Hudson’s grip on the call button slipped from the sweat and blood on his fingers, so he grabbed the device with both hands to respond. “We’ve got men down on the bridge. I repeat, we have casualties on the bridge!”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Hudson? What happened to Bishop?”
“He’s dead. Rizzo’s dead too. They’re both dead.”
“Fuck me running...” It only took a moment for Apone to get control of himself. “What happened, Hudson?”
“I don’t...I don’t know. They were dead when I got here, but the bodies are still warm.”
“How did they die, son? Did you see anything?”
Hudson’s eyes couldn’t look away from the hole in Bishop’s throat. “Small arms fire, one shot.”
“And you didn’t hear anything?”
“No...Negative.”
Apone turned his attention from Hudson to the rest of the team. “Alright, ladies. We’ve got company. You know what that means. You are weapons free and authorized to fire at will. You see anybody on this boat you don’t recognize, you send them to hell. You read me?”
A chorus of macho affirmatives came over the radio, but Hudson couldn’t bring himself to answer. Maybe Apone noticed, because he tried to couch his next words in a confident but comforting tone.
“Ok. Hudson. I want you to secure the bridge and restart the engines. The navigation system will take over while we get the fucking rats off this ship. Are you ok with that, son?”
Hudson felt his head shaking. His fingers twitched so much he could hardly work the radio. “Sir. I don’t know how to turn on the engines. I don’t know how to steer a boat.”
“Oh for the love of...Vasquez, link up with Hudson and get us going please. I don’t want to be a sitting duck out here. We’re going to finish this mission and we are going to finish it on time.”
Vasquez didn’t answer.
The air went out of the group’s collective gung ho attitude. Apone lost his air of superiority. “Vasquez? What’s your status? Marianna?”
Hudson listened to the dead air. His heart pounded like a jackhammer. His eyes bounced around in his head, looking for threats everywhere. HIs mind raced back to Afghanistan. He remembered feeling secure on patrol because he knew other support elements were there to help. HIs team needed support now. Hudson blinked sweat from his eyes as he talked into the radio.
“Sarge, do you want me to send out a distress signal? I can jump on the radio and…”
“Shut up rookie. What makes you think we have time to wait for help in the middle of the fucking ocean? And how are you going to explain the slaves down below, huh? You want to rot in a Yemeni jail? I sure don’t. So we’re going to put our big boy pants on and handle this ourselves. You hear me?”
Hudson shook his head. “Yes, sarge.”
“Alright then. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Gorman and Burke, I want you to sweep the main cabin and link up with Hudson on the bridge. I’m going below to handle the girls. Ripley, meet me down there. Hudson, I want you to secure the bridge and provide over watch for the team heading your way. You see anybody, if you even think you see somebody. You fucking waste them. It’s time to earn your pay, boy. You ready?”
Hudson could feel tears forming in the corner of his eye. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter Three: Divide and Conquer
Hudson felt all his senses expand in all directions. He heard heavy breathing in every breeze coming off the water. He saw movement in every shadow and he felt fear crawling along his skin. He stopped breathing in a desperate attempt to hear better and avoid attracting attention. But there was no one with him besides the corpses of Bishop and Gorman. Hudson crouched in the open doorway of the bridge and tried to imagine what they were facing.
The scene played itself out in his head. Whoever invaded the Nostromo slipped onto the ship after he went to the head. They surprised Hicks and tossed him into the ocean. Maybe they slit his throat first to make sure he didn’t scream. By the time Hudson got back to his position, they’d already reached the bridge. Bishop kept the door unlocked. Life on the Nostromo had been laid back for both the mercenaries and the crew. Everyone got along and everyone did their job. Bishop had no reason to lock himself on the bridge. He thought the seven armed men and miles of ocean could keep him safe. Now the last of his blood trickled out of the hole in his neck…
Hudson looked away from the corpse to refocus his attention on what happened. The door had been blocked when he got there. Whoever came in couldn’t have wedged the body against the door and then left the bridge the same way. Maybe he never left. Maybe he was still on the bridge.
Hudson whirled around with a gasp, expecting to see a killer standing behind him. But he stood alone in the room, except for the dead bodies. He did see the hatch leading below decks. The door sat open, taunting him like a hole to hell. Hudson kicked the door closed and secured the lock. He began to understand how the killers thought and moved. The next step lay in anticipating what they would do next and beating them to the punch.
Vasquez had been assigned to guard the engine room. She would have come from below decks. Her path put her in direct contact with the killers. How many were there? Did she get a chance to see them? She didn’t get to fire a shot. Everyone would have heard it. No, Vasquez died in the dark without ever seeing the face of her killers.
But how many of them were on the boat? Was it a whole fire team? Was it the SEALs? Hudson met a couple of those guys on his tour. They thought they could go anywhere, do anything and take on anybody. Maybe they invaded the Nostromo. But why? Was it for the girls? Why would the Navy send its best badasses to rescue a set of girls? Who were they?
A flicker of light flashed in Hudson’s peripheral vision, ending his speculation. He shifted in his crouch and adjusted his grip on his MP5. The light became a steady beam on the far end of the main cabin. Then another flashlight appeared on the opposite site. Hudson made out the silhouettes of Gorman and Burke. They scanned their surroundings with professionalism and purpose. With their weapons held in a ready position on their shoulders, they took measured and cautious steps in the darkness towards him.
About twenty feet separated the two operators. They split the room in half so they could cover every corner with gunfire. Hudson brought his own stock up to his shoulder, ready to provide cover and cut down anyone unlucky enough to be in the crossfire. SEAL team or not, they weren’t immune to bullets. Hudson took a deep breath and prepared himself for contact.
What Hudson saw next had to be an optical illusion, or a trick of his overstressed mind. Burke slid behind one of the big redwood support pillars halfway between the aft and the bridge. Gorman scanned his light behind a leather sofa on the opposite side. The two men moved in a synchronized parallel pattern. Their cadence was designed to prevent anyone slipping past them. Gorman completed his sweep and continued on his path to Hudson. Burke didn’t move with him. He never emerged from behind the pillar. Burke vanished into the darkness.
The feeling drained out of Hudson’s fingers. His lip started to tremble. He wanted to fire, but he didn’t know where to shoot. He didn’t want to hit Burke, but part of him knew it was too late to worry about that. If he didn’t do something, it would be too late for him too. He tried to wave his arm to Gorman, to get his attention without making noise. Hudson wanted to believe they could work together and triangulate fire on the right target.
Gorman already knew what to do. He spun on the balls of his feet, oriented his barrel to Burke’s last position, and collapsed like a house of cards.
Hudson thought he heard two sharp snaps cut through the silence before Gorman dropped. He might have seen the head snap back and brain explode from the back of his head, but everything moved too fast. Hudson slammed shut the hatch, locked it and cowered in the corner as if he’d seen a monster.
But it was worse than a monster. He didn’t see anything. Men just kept dying around him. Tough, experienced, well-armed operators disappeared or
dropped without warning. There was no one to fight against and no one to shoot. It felt just like those long gun battles he lived through in the mountains, but those enemies had been far away. These enemies sat in the same room. They were close enough to touch you without being seen or heard. Hudson imagined them creeping towards the bridge. He thought about unlocking the hatch and running below, but what good would that do? His eyes caught sight of the radio and knew it was his only chance. He reached for it, forgetting about Apone and explaining the slaves and everything except finding a way off this boat and getting back to Sam.
Apone’s hiss over the radio stopped his hand in mid-motion.
Chapter Four: Element of Surprise
“Ripley? Burke? Gorman? Report!”
“They’re gone.” Hudson heard the despair in his own voice. The sound made him weak. “They’re all gone, man. We’re fucked.”
“Hudson? Where the fuck are you?”
“I’m fucked, Apone. Just like you.”
“Secure your shit, rookie. We can handle this…”
“Haven’t you been paying attention? All your men are gone. Your ship is dead in the water. They’re still out there somewhere. It’s over. We have to send out an SOS. We have to get help.”
“You listen to me, you little shit! You are not going to give up on me. You’re in my squad and this is my ship. You are going to get on your feet and make your way to the state room. I’ll meet you halfway and we’ll catch this son of a bitch between us and…”
“You don’t fucking get it, do you? The team on your fucking boat wiped out everyone but us. What makes you think we can...?”
“It’s not a team, you stupid ass. If it was a team they would have hit us from all sides at once, shock and awe with no chance to retaliate. He’s picking us off one by one because there’s only one man out there, maybe two. We catch him in a vice between us and…”
The memory of Burke and Gorman trying to out maneuver their killer brought tears to Hudson’s eyes as he shook his head. “Only one man? Only? No. Fuck that. Fuck you. I’m getting on the radio. I’m calling for help. I’m not going out there to die with you.”
Apone went into another tirade, but Hudson couldn’t hear what he said. His ranting became just another noise competing with the pounding in his chest, the roar of blood in his ears and the raspy wheezing of his breath. This was a special kind of fear. He felt it during his first firefight in Jalalabad. But now he was alone. He wouldn’t survive like this. He had to get help. He didn’t think about the sheik, or slaves, or a prison. He just picked up the receiver of the ship’s radio and felt it fall apart in his hands.
Hudson’s eyes went wide as the cable connecting the receiver to the radio dangled like a noose in his clenched fist. The cable didn’t connect the receiver to the radio anymore. Someone cut it. The same someone who cut down everyone on the ship. Hudson threw the useless piece of plastic across the room with a curse. A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach and threatened to explode from his mouth. Hudson gripped the edge of the console to steady himself. Then the noise from Apone’s voice stopped short. Silence replaced the screams. Hudson knew Apone was dead and he was alone.
Tears fell from his eyes when he realized he would never see Samantha again. At least he got to talk to her one last time and hear her smile over the phone. He said ‘I love you’ and he got to hear her say it too. Why not call her now? What else could be more important? He took out his phone and wiped the blood from the screen with his sleeve. He still had a signal. Why not spend the last few minutes with the one person who made him happy? The image of her smile caused more tears. He wanted to hear her smile again.
But what could he possibly say to her? Could he call her and say he was waiting to die? Would her last memory of him be a tear soaked voice coughing out his last pitiful whimpers before someone put a bullet in the back of his head? Or would they make it last longer and force Sam to listen to him grovel and beg for his life?
No. These men were professionals. They wouldn’t waste time with torture for its own sake. They were probably prepping the girls for extract right now. They’d be down in the state room focusing on their mission. They wouldn’t forget about Hudson, but they saw him bolt the door shut. They knew he was too scared to threaten them. Either they would ignore him and leave him to drift out into the ocean alone, or they’d finish him off in a final sweep before they moved the girls.
Hudson knew how they thought. He met men like them. He served in the same military. He knew what they did to get on board and he knew what they would do to extract. He could use their tactics against them. He could turn the tables and fucking kill them. If Apone was right, there were only two men. They couldn’t free the girls and guard the door at the same time. He could sneak up on them. He could kill them and those bitches they wanted so bad. When their cigarette boat came back for them he could hijack it. He could make the driver take him to shore and then kill him too. He’d have to figure out a way to get back to the real world, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. The important thing now was to attack while he still had the element of surprise.
He put away his phone and worked the slide of his MP5 to ensure a round was loaded. He turned off his flashlight, allowing his eyes to adjust to the faint glow of moonlight coming through the port. He’d be better off with night vision goggles, but he didn’t waste time worrying about what he didn’t have. He unlocked the door to the engine room and slid the barrel of his weapon into the darkness ahead of him. The red emergency lights gave the hold a hellish glow, but Hudson pushed himself down the stairs before fear and doubt made him change his mind.
Chapter Five: Hail Mary
Hudson pressed his back against the bulkhead as soon as his feet hit the bottom of the stairwell ladder. He scanned left and right with the muzzle of his weapon, looking for any type of movement in the shadows. He slid sideways across the wall like a crab, unwilling to expose his back to any potential attack. He raised and lowered the gun to aim at every angle a threat could approach. Hudson forced himself not to run. He forced himself to breathe. He tried to put one foot in front of the other and keep his noise to a minimum.
He recognized the boot sticking out from a shadow in front of him. He wore the same boot a couple of sizes bigger. He stopped to take a long look into Vasquez’s empty eyes. Hudson couldn’t see where she’d been shot, but her corpse lay in a wide pool of blood. He stepped around her to avoid leaving a trail of bloody footprints, then he remembered how much blood he walked through on the bridge. Anyone following behind him with a light would know exactly where he was headed. Well, he couldn’t change that now, so he didn’t try. He pressed on another twenty feet with his back to the wall before he reached the stairwell leading up to the stateroom.
Ripley lay face down at the bottom of the stairs. Two neat holes in the base of her spine and behind her heart bloomed with an aura of wet black. Her rifle, like Vasquez’s, sat by her side. Whoever killed her didn’t see the need to take their guns. What would be the point? He, or they, had suppressed weapons, probably custom jobs they fired day in and day out and knew as well as they knew themselves. They came up behind their victims and fired two slugs at point blank range. Ripley and Vasquez died without feeling it or even knowing it was happening. Hudson wanted the killers to die the same way. He wasn’t going to let his squad go down like a group of amateurs. They brought him into their group. They welcomed him and took care of him. He wasn’t going to just let them die in the shadows. Hudson crept up the carpeted stairwell to the dimly lit corridor outside the stateroom.
The door to the plush bedroom was held open by Apone’s corpse. He sat at an odd angle, his head and neck wedged near the door frame in a painful position. But Sarge didn’t feel any pain anymore. His eyes bulged out of his head in the same angry grimace Hudson came to hate, but he didn’t have a nose or mouth to complete the facial expression. The bottom part of his face exploded onto the carpet when the killer got behind him and put a bullet i
n the back of his neck. Hudson always wanted a way to shut Apone’s mouth. He missed the growling voice now. He needed it to block out the smell of gun smoke and the whimpering in his head.
The confused and helpless cries of the women held inside the bedroom didn’t make sense to Hudson. Why were they still here? And where were the killers who came to free them? No one would board a luxury yacht, kill the crew and the security team, and then abandon ship without the most expensive cargo, right? So where the fuck did they go? Were they on the upper deck looking for him? Did they already find their way into the bridge? Was someone behind him following his bloody footprints? Hudson swung his muzzle back and down the stairs behind him, but no one emerged from the darkness. He couldn’t be sure where the killers were, but they weren’t here.
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