His nerves felt as though they had caught fire and boiling magma pumped through his veins. Screaming in agony, the Terran stumbled backward, exposing himself for the rest of Yen’s insertion team. Opening fire, rounds tore through the thick armor of the soldier. His body danced and jerked as more and more bullets penetrated his body before, in a heap of gore, he fell to the floor. The remaining Terran returned fire, though it seemed weak in comparison. Leaning back around the corner, the team hid safely away from the Terran’s barrage.
Yen’s temples pulsed, sending shockwaves of pain down his neck and radiating through his shoulders. Though the whip had been effective, he felt drained and struggled to maintain his control. As the pain washed over his forehead and took root in the deepest recesses of his brain, the blue tendril flickered before dissipating, as though caught in a strong wind. The dim glow it had offered disappeared and, gratefully, the pressure within Yen’s head eased.
Noticing the furrowed brow and beads of sweat forming on Yen’s brow, Adam approached from the back of the group. “Need me to take care of this last one?” he offered.
Without speaking and afraid to move his head more than a little, Yen nodded gently. He could feel the bile churning in his stomach and was more focused on suppressing his urge to vomit than eliminating the remaining Terran. Smiling, Adam tightened his grip on the top hand guards on his heavy machine gun before stepping around the corner.
Adam knew which alcove the Terran hid behind, though he was unable to see any exposed flesh, as he would have hoped. Moving slightly to his right, Adam knew that it barely mattered where the Terran hid. There was a reason he had brought so large a weapon. As he squeezed the trigger, the jerk of the first round leaving the barrel nearly drove Adam backward. Pressing down on the front grip to keep the barrel from rising too much, Adam poured hundreds of rounds per minute into the thick metal wall. Shreds of metal and the polymer beneath flew into the air, filling the space between Adam and the Terran with a haze of white snow and glistening metal flakes. The armor piercing rounds tore quickly through the remaining corner of the alcove before finding the softer flesh beneath. As a round finally pierced through the metal plating against which the Terran leaned, the wall panel jerked, as the round slammed into the soldier’s shoulder. Ripping through body armor, flesh, and bone alike, the wall beyond him was splashed with streaks of red as the Terran’s arm was nearly torn free of his body. His howls of pain were cut short as a second and third round struck him in the lower back. Shredding internal organs and soft skin, the large caliber rounds shattered the front plates of his body armor as the exiting bullets left massive, gaping holes in the Terran’s stomach. Gurgling softly, he looked down before a final round lifted him from his feet, throwing him head-first into the wall. Crumpling, the Terran slid to the ground without even so much as a twitch as his mind accepted the fact that he was now dead. With a gentle whir, Adam released the trigger, letting the glowing barrel cool in the softly recycled air of the Destroyer’s circulation system.
Yen, his headache receding despite the noise, looked down the hall at the destruction beyond. Blood and gore could be seen just beyond the sheet of falling debris. Large holes scored the wall beyond the decimated alcove. The bodies, or at least what remained of them, were strewn in awkward positions both on top and buried beneath the rubble. Shaking his head and rubbing his ear in an attempt to remove the ringing, Yen smirked.
“Well,” Yen conceded, “at least they know we’re here.”
“I was never much for stealth anyway,” Adam admitted, smiling to himself.
Yen turned to the rest of the team. “Check your ammunition and equipment. If you’re short, let someone know so we can cross-level supplies. Give me the thumbs up once you’re ready and we’ll move out.”
His own weapon still hung unused at his side, so Yen pulled free a magazine and handed it to one of his teammates. As the rest collected their gear — supplies they had dropped during the gun fight — Penchant approached Yen.
“I almost got myself shot, sir,” the Lithid admitted with what seemed almost a tinge of embarrassment. “You saved my life.”
“You’re right,” Yen replied, shutting off any hope of sympathy. Turning toward Penchant, he glared at the Lithid. Behind his dark eyes, Penchant swore he saw a flicker of soft blue light. “Which means you now owe me your life. If it ever comes down to it, I will expect to be able to collect on that debt.”
Though the Lithid was used to the traditional stern officers within the Infantry, something about Yen’s tone caught him off guard. Flinching, Penchant wanted to shrink away from the half-crazed psychic. Then, almost as quickly as it had appeared, the look in his eyes was gone and the soft smile returned.
“Alright team,” Yen called out as though nothing had happened. “Let’s get ready to move out.”
CHAPTER TEN
Her stomach twisted in knots, as Keryn watched the radar. Drumming her fingers on the console in front of her, Keryn tried to quell the rising nausea, an unfortunate side effect of her nervousness. Nothing would have made her happier than fighting alongside the team as they raided the Terran Destroyer. Instead, she was relegated to the
Tracking their movements, Keryn had surmised that Yen was leading the team toward the engine room. She had smiled at his decision, taking his team far from the chaos that would surround the Destroyer’s bridge and control center. The infiltration team was comprised of some of the best Keryn had come across. They were hardly glory-hounds, and the thought of charging the bridge in a suicidal attempt at martyrdom hardly appealed to the team. The way they were moving now allowed them to do the most damage possible while engaging the fewest Terrans. Yen was smart, and Keryn felt a swell of pride in her chest knowing that they stood a good chance of survival under his leadership.
On the console’s screen, the radar image flickered briefly. Her brow furrowing, Keryn leaned forward and watched the monitor closely. Again, for the briefest moment, the image wavered. Slamming her palm into the side of the console, she expended the extent of her technical proficiency. Beyond that, there wouldn’t be much she could do to fix the malfunctioning console. To her dismay, the flickering continued, picking up a quicker pace as it continued to waver unsteadily.
Frowning, Keryn reached to her throat and activated her microphone. “Yen, this is Keryn. Do you copy?”
A fine veil of static was all the radio offered in response. Her frown deepening, she spoke again. “Yen, this is Keryn. Are you there?”
“Keryn, this…” Yen answered, though his voice was distant and faint even over the radio. Between the clearly understood words, the rest were obscured by a rain of static. “…moving toward… contact soon…”
The console wasn’t malfunctioning, Keryn realized. The signal was being broadcast from the team itself. The further into the Destroyer they ventured, the more interference the signal received. Much like the broken radio signal, the radar was only working intermittently as the steadily rarer signals broke through the external disturbances and slipped through the heavy metal plating surrounding the hull of the Terran ship.
“Great,” Keryn muttered. “Not only was I left behind, but now I can’t contact them even if I wanted to.” Nothing frustrated Keryn more than feeling helpless. Stuck on board the
That was what truly bothered her, Keryn realized. It wasn’t that she wasn’t involved in the combat, though she would gladly take that opportunity should it arise. What bothered her was that she was trained to be a warrior. Both in her school training as she grew up and during her time at the Fleet Academy, she had learned to rely on others and support them in times of danger. Now, when someone she cared about was thrust into danger, she wasn’t there to help. Should they run into trouble, Keryn could do little other than fly away, firing her meager
