[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Thanks to the information derived from close questioning of the two Hessian guards, Rage knew exactly where Blutauge was. He left the two Hessians trussed up in the generator room and moved his men out in the direction of his quarry. That was three levels down and to the north. He plotted a round-about approach that he felt would be less traveled.
Everything went well and they avoided any more enemy contact until they got to within sight of the strategy room where his nemesis was holed up. It was occupied by quite a crew by the sounds of it. Rage signaled for stun grenades to be deployed and the raiders followed them into the chamber, dispatching anyone that was left standing with a hail of plasma fire.
Rage singled out his adversary writhing in agony on the deck, apparently incapacitated by a grenade. He moved over to him, put a boot on his neck and smiled. “You don't know me, but I guarantee I know you pal. Too bad I'm under orders to bring you back alive.”
Just then reinforcements began to arrive! Rage looked up to assess the situation and caught a vicious boot in the groin from the man on the ground. He buckled up and fell over on his face. The next boot landed square in his face, knocking off his helmet and breaking his nose with a sullen pop. Blood oozed down into his eyes. Several more kicks to the kidneys and gut area turned him into a solid mass of pain, gasping for air. Blutauge gave him one last parting kick and moved off to marshal his forces.
Rage's mind grappled with his condition, trying to focus, make his body respond. He had a vague, befuddled notion that things were going badly for his men but he couldn't bring himself out of it enough to verify anything. Breathing seemed to take up all the energy he had. He thought he probably had several broken ribs, possibly a punctured lung... The screams of battle and the blasts of deadly arms shook the air around him and still he lay there, combat ineffective.
Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder pulling him across the deck, then it fell away with a cry and the weight of a body slumped across his. He heard the distinct commanding voice of the sergeant several times, which gave him hope but there was no way of knowing who was winning. Then the sounds of combat finally died.
The engagement lasted mere moments that felt like an eternity...
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Now he felt hands on him once again. Were they friendly or enemy? The person to whom they belonged unceremoniously tossed him over their shoulder and trod off. Rage felt every step as if it were a red hot poker in his lungs but his human 'mule' never faltered nor hesitated in his trek.
After a short period of time he was gently lain on his back. He heard the sergeant bark out several sharp orders and then look down at his commander with concern. Beads of cold sweat mingled with the warm blood on Rage's face but he tried on a smile anyway, unsure how it would look from the other side. Still it was genuine, his relief in finding himself in the hands of the good guys being enormous.
How you doing boss? The sarge asked in a raspy, breathless voice. It couldn't have been easy to carry the dead weight of his commander.
Rage just nodded and continued to smile. Then it melted from his face as a sudden thought hit him: 'Where was Blutauge?' He opened his mouth to voice the question and saw the sergeant grin and jerk his head against the far wall. There was the man they had come after, all tied up and looking pretty, except for the thin ribbon of blood gracing his forehead. Rage sighed and nodded, the smile returning to his face. Now a marine stepped up to dress his wounds.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]They had lost three men in the attack. And two others were wounded but able to walk. That left only three battle effective men.
After being tended to Rage had decided he would be alright on his own since he could use the jet pack once they got out to the surface. It would be much easier than being carried around like a sack of useless... well, anyway... He was given one of the dead men's helmets as a replacement for his own damaged one. The marines checked each other for rips and tears in their environment suits, making repairs where necessary. Their prisoner was dumped rudely into a large medical cocoon..
They exited the facility and headed off in the direction of the ship. They had only made it about 200 meters, however, when they began to come under heavy fire from the bunker complex located on top of the enemy base.
They took cover behind a boulder and Rage activated his helmet commlink. “Spetzen, Rage.”
“Spetzen.”
“Lay down some gunfire support on the base so we can get out of here.”
“Roger.”
Rising to a height from which she could bring her heavy forward cannons to bear, the ship began sending devastating volleys into the bunker complex. It was curtailed fairly quickly as the base shields came on-line. But the short respite gave Rage and the remnants of his raiders the opportunity to get out of range of the snipers. The ship settled back into the dark dust of Rugen and awaited her comrades.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]Back on the ship, Rage gave the pilot the word and the Blade once again rose from the surface of Rugen. He hit the detonator and nodded to Sledge.
“Shields failing,” he announced, peering intently at his gunnery console. “Locking on torpedoes.”
“Fire when ready,” Rage ordered.
A salvo of four high-yield, bunker buster torpedoes arced out from their launchers on the aft belly section of the ship. They tracked straight and true, etching a fiery path through the thin Rugen air and slammed into the rock face of the Hessian base. A small explosive located in the nose of each torpedo lanced forward into the structure, piercing it like a diamond drill. A secondary explosion followed it, cracking the rock face wide open, hurdling fragments a mile into the atmosphere. The heavy warhead drove relentlessly into the crevice the preparatory explosions had caused and detonated. This all happened in a mere fraction of a second, four times... And where the base once stood, there appeared a large, deep crater instead.
The shock wave rocked the ship, sending its nose into a fifteen degree dip, for which the pilot quickly compensated. No big deal, they were heading out into space by then, and nowhere near the surface. Otherwise it might have been tragic. As it was, all it did was jostle around the crew a bit.
A successful mission was normally a cause for celebration. But no one was in the mood. They had lost buddies. That was all they could think about at the moment.
[font=Lucida Sans Unicode]“What are your plans, bro?” It was Sledge gracing the end of his hospital bed. Rage had been right, he did have several broken ribs. Thank God he was wrong about the punctured lung though. His nose was also ruined. The docs said they could reconstruct it but... he figured he'd just wear it as a reminder of how close he had come to buying it. Why? He didn't know.
“Hadn't thought that far ahead,” he admitted and nodded back at his friend. “How 'bout you?”
“Me? Hell, man... going home. I'm tired of the stars. Hungry for Houston.” Just then Kreggan waltzed in, carrying a bottle of Sirion Rum all wrapped up in a pretty red bow.
“Now I call that a proper gift,” Rage announced.
“Yeah,” Kreg said, “I thought that's what you'd call it.” He sat the bottle down on the table next to the bed. “Doc says you can't open it 'til you get out of the hospital tomorrow though.”
“Aw... what do them old 'bones' know anyway!” Rage tossed a hand in the air, waving off an opinion he didn't care to hear. He settled down and looked more earnestly at Kreg. “How you doing, bruh?”
“A hundred percent... and ready to head back to Houston with Sledge. We'll wait for you if you want to come with...”
Rage was shaking his head. He didn't know why but he couldn't go back. Somehow this little 'war' had changed him too much.
“Well alright then,” Kreg was continuing, “thought as much. You got the stars in you man... always have.” He made a big show out of elbowing Sledge. “'Sides, I hear the Bounty Hunters are getting ready to elevate you into the brass.”
“Rumor has it,” he pursed his lips, tried to look dignified. “Might require you two loafers to salute me next time we meet.”
“Uh-huh,” Sledge chimed in. “I got a salute for you.” And he presented his buddy with the rude gesture forthwith.
Rage laughed. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”
“Well, admiral... we gotta go... catching a transport to Houston... don't want to miss it,” Kreg explained. “Be careful out there in the deep dark, now. We ain't gonna be around to clean up after your messes no more.”
“Yeah, you're gonna have to learn to wipe yourself from now on, old buddy.” Sledge added.
“Ah hell,” Rage retorted, “how will I ever manage.” He grinned wryly at his friends. They both shook his hand in turn and left. And so closed a chapter in his life.