded off his heels and shoved forward, carrying the dead body of the Vorch in front of him. The meat shield bought him the second he needed to get close before the second pulse. Nathen released the body shield, just as the Xazzler fired again. The pulse smashed into the ceiling, spraying sparks and glass everywhere as the lights shattered. Nathen kept his right arm extended, holding the vortex-shaped Xazzler away from his face. For the span of a heartbeat, the general stared at Nathen through the fierce-faced half-visor, as if wondering why he wasn't dead.
Then he pulled back on the Xazzler to fire again.
Nathen didn't let go, letting the movement pull him in closer. He was planning on using it to counter attack when he suddenly realized the general already was. Nathen quickly picked up his forward leg before the Vorch could sweep it out from under him and tried to follow up by stomping down on the general's armored foot to trap him in place. The general effortlessly swept out from under Nathen's footwork and repositioned himself at arm's length, steadily bringing the Xazzler back under his control.
Nathen snapped his left, flash-seared hand forward and seized the general's shooting wrist. He may have more armor, Nathen thought, but that wouldn't help him against submission holds. The ESC had suddenly changed the conditions of the fight in his favor.
Then the general reached out with his spare hand and pinned Nathen's grip in place, preventing him from letting go.
The commander's eyes went wide with momentary shock as the general twisted their locked wrists, sending stabs of pain all the way up to Nathen's shoulders. For a flash, Nathen panicked, seeing his situation. If he resisted, his wrist broke, and he was at the mercy of the general's footwork. If he went with the wrist lock to ease the pressure and possibly escape, he was releasing his control over the Xazzler and would eat a pulse before he could recover. Just like the general expected him to.
Time up. Had to act.
Nathen twisted, releasing the pressure. But, instead of moving away, Nathen pulled in, turning his back and moving in until he pressed himself flush to the Vorch general's armor, cramping the wrist lock and pointing the Xazzler over his shoulder at the same time.
So he knows how to combat grapple style, Nathen thought, shifting his weight. Let's try throws.
Nathen, still holding onto the general's shooting wrist, swung his weight down and reaped his right leg out. To his delight, he felt the inertia throw succeed, hauling the general off his feet and flipping him easily over his shoulder.
Too easily.
The general scissor-kicked his legs over Nathen's body in a perfect, almost acrobatic counter to the throw, putting his own momentum into the swing so instead of landing on his head or back, he landed right back on his feet, facing Nathen.
Nathen barely threw his body into a sidestep before the pulse thrower tore the air asunder like a thunderclap. Footing lost, confidence ebbing, Nathen fought the urge to think and instead went completely with instinct. He lifted right elbow and tried to drive it into the general's visor while pulling with his left hand. The general casually let go with his right hand and stopped the elbow strike in his palm. Nathen shot his knee up and tried to knock the pulse thrower out of his opponent's grip. The general snapped an armored boot out and stunned Nathen's unarmored leg with a shin kick, stopping the strike before it began.
The commando set down, leg wobbly, and then went crashing to one knee as the general snapped his foot out from under him with a sweep. Nathen couldn't recover fast enough to avoid the knee that rose up into his chin, knocking him sprawling back on his rump and elbows in a sea of ringing stars. Through the groggy headache, Nathen saw the shiny rounded muzzle of the Xazzler level on him past his knees, preparing to turn his chest into a void. Summoning all his strength, Nathen kicked up with both legs as hard as he could, knocking the weapon upwards. The pulse thrower erupted, sending its payload down the hallway as Nathen used the last of his momentum to roll back over his head and onto his knees.
Where his enemy promptly smashed him sideways in the face with the Xazzler, sending him into the wall.
Nathen hit the wall, and then the floor, vision swimming as the blunt force to his skull made him feel woozy all over. The feeling of dragging through water seized him, followed by the terror of drowning, suffocating in his throat. Nathen convulsed, pulling his hands under him and opening his mouth, hacking a mouthful of his recently replaced blood onto the deck. Lips trembling, head uncertain, Nathen placed a palm on the floor, and commanded himself to rise.
He rose.
Nathen lifted his head, balanced on his hands and knees like a sleepy dog as cognitive function returned. His eyes, blurry at first, cleared. The general stood over him, waiting for him to look up, then leveled the vortex-shaped Xazzler with the Human's head. Nathen tried to tell himself to fight, but his body responded strangely. Sluggishly. He needed his pain back. The medivest strained to comply with his drained body's demands, shuddering on the verge of failure. So close. So slow…
Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1) Page 65