Chapter 48 - Blood in the Control Deck
David didn't reach for the ceramic pistol.
Instead, his hand slammed down on an emergency override lever recessed beneath the desk.
"Initiate terminal sequence!" he shouted.
The heavy black glass panels surrounding the circular chamber instantly slammed down, separating Vance and me from the elevated master console by a three-inch barrier of multi-layered ballistic polymer. Simultaneously, the ceiling vents hissed, releasing a thick, neurotoxic gas that swirled around our boots.
"Major, the glass won't take standard rounds!" Vance shouted, pulling his gas mask tight and firing a three-round burst that left only spiderweb fractures on the transparent barrier.
"Breaching charge! The junction box!" I ordered.
Behind the glass, David stood up, his face twisted in triumph as he watched the countdown hit twelve minutes. "Farewell, sister! The orbital array is locked! The kinetic payloads have begun their atmospheric descent vectors!"
I didn't waste time trying to shoot through the reinforced polymer. I unslung the remaining shaped-charge thermal pack from my back, lunged at the structural steel support beam flanking the control console's glass frame, and slapped the magnetic adhesive against the load-bearing pillar.
"Vance, get down!"
I hit the remote detonator.
A concentrated jet of four-thousand-degree thermite burned through the structural beam in half a second. The immense tension on the ballistic glass frame buckled, the structural integrity failing with a deafening, crystalline *boom*. The entire three-ton sheet of glass collapsed outward in a shower of shattered laminate.
I leaped through the opening, rolling across the jagged fragments of glass, coming up with my sidearm drawn.
David lunged across the desk, grabbing the ceramic pistol. He was fast—faster than any civilian had a right to be. He had clearly undergone private military contractor training, his movements sharp and economical.
He fired two rounds. One ricocheted off my left shoulder plate, spinning me sideways; the second grazed my neck, drawing a searing line of blood.
I didn't stop. I closed the distance before he could re-align his sights, slamming my forearm into his wrist. The ceramic pistol went flying, skittering across the floor and tumbling into the subterranean drainage pit below the console deck.
David didn't panic. He transitioned instantly into close-quarters combat, driving an open-palm strike toward my throat. I parried with my left forearm, catching him with a brutal right elbow across the jaw.
Blood sprayed from his split lip, but he absorbed the impact, ducking low to tackle me by the waist. The momentum carried us both over the edge of the elevated platform, crashing down onto the lower server level eight feet below.
We hit the steel grating with bone-jarring force. My carbine clattered away into the darkness.
David scrambled on top of me, his fingers clawing for my tactical knife, his face contorted into an animalistic snarl of hatred. "You were always in the way! From the day I was born, everything was compared to you! The brave daughter! The perfect soldier!"
"You had everything!" I choked out, grabbing his wrists, fighting against the crushing downward pressure of his weight. "Father handed you the world on a silver platter!"
"He handed me chains!" David screamed, breaking one hand free and driving a vicious punch into my cracked ribs.
Pain flared through my side like liquid fire, but adrenaline swept it away. As he reared back to strike again, I brought both knees up into his chest, bucking him backward over my head. He slammed hard against an armored server cabinet, the breath exploding from his lungs.
I was on my feet before he could recover.
I didn't use finesse. I closed the distance and drove a crushing knee into his solar plexus, followed by a sweeping hook that fractured his cheekbone. David stumbled, his knees buckling, his back hitting the glowing holographic terminal.
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"It's over, David," I breathed, drawing my backup sidearm and pressing the cold muzzle directly against the bridge of his nose. "Abort the orbital strike. Now."
***
