The hangar was a sea of barely contained chaos as the first dropship was escorted out towards the landing pad. The howling wind and torrential rain only made matters worse, as half-heard orders were shouted back and forth. He was beginning to doubt the wisdom of the evacuation order. Not only were panicked and confused civvies getting underfoot, but he could not help but think he had just created one giant larder. He knew from past reports that xenomorphs preferred tight, enclosed spaces. They wouldn’t prance around in the open if given a choice, but this many warm bodies all in one place might be just too tempting a target. Charlie Squad had already called in one confirmed sighting outside of Delta, although, mercifully, Hangar 1 was on the southwest of the base, and not particularly close to either Delta or civilian medical. He hoped it was far enough to give them time. At least there had been no further sightings of that damn yautja.

  “We don’t have enough ships for everyone,” said Heller through gritted teeth as he continued to wave civilians through.

  “They can sit on the floor. We can get close to a hundred if we pack’em in tight enough. The pilots will just have to go easy with the g’s,” said Sanchez, holding on to his cover.

  “That’s still two trips per dropship,” said Heller.

  It would take an hour to launch all four, and about ninety minutes return trip for each ship. It was going to be a long night.

  “We might have to hold this position until dawn,” he said, knowing that was probably impossible. Massive, with high ceilings and huge doors at either end, and dozens of other access points, “tactically disadvantageous” was an understatement. He took Heller’s silence as tacit agreement. “As soon as Charlie and Gamma squads get back, assign them to the eastern perimeter.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the sergeant without question. Based on the numbers estimate Yau had given him, Sanchez doubted they could hold out that long. But he would be damned if he was going to abandon anyone to the xenomorphs. He knew what they did with the people they captured.

  “Colonel,” a breathless Doctor Cotillard spotted him in the crowd and ran towards him. “Colonel, have you seen Marion?”

  “You mean Doctor McTaggart? No, I haven’t seen her. She wasn’t in Medical?” he said, trying to hide his concern. If people were going missing, then it was already worse than he thought.

  “She may have been. I was down in the morgue when, I don’t know, something broke in upstairs, so I hid. One of your Marines found me, told me to head this way,” explained the doctor, struggling to catch his breath.

  If McTaggart had been taken, then that made Cotillard the last senior doctor on the base. The last one he trusted, anyway.

  “Doc, see that dropship on the landing pad?” he said, pointing towards the mass of people pushing their way on to the loading ramp. “I need you on it. You there,” he said to the nearest Marine, “escort this man to the dropship I want him on it right now. Priority passenger.” The Marine silently nodded. “Doc, I need you to set up a receiving hospital at the LZ. Speak to Lieutenant Pryce when you get there, he’s already on board.”

  “This way please, sir,” said the private, who proceeded to force march the doctor to the head of the line. Angry shouts erupted from the crowd as the doctor was pushed to the front of the ramp, several were shoved to the ground as people jostled for position. The sound of distant gunfire echoed over the gale, and screams erupted from the crowd as the throng surged forward, hundreds of people fighting to get on to a dropship that could hold a fraction of their number. Marines struggled to hold them back, clear of the launch pad. Orders to stand back went unheeded. The staccato roar of pulse rifle fire boomed and the screaming crowd ducked as a warning round was fired into the air.

  “Hold your fire, goddammit! That’s an order,” he barked into his mic. “The next Marine to discharge his weapon will wish they’d been left to the xenomorphs!”

  “Colonel, this is Dropship One,” his headset squawked in his ear. “Sir, we’re at capacity. Control is giving us the all clear, but I need your verbal authorisation to launch.”

  “Confirmed. Launch, and godspeed Dropship One,” he answered, regaining his composure.

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  The crowd backed away from the pad as the engines roared to life, quickly replaced by a high-pitched scream as they reached full throttle, and the dropship began to rise. Its landing gear retracting as it climbed into the black clouds of the night sky, buffeted by the storm the pilot expertly held it steady, until barely an outline of the hull was visible except for the blinking red and green of the landing lights.

  “Dropship One is away,” he spoke into his mic. “Get Number Two rolled out I want it loaded and in the air in ten minutes. Double-”

  From some far-off point in the distance, a bolt of blue-white plasma shot almost vertically into the air, covering the distance in a fraction of a second and slamming into Dropship One’s starboard intake. He could only watch in horror as the ship exploded in a massive yellow-orange fireball that momentarily turned the sky brighter than the day, forcing him to shield his eyes. A deafening boom thundered across the base and a wave of intense heat washed over him. Chunks of fiery mangled wreckage plummeted a thousand feet to the ground, smashing into the launch pad. People fled as pieces of flaming metal and burning jet fuel rained down on them. A massive section of tailfin landed close to the hangar, instantly crushing several people, including a Marine. Others burst into flames as they were soaked with burning liquid, screaming as the flailed helplessly. A few brave individuals and Marines tried to help put out the flames. The crowd erupted into chaos. All semblance of order now lost. Screams and cries drowned out orders. People were trampled as the throng pushed backwards away from the pad, swallowing the Marines with sheer weight of numbers. The crack of a single shot reverberated through the air, and the crowd fell silent. The only sound came from the patter of rain on the metal roof and the crackle of the burning fire. Even the wind seemed to go quiet. The smoke emanated from the barrel of the massive revolver Sanchez held aimed at the sky, before he calmly reholstered the weapon.

  “Perimeter units, maintain your positions!” he barked into his mic, before addressing the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, please allow my Marines to escort you to safety. Walk, don’t run. Assist the injured if you can, but only if you can do so without risking yourself. Sergeant Heller, get these civilians to the Marine barracks. We’re aborting the evac and falling back to Marine HQ.”

  *

  He was outside. An inexplicable wave of peace washed over him as he closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the rain on his skin. Above, the black sky was a mosaic of clouds. The air was bitingly cold, but fresh. Although the wind was almost strong enough to knock him off his feet, even Van Der Beek shielded his face as they marched through the mud that formed a “street” between the buildings, he did not care. He was outside. If he was going to die, at least it would not be in that place.

  A flash caught his eye, and a fireball appeared in the sky like a second sun. It must have been almost a kilometre away, and several hundred metres in the air, but he felt the heat of the blast as the deep, rumbling boom shook the ground. Louie watched in stunned silence as the burning wreck of dropship plummeted towards the ground. Was it an evac ship? How many people had been on it? Had Doctor Yau been on it? He felt a pang of guilt about the last part, and silently condemned himself for the selfish thought. He glanced at Van Der Beek, who stood transfixed as whatever hopes he had of leaving were dashed. There was no mistaking it. It hadn’t been an accident. The ship had been shot down.

  “I guess we’re not going anywhere,” he said quietly. Van Der Beek didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him. He just continued to stare at the orange glow that the flaming wreckage was now casting on the low clouds. He glanced again, and the merc still didn’t react. Unbidden, a thought formed at the edge of his consciousness, prompted by some suppressed instinct. A will he had long since forgotten he even had; a will to survive.

  “It looks like you are going to need me a little longer,” he said cautiously, hesitating a little, waiting to judge the reaction. The big man turned to him, uncomprehending, still too shocked to speak. “If I die, you die.”

  The merc’s face hardened. “Are you threatening me, little man?”

  Louie felt his stomach churn, but he stood firm, using every ounce of strength he could muster. For the first time in a long time, he had something else, something besides will. He had leverage.

  “No, but I can’t be your “good luck charm” if I’m dead. It’ll only be a matter of time before they find you.” He paused, allowing him a moment to process what he was saying. The merc was pissed, that was obvious. His eyes burned with rage at this unexpected defiance. Fists clenched, he stared at Louie, but did not strike him.

  “If you want to keep me around, I need that gestacyn. Without it, I’m fucked. Without me, you’re fucked,” he said pointedly, his confidence growing. His heart raced, and a tense moment passed between them as Louie held his gaze, and behind the anger he could see the cogs turning. See the odds being calculated, before the big man relaxed ever so slightly.

  “Where?” muttered Van Der Beek.

  “Delta. Level 3 or 4. I don’t know exactly. Believe me, I don’t want to go back down there any more than you do.” Probably a lot less, he thought to himself. Van Der Beek shot him a dirty look. His icy blue eyes seemed to pierce right through him, and he felt a chill that was nothing to do with the cold.

  “Lead on,” he said, his tone thick with mock deference.

  “We need to hurry,” said Louie. “I just felt it move.”