moment. As one soldier found himself gutted by whatever ultra thin blade the defenders used at close range, another tried to fire in the assailant's direction. Others flailed about, trying to strike their invisible prey as they came near with the butts of their rifles. Still more attempted to back away, get themselves anchored to a wall so they wouldn't be struck from behind.
'Oh my God,' uttered Private Spence.
'What's wrong Major? Press ahead! We'll take them down there if we can get enough people in the hall! Don't give them room to move!' shouted Commander DeHansen through the command comm.
“Just trying to find the advantage,” Cumberland replied.
“I said get in-“
“Let me think! I’m not wasting my people, I’ve lost enough today!” He flicked his visor open, overtaken by the need to breathe air that wasn’t recycled inside his suit. The idea struck him then, and he hoped it would work. Cumberland pulled the bladder that carried his water off and tossed it on the ground in front of him. He set his rifle to emit only heat in a wide beam, focused the weapon on the large pouch and fired.
The water came to a boil in less than twenty seconds and the drinking tube came loose, filling the hall ahead with steam.
'There!' Screeched Private Baram. She was one of his best soldiers, and a good shot as she demonstrated as she opened fire on the shape in the steam. The figure took several direct hits before disappearing further down the hall.
'Gimmie a minute, I'll rig a few charges.' Spence said from behind. He hurriedly crouched down and cut a fallen soldier's water sac loose, careful not to puncture it.
'Everyone, hurry, before we lose the steam,' Major Cumberland said as he took the bladder from the soldier who had once been put in point position.
He had proven even more useless after seeing the shape in the steam, and was actually cowering. 'They're invisible? They can be anywhere!' he quivered.
Cumberland tossed the bag down a meter away and heated it to boiling like the last. The tube attachment was too new, however, and it simply expanded. He flicked it with his boot and the piping burst. The hall started to fill with steam all around them, the humidity was almost welcome, he'd been sealed in his armour for so long.
'Sarge!' Called Baram.
He turned just in time to see a shape lunging towards him. His rifle butt came up to deflect the incoming blade. The reaction was purely instinct, there was no time for thought. He could barely make out the shape of his attacker, but before he completely lost him he swept for where he thought his legs ought to be. A disturbance in the steam told him that his assailant had fallen and three of his people fired on the empty space.
After a few seconds of constant fire the familiar uniform of the defenders appeared, silver skull marked on the left side of her chest with the word Triton written where the death head's teeth would be. The woman's uniform had breached, and she'd taken several direct hits to the chest and stomach. The blade she'd intended to use rolled out of her hand and the blackened visor covering her hooded face swept upward.
Breathing was a gurgling labour for the young woman as she looked Cumberland in the eye. Her mouth worked to say something and he bent down, wary of a trick. 'N-never surrender,' she managed. A fierceness came over her, as though her pale blue eyes were set ablaze for a moment as she wheezed; ' Triton!'
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, as though she was gripped by a series of failed, retching coughs before her eyes stared somewhere past him and glazed over. These people, this ship. It all measures up to the legend of Earth, to their tenacity and loyalty. No wonder it has cost us so many. But out here? How did they end up so far away from the Sol System? He thought. If the intelligence they've given us is right, and this is a stolen vessel, then it's got to be in the water. Then again, maybe it is Valance. The hero of Enreega. Major Cumberland straightened and looked around. The steam was dissipating, his people were frozen to the spot, waiting with water bladders in hand for an order. He could almost see the morale draining out of them by the second. 'Pass the word, their suits can't compensate for water vapour,' he ordered as he slapped his visor closed.
Two more bags were thrown between Major Cumberland and the melee as they closed the distance. They caught sight of at least two retreating forms as they rushed to join the main fight, where steam filled the air. They were fighting shadows in the mist.
They joined the main fray in time to glimpse disturbances in the air, retreating shadows that moved too fast or were too well shielded to be caught by the few rounds that struck them. There were twenty nine soldiers left from a group of over fifty just some minutes ago, and listening to the chatter, looking at the tactical feed, he knew there were no more reinforcements to be had. He was the ranking officer on that deck, and there was a decision to be made, one that could cost everyone their lives, or win the engagement outright. He took one of the improvised steam grenades, really only an adjusted thermal grenade strapped to a water sac, and tossed it into the hole blown through the main entrance to the lower bridge. A few seconds later it had heated the bag and steam burst through the improvised door.
'Forward!' He barked harshly.
The soldiers who had been stationed there, weary as they were, seemed reinvigorated and reassured at the very thought that if someone were coming through that door in a cloaksuit, they would be able to see an indication of it in the thick steam. The instant they came around the corner they opened fire.
'Avoid shooting the consoles!' Major Cumberland shouted as what was left of the second incursion unit rushed the door.
Several enemy crewmen were shot down in the first few seconds, but by the time Cumberland and Spence stepped into the breach and tossed two more steam charges, they had the whole room lit up with pulse rounds. It was cover fire for the most part, but as the pair of grenades went off further into the flight deck, they found targets. There were people in cloaksuits diving for cover. The flashing light and steam revealed their movement through it on their targeting reticule’s thermal sensors as well as to the naked eye.
The word had been passed along to the upper deck, and steam was beginning to roll in from the entrance above, the flashing lights and mist made for an eerie scene that was soon grisly. As they felled several enemy troops, they too lost people.
Major Cumberland barely had time to raise an arm as he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He was nearly knocked senseless by a fist as hard as granite and as unyielding as a bulkhead door. His helmet cracked, his cheek mashed into his teeth, drawing blood, and he was driven to his knees.
His rifle was ripped out of his hands and he was dragged backwards, into the hallway where the steam was dissipating. In a desperate move he drew his service pistol and fired over his shoulder as fast as he could. A great shadow appeared overhead, only this time it was real, tangible. His opponent staggered back. His armour was almost as impressive as the man. Flexible horizontal bands of metal covered him from head to toe, maintaining some kind of failing shield that made the edges of the emitters glow red. The man wearing it was massive for a human. Thick arms, legs that were like pillars, shoulders that could carry two grown men and a height over two meters. His hood withdrew into the armour's shoulders to reveal a fair haired man with a broad face and strong jaw. He was smiling, despite the trickle of blood escaping from the corner of his mouth.
With the last of his strength he slowly raised an arm with six slashes on its cuff and pointed at Cumberland. 'What are you fighting for?' he asked between laboured breaths.
Cumberland didn't have a ready answer, not one he'd present to a dying man. “Duty,” was the only word he could offer, and it felt weak in the air between them.
'My crew, my home,' the man laboured. His chest heaved, filling the hall with the sounds of his gurgling. He was drowning in his own blood.
Cumberland set his sidearm to its highest setting, and by the time he levelled it at the opposing soldier's head his breathing had stopped. He was dead.
The sounds of the fire fight on the bridge quieted. It was over.
'Any prisoners?' he asked over the comm.
'None. They wouldn't surrender.'
He didn't say it aloud, he wouldn't dare, but he couldn't help but think that the wrong people had won. Major Cumberland leaned forward and gently closed his enemies’ eyes, taking note of the name written on the inside of his collar, McPatrick.
