by J. A. Scorch
Realizing what all the fuss was about, Porter let a smile form on the corner of his mouth as Briggs slapped him on the shoulder. "Congrats man. You deserve this."
"So do you. More so than me, that's for sure."
Briggs whispered in his ear. "Just take it, man, before they change their mind. A few weeks ago, you were in cuffs; now you're a goddamn captain."
Porter threw up his hands in defeat. "All right. I'll take it." The rank felt like a gesture. Whether it was from Garcia or Command didn't matter. The importance of the promotion was to justify the dangerous mission that cost over 160 pilots their lives. Porter accepted the title and moved on.
For the next thirty minutes, he worked the small compartment, celebrating with some smuggled bourbon Cannon got aboard the ship. The mood around the control room almost reached a relaxed position until Garcia received a call from the new commander of the fleet, Admiral Karen Becher.
"Yes, Admiral," Garcia said over the comm, groveling to the commander. It was strange to see Garcia in such a situation, taking orders from above like the rest of them, shattering her power temporarily.
"Right away, ma'am." Garcia disconnected and grabbed the attention of the room. "Party's over, people. Got some news from up top."
All eight people in the room stopped drinking.
"Cannon," Garcia said, addressing her number two. "Gather the flight leaders. Command is planning to hit the Cyclone head on."
"What's the play?" Cannon asked.
"No idea, Captain. But if I know Admiral Becher, it will probably involve hitting them with as much brute force as we can muster."
Garcia went to leave, heading for the control room's exit. Porter stepped toward her. "Wait. Where are you going, ma'am?"
She stopped mid-step, and half faced him. "To prepare for the next shit storm this war is going to throw at us, Captain." She continued, not looking back.
He let her go, not wanting to press any further. The two weeks spent in limbo were over. Soon, the fleet would face the last Cyclone and take the giant beast of a ship by force. Porter only hoped they could do so without losing too many pilots.
Chapter Six
A dark swirl engulfed Teve's mind once the needle finished filling his body with pain. Doctor Hoang administered a stronger dosage of the Zeal concoction like the cruel man that he was, sending Teve off into the world he could never escape. His brain took him to the Zeal base, back into X's bladed arms.
"You are home," X chanted, his voice layered and harrowed. "Join us."
"No," Teve yelled as he ran backward and tripped over something that squished between his bare feet. His eyes fell to discover the rest of his fire team dead in front of him. Private Moreno lay twisted and broken—blood flowing from his mouth like a river. Specialist Harris held a look of terror on his elongated mouth—his jaw cracked open. And finally, the corpse he never wanted to see pushed aside the others in a mangled heap. Mish's eyes stared up into his own, begging to know why he failed her, demanding to know why he didn't listen that day and turn back home.
X slithered into view, pushing through the bodies of the fallen—his purple, blade-covered body shimmering with delight. "Join us," he said. "Join us or die." X swung his arm out and pointed to the one object Teve would never deny: the Orb. The perfect Zeal sphere floated in the middle of the base, humming with life and power. He drifted toward the ball without thought or consciousness.
Ten short steps divided him from finding his oasis, yet each foot forward burned and sizzled his flesh until he caught fire. "You are not ready," X said into both of his ears at the same time. "Humanity must embrace death and be reborn." X grabbed Teve and tossed him through the air at the Orb. He floated through the thick, Zeal atmosphere and disintegrated into dust before his fingers could touch the electricity that hovered around the Orb.
He woke up to a pool of sweat and fell out of bed, landing on the cold concrete flooring, back first. Darkness filled the room until a light flooded the shadows and evaporated the Zeal base from his mind. Teve realized he was back in his cell. His visions were just another nightmare, but were they a part of the doctor's new syringe therapy? He could no longer tell what was real and what had been injected into his brain via the many competing chemicals fighting for dominance.
A knock on the door startled Teve into action as a migraine tore through his skull. A guard stood in the frame, using a nightstick to grab his attention.
"What's going on in there?" the man asked through his gas mask. Teve recognized the voice of Corporal Kay Dorsey and instantly held both hands up to show him he was no threat. The door opened despite Teve's quick thinking.
A layer of sweat dripped down from Teve's forehead and into his eyes as he raised his hands for Dorsey's benefit. The man stepped into the room, lowering his nightstick into a tightly clenched fist.
"On your feet, Sergeant."
With a nod, Teve attempted to stand but buckled back down to the floor under weak knees. It was then that he realized night had set in, leaving him to try and remember if he ever got to eat that day.
"I said, on your feet. Don't do this the hard way." The corporal flicked a button on his weapon, activating the cattle prod that existed at the end of the stick ready to distribute pain and justice.
"I was having a nightmare. I fell out of bed. Nothing else." A sudden ache stabbed Teve’s neck and bicep. Both were in the exact spots the doctor had injected him with the messed-up substance.
"Did I ask you to speak?" Dorsey shouted. The guard extended the stick out and held down the trigger, leaving a buzzing line of electricity close to Teve's face.
Teve waited for the punishment to be administered, but the jolt of agony never came. He glanced up to see Dorsey put his nightstick away and squat down over his entire body.
"I'm sorry," Teve muttered. "I can't seem to ... " He felt himself begin to pass out as he found the edge of his fold-down bed and placed his head on the frame.
Dorsey gently grabbed him under the armpits and hoisted him into his bed, passing the blanket over in the next few seconds. The guard's body blocked out the camera in the corner as he dropped down to his knees and said, "There isn't much time. You need to read this now." He handed over a small, scrunched-up note.
Teve took a moment too long to grab the letter, convinced it was just a trap set by Hoang.
"Take it already."
Clutching at the note that fit into Dorsey's palm, Teve unfolded a scrap of paper and read a few quick words from handwriting that seemed familiar. It was a message from Mish:
We are still here and safe. Coming to break you out soon—Mish.
Dorsey grabbed the paper back in his hand and squeezed his fist shut as Teve glanced up to where the man's eyes could be behind the black, reflective layer of the mask.
"What does this mean?"
"Goodnight, Sergeant. I don't want to hear another word out of you. Got that?"
The guard was playing along, being the man the facility needed him to be. Teve had no idea if Corporal Dorsey was on his side or if Mish had just managed to pay the right price to get the info to him. Either way, hope had been restored that his team was still alive. He tried for the last week to convince himself they weren't dead, but the screams he heard coming from the close-by operating room always gave Teve reason to pause.
Dorsey left the room and locked the door, not saying anything more. The lights switched off, re-bathing the room in shadows as only the light from the moon and the camera gave Teve any sense of depth.
He fell asleep with a smile on his face, unsure how he ever got into the room but certain this place would not be the final location of his life. All he had to do was wait for Mish's play and hope she'd save him before Hoang administered another dose of death.
Chapter Seven
Porter gathered around the control room as close to thirty people piled into the area. Each person jostled for a spot to stand. It seemed abnormal to plan ops in a small space but Garcia didn't do anything by the book. Porter squished hi
mself into a corner and wondered why they couldn't use one of the comfortable planning rooms. He figured the tactic was employed by Garcia to keep people frustrated and focused. Or perhaps she liked being in her own area. He'd never know.
"Quiet, people," Garcia said, issuing a hush over the room with both hands. "Thank you for coming. As I'm sure you've all heard, Command is moving forward with a mission to take the last remaining Cyclone ship from the Zeal in one piece. Its destruction must not come about if we are to succeed."
A wave of discussion burst out into the room, prompting Garcia to intervene. "Quiet down. Save your thoughts to the end. We've got a lot of BS to shovel through. Now, Command is planning on hitting the carrier in waves, each one given a specific mission that will determine if the next wave is initiated or not."
Confusion rang out as lieutenants and captains all spoke to one another. Garcia held the bridge of her nose between her finger and thumb, closing her eyes. "What the hell did I just say? Do you all want to be bumped down a pay grade?"
A hush saturated the room, canceling out the chatter.
"Didn't think so. Now these waves will be three deep. Wave one will be nothing but X90 Stalkers sent out to bait the Tritons into a fight. Wave two will be transport ships filled with Marines aiming to breach the lower decks of the Cyclone via the open hanger bays. And finally, Wave three will be a small band of supply ships to help fuel the soldiers as they blast their way into the ship. Any questions?"
Every person in the room beside Porter and Garcia spoke at once, demanding to have their concerns noted. The questions all competed for attention until Garcia had to shut the place up again and restore order. After letting out her frustrations, she asked for a show of hands regarding questions. Each person was allowed one.
The first pilot spoke. "How many Stalkers are we talking about?"
Garcia stared into the woman's eyes. "All of them." This answer caused an uproar until the next question came.
"What about the point defense turrets covering the Zeal ship? Won't the transporters be subject to those weapons? Won't that result in a lot of dead soldiers?"
"Too many questions, Lieutenant. And yes, the transporters will have a tough job on their hands if we can't handle the Tritons. Our secondary objective is to fire upon the PDTs with missiles and clear a path to safety. I am going to assign sections for each squad to focus on and make that happen. Next."
The questions carried on. People wanted to understand everything about the mission. Porter understood the desire to be informed. It was a rare occasion for Command to allow such an open line of communication. It was as if their cards were on the table for all to see. For once, complete transparency was at hand. Porter couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not.
"That is all I have time for. Thank you for your questions. I suggest you start training your people. We launch in three days. Dismissed."
A ring of chatter filled the control room as the pilots all filed out and away from Garcia. Porter remained behind as did Cannon and Briggs.
"Quite a spectacle," Garcia said to Cannon. She turned to Porter and Briggs. "What is it? I doubt you're both still here to congratulate me on an excellent talk."
"Speech was spot on," Porter said. "I guess I'm still a little curious as to why Command is taking this approach."
"Curious, huh? Well, I'm still a little curious as to why you think I would care about your curiosity."
Briggs stepped forward. "This mission is bullshit, and you know it. Command is going to risk every pilot we have on this idea. Why are we standing around hoping for the best when the most obvious solution is in front of us?"
Garcia's lips curled up as her brows tightened. "Don't for a second assume I see this mission as anything other than up-the-wall crazy, Lieutenant. But we don't have much choice, I'm afraid."
"What about the stealth ship?" Porter asked, backing Briggs. "That's what he was about to say. Couldn't we just do what we did last time and bait the fighters out and sneak an X90S inside before we send in the troops?"
"It would be ideal, Captain. The invisible craft would allow us the freedom to scout the best possible way to force soldiers in without aimlessly pointing in one direction and shouting go. But there's always one thing you two seem to forget in this game: Command. They have the final say."
Porter shuddered. "We took out two ships last time, proving success to them. Surely that has to mean something?"
"The nuclear missions were a fluke at best. Command also worked that little situation out, so they are not taking such a risk this time. It's all or nothing."
Porter shook his head. "Why do they need this ship so badly? Its destruction should be the better outcome than keeping it alive and operational."
"You already know the answer to your question, Captain. That vessel will contain more intelligence than over 100 years of continuous observation of these aliens ever could. Our experts are ready and waiting to gain access to the very things that will help us defeat the Zeal on Earth. We can't waste the opportunity."
"It'll cost us," Porter said. "We'll be lucky to live through this. So do me a favor and remind yourself that I was right when it all goes to hell." He went to leave the control room.
"Did I dismiss you, Captain?"
He stopped for a moment and faced her. "No, ma'am. How can I be of assistance?"
She walked up to him, keeping her eyes glued to his until they were within each other's breathing space. "Fall in line, Captain. Don't make me throw you back in the brig. One less pilot won't make a difference to this mission."
Porter held her stare, not flinching for a single moment. "Yes, ma'am," he said.
"Dismissed," Garcia said. "You too, Briggs. Both of you, get the hell out of my sight."
The pair left the control room, leaving Cannon behind to pick up Garcia's pieces.
Briggs nudged Porter in the side with a smile and said, "Congratulations, Captain. You just pissed off the commodore again."
"Wouldn't be a normal day on this ship if I didn't piss someone off. Come on, let's get back to training. In three days, we might both be dead if Command and Garcia have anything to do with it."
They headed for their refueled Stalkers and suited up again to train for another six hours. There wasn't enough time in the world to prepare them for the coming hell.
Chapter Eight
Teve woke up in the morning when two guards bashed on his door. Each knock rattled around in his head, adding pressure to his migraine. He glanced up to the corporals. Neither one was Dorsey, leaving him to wonder if the note had existed or if it was just a cruel trick his mind decided to play on him. All he could do was put some faith in the event and wait for the next thing to happen.
"On your feet, Sergeant," one of the guards said.
Teve complied, standing up and stretching out his long frame in the process. The two guards entered and approached, sticks raised.
"Won't be necessary today, guys. I'm feeling rather cooperative for once." Two stun batons got shoved into his belly, sending him to the ground in a heap. Teve let out a muffled shriek as he clutched at his stomach. "Assholes. What the hell?"
The pair followed up their unnecessary attack with another barrage of electric shocks, forcing Teve to twitch and kick about the floor. He didn't dish out any more insults, not wanting a third blast.
"That's enough," Hoang said through his biohazard suit as he entered the room. "We still need him alive if you are quite done punishing the man for daring to speak." The doctor stepped in and took a seat on Teve's bed as if to check the springiness of the mattress.
"Can I help you?" Teve mumbled through the pain in his chest and stomach.
"Just taking it in, Sergeant. So, do you remember our session yesterday?"
Teve shook his head. "I'm a little hazy on the part where you injected me with whatever that shit was. I had the usual nightmare—only this time it was like a focus group had determined the best way to haunt my dreams before I fell asleep. Then I woke up in
my bed covered in sweat."
Hoang nodded as he pursed his lips as if to say "Fair enough." He stood from the bed and offered a helping hand.
Teve stared at the gesture and knew he had to accept the offer to avoid another jolt of pain. The doctor most likely told the guards to shock him twice to soften him up for direct contact. Images of snapping the doctor's neck entered his mind.
"On your feet," Hoang said, pulling Teve up. "I must show you some results from yesterday's test. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised." He walked toward the exit, shoving through his guards, stopping after a few steps to glance back at Teve. "Well, come on. We don't have all day."
With a shuffle, Teve moved along, following the doctor while the two corporals stalked his every move, sticks ready. Without the electric shocks coursing through his system, he'd be able to take the guards out with a few quick strikes. He fantasized about ripping their masks off and spitting in their faces, subjecting them to the so-called Zeal virus. The thought sent a smile to the corner of his mouth as he shook his lowered head.
"Something interesting?" Hoang asked.
"Nothing you need to worry about," Teve replied. The doctor grumbled under his breath, possibly not happy that his patient could keep his thoughts to himself. Teve took the belief as a small victory, taking solace in the fact the Hoang couldn't control every part of his existence.
The group strolled down toward one of the test areas. Teve let out a silent breath of relief not having to go to the lab again. He had no idea what happened after the needle was administered the day before. He had lost countless hours of time to the unknown drug and was starting to worry what the doctor did to him during the long blackout.
"Right this way, Sergeant," Hoang said. For some reason, the doctor insisted upon using Teve's military title despite assuring him he was no longer a soldier of the UEF. All Teve had to go on was the rank each guard held in the facility, leaving him to believe the higher-ups knew of the building's existence. He only hoped it was a select few and not the entire UEF network, otherwise he might as well leave all hope of escape at the door.