Last Man Out (Poor Man's Fight Book 5)

by Elliott Kay

  “Pair up! Pair up!” shouted Dylan. She was only a few steps away, covered in ashen sand and standing over a fallen sentinel to attest to her own trouble. Whatever else she yelled was drowned out by the loud crack of a Regent’s laser nearby. Dylan followed her own advice and got back-to-back with Juntasa.

  The roar of a Hailstormer proved even louder than the Regent’s blaster. On his feet and firing on full auto, Sanders poured a solid stream of bullets into the stone man at the other side of the fight. Even with the weapon going hard, Sanders kept it steady with one hand on the trigger and the other on the side grip short of the barrel. Sparks and broken armor flew off the Regent under the gunner’s assault.

  It couldn’t be the only Regent. Tanner didn’t have to look far for the other one. It came at Sanders from behind, grabbing him with both hands to lift him overhead with ease. “Shit!” the gunner yelped.

  His body blocked a clean shot at the Regent’s face. On instinct, Tanner rushed forward with his Diamondback held out across his body. He dove at the Regent’s leg, driving the weapon into the bend in its backward knee. The ploy worked, bringing all three of them down in the sands. A painful cry from Sanders quickly turned to angry swearing.

  Tanner lost his Diamondback in the tangle. He frantically patted himself for usable weapons as rose, getting to his knees and turned halfway around before his fingers found the hilt of his knife. It never occurred to him to go for something else. Not with the Regent turning over in the sand. Tanner lunged for the Regent’s head to stab his laser-heated knife into the red gap in the face of his enemy.

  Whatever lay behind the stone-like armor collapsed under Tanner’s blade. It felt like smashing through layers of glass. Even with the insulation of his glove and his sleeves, he could feel a powerful heat inside. The Regent stiffened and collapsed. Beside it, Tanner found Sanders sitting up once again.

  The gunner clutched at his foot in red-faced pain. Despite his injury, Sanders acknowledged Tanner with a nod when their eyes met. Tanner barely nodded back before looking for his weapon.

  The back end of the Diamondback stuck out of the sand. Tanner snatched it up and turned to face the canyon. He was still at the outer edge of the fight. At the other end of the battle, Andrade brought his airburster to bear on two Minoan sentinels braced behind their shields. An electric charge too fast to see shot from Andrade’s weapon, collapsing the air between it and his target. The resultant concussion against a Minoan shield sent both sentinels tumbling backward off the ridge.

  Tanner spotted Voligny, shooting like the rest until a yellow blast caught her in the chest. She fell in a smoking heap. Clayton stepped over her body, riot gun booming as she brought down Voligny’s killer. She couldn’t get past the protection of his shield and armor, but she didn’t need to. Choking gas erupted from each shot as they struck, leaving the sentinel in a white cloud that drove him to his knees. A burst from Dylan’s assault rifle finished him off. As soon as he fell, Dylan turned to find another target.

  Nothing else presented itself. “They can’t have been alone,” said Dylan. “There have to be more. Gotta—down!” she barked, but the red beam of a Regent’s laser was already on them. It cut through a mercenary only steps away from her, flashing from all the way across the canyon. Everyone hit the dirt.

  “They’re holding both ends of the canyon,” warned Tanner.

  “Yeah, I got that!” snapped Dylan. “Juntasa?”

  “I see ‘em,” said her partner. The other woman already had a short, tube-shaped weapon over her shoulder. “Target: ridgeline, full spread,” she ordered the targeting program. Her weapon thumped with the launch of a missile. Within the blink of an eye, a ball of fire exploded on the other end of the chasm. “Got ‘em.”

  Nothing else threatened them. The awful scent of sudden and ugly deaths drifted along on the breeze. Ashes still fell from the sky. None of it brought immediate harm to the survivors. Tanner counted five men and women with him on the ridge. Everyone else was down.

  He didn’t count the rest, but the comparisons were plain. Even after the Vanguards blew, the team had the Minoans outnumbered at the start of the fight. Now they were only six. He could see everyone else come to the same conclusion as they looked around.

  “Sound off,” said Dylan. “Can everyone move?”

  “I’m good,” said Juntasa.

  “Fine,” put in Andrade. Clayton merely grunted.

  “My ankle is fucked,” said Sanders through gritted teeth. “I don’t think I can walk on it. Even with drugs.”

  “God damn it, they took out the whole other squad and cut ours in half,” said Clayton. “Our air support is gone. What the hell do we do now?”

  Tanner was already walking past her. He tapped the side of his helmet to cycle through the optics on the visor. “We keep going.”

  “You said you needed a squad. We’re half that,” Clayton replied.

  “We don’t have a choice,” Dylan shot back. “Either we fight now or we fight when they get around to us on their terms. You saw how well it goes when they have the initiative.”

  “How the hell do I even get down to the door?” Sanders asked. “Or are you planning to leave me here?”

  “We’re not leaving anyone. We’re not climbing down to the door, either.” Tanner pointed to the other end of the canyon. “It’s a klick and a half straight ahead. Longer since we’ve gotta go around, but we can make it.”

  “The hell?” Clayton blinked. “The door is right down here.”

  “Yeah, and our way in is that way.” Tanner stripped a bandoleer of grenades from one of the fallen. “Sanders doesn’t need his ankle to shoot. Somebody help me with him. Everyone else grab a shield. We’re not done yet.”

  * * *

  “Union Fleet. We’re here to help.” Ravenell banged on the door again. “Is anyone here?”

  “Union Fleet?” Collins scowled. His face was barely visible by virtue of the emergency light tracks in the darkened hallway. “I dunno how you can lead with that.”

  “Man, rich people live in these apartments,” Ravenell replied softly. “If we tell ‘em we’re from Archangel, they’ll figure we’re here to rob the place.” He banged on the sliding door again. “Fleet Marines! We’re here to help!”

  “Hold on,” came a muffled voice. “This door slides and power is dead. I have to use the hand crank. It’s here somewhere.”

  “See? Powered door,” Ravenell whispered to Collins. “Doesn’t even know where the hand crank is. Probably never been in a blackout in his life. Real man of the people here.”

  “Wasn’t your aunt the governor of Gabriel?”

  “She knew what to do if the power went out.”

  “Oh my god. Go check on your squad or something,” Collins grumbled.

  “Check yours. My guys are right there.” Ravenell jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Second squad was scattered along the dark hallway, guiding frightened civilians out of their apartments and down to the stairs. More than one carried a child in one arm and their rifle in the other.

  “You’re only saying that ‘cause mine are downstairs,” Collins said with feigned hurt.

  “Okay, I think I got it,” announced the muffled voice on the other side. “One second.”

  Thumping footsteps approached them. “Hey, Rav. Looks like that’s everyone except for you guys,” reported Private Griffith. She frowned reflexively at the grainy squeak from the door. “What the hell is that?”

  “Hand crank,” said Ravenell.

  “The captain’s gonna bite your head off if he hears your guys calling you Rav instead of your rank,” said Collins.

  “Yeah, and they know not to do it in front of the captain. Hang on,” he said. As soon as he saw the door open more than a crack, Ravenell stuck his gloved hands through the gap to push. “Griffith, gimme a hand?”

  “Sure,” she said, slipping in behind him. With a shared grunt, they pushed the door halfway open to a home even darker than the hallway.

&n
bsp; “Oh,” mumbled the man on the other side. He wore little more than slacks and a loose shirt, but at least he’d gotten dressed when disaster struck.

  “Sir, we’re with the Archangel Navy on a Union Fleet task force,” Collins explained, leaning in past Ravenell and Griffith. “We’re clearing everyone out to a safer place. Is your family here? Are you alone?”

  “N-no. I mean yes, my family is here. What’s going on? Who is fighting?”

  “It’s aliens, sir. They’re human-shaped, but they’re aliens. We don’t have time to get into it. Is your family ready to move?”

  “Frank?” asked a voice behind the man. A woman ventured out of the shadows. “Who is it?”

  “Archangel marines, ma’am,” Collins answered. “We need to get your family out of here. I’ll ask you to grab everyone’s shoes and a coat if you’ve got ‘em and let’s go.” A red flash lit up the apartment for the blink of an eye, accompanied by a loud crack and boom nearby. Collins tilted his head. “Sir, ma’am, could we come inside to use your window?”

  “S-sure,” stammered the man. Behind him, the woman was already gone, calling out someone’s name in soft tones. “I should get my… oh hell…” He wandered off.

  Collins looked back to find Ravenell and Griffith watching with the same frown. “You’re awfully polite for a marine in a warzone,” said Griffith.

  “These people are scared outta their minds watching their city get shot up,” said Collins. “Being rude to ‘em won’t make it any better.”

  Rolling his eyes, Ravenell crossed the dark apartment. It was about as nice as he expected: luxury furniture, a full holo-entertainment center in the living room, artwork on the walls. His boots hardly made a sound against the carpet. Even the air smelled expensive, like pine trees.

  The apartment sat on the tenth floor at the corner of the building. The window on the north side overlooked dark city streets under an even darker skyline. A low shelf of knickknacks and printed books sat in front of the west window, where the streets grew a bit wider and the buildings taller amid the corporate core.

  Another sharp laser flash lit up the night, destroying something else a block or two away. Ravenell noted the elevation of the blast from one of the largest towers. It was only a few floors below one of the big craters in the tower’s side.

  “You catch that?” asked Collins.

  “Yeah, I’ve got him,” said Ravenell.

  “Where are we going?” asked one of the residents. She handed off a toddler to her apparent husband, who already had a carrying case for data chips under his arm. “How far?”

  “Only a couple blocks to the courthouse,” answered Ravenell. “It’s sturdier and lower. Plenty of room for people in the basement levels. You’re safer there.”

  “What about the cat?” asked her husband. He looked as if he already knew they’d say no.

  “Orders said no pets,” answered Griffith.

  “Hell with that, take the cat,” said Ravenell. “Do you have a carrier? Where’s the food? I’ll help.” He handed his rifle off to Collins. “Where is it?”

  Griffith and Collins watched in shock as Ravenell hustled through the dark apartment to help get everything together. He even held the carrier as the husband struggled to get their calico inside. “You got anything to calm her down?” asked Ravenell.

  “There’s a scent-based sedative inside the carrier,” said the wife. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Huh. Nice. Okay, you’ve gotta go.” Ravenell handed the carrier off to her. “Private Griffith will show you the way. Griffith, this cat is family. You got me?”

  “Yeah. But they said—”

  “If anyone gives you shit, you look them in the eye and tell them this cat is family. If that doesn’t work, ask them if they want to talk to me about it, and I don’t care if it’s the captain. But I doubt it’ll get that far. We’re not monsters. Go.” He moved over to Collins at the window to reclaim his rifle, pulling the barrel extension and stabilizer from their mount on the back of his shoulder.

  The woman hesitated. Her husband caught on before he was through the door with their child in his arms. “You’re not staying here, are you?”

  Ravenell and Collins looked to one another. “Nah, no,” they answered innocently. “Only need to look out your window for a second,” Collins added. “Good view up here. We’re right behind you.”

  The residents left with Griffith. The two marines looked to one another, shrugged, and turned to the window again, crouching behind the bookshelf. Ravenell assembled the extra gear for his rifle, replacing the standard extended magazine with a magazine of shorter, bulkier long-distance rounds.

  “Family, huh?” Collins asked.

  “You never had a pet?”

  “I lived on an asteroid. There were maybe two dogs on the whole rock.”

  “Animals shouldn’t have to suffer through all this bullshit any more than people,” said Ravenell. “Get the window?”

  Collins smashed out the glass with the butt of his weapon. He crouched back down to stare at the tower. “Gotta be a whole klick away,” he said.

  “Little under a klick and a half with the elevation,” Ravenell replied, poking the rifle through the gap in the glass. He pulled the faceplate of his helmet down. “Yeah, the rangefinder confirms it. Not even close to a record shot.”

  Another red beam flashed from the tower, cutting into something behind the buildings in the foreground. “That was him again,” said Collins.

  “You’re a real helper.” Corrected crosshairs lined up on Ravenell’s faceplate lens rather than his weapon.

  “I’m spotting.”

  “That’s not how spotting works.”

  “Shut up. I’ve been a sergeant longer than you. I know better.”

  “That’s not…” Ravenell sighed. Sensors began to correct for wind, but he turned them off. He couldn’t trust them with everything the ash in the air did to their systems. “Okay, that is how sergeanting works.”

  “Sergeanting?”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “I used that one already.”

  Ravenell let it drop in favor of the task at hand. Red light moved behind one of the broken windows of the tower. He caught exactly enough shadow around it to get an outline. As the light grew brighter, Ravenell squeezed his trigger.

  One second later, sparks flew from his target. The light jerked away as the enemy’s head snapped to one side. “Nice,” grunted Collins.

  Then the light returned, joined by another of equal intensity. Despite every difficulty of darkness and distance and all the rest, both young men knew exactly where the enemy looked. “Not nice,” said Collins. He grabbed Ravenell by the shoulders and threw himself to the floor.

  Lasers cut through the apartment window, blazing a path through the bookshelf, the knickknacks, the carpet, and the kitchen island. Glass and plaster burst under the sudden heat.

  “I thought I got him,” growled Ravenell, rolling back up to his knees. He hit the selector on his rifle and the field option on his helmet. Blue lines appeared in his field of vision, along with a small guidance arrow he didn’t need.

  “You did hit him,” said Collins.

  Ravenell returned to the window. The viewfinder on his optical display turned to yellow as he came into the same general direction and field as before, then blinked as he brought his rifle up again. The guidance system cut down the time it took to return to his previous view, bringing his weapon to bear against his enemy in seconds.

  This time he saw both red lights right away. He pulled the trigger again, releasing a slow but steady burst of rounds. He wasn’t alone this time, either. Collins fired over his shoulder to back him up using the same targeting data. Not every bullet hit. Some struck windows or framing. Others disappeared into the darkness of the room. A few hit home.

  A stone man tumbled out of the window. The other fell backward with smoke and bits of its carapace flying from its body.

  “Think he’s dead?” asked Collins.


  “I thought so the first time. I fucking hate working with bullets.”

  Collins watched while Ravenell reloaded. “Nothing moving in there. Can’t see that light anymore, either. Think we got ‘im.”

  “We’d better move,” said Ravenell. He stood away from the shattered windowsill and began returning his rifle to normal. “See, this is why you take the cat when you have to evacuate. Screw what the orders say. I’m not leaving a cat or a dog in this.”

  “Wait, wait,” said Collins. He looked down through the other window. “Somebody’s coming up from the block. Leapfrogging for cover. We didn’t send anyone that direction.”

  Ravenell looked over his shoulder. At first, it was only a couple of figures in the shadows. Then he saw more. The two up front were only the point men. “Is that First Platoon?”

  They hauled ass for the first floor. Only a few others remained in the building to wait for Ravenell and Collins. By the time they made it down, the civilians were cleared out. A short run through dark streets strewn with ash and rubble let them catch up easily enough. The sounds of danger were never far away.

  The courthouse stood as quiet and unwelcoming as every other building in the district until they passed the marines guarding the doors. In the lobby, they found considerably more life—though some of that life lay on antigrav lifters stolen from some truck.

  Tension and dread tightened every muscle from Ravenell’s shoulders to his neck until he heard the voice giving a report. He could only imagine how much relief his companion felt at the sight of her. Even if she gave bad news, at least she was still alive to give it.

  “The shuttle might limp at best,” said Alicia. She stood with Janeka near a broad reception desk. Several other marines listened as they looked over one of the men lying on a lifter. “We made sure the systems were locked down. It’s not going anywhere.”

  “No, but I’m sure it’s ripe for looting,” said the lieutenant standing beside her. Kilmeade had his arms folded across his chest, though he dropped them in a fidgeting move as others looked back at him.