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Sevastian’s arm. “How is he doing?”
“The wound is cauterized,” Nikolai answered. “There’s no bleeding or lodged projectile. Just damage. Morphine should be taking effect soon, so the pain should diminish.” He stepped aside to reveal the shirtless Sevastian’s shoulder. The moment Mikhail saw it, he grimaced. Everything from the right side of Sevastian’s chest to his bicep was a twisted, charred wreck. “For all practical purposes, his clavicle and rotator cuff are destroyed.”
Holding his pistol with his left hand, Sevastian spoke through quivering lips. “I won’t be as accurate, but I’ll do what I can.”
The impulse to immediately say no was strong. Having a soldier who was almost totally non-effective in combat was the last thing Mikhail needed. But Sevastian’s well-being was also at stake. What if the aliens found him here? He’d have no chance. More than they needed him, he needed them . “All right,” Mikhail said. “Put your uniform back on, try your best not to look injured. Do some damage.”
“Da, captain.” Wincing, he slid back into his outfit.
So this is it. This is the entry team. A pistol-wielding sniper who wasn’t supposed to be there, a Spetsnaz GRU medic, an incapacitated executive officer, and three American Green Berets. Seven mud-covered survivors of an infiltration gone to hell. Readying his M3, Mikhail surveyed his team. Broken, but alive. At least that said something. “We move in three rows. Lukin, you move with me. Sparks and Andrianova, surround Tyannikov in the middle. Captain Hemingway and Reed will take the rear.” It was basic, but that was fine. “The reptiles are vulnerable in the head and neck. Shoot only when you can hit. We need to conserve ammo.” The group acknowledged. “Be aware: there is a second type of alien here. I saw one dead in the entry room. It was gray, and very thin, like a starving child. I do not know what it can do.
“We will move forward through the vessel toward its center. We do not need communication to alert the American forces that we are here. If we can create enough chaos, it might attract the attention of the aliens outside. If the Americans see that, they can move forward with the frontal assault.” That was still why they were there. That was still what they were going to do.
Giving the order to move out, Mikhail and his team abandoned the safety of whatever the room was they’d been sitting in. Submachine guns ready, they tracked into the halls and began their trek inward into the belly of the beast.
It was time to go on the attack.
4
1524 hours
MIKHAIL STRAINED EVERY sense as he led his team through the flickering corridors. His muddied palms gripped his borrowed M3 with fierce determination. He felt a strong inclination to pull the weapon’s trigger, as if the act itself would place a target in view. That was how close-quarters combat always felt.
Lighting was intermittent throughout the corridor, pulsing on and off as if whatever power source was feeding it was struggling to survive. The lights themselves ran like veins along the top corners of the halls—a design Mikhail had never seen anywhere on Earth. The flickering, combined with the slant of the ship, formed an atmosphere as unsettling as it was unnatural.
The corridor ended into a solid metal door that was sealed shut. Though there’d been several doors along the route, no sounds had emanated from any of them. For all practical purposes, it seemed that they were leaving a dead section of the ship.
The soldiers split along both sides of the hallway as they neared the door, their weapons drawn and ready as each step took them closer to whatever lay on the other side. Mikhail scanned for some kind of door mechanism. There was a depressed panel to the door’s right. That had to be something. As he approached it, he signaled for the others to hold behind him. They instinctively knelt to firing positions, weapons aimed at the door.
The panel
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