They couldn’t have been more than fifty feet away, and there must be at least ten to twenty of them! Aaen and the Commander silently realized. The corridor was lit up like a Christmas tree, which they instantly realized meant they’re visible and pretty much exposed to any weapon fire that might be waiting for them in the next minute, or less, Aaen fretted, clenching his rifle’s grip even harder and subconsciously put pressure on the trigger, glaring down the rifle’s iron sights and aiming at the far corner bulkhead. The pirates’ shadows were getting taller, and wider against the flashing red wall lights. . . He wanted to request orders from the Commander, but he reasoned there was no time.
“Delta’s, prepare to fire!” the Commander whispered, standing behind Aaen and leaning around the same corner.
Think. Think! We need some kind of cover! We need-it-now! Aaen frantically glanced to his left, then at the ceiling (he was starting to sweat again from his forehead, the sensation felt like it was crawling downward toward his face near his eyebrows, inching toward his eyes), then he thought about looking around for a engineering port in the floor, turning his head—No way. There was no time. His breathing was speeding up from anxiety as his thoughts raced with the horrors of what could be what would happen if the Deltas were given the order to open fire. His gut churned with the realization of the likelihood of there being even more pirates on this deck. . . . Oh, crap. . . He was beginning to panic as he struggled to keep his front rifle iron sight centered with the rear sight, much less keep the flat circular shoulder stock tucked into his shoulder. He hadn’t spent any time on the firing range in. . Wide-eyed, he couldn’t remember. Instinct was taking over his thoughts at the sound of red alert. He told himself there’s gotta be some way of getting cover! Aaen subconsciously kicked himself in the heel as his palms began to perspire. His was supporting the rifle’s barrel with his left hand placed one inch behind the mouth of the barrel. Then he looked at the flashing red lights. Then he had an idea—
“Deputy. Where is the nearest power junction for this section?” Aaen asked sharply. The pirates’ were getting closer!
“What are you thinking, Chief?” the Commander asked sharply.
“Take out the lights! WHERE’S THE POWER JUNCTION? Deputy!”
“It’s over here!”
The sound of communicator chatter filled this section of the corridor. The chatter was indistinguishable—the only detail that consciously registered with the Delta’s was the fact that the chatter was getting louder by the second. “Open the junction and SHOOT IT! HURRY! IT’S OUR ONLY CHANCE TO AVOID A FIREFIGHT!” Aaen instantly doubted that would be even feasible. His gut confirmed his suspicion, and he felt a funny feeling in the back of his head like a firefight was inevitable now. This is Delta Force. Fear suddenly faded away, replaced quickly by a yearning to start fighting back, regardless of how many pirates were already on board, and however many were still coming. . . BRING it! The Deltas were going to make sure the pirates’ remembered who they were messing with. . .
The Commander snapped sharply and nodded, “DO IT NOW!”
“Make sure every room on that deck is clear of Starfleet personnel. Maddog will be arriving in a few hours.” a male voice growled over the pirates’ communicators.
“Under-stood.” a pirate replied darkly and aggressively.
The deputy unlocked the hatch by entering a short command code series into the metal hatch securing the junction, then quickly yanked the hatch off the wall, revealing a tightly interconnected collection of lit up and blinking fiber optic wiring and Isolinear circuitry. He dropped the hatch to the deck plating, landing against the edge of the wall. He took a step back, snapped, took aim with his rifle and fired. The suppressed red bolt exploded the power junction into a violent flurry of white and red sparks, and then a small fire burned out the wiring before dying out. The circuitry crackled, but surprisingly, there was no burning smell. At least not yet, Aaen told himself.
The lights began flickering violently for several seconds and then blinked out.
The sound of the pirates’ footsteps suddenly became silent. The Delta’s realized the pirates’ stopped walking. The sound of their gear rattling filled the corridor.
“One to bridge: there’s been a power failure at my location.”
“Copy that, One. We’ll get someone down there as soon as we get some engineers on board. The main computer on this ship has schematics of this ship. There’s a power junction about ten more meters directly ahead of you and to your left around the corner of the corridor you’re in. Check on it and report back, immediately.”
“Understood.”
Then the only sound was Delta Force breathing.
“Team One to Team Two, come in.” the captain’s voice sounded over Deltas’ communicators. The Deltas’ frantically reached for their communicators and turned them off.
“What was that?” a pirate growled from around the corner.
“Standby to engage on my command!” the Commander whispered to the rest of the Deltas. Aaen heard movement from behind. He guessed it was the Commander. Aaen panicked as his synapses burned with the question, Do the pirates’ have night vision gear?. . . He was fixed on the question for what seemed like forever. His gut told him they were about to find out—
Aaen lifted his rifle higher and glared down the rifle’s iron sights. Now he was nervously waiting for a target, and then anxiously anticipated the targets to get close enough to hear them, he silently hoped he wouldn’t miss, and nervously waited for the order to open fire. He couldn’t help but silently subconsciously ask, how many of them are there really?
*****
Steve H. told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."
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