The Honour of the Knights, Stephen J. Sweeney [reading women .txt] 📗

fired being slowed by the man's leather suit.

The reality of what they were up against had finally begun to sink in, and the cries of the pilot that Estelle had shot down three days ago came rushing back into his head. The pilot had begged not to be sent back, that if he went back he would die. Now that Dodds thought about it, the man had spoken with an Imperial accent. He had thought nothing of it at the time, but now... Was this what those three had been running from? Had they been so desperate to escape from this nightmare that they would risk going head-to-head with seasoned Confederation starfighter pilots? The odds of their success had been low, but no doubt higher than their odds against these soldiers. The “rumours” he, Enrique and Chaz had heard the previous night no longer seemed to be just that.

Something else occurred to him: was this how Dragon had been so easily overcome? From what he was seeing, even the several thousand strong crew of Dragon's full complement would be no match against such unrelenting foes. What other secrets were the CSN keeping from them?

He looked to Chaz, who was sheltering from the bullets and plasma that continued to fly into the bar, ripping plaster and chunks of concrete from the walls; splintering wooden chairs, tables and the counter; shattering bottles, glasses and decorations.

He caught Chaz's eyes. The man looked stressed.

“Chaz, seriously, who the hell are these guys?” Dodds asked.

There was considerable pause, then, in a grim voice, “They're the result of the Senate's desire to control the Empire. They're a mistake.”

“What?” Dodds said. “They're a mistake?”

More wood and plaster flew. Enrique swore, his voice loud above the other noise.

“What do you mean? Are they human?” Dodds said.

Dodds was staring at him, but Chaz took no notice, lost in thought as to how they were to escape from their current predicament. He checked the counter on his plasma pistol and saw that only two shots in the current fuel cell remained. Shooting down the enemy was now not an option - if it had ever been. He ducked out of hiding again, to loose off the final two shots before crouching down behind the wall to reload the pistol. He tossed the empty fuel cell away, the little splash it made as it hit the floor grabbing his attention for the first time. It was then that he noticed the thin liquid that covered the floor, as well as the strong smell of wine.

“Estelle, what you two got back there?” he shouted to the two women taking refuge behind the counter.

“We don't have any weapons or ammo!” Estelle said.

“Not unless you want to start throwing beer glasses at them!” Kelly added.

“Anything with a high percentage of alcohol?” Chaz said.

“They're starting to come around!” Enrique cried. At their current range, Enrique's shotgun was not going to be as accurate or effective against the soldiers as the pistol. He fired it nonetheless, in an attempt to keep the soldiers together, though they had already split into two groups and had begun to circle around, to take the bar blindsided.

Chaz took a chance and fully exposed himself, firing off several shots at both groups to drive them back. The gamble paid off and the soldiers once again pulled back for cover. He sought cover once more himself, knowing that he would not be able to pull off such a move again. He counted himself lucky that he had not been shot to ribbons, even for those brief few seconds. The soldiers were not only very accurate, but also possessed incredible reflexes. He assumed they must have already used up their more powerful armaments dealing with the refugees; he would not be safe behind the wall otherwise. It had bought them a little time, but even that was already beginning to run out.

“Found anything?” Chaz called.

Estelle and Kelly were ransacking the lower cupboards, looking for anything that might be of use.

“Vodka,” Kelly volunteered, her eyes resting on some large clear bottles of liquid labelled Velda. “Lots of it.”

“Bring it here - and hurry!” Chaz said.

Estelle thrust two of the large bottles into Kelly's arms and the woman somewhat reluctantly crawled towards Chaz, pausing under wooden tables as she went.

“How many are there?” the big man said, as she pulled herself up next to him.

“About two dozen or so under the counter,” she said. “Maybe more if...”

“Toss them out there,” Chaz said. “Take the caps off and try and make sure they break. Make sure you get a good spread. Estelle, Dodds pass her the rest. Enrique and I will cover you.”

The others started to follow his request, without question. Chaz fired the pistol sparingly as they did so, keeping a close watch on the ammunition counter as he and Enrique continued to lay down a suppressing fire.

As the bottles were thrown out, smashing on the white marble floor, the black soldiers ceased firing and held their position behind the massive desk. They seemed uncertain of what was going on and why their enemy had resorted to such a bizarre tactic. Such feelings were shared by Dodds, Estelle and Kelly who were, at this point, willing to try anything to get out of the port alive.

“Only got one shot left,” Enrique said, at the same time that the bottles of vodka ran out. All the bottles had shattered where they had been thrown, the alcohol spreading out across the floor and soaking into the clothes of the dead.

“Pass it over here,” Chaz said, still not willing to explain or discuss his train of thought with the others.

Enrique ducked down and slid the weapon across the floor to the big man, who let it come to rest next to him.

“When I give you the signal, I want you all to get out of here and head towards the airlock. Don't wait for me; I'll be right behind you.” He produced the three smoke grenades, double-checking that they were what he was after. “Hold your breath.”

Taking hold of the first, he pulled the pin and let it roll away from him. The canister immediately began to billow thick green smoke, filling the inside of the bar. Setting off another, he tossed it just outside the entrance to the bar, yellow smoke belching forth and beginning to cover the surrounding area. He then threw the third in the direction they would need to take to reach the airlock, purple smoke spewing out of the canister.

“Go! Now!” Chaz said.

He watched as his four allies made their way past him, the air all around them filling with multicoloured gas. The combination of the three grenades in the small area was already providing an effective screen for their escape, but Chaz knew this was not enough. Dropping the plasma pistol into his flight helmet, he tossed the shotgun outside the bar, where he could more easily retrieve it following the final phase of his plan.

* * *

As the smoke screen covered the Knights, the soldiers tapped at the side of their helmets, changing the internal visor settings; a tactic they had used whilst hunting down escaping refugees in the near-darkness that the soldiers themselves had perpetuated. They had since returned their visors to normal.

But with the thick blanket of smoke now obscuring their vision, they chose a setting that allowed them to see thermal radiation. The smoke screen that had been providing the Knights with cover for their escape was undone, and their forms were revealed as silhouettes of red, yellow and blue-green hues, running as best they could from the bar in the direction of the airlock corridor, skipping over bodies.

All that was, except for one, who remained outside the entrance of the shot up bar. The silhouette did not stay in that position for very long, however, making a sudden throwing motion and then beginning to run itself, grabbing two objects off the floor.

Training their guns on the figure, the soldiers prepared to open fire when their vision exploded, overwhelmed with an intensity of reds, oranges and yellows. The definition of their surroundings was lost. They did not need to switch off their thermal vision to realise that a fierce blaze had sprung up between them and their quarry. It was now spreading fast, the fire setting alight to clothes and other flammable items that had at one time belonged to the refugees.

* * *

The combination of thick, multicoloured smoke and flames provided the Knights with adequate cover and the group reached the airlock unscathed. Reaching the door first, Dodds started to work the control panel, opening it and allowing the others through. He remained in front of the panel as the others made their way into the chamber, lest it close and leave some of them on the wrong side of the thick doors. He saw Chaz bringing up the rear and waved him through. With him, the big man carried the shotgun that he had originally entrusted to Enrique, as well as his flight helmet.

“Dodds, get in here!” Estelle said.

Dodds released his finger from the button and started forward, only to feel something latched onto his leg. He looked down to see that one of the soldier's previous victims was not yet dead and was now clinging on to him for dear life.

“Hey! Let go!” he started, trying to shake the man off him. Despite his efforts, the refugee held on tight, refusing to do as he said, the desperation to escape and reach safety all but closing his ears to any such protest. Dodds began to swear profusely, and reached down in an attempt to pry the man from him. He could feel that he would topple over at any moment.

“Pandoran! Pandoran...” the man said, looking back around him in fear, hearing, as Dodds, the sound of the soldiers' heavy boots on the floor.

“Help!” Dodds said, looking around to his allies in the chamber, who were affixing their helmets and checking their gear. The refugee was attempting to pull himself up, repeating the same word over and over. It sounded more like a name.

Chaz came rushing back out the airlock chamber, coming up beside the grappling pair. The big man struck the refugee with the butt of the shotgun, making him release his grip, before grabbing Dodds by the upper arm and hauling him in to join the others.

“Close the damn door!” Chaz barked, as the five black-clad soldiers rounded the corner at the end of the corridor and hammered towards them.

As the airlock doors began to close, Chaz raised the shotgun for one last time and discharged it. The soldiers did not even halt as the gun was fired, the frontmost pursuer being winged by the spread of pellets. She fell backwards, but the others simply stepped over her, forming a defensive line between their adversaries and their fallen team mate. Through the diminishing gap, Chaz threw the shotgun back into the corridor, just as the doors bolted before him. Picking up his flight helmet from the floor, he extracted the pistol he had stowed within it. The big man then proceeded to don his helmet, though he did not turn his back on the scene on the other side of the door.

Dodds did likewise, powerless to do anything but stand and watch the fate of the refugee that had tried to come with him. With few options open to him, the refugee made a vain attempt at rushing the soldiers. The lead did not bother to respond to the threat with his held weapon, but instead grabbed the man around the top of his head with one massive hand. Drawing a knife from his belt, he cut his attacker's throat in one fluid and powerful movement, before letting him slip choking and gasping to the floor. The remaining soldiers ran up to the closed door and stood in front of it, the foremost raising the plasma rifle they held and training it on Chaz through the airlock door window.

Dodds watched in wrapped silence. Even though the soldier could have killed Chaz with a couple of shots, he was not about to pull the trigger and break the glass. To do so would risk exposing the entire port to the vacuum of space the moment the outer airlock door opened. But the soldier waited still. If the outer door did not open, for any reason, whether because of a mechanical failure or security violation, then Dodds was certain he would not hesitate to pull the trigger. Even so, Chaz remained where he was, acknowledging no-one else, his back to his fellow Knights.

A warning alarm started in the chamber, signalling both the impending depressurization and Chaz's victory.

“Here we go,” Enrique announced to the sound of the outer door locks' release. Dodds