Take us Home as we go

[Toaster]

Thorn, Cowell, and Ibeh stepped out of a tight elevator - its claustrophobic confines rendered all the more unpleasant by a pair of dead bodies - onto the command deck. Weapons and heads on a swivel, a quick sweep of the three-way junction that greeted them revealed no immediate threats.

"Those were foes, right?" Ibeh commented, sparing a glance back at the two corpses as the lift doors closed again.

"They shot at me," Cowell muttered in response, pulling off the charred remains of his left shoulder guard. Thorn stepped past them into the junction. Straight ahead would be the bridge. The corridor was dark - someone had cut off even the emergency lighting. Any number of hostiles could be hiding in the shadows.

"Form up," Thorn barked. Cowell and Ibeh fell in on either side of him, carbines trained down the hallway. "Night vision." The Roanoke's interior took on a green hue as the three soldiers' visors switched on image intensification. The eerie view revealed motion only a few yards ahead - figures shifting in the cover of bulkheads, support beams, and doorways. Beyond them Thorn made out two more men, lugging a large shape between them towards the command bridge.

"I count thirteen," Cowell spoke over closed comms.

"Looks like they've got gas tanks up ahead," Ibeh added.

"IED," Thorn speculated.

"Plan?"

Thorn reached down and drew a small cylinder from a pouch on his hip. "As we go, five second intervals." His thumb depressed a fuze on the cylinder.

"Understood." Cowell and Ibeh drew their own stun grenades.

"Go."

Thorn's flashbang arced down the corridor, clattering to the deck between the first pair of enemies hiding in the dark. Raising his carbine, Thorn memorized their positions and deactivated his helmet's night vision. A flash of blinding light erupted from the grenade - rendered just bearable by the visor's automatic polarization. The deafening explosion echoed down the length of the corridor and drowned out the cries of the two men closest to Thorn as he fired two bursts of plasma at their locations.

Thorn advanced, Cowell and Ibeh in lock-step beside him. Two more bursts brought down two more startled enemies. Cowell lobbed his grenade down the corridor. Again, the shadows vanished in a brief but brilliant flash of light. Three more foes dropped dead to the deck. A fourth attempted to return fire, blind and deaf. Bolts of energy zipped harmlessly past the three advancing soldiers, sparks showering them from where they struck the walls. Ibeh rushed forward, combat knife drawn from its sheath, and stabbed the man twice in the gut, once in the throat. He collapsed, gurgling.

Cowell stepped forward, underhanding his flashbang at the remaining group of enemy crewmen standing between them and those carrying the gas tanks. Thorn and Ibeh raised their carbines, ready to shoot once the stun grenade flushed their targets out of cover.

One man, however, lunged out from behind a steel beam, and swatted at the device as it arced through the air. It sailed back towards Cowell, who instinctively spun around to face away.

The grenade detonated between the three special ops soldiers - at this close range overwhelming even their helmets' dampening systems. Thorn squeezed his eyes shut, dropping to one knee and blindly firing a burst of plasma down the corridor. His ears rang. Something struck him in the chest; he could feel his chest plate denting from the impact of a large caliber round. A second hit threw him sprawling to the deck.

Someone grabbed him by the shoulder pauldrons and dragged him across the steel floor, depositing him with his back against the wall. Slowly, sight and hearing returned to him, only to greet him with the sound of large rounds striking the steel support beam beside him. Through teary eyes, he saw Cowell crouched across the hallway, loading a fresh battery into his carbine.

"Status?" Thorn growled.

"They've set up a machine gun."

Thorn reach for his chest piece. The steel-coated polymer armor had two dents half an inch deep in it. "Figured. Ibeh?"

"Up ahead," Cowell nodded down the corridor. "Pinned down."

"Ibeh, report," Thorn raised him on their closed frequency.

"Took a round to the left leg," the soldier replied, his voice strained. Thorn sighed. It had been going too well up until now.

"Can you see the IED?"

There was a pause. Then a curse. "They're just outside the bridge. Looks like they're priming a detonator."

They were running out of time. But this was exactly the kind of messy situation that Thorn and his men had trained for. He rose to his feet, careful not to expose himself to the machine gun fire still spraying against their modest cover.

"On my mark, fire at the gas tanks."

"Copy," Cowell and Ibeh responded in unison. Thorn took a deep breath and braced himself.

"Mark."

He charged out from behind the steel beam, keeping his head low. Bullets zipped past him, leaving thin trails of chemical propellant behind. With a glance down the hallway, Thorn could make out the muzzle flash of a machine gun placed in the middle of the corridor. It tracked him, its gunner desperate to score another hit. Thorn ducked and crashed into the opposite wall, as Cowell and Ibeh stepped out from behind their cover, unleashing a barrage of plasma. Bolts of high energy particles struck the walls, deck, and ceiling, showering the remaining enemy combatants in sparks.

Suddenly, a wave of heat washed over Thorn and his men, followed by a concussive blast that sent all three of them tumbling to the deck. A blinding ball of fire enveloped their opponents, incinerating them alive. Then it vanished and only a dark corridor filled with smoke and ash remained.

Cowell groaned. Ibeh coughed. Thorn shook his head, trying to keep his vision from spinning.

"Status?" He barked.

"I think we hit them," Ibeh responded, his voice hoarse.

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Olivia Sable