GUNS BLAZIN' (Revised 12/6/23)

During their narrow escape from the front compartment, the port-side landing gear had collapsed under the weight of the falling ship, making any further takeoffs problematic. After the short trip to where the ship sat now, the engine was half an inch abive the ground. The maintenance bits had cleared the intakes but until the strut could be repaired, the engine could suck in foreign debris, rendering it permanently useless this time. The irreparable loss of propulsion would mean no one would go home until another crew could bring replacement parts and equipment. But Moss couldn't worry about that possibility now. Something had gone wrong.

After an hour of terrifying radio silence, Moss had moved to the Pilot's seat and begun performing a series of hasty pre-flight checks. Many of which failed. Most of which failed. The engineering subsystems control console flashed a myriad of red and yellow warning lights. The angry display clearly intended to get the pilot's attention was a good indicator that a takeoff attempt was a bad idea. He ignored them all.

After an odd series of worsening energy surges rocketed down the trench and struck the ship, Moss was certain his uncommunicative teammates were in serious trouble. They need help, he thought. If I felt those surges this far away. What the hell did they felt on their end? He couldn't guess what happened to them, and didnt want to try. The possibilities were endless and more than a bit dire. Time and time, again, he fought down the feeling they were dead. Mostly because the energy surge had shoved the ship 10 yards further down range, knocking him off his feet. Luckily, the carbon fiber cast on his forearm protected his recent break.

Moss strapped himself into the pilot's seat. "At least, I get my seat back." he said, starting an emergency engine start up. The engines spun up loudly. The starboard side engine ground and chattered loudly,. Super heated air blackened the sand behind the shio as blue jets of fire roared through the exhaust cowling, turning it a brilliant shade of orange.

Moss jerked back sharply on the stick, hoping the engines wouldn't fail the way they had on Lockspur and Dahl. The ship lurched upward, protesting the sudden demand for elevation. More red lights flashed and several shrill alarms blared as dust kicked up all around the ship. The choking storm sandblasted the intake manifolds for the third time and passed through the spinning inner-workings of the starboard engine. The ship shuddered violently. Moss' seat tried to eject him through the windscreen. He jerked harder on the stick, trying to gain more altitude before the intake manifolds plugged solid or the spinning airfoils inside the engines gutsbecame a hail if shrapnel exploding out the rear of the engine. All I need is a little fresh air, he thought.

The ship bucked violently through the relentless storm of roiling dust. It teetered precariously 20 feet above the ground as if deciding whether it would fail or continue soaring upward. Peering through the windscreen, Moss could no longer see the horizon. It disappeared in the swirling storm outside. The engines stumbled again, vibrated the vessel and tossed its lone occupant mercilessly. More red lights flashed. More alarms screamed. "It's going to stall." he yelled at himself. The tail dropped, pointing the nose skyward. The ship slipped lower into the choking storm. Moss slammed his fist down on the aft docking thrusters. The rockets roared to life as white hot jets of fire blasted the dust away and the ship exploded out of the choking sand storm like speeding comet.

The ship leveled out, flying straight and true. Only two red lights remained. Aft landing gear failure lights blinked simultaneously. Those problems would have to wait. Moss looked stared at the horizon mouth agape and wide-eyed. During his take something had changed. The spire piercing the horizon moments earlier had vanished. In its place was a massive drifting cloud of dust. Moss slammed the stick forward. The nose dropped, the ass end rose high, rocketing the vessel forward on a corona of supersonic fire.

He circled the fallen wreckage, frantically searching thr area with the forward array to locate his missing comrades. No human life signs registered outside and the ship's thick steel structure blocked his scans. He prayed Dahl and Lockspur weren't under the twisted wreckage. He prayed they weren't dead inside it.

Hundreds of dead and dying bio-raptors screamed and stumbled around as the searing UV cooked them alive. There would be no escape for the raptors. The fallen compartment had sealed itself upon impact. The creatures had no way inside and that meant Dahl and Lockspur had no way out. The collapse trapped them inside with hundreds, possibly thousands, of those things. And they were in the dark.

Moss knew what he had to do. He had to get in there and find them. Save them if possible. Bring their bodies out, if not. Either way, Moss would never leave them behind. Not as long as there was strength in his body. They were not just his brothers in arms; they were his family. The only family he had ever had.

He jabbed at a red swithch on the Pilot's console and a heads up display filled the windscree. At the same time, a 5 foot by 5 foot panel on the nose cone of the mercenary ship slid down and out of the way. Its whining hydraulics filled the cockpit. "Time to get extreme," he said to himself. Ann array of 3, 20mm mini gun barrels slid forward out of the opening. Each had had giant bores. Moss thumbed up the safety shroud on the joystick. The barrels spun a half turn. The mini-guns were armed and ready to fire. He needed to get inside, and for that, he needed a hole. A big one. He placed the tip of his finger on the trigger, spotted his target, fixed the HUD's crosshairs on the side of the compartment and hoping no one would be in the near vicinity, depressed the trigger. The 20mm guns spun up and a long, growling trail of HE rounds interspersed with tracer rounds tore through the hull as if it were made of tissue paper. The sound in the cockpit was deafening. Several larger creatures saw the gaping hole appear in the compartment and raced towards the darkness, screaming to their flailing comrades. A growing onslaught od sizzling raptors followed them towards safety.

Moss saw the approaching horde and laid down a rending volley of suppressive fire that halted the beasts before they reached the safety of darkness. A shower of hot brass rained from the sky, tinkling off the rocks far below as exploding rounds tore through soft flesh and thick steel alike. When Moss finally let off the trigger, the weapons were spent. They spun to a stop in in their cradles, smoke drifting up to the windscreen. The writhing beasts that tried to reach the safety of darkness lay outside the gaping hull no longer caring about the ill effect of UV. Those who hadn't seen the sudden exodus lay helplessly screaming beneath the twins suns fury.

Moss hoped Dahl and Lockspur had heard the unmistakable barrage and known what it was. The rumbling burp of angry mini-guns is pretty distinct, he thought. "They must have heard it," he assured himself. He continued repeating that in his head until it became a mantra. It was his way of willing them back to life; back into this world and back into the light of day. Moss thought, I'm coming. Just hold on. I'm coming.

He set the ship down 10 yards in front of the gaping hole in the hull,. The engines slowed to a stoo. To his amazement, he had destroyed the engines. He hastily unbuckled his harness and then raced out of the cockpit, heading straight towards the weapons storage room. When he arrived, he spun around, trying to decide what he wanted to take with him. He spotted a long black storage locker stuffed into the far corner. Inside it was a special project he had tinkered with for the last year. He clumsily hoisted the locker onto a nearby workbench and said, "Guess now is as good a time as any to try this." Moss opened the lid and pulled out the locker's contents. In his hands, he held a prototype set of shock armor. The armor was substantially lighter than standard heavy armor and, it incorporated a number of significant upgrades regular heavy armor didnt have. The armor afforded less protection than typical, but it could still withstand far more punishment than lightweight armor. It also had far better nightvision optics and a state-of-the-art stealth system that he reasoned would come in handy. Once he was in the dark, Moss would need every edge he could use against creatures evolved to live in darkness. But he didn't kid himself. Once he was in there, Moss would be in their world, on their turf, and they would have the advantage of millions of years of evolution. Protected on not, he was meat for the bessts.

Moss donned the suit, stuffing every available pocket with all the spare clips and grenades he could carry. He wished there were more pockets, but overloading himself would limit mobility and increase noise. The last thing Moss wanted to do was go staggering through the ship, sounding like a clattering dinner bell. He grabbed a close quarters rifle, its typical 24" barrel cut down to 12" and its buttstock removed for ease of movement. It looked like a large pistol with a giant clip. He didn't need to worry about accuracy. He needed stopping power and a muzzle blast that might disorient the creatures at close range. Anything coming out of the darkness would undoubtedly be too close already; so he wouldn't have the luxury of taking the time to aim. He strapped a sawed off Remington Model 870 with a pistol grip to his right thigh, stuffed a 25 round box of buckshot in an empty cargo pocket, took 2 extra side arms and 2 pairs of multi-purpose sunglasses. He thought about taking a flamethrower rig, but it housed the heavy fuel tank in a pack on his back. After careful consideration, he decided against it. He was already coming dangerously close to being overloaded.

After ensuring he had everything he thought he may need, Moss made his way towards the front emergency hatch. "If they're alive," he said to himself, "it won't hurt to bring them a few provisions of their own."

Before opening the emergency hatch, Moss checked his weapons and donned his helmet. The suit had an impact resistant face shield made of the same material the sunglasses used. It would serve him well, both inside and outside the derelict craft. He opened the hatch fully expecting an attack, but nothing came at him. The twin suns had done their job. Dead bio-raptors' carcasses littered the area around the ship. He was glad his helmet filtered the incoming air as he squished his way through an ankle deep sea of slippery entrails and fried raptors. Some of them lashed out feebly as he passed by. It was almost sad.

Moss was only a few yards away from the gaping hole in the hull when he saw a giant shadow move across the opening. He pulled up, preparing to fire, and forced himself not to depress the trigger. "Don't!" he shouted at himself. "If they survived, they're more than likely injured and disoriented." He couldn't run through the compartment spraying anything that moved. He could kill one or both of them by accident. That was going to make their extraction far more dangerous. Now, the creatures had the advantage of attacking on sight and he had to know what he was shooting at before he pulled the trigger.

"Shit." He muttered to himself. Moss knew there were larger bio-raptors in the depths of the wreckage he couldn't take down in a close combat encounter. Hell, there were creatures in there he couldn't take down, at all. And no beast, giant ir otherwise, would willingly run up and play fetch the grenade even if I wrapped it in a bloody rag. "So much for the run and gun or gobble the grenade strategy." he lamented ruefully.

Moss needed stealth. He would have to search and evade while moving as quickly as possible. Firing a weapon would not only alert the beasts to his presence, it would cost him precious time he could ill afford to waste in potentially unwinable firefights. If he wanted the slightest chance of rescuing his teammates, Moss needed to get to them as quickly as possible. But compared to his enemies, who thrive on the art of war in the dark, he would be nearly blind and dependent on his untested optics. But with a little forethought and a whole boatload of cunning, he could navigate the wreckage unseen. In fact, that was the only logical strategy. Go unseen.

He looked back at the ship and knew he could get back in and fly away. He could save himself and no one would be the wiser. Then he turned back towards his friends and stepped through the breach in the hull. Moss would never leave them there. "No one gets left behind," he said. "Not on one of my missions." Then, stepping deeper into the unknown, the darkness surrounded him and he thought, Maybe I should have brought the flame thrower.