The Phoenix Conspiracy (49 page)

About halfway to his destination, he
craned his neck to see two Rotham crewmembers on the ladders on the
opposite side, several decks above. They had energy pistols and
opened fire on his crew.

Calvin aimed his handgun with one
hand, keeping his other firmly glued to the ladder and returned
fire. He was a decent shot with a pistol, but one-handed while
dangling made it hard to steady his aim, and as brass jacket after
brass jacket ejected, falling out of sight, he couldn't hit his
mark. But he did get their attention.

A firefight ensued.

His enemies had even more trouble
being accurate than he did, since they weren’t trained soldiers,
and their weapons burned marks all over the place. Not even singing
his hair.

He took a moment to steady a more
careful aim, certain he'd lined up the iron sights perfectly. But
his shot ricocheted off the bulkhead uselessly with a spark and a
ping. His enemy's return fire was even farther off mark. Or so he
thought... until he realized they'd switched targets.

Just as the Nighthawk crew members
directly above him were reaching their destination, they came under
fire again from the two rotham. In the chaos, a beam clipped
Monte’s good arm and he lost his already weak grip on the ladder.
He slipped off the railing and plummeted, yelling all the way down.
Calvin watched, horror struck, as his friend fell fifty decks to
his death.

Seeing it... he felt his own grip
weaken for a minute as hot white mindless wrath consumed him.
Raging inside him! But he forced himself to keep control, knowing
that heightened emotions would only hinder him, cause him to lose
concentration, and now he had to be objective. Compartmentalize.
Mourn tomorrow. Focus today. It wasn't easy, but he kept his cool
and stayed logical, made possible by years of training.

He climbed a little higher and fired
again. His first two shots missed but a third hit one of the rotham
in the chest. The alien’s grip slackened and he, like Monte,
slipped off the ladders and plunged to his death. But he did not
scream. Simply stared up with empty eyes until he was
gone.

The second rotham started
scrambling higher up the ladder. Calvin wasn't about to let him
escape. He took careful aim and fired—a narrow miss.
“
Damn
!” He
muttered, realizing his pistol’s slide had stuck back.

A silenced carbine whined from below.
The rotham's head exploded and his corpse flew off like a
ragdoll.

"Move it, Calvin," Pellew shouted from
below.

"Nice shot," was all Calvin could say.
He avoided looking down knowing that, despite his concentrated
effort not to, it would be easy to think of Monte and let his
emotions get the best of him. They burned, wanting to be set free.
But he remained objective. Focused now on how everyone above him
had already reached their destination deck.

"Do you have any more rounds for this
handgun?" asked Calvin.

"Yeah I have another clip," said
Pellew, now at his side. He passed it over and Calvin awkwardly
reloaded the gun while he ascended.

They reached the deck together and saw
the small army of crew and soldiers in a defensive posture. They'd
cleared the area and were watching the adjoining halls. Exchanging
sporadic fire with hostiles out of sight.

The remnants of a firefight were
clear. The ground was blood-soaked with two dead bodies, both
human. One a medic and the other an engineer. Conversations he'd
had with them in the past flashed through his mind. He couldn't
help but think of how their futures were completely erased now.
Both had been young, like he was. But, like Monte’s death, he
forced it from his mind. They were casualties. That happened in
war. He couldn't let himself get distracted.

"We have to keep moving," said
Calvin.

After consulting with their
Rotham
friend,
who'd managed to keep up and stick with them,
they had a better idea of the location of the
secondary bridge. Pellew split the group into two and sent them
along different routes.

"We shouldn't split up," said
Summers.

"In these narrow hallways numbers are
a liability," Pellew waved his men forward. "We're just a bigger
target that's easier to trap, and our angles of attack are more
limited. We crowd each other out; we're much better covering more
angles and more ground."

She didn't argue further and they
moved, quickly as they could. Those with weapons took the lead—a
gamble that they wouldn’t be attacked from the rear. As he ran,
Calvin remembered to pull back the slide of his handgun just as
they reached a large intersection.

There was a large firefight again as
the enemy, already placed around the corner, attacked. Pinning
Calvin and his people back. They couldn't cross the intersection
without sustaining heavy losses, but they had to get across
somehow. They all looked to Calvin and Pellew for
solutions.

"How many?"

"Ten or more. All armed
soldiers."

"We can't just run past
them?"

"No."

"We can't wait here either, they could
take us from behind."

Calvin looked to Pellew whose only
answer was to stay in cover and wait for their other group to take
the enemy from the rear.

Calvin did as ordered, but moved to
the back of the group to keep his eyes on the path behind them. The
handgun wasn't a very effective weapon at a distance, as he'd
proven, and he only had one magazine, but figured it was better
than nothing. If the enemy did come from behind he could warn the
others, try to resist, and if they were overwhelmed it was best to
die quickly.

Several seconds passed, maybe a
minute, maybe two. Calvin couldn't be sure. All he knew was that he
could hear his heart pounding in his ears while nothing seemed to
be happening. He dared a quick glance back to see Pellew facing
opposite him, crouched against the corner, ready to blast anyone
who came around.

It was almost too much to
take. The silence. The tension. Knowing that the longer they waited
the more likely it was they'd be flanked. Their enemy had already
reported to the other hostile detachments via radio, Calvin was
sure. It was only a matter of time. He and his crew would have to
do
something
. Act.
Double back? Try to find another way around? They couldn't just
storm forward, Pellew was right about that. They'd be mown down in
either a massacre or a mutual bloodbath.

And then he heard it. The popping of
automatic fire from around the corner. A Human submachine-gun.
Joined quickly with the whine of Rotham weapons.

After giving it just a second, long
enough for their enemies to change their focus from this group to
the other, Pellew ordered his soldiers to move around the corner
with him and go prone immediately.

One was killed in the effort, Calvin
winced to see him, face black, uniform on fire. The rest were able
to engage the enemy.

The firefight lasted only a few more
seconds before Pellew shouted the all clear and Calvin and the
others moved forward. Calvin split from them and ran to Pellew, who
stood amidst a pile of corpses. Mostly Rotham. But a few humans
too. Calvin's group had only taken the one loss. But he counted
three bodies among the other human group—which had come to their
rescue.

One was a Special Forces soldier he
didn't recognize. The other two were crew. A man, face down, and a
woman who was too scorched to recognize. Gruesome enough to set off
the gag reflex. But he remained strong.

"How many?" asked Calvin, now helping
Pellew scoop up and distribute the leftover weapons as quickly as
possible.

"Ten rotham, no survivors."

"And us?"

"Four deaths, one wounded."

Calvin looked up to see an injured
crew member being patched up by a field medic. His head was
obscured by bandages and his limbs were weak, like jelly. His
uniform was torn open at the chest revealing a deep wound and some
serious third degree burns. He looked up and made eye contact with
Calvin. It was Vincent Rose.

Rose's anguish was obvious but,
somehow, in his immense suffering, he seemed distant. Like his mind
was no longer there. When he looked at Calvin his eyes sharpened
for an instant, as if to say something, but then they were empty.
And his body slumped like a ragdoll.

The medic confirmed he was dead. And
Calvin stared at him. It seemed so surreal. Monte, Rose, probably
the Major, and too many others. Just like being on the Trinity all
over again. Except, instead of seeing acquaintances cut down, these
were people he'd known much better. Well enough to understand that
Rose's death widowed a young, sweet wife, and the happiest little
girl Calvin had ever met. Someone so young shouldn't have her life
marred in tragedy so early. He felt himself start to tremble but,
once more, his training took over and he forced himself to be calm.
He would mourn Rose, Monte, and the others properly, he promised
himself, but not now. Now he had to be a leader.

"Let's move!"

They made it the rest of the way
without trouble. A few Rotham technicians and crew were around, but
they scattered as the humans' footsteps thundered closer. Pellew
forbade anyone from shooting anyone unarmed. Not because he was a
peace-loving person, he wasn't, but rather because it was a waste
of ammo. The Rotham weapons were especially taxed, many of the
energy cells nearly exhausted. And the human weapons were all on
their last magazines. Pellew and Summers hadn't been able to
smuggle too many clips into the cargo container with
them.

And then there it was. A large grey,
side-sliding door. It was locked but Shen and another engineer were
able to cut into the control panel and brute force it into opening
while the rest watched vigilantly for Rotham soldiers.

"OK we're in," said Shen as the door
started sliding.

"Do you think they set up in
engineering instead of here?" asked Sarah.

"I sure hope so," Pellew replied.
"Because if they did set up here, we're all dead. But no time for
worrying about that now." He squared his shoulders, weapon at the
ready, and ordered his soldiers into assault formation. And, like
shock troopers, they stormed into the auxiliary bridge, followed by
a slew of armed crewmembers, including Calvin.

The first ten seconds were pure chaos,
weapons-fire erupted from all directions. Calvin and the others
moved to any kind of cover they could find—he crouched behind a set
of stairs. Those without cover went prone and tried to make
themselves as small as possible, shooting at everyone and anything
hostile while trying to ascertain where all the enemies
were.

This bridge was large, much larger
than the bridge of the Nighthawk—which didn't even have a secondary
bridge. And tucked away along the rim of the mostly-round room was
a platform with several controllers. The enemy had the high
ground.

Behind everything was a large window
that made up the far wall, hugging the lip of the platform. Calvin
looked it over thoroughly, popping his head up from cover for
seconds at a time, trying to find a good shot. When he saw an
enemy's head appear, he pointed and squeezed the trigger. A direct
hit. The rotham's mess of a face fell back behind cover. Dead as
dead. Calvin felt no remorse.

At first the humans took the greater
casualties but in very little time Special Forces swept in and
captured the room through superior expertise. Before long, they'd
killed off all resistance and combed the room for hidden
enemies.

Pellew authorized deadly force against
the unarmed Rotham crewmen who'd survived the firefight. He said
they were in no position to take prisoners and couldn't risk
sending them outside to report the secondary bridge had fallen. And
now that the humans had obtained more weapons, it wasn't such a
waste of ammo. Not everyone was comfortable with this kind of
brutality, even in a state of war, but no one objected.

Calvin watched them die swiftly,
execution-style, their wide eyes seemed almost too stunned to be
afraid. He looked at Alex, their Rotham tag-along, expecting him to
object to this treatment but he didn't. He remained as silent as
ever, as silent as Calvin was, but his crooked face seemed almost
pleased at the grim business that made Calvin uneasy to
watch.

Next, Pellew ordered his men to
barricade the room and raise defenses. Overturn desks, use chairs
as obstacles, etc. Calvin helped two other crew members drag the
dead into a corner and situate the wounded into a more comfortable
position against the far wall.

In total, they'd lost three more and
an equal number were wounded. Among the injured was Shen, who
couldn't keep back a quiet howling, his shoulder was black where
his uniform had been burned. One of the medics was tending to him,
looking over the injury while Shen's good arm was trying to scratch
away the burned part of the uniform. The medic was engaged in
stopping him with one hand and putting a loose sterile cloth around
the area with the other. Like those in the corridors, the medkits
on the bridge had been pilfered immediately.