Chapter 29

 

It wasn't easy from her restricted position, but with a little struggle Summers managed to input the command codes and activate the beacon. It blinked once, then made no sign it was on. Just like it was supposed to.

"The silent beacon is activated," she whispered to Pellew.

He said nothing, and they waited, smashed against each other in the cramped container for what felt like forever. With their two bodies, Pellew's carbine, the beacon, two handguns, and her submachine-gun, there was literally no wiggle room. She could tell Pellew—at least partially—enjoyed being squished against her, but she could have done without the experience. At least she was closer to the tiny vent that provided them with fresh air.

"You're nervous," Pellew whispered.

She shushed him quietly. But she was nervous. The fate of the crew depended on them and they were surrounded by hundreds of hostiles.

Not to mention her confusion and mixture of emotions regarding recent events. What the hell were the rotham doing here? Was Calvin onto something after all? Had he been right? No... he'd flown the ship right into this mess, he didn't know what he was doing... but still, he had discovered something... she tried not to think about it.

Every time a noise filtered in, regardless of how quiet or muffled, her heart lurched at the fear their cover had been blown. If that happened... she didn't know what she'd do. Or could do. She forced herself to be calm, or tried to, by reminding herself the Nighthawk's blueprints were so classified that, even when she'd been made executive officer, she wasn't privy to that information until she was actually aboard the ship. So, until the Rotham mined the ship's hard drives and decoded everything, they couldn't possibly know about these containers.

"We could just wait for the Fifth Fleet here," whispered Pellew.

She didn't like that idea. "I don't know if the beacon can be detected through both the Nighthawk's and the Rotham ship's hulls."

"I suppose you're right. It's too bad, really. It's kind of nice here."

She grimaced. "Think it's clear?" she asked. They hadn't heard anything for awhile now.

Pellew listened. "Yeah, let's go."

Very stealthily, they opened the container and crawled into the narrow corridor of deck three. No one was around. They fixed silencers to their weapons and Summers followed Pellew's lead.

They moved as fast as they could, sneaking around corners, through hallways, and down ladders, pausing whenever they heard voices until the coast was clear again. Eventually they reached an airlock.

"I doubt anyone's looking at this one," said Pellew, unlocking it. "Cover me."

Summers held her submachine-gun at the ready and kept her eyes vigilant. The beacon, which she carried by its handle in her other hand, was beginning to feel heavy but she knew she couldn't let that distract her.

"Okay, we're through," said Pellew. He pulled the metal fixture open and poked his head out. "Looks clear, let's move." He climbed down an external ladder and Summers covered him from above. Once he reached the main floor of the Rotham hangar, she dropped the beacon to him and climbed down herself. When she reached the ground he returned it and she looked up.

The hangar was enormous, even by heavy cruiser standards. At full capacity it could fit a large number of fighters or shuttles. For now, though, only the Nighthawk and a few fighters were on the ground. Summers could hear a half dozen or so Rotham voices out of sight, presumably working, but she didn't see anyone.

Pellew moved ahead and assessed their surroundings. He flashed her the hand signals for three enemies to the left, clear on the right, follow him. She did. They snuck around stacked crates and various equipment.

It was an annoying process, forcing them to backtrack at times, and it took several minutes. But they managed to escape the hangar into the corridor without incident. It was empty and they picked up the pace. Summers wasn't sure where they were going, but knew, ultimately, they were looking for a hiding place for themselves and the beacon.

"Over here," said Pellew, waving his rifle toward a nook. It was a stubby dead-end of a hallway, complete with a ventilation grate, some crates, and a computer terminal. She followed closely.

As they approached, two Rotham crew members could be seen at work. One popped up from behind the computer console, some wires in his hands, and the other came around a stack of crates, carrying something she didn’t recognize.

Pellew steadied his rifle and took two quick shots, dropping both aliens. Summers didn't fire, knowing Pellew with his carbine was much more accurate than she would be with her one-handed submachine-gun.

"Cover me while I move the bodies out of sight," said Pellew.

He set down his carbine and dragged the first corpse behind a crate, leaving behind a mess of blood. Summers had seen her share of blood, but Rotham blood looked strange.

"We'll have to do something about that blood," she said.

"Move a crate on top of it,” said Pellew, now dragging the second body out of view. Summers kept an eye on the corridor and followed his command, moving one of the smaller crates. Pellew then adjusted the computer table so its shadow covered the rest of the blood.

"So I guess we hold out here?" asked Summers, retrieving the beacon.

"No, let's stash the beacon in one of these crates," said Pellew, "and then rescue our crew."

Summers felt uneasy about that plan. "The beacon is more important, we have to protect it."

"We can't protect it if they find us here," said Pellew. "They'll kill us eventually. All we can do is hide it. Staying to guard it will only draw attention to this area—and it."

She knew he was right, but didn't want him to be. "What about the dead bodies? That'll draw attention to this spot too. Maybe we should find a new spot."

"I don't think we'll find anything better. We're lucky we found this spot. The longer we delay, the more we carry the beacon around, the more likely they'll find us—and it—and everything will be over."

"Fine, then what do you propose we do?"

"Leave it and attack the detention center. You don't have to come if you don't want to but my men are locked up in there and I have to do something."

"We don't even know where that is."

"Yeah we do. We passed the door on our way here, didn't you notice it?"

"No. All these Rotham halls and doors look the same to me."

"There are subtle differences," said Pellew. "But it helps if you can read and speak Rotham, like I do."

She should have realized that by now. The way he so easily reacted to the rotham's movements as they snuck through the hangar. Rotham fluency wasn't as uncommon as most people suspected; the academy she went to, for instance, taught it at all levels. But she hadn't made that her focus and felt in the dark now.

"Have you heard anything interesting?" she asked. "Maybe what they're doing here and what their plans are?"

"No. The people in the hangar weren't talking about any of that. But I do know where the crew was taken. And I'm sure we could take the guards by surprise."

"We could die."

"Yeah," he said with a crooked grin. "And if no one helps them, they could die. And for that matter, if we hang around here, we could die. And even if we succeed at everything, we're all going to die anyway. Eventually. Don't you want to at least die doing something meaningful?"

 

***

 

Calvin couldn't see it from his cramped cell, but he knew the sound of gunfire when he heard it.

Automatic weapons with suppressors, shouted orders in Rotham, the distinct whine of alien rifles, and of course the thud of bodies smacking the deck.

He got on his knees and tried to catch a glimpse of something, anything. He saw black boots and the bottom of camouflage trousers moving his way, stepping over fallen Rotham corpses.

Farther away he heard Summers’ distinct voice, "there we go," she said from out of sight, followed by the snap hiss of dozens of cells unlocking. Calvin tested his but it wouldn't budge. "I can't unlock the priority cells from this switch."

"Use this," it was Pellew's voice. Calvin wished he could see.

"Good timing," Calvin shouted through the bars, thinking his back couldn’t take much more of this contorted position. "Is it clear out there?"

"For now," said Pellew. "Where's the Major?"

"They took him. No idea where." He could hear several people moving around and cell doors opening. Hearing them roam free and knowing he was still trapped in this claustrophobia-inducing cell was unbearable.

Summers came into view and bent down to unlock his cell with a key from one of the dead guards. He tried to read her expression but her face was mostly obscured. What he did see, though, seemed cold and neutral.

"Summers Presley …” said Calvin. "I can't believe it but I'm actually glad to see you." His door unlocked and she opened the cell.

"Pfft, I'm not," said Miles from the other side. "And I never will be."

"I don't have to let you out you know," she said.

Miles made a face. "If you don't, Calvin will."

Calvin crawled out and stood to his full height. Even though he hadn't been in the cell for long, it felt great to be out. It was too small for an adult human and a prolonged stay would probably drive a grown man insane.

Calvin scanned over their surroundings; the detention block was effectively a long corridor with cells on both sides, able to hold up to a hundred prisoners, much more than the Nighthawk's crew. And fortunately everyone, except the Major, was here.

"Pellew what have we got?" asked Calvin, moving to the raised platform in the center.

"Twenty two soldiers, thirty-nine crew. Everyone is accounted for except the Major."

"At least they were kind enough to put us all in one place," said Calvin. He looked over their faces and saw a lot of angry, healthy, mostly youthful people. They were tired. They were confused. But they were ready and willing to fight. Only one looked unfit for a lot of action. "How are you holding up, Monte?"

"Don't you worry about me," the old doctor said, pointing a crooked finger. Calvin knew better; he knew Monte was in pain and wouldn't be able to keep up well. But he also understood that Monte would not let himself be seen as a liability.

To Calvin's surprise, there was only one prisoner in this detention block who wasn't from his ship. It was a rotham in grey prison garb with long black hairs on his chin that seemed out of place on his scaly-like skin.

"Let me out too," the rotham said desperately.

Miles looked like that was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "You wish, lizard."

"I'm telling you, I know things that can help you."

Calvin was intrigued. "What do you know?"

"Anything you want, just get me out of here."

"Why is the Rotham squadron here?" Calvin pressed him.

"I'll tell you once we're safely away from here," said the rotham.

"Tell me now."

"We don't have time for this," said Pellew.

Calvin knew he was right. "Very well," he turned briefly to look at him. "How many weapons do we have?"

"Eight," said Pellew. "My carbine, two pistols, the XO's sub-machinegun, also two Rotham rifles and two Rotham pistols off the guards here."

"Distribute them to Special Forces," said Calvin. He wanted a firearm for himself, but knew his best chance, everyone's best chance, was to put their resources into their most capable hands. Summers relinquished her weapon without complaint.

"Ready, sir."

"Everyone conscious and able to move?"

Pellew did a quick check. "Affirmative."

"What about the rotham?" asked Shen. "He could be useful."

"He's a waste of space," said Miles. "Drop him. Or give me one of those guns and I'll do it myself."

"Bring him along," said Calvin, making a snap decision. He reasoned the rotham didn’t represent much risk and could prove useful

"Whatever you say," said Miles. Summers unlocked the rotham's cell.

"You won't regret this," the rotham said.

"Don't speak unless spoken to," said Miles.

"What's your name, rotham?" asked Calvin.

His reply was impossible to understand, though it sounded vaguely like Alex.

"I'm going to call you Alex," said Calvin.

The rotham, now Alex, didn't seem offended.

"Good. Fall in line with the others. We'll let you come with us so long as you don't do anything stupid and you don’t slow us down." He turned to Pellew. "We need to take a defensive position."

"I agree completely. We won't be able to escape on the Nighthawk, even if we could take it and blast a hole in the hangar doors we’d just get shot down. We have to defend somewhere and wait for the Fleet."

"Why don't we hold here?" asked Rose.

"It's a deathtrap," said Pellew, citing several of its weaknesses. "It didn't work for them," he gestured toward the fallen guards, "and it won't work for us. We need to move, now."

"Where to?" asked Calvin. "Did you see anything on your way in, somewhere we could hold out?"

"Not for this many people," said Pellew.

"Does anyone know anything about Rotham ships?" asked Calvin. "You, rotham, I mean Alex, any bright ideas where a good holding spot would be?"

"I don't trust him," said Miles.

"Have any better ideas?" Calvin whirled to face him, though he didn't trust Alex either.

Shen spoke up. "Maybe. The blueprints of alien ships are well kept secrets, but our agents learn things from time to time. Unfortunately, you can never be sure what you have is up to date. I had to study designs of a ship like this back at the academy. But that was several years ago."

"Give me the short version."

"The most defensive positions are main engineering and the bridge," said Shen. "But those are also the hardest to take for the same reason. Especially on a ship designed to repel full-on marine invasions involving hundreds of soldiers."

"So...?"

"The auxiliary bridge," Miles blurted out. "Every Rotham ship C-class and above has a secondary bridge in case their main bridge gets blown away. I don't know where it is, but since the real bridge is on the other side of the ship, my guess is the secondary bridge is far away from that. Like, say, around here. If we can find it, that would be an awesome place to hold out."

Calvin looked to Shen.

"My thoughts exactly," said Shen.

"See, Summers, I'm not useless," Miles made a face at her.

"Alex," said Calvin. "Where is the secondary bridge?"

"Two decks above us and a little to stern and starboard, right below main engineering."

"That's good, we can use that," said Calvin. "Hopefully they'll think we're going for engineering and divert soldiers from the secondary bridge to there. What do you think, Pellew?"

He nodded. "Better than waiting around here another moment."

"What about the Major?" asked Summers. "Are we going to just abandon him?"

"I don't want to," said Calvin. "But we have no choice, we don't even know where he is.” He looked at Alex. “Where is the Inquisition Room?”

Alex said nothing for a moment. Then, “you won’t be able to save your man. Getting to the Inquisition Room involves going through most of the local garrison. You’ll all die trying to save one man who is almost certainly dead already.”

It was a harsh statement but Calvin had expected nothing less. “So we have to look to ourselves," he said.

"The Major would insist we go on without him and take a good tactical position," said Pellew. "If he knew we put ourselves at risk to try and help him, he'd kill us—if the rotham didn't."

Calvin gave the signal and Pellew ordered the group to move out. His soldiers took up the front position, and cleared the hall. The crew followed in a wide column, as fast as they could. Calvin stayed up front with Pellew.

"Where's the beacon?" asked Calvin.

"Safely hidden," Pellew nodded toward a small alcove.

"We should get it," said Calvin.

"No we shouldn't."

"It's mission critical; we have to protect it."

"I agree with Calvin," said Summers, to his great surprise. "We should keep it with us. If nothing else, the signal might be better coming from the auxiliary bridge."

"And if we take it, they may capture the beacon and destroy it. All our eggs would be in one basket."

"If they capture the beacon," said Calvin. "Then we won't need it. Because we'll already be dead. The whole point of it is just to alert the Andromeda and all friendly ships that we're aboard."

"As you wish," Pellew waved for one of his men to clear the nook and take the beacon. "It's in the bottom-most crate on the far side."

Their leading soldiers reached an intersection and went prone as blasts of energy came from the left. Pellew raised his hand to halt the group while his soldiers mounted a counter attack. Two men kept the enemy's attention with sporadic but strategic fire while another army-crawled farther into the open with some kind of scoped Rotham rifle.

"Clear," he called back. He and the other soldiers jumped to their feet and continued forward. Pellew and the soldier with the sub-machinegun covered the sides while everyone else ran for the ladders. Calvin stayed with Pellew and took a long look down the adjoining hallway.

Three Rotham soldiers were dead on the ground. "Routine patrol team, I'm guessing," said Pellew. "They weren't expecting us." Calvin saw three rifles among the bodies.

"Miles, help me grab those weapons." He bolted for them, hearing Miles thunder behind.

"It's wide open, I can't cover you out there," Pellew called after him.

"No risk, no reward," Calvin replied. He reached the fallen enemies and scooped up the weapons, with Miles' help.

The closer look at the splattered alien brains and empty eyes was something Calvin could have done without. With some revulsion he wiped their fluids off the guns with his own shirt. At least it wasn't nearly as bad as seeing dead humans.

"Okay, let's go." He looked up, surprised to see Pellew had come along in an attempt to cover him, despite this inferior position.

They ran, Pellew facing backwards, weapon keenly aimed at the distance, expecting to see Rotham soldiers charging them at any minute. Calvin distributed the weapons to more Special Forces soldiers—again fighting the temptation to keep one for himself. Miles too looked hesitant to relinquish his, but did as ordered.

"Look at that," said Pellew. Calvin glanced up to where Pellew was pointing his carbine. A security camera.

"They must have thousands of those to keep tabs on a ship this size," said Calvin. "I wonder how long it'll take someone to notice us."

"They probably already—" Pellew's words were lost to the sound of gunfire as their sergeant’s sub-machinegun blasted toward a group of rotham approaching from behind.

Pellew and three other soldiers, those most recently armed, moved to the rear and opened fire on the enemy, who took cover and returned fire. It was too far away for either side to be very accurate but the size of Calvin's group made them an easier target. A fiery blast hit a young blond crewmember. She was dead before she hit the ground.

One of the unarmed soldiers, a field medic, moved to check her vitals. But there wasn't much point.

"Make yourselves small," said Pellew, not looking back. He scored a hit of his own on the killer, who collapsed.

By now, half of Calvin's group—including the leading four soldiers—had begun climbing the ladders, which were three across. They just needed a bit more time. He didn't know what he could do, except go prone like the others and cover his ears.

He looked back at his fallen crewmember, a young woman new to the ship, and felt a wave of both remorse and anger. He hadn't known her well, but she was more than just a face and a name. It saddened him to see her dead, knowing she was supposed to marry in only a few months.

The lights turned red and a roaring klaxon filled the air.

"Well they're onto us now," said Calvin, no one could hear him, though. His voice was lost to the sounds of fighting and the alarm.

He crawled all the way to the ladders. It was almost his turn to go up.

Both sides exchanged fire from positions of relative safety and Calvin wondered why the Rotham side wasn't being more aggressive, using smoke canisters or flashbangs, or sniping them with superior weapons.

Then he saw why. More forces were arriving. A surge of Rotham soldiers, Teldari, with helmets and combat vests. They charged from the side hallways like a swarm of bees. Weapons leveled and blasting, flowing like an organic tidal wave. Their fire was clumsy, hard to be accurate at a run, but they closed in fast.

Pellew and his men, now in a crouched position to keep very steady, managed to overheat their weapons in a spray of automatic and concentrated fire meant to maximize casualties. Never before had Calvin seen such expert shooting. Twelve or more rotham fell wounded or dead, including a lead commander; it was enough to stall their advance.

But two Special Forces soldiers were hit, one in the chest and one in the head—Calvin saw them both recoil. As soon as their hands went limp around their weapons, other soldiers scooped up their armaments and took their places.

He heard a scream as a narrow beam of light grazed Monte's forearm. It torched his fair skin, blackening it, and his eyes went wide with pain. But he managed to keep his feet and most of his composure.

Calvin yelled at him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Monte lied. A field medic came over and tried to treat him but Monte shrugged him off. "Oh leave me alone, you." Then, like a tough old bird, he moved for the ladders—wincing as he went up.

As the remnants of the Teldari's first wave regrouped with what was sure to be the second wave, Pellew and his men scooped up additional weapons from the enemy's failed offensive and passed them to the other soldiers, arming the rest of them. In this retrieval process another soldier was lost. A youthful black-haired boy. His blood soaked the ground. Calvin grimaced but couldn't look away.

He was about to start climbing when he heard something slide across the ground. It was a conventional handgun. He picked it up and looked back to see Pellew nod at him, and then return to fighting. Now ordering his men into a tactical retreat to the ladders.

Calvin pulled back the slide—making sure there was a bullet in the chamber—then started his ascent.

The ladders were fixed to the walls of what was a very large, very long cylinder running through most of the ship's decks—which were about a hundred in total, many more than Calvin was used to. He had to be careful climbing one-handedly, while also holding a pistol. Above him, his crew was already shuffling onto the higher deck and, presumably, taking up a defensive position.

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.

The medic noticed Calvin standing over them and looked up to say "he'll live." Then moved on to the next of the injured.

Calvin looked at Shen. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Shen lied through gritted teeth, eyes watering.

"Hang in there," said Calvin. "We'll get out of this yet. Just keep it together. And remember, the Andromeda has its own burn ward."

Shen nodded trying to force a smile.

"And Shen," said Calvin, reluctant to disturb a man in pain. "Since we are on the secondary bridge, is there anything we can do from here to sabotage the ship? Make it less able to fight the Andromeda. Lower its shields? Drain its power? Jam its firing systems? Anything that would make it easier to subdue?"

Shen looked up. "I don't know, maybe." He struggled as if to get up but Calvin stopped him.

"No, no, you stay put. Just tell me and the engineers what to do." Some of the engineers had overheard him and Calvin waved them over.

"Okay," said Shen. "Go over to the main panels, they're on the platform above us." He proceeded to coach them through several tactics to compromise the ship's systems. They had some difficulty, as the controls had few instructions—and the existing instructions were in Rotham. Alex assisted them and Calvin was again surprised by his willingness to work against his own people.

They shifted power levels and followed several other of Shen's ideas, who seemed unable to really concentrate. But, in the end, they had very little success. The main bridge locked them out of the computer systems. And, if nothing else, they only confirmed they were on the secondary bridge.

"It was worth a try," said Calvin, not really sure that it was.

While he and the others had been busy, Pellew had finished positioning everyone in their most tactically ideal places and set up all the defenses he could.

By scooping up the weapons from the dead, they now had enough to arm everyone who wasn't injured. They'd also managed to short out the door so the control system on the outside wouldn't be able to force it open, like they had. The downside was that they couldn't open the door either.

"The Fifth Fleet better come fast," said Pellew. "Because this isn't going to hold off a few hundred Teldari for long."

In no time they heard banging against the door. Followed by a muffled drilling.

"Why does this seem so damn familiar?" asked Miles, standing next to Calvin. A hot white spark could be seen where the enemy was carving into the door with a laser drill. Calvin's muscles tightened and he steadied his handgun.

"Hey, look everybody," shouted Sarah from behind. She—like Calvin, Miles, and several other crew members—was on the platform. The Special Forces soldiers did not look to see what she was excited about. They kept a disciplined watch of the door, which threatened to burst at any moment. But everyone else turned.

Calvin looked and saw nothing. Sarah stood in front of the great wide window, which was black and empty.

"What?"

"Look!" She pointed, sounding annoyed.

Calvin moved closer.

"See them?" asked Sarah.

And then, in the blanket of darkness, Calvin caught a glimpse of phantom grey ships. With their identifier lights turned off, they blended in almost completely with the black space.

"It's the Andromeda!" Sarah announced and a cheer filled the bridge. Calvin too spotted the great white ship in the center, as lights from the Rotham ship bounced off of it.

"Use the projector display," said Shen from the ground, still hunched over.

"Yeah, turn it on," said Calvin to the nearest engineer, since he had no idea how. The woman complied and before long a huge three dimensional projection of the system appeared, filling the center of the auxiliary bridge where all could see. The engineer focused it on the Andromeda and all surrounding ships.

The vessels moved fast, in an attack posture, with two destroyers in the lead, then the Andromeda, two more destroyers at its sides, and three battleships at the rear. They closed in on the alien squadron, which couldn't be entirely seen from this view, but looked to be around four heavy warships and two smaller ones, along with a swarm of fighters barely more than specks.

"No chance, they have no chance," Miles' voice boomed. "The aliens are roasted. Go Empire. Hell yeah! Fifth Fleet!"

The alien squadron moved to a defensive posture, ready to engage the incoming Imperial ships. Calvin was worried that the aliens would make a run for it, dragging them along to who knows where, but that didn't seem to be their intention. Which, aside from making him grateful, made him curious.

"Wow these guys are stupid," said Miles, managing to laugh. "They don't have a chance."

Calvin frowned. He thought the alien's confidence in taking the Fifth Fleet head on was a bit bold, even for them. Did they have a kind of weapon no one expected? One that might be a match for the Imperial Fleet? Unlikely. But then again, they had managed to see through the Nighthawk's stealth capabilities... perhaps this battle wasn't as decided as Miles claimed.

There was silence as the Fleets converged on each other and then, before they were in range to attack each other with any kind of major firepower, the darkness lit up.

"What the hell?” asked Miles. Calvin and the others watched as the Fifth Fleet's rearguard opened fire on its leading ships.

It was absurd, he couldn't believe it. But the display showed clearly that Human ships were attacking other Human ships, throwing the whole formation into disarray.

"Oh my god..." Sarah's voice trailed off.

Within seconds, two of the human destroyers disappeared. Calvin could see debris breaking up outside the window.

The Human ships were now in a panic, with the remaining destroyers breaking formation—obviously unsure who was an enemy and who wasn't. The battleships now fired on the Andromeda, which turned to attack them broadside. Destroying one battleship and crippling another in no time. Able to use all batteries at that range, its unparalleled firepower ripped through the warships' armor and bypassed their advanced shields.

The alien ships had now reached attack range and opened fire on the leading Human ships. The destroyers regrouped to hold them off, providing cover for the Andromeda as it fought the traitorous battleships, taking a severe beating itself.

Everyone who could, watched breathlessly as the Fifth Fleet incinerated itself. The alien ships took no losses as they pulverized the Human destroyers, while the Andromeda became scarred and battered, and part of its hull broke off just as it finished wiping out the last Human battleship. Leaving it alone as the sole Human ship in the system, against several alien ships in mostly-perfect condition.

The Andromeda changed direction and, while being pounded by alien fire, swiftly jumped away into alteredspace. The Polarian ship bolted after it and it too vanished into alteredspace. Leaving the Nighthawk's crew alone once more. Trapped on a Rotham ship, in the middle of a Rotham squadron. Hopes blown out like candles in a storm.

"Why...?"

"I don't believe it..."

"Did our ships fire on our destroyers...?"

Perhaps no one was more shocked and heartbroken than Summers. She stared forlorn out the window and eventually lowered her head. And for the first time, Calvin saw no fire inside her. She was crushed. Like someone who'd just witnessed everything she'd ever believed in vanish like a midday shadow. Her face was pale as a corpse’s. And she slouched, barely able to stand. He was filled with pity seeing her.

And then inevitability sank in. They all looked to him for answers, but he had none.

"What do we do now?" someone asked. He felt only barely aware it was Sarah. And made no response.

"What's our next move?" someone else asked.

The banging and drilling was louder than ever now. And as Calvin looked at the door, he saw it was about to come apart. A gateway opening to oblivion.

"Calvin?"

"They're almost through!"

"How do we get out of this one, Cal?" Miles asked from directly to his left.

"We... don't," Calvin whispered. Then, a bit stronger, "this is our final stand." He raised his weapon, and the others did the same.

"I never thought I'd die on an alien ship," said Miles. "That's why I didn't join the damned marines."

Pellew gave his final orders to his men, making sure they were ready and optimally positioned. Then, just as they heard the Rotham drill finish breaking through, he glanced up at Calvin and nodded. As if to say "it's been an honor, sir."

Calvin returned the nod. Then took aim.