Soul of a Gambler

Part XV - "Mutually Assured Destruction"

"Useless, useless, useless!" 

If given enough time, Calhoun likely could have punched his way into the door control panel and worked the actuator manually. In fact, a similar course of action was ultimately what was decided upon. He had gathered a team of his exo-marines to break the destroyer free of its crippling bind, and even though the breachers might not be working, a broken actuator and some elbow grease could have a very similar effect.

The General rubbed at his battered and bleeding hand. The appendage was blossoming with deep purple bruises and spattered with the curious maroon-violet of Krazoran blood that mixed with his own that flowed from cuts made by the door control.

"Cut the damn box open and break the insides. Crowbar the door with your combat knife."

Gross misuse of a good knife, he was certain, but to Calhoun there were few material losses that couldn't be chalked up as acceptable.

As his team worked at the door, cursing, grunting, and stabbing away at the subpar metal of the interior wall he turned around to watch the entryway. Something tugged at his gut the way an anxious dog might tug at a leash. He took off his cap and inspected for stains across the black felt, correcting it in places where it had been warped during the fighting.

"Sergeant Kira," Calhoun turned just enough to put one eye on the delegating squad leader, "Do you know if anyone was assigned to the power plant?"

Kira tapped her chin and scowled, "Other than the crew that was in there anyway and their garrison? Probably not."

"Do you think they were sealed in?" The General pulled his sidearm from its holster and dropped the magazine, loading in a fresh supply of ammunition and racking the slide with a metallic sound.

"More than likely."

Calhoun turned completely now, "How many were in that garrison?"

"I don't know sir, that--"

"What the hell, Sergeant? How are you supposed to organize your subordinates if you don't even know who's assigned to what?"

The Sergeant bit her lip. She hoped it was just the heat of the moment, the pressure of the situation that gave Calhoun the idea that she and not Master Sergeant Paulo was the one in charge of personnel aboard KNIGHT ERRANT. 

"I would consult with the Master Sergeant sir, but communication is...tied up at the moment."

Everyone who had ever worked with Calhoun--and everyone who would work with him--knew that these interactions were ultimately fruitless, so Kira turned back to the door.

Calhoun threw his cap back on his head and corrected it as best as he could without a mirror. He huffed and snorted, then began to walk down the corridor toward the near-endless backup stairwell.

"Once that door's open n' you're out there you know what to do. Blow up the glowing shit, y'all've played video games." He said over his shoulder before leaving his team to work.

As he moved through the dark rooms and hallways that led to the stairwell he kept his weapon squeezed in his grip. Even he himself wondered why. The identical hallways contained only identical bodies, and transferred only the distant sounds of his team shooting the shit while the poor bastard with the knife performed door surgery.

He stopped at the landing of the stairwell and cast the chemical-reaction flashlight's beam toward the bottom. He shined it as far down as his vision and the winding spiral would allow. The beam still didn't hit the bottom, swallowed up by a beast made of the inky dark below.