Aaen squinted in hopes that he would be able to see through the darkness more easily. He swore he could barely make out . . . three? . . .Four humanoid figures? There was no way to know what weapons they were carrying. He subconsciously guessed they were comparably armed as Delta. . . The pirates were maybe twenty feet away—fifteen, maybe?—and cautiously marching towards them with their rifles up. Aaen could just barely discern subtle movement—they were aggressively postured and looking for a target. Aaen could tell they were out of time, and his gut felt like someone slugged him with anticipation of the order that he knew in the back of his mind was about to be given—
“Lock your sights. Standby to engage. . .” the Commander whispered just loud enough for the rest of the Delta’s to hear, obviously to the rest of the Deltas’ still trying to be quiet enough to keep their tactical edge on the Pirates’.
TEN FEET! Aaen realized in shock, his finger was firm on his rifle’s trigger, he pressed the rifle’s stock into his shoulder, and took aim at the pirate nearest to the adjacent corridor panel. A small red dot appeared on the pirate’s center-of-mass, or what looked like it—hardly a perfectly-aligned shot, he guessed, but he hoped the shot would be as effective as he hoped; Aaen watched as a red dot appeared on the other pirates. . .
The Commander shouted, “FIRE!”
A series of nearly-perfectly synchronized shots lit up the few feet away. In the suppressed blink of an eye, the Delta’s noted eight pirates ahead: the first four crumbled and virtually motionless; the pirates in the back ducked nearly instantly, falling back in a rushed in a reverse march and fired frantic shots at the Delta’s as the pirates frantically rushed for a doorway for cover. Erratically-aimed red and green particle bolts violently sparked on the bulkheads mere inches and feet away from where the Deltas’ took cover. Aaen, the Deputy and the Commander narrowly dodged a few headshots.
Aaen could smell smoke from the downed Pirates’ gear. Thoughts of being shot and then captured by the Pirates’ scored Deltas’ thoughts as they each intermittently broke from cover and fired down the corridor, trying to guess where the Pirates’ were taking cover. The recoil from each shot was an ignorable detail by comparison.
The Commander and Aaen broke from cover and fired back. Six suppressed shots exploded into brilliant fireballs against wall panels lining the corridor, sending metallic debris flying. The flash from the bolts’ explosions alluded to where the Pirates’ were taking cover. Aaen adjusted where he was aiming and fired eight shots in five seconds as he stood up and began marching down the corridor to an area of the corridor he decided at the last second would be his next cover, guessing with each shot. The cover was a twelve-inch wide bulkhead in the middle of the corridor leading to the next section of the deck.
A pirate broke cover and fired. Aaen snapped and dove to his right as the Pirates’ shot missed the side of his head so closely he felt a sharp heat wave nearly graze the left side of his head as he took a knee and tapped the left side of his head, checking to see if he was hit. His right ear burned with the same intensity as though his hand was hovering over a glowing hot stovetop. He was ok, for now.
“I SEE MOVEMENT!” the deputy announced to the rest of the Force. They continued firing, missing Aaen by a mere three feet, he guessed. The Pirates’ were returning fire viciously. Aaen inched his head enough to see around the corner. He realized he couldn’t stay there forever, noting the subtle explosions and sparks from weapon fire guessed at him.
“I COUNT FOUR LEFT! They’re DOWN THERE, at the end of the corridor!” the deputy announced. Judging by the booms of the fire coming from his right, Aaen reasoned the bulkhead was going to collapse really soon.
There were more footsteps coming from the right. . . Aaen’s gut told him the Pirates’ are coming back!
Several more rapid shots from the right and several near-misses later, Aaen heard a brief series of metallic dings come off the nearby wall panels, ending on the deck mere feet away from him to his left. . . He saw a blinking red light on the object as he was immediately wide-eyed—PLASMA GRENADE!
*****
Steve H. told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."
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