Rescue Party - [NS]

[Note: No Sex In This Chapter]
When Commander Richard Smith and the three others descended the access ramp of the 5-EX, the Captain looked at a hovercraft parked nearby and commented, "Wish we had one of those for this mission."

"Why not wake up the Port Foreman and have him issue us one?" Lieutenant Moonwatcher asked.

The Captain shook his head. "No, I don't want anyone else to know what we are doing."

"Don't you think we can trust him?" Lieutenant Moonwatcher asked. So far the Port Foreman had always been cooperative and helpful. It was not his fault the mine had not delivered the ore.

"Right now," the Captain answered, "I don't trust anybody."

"Uh, Captain, could you give me a minute?" Petty Officer Dawson asked. He did not wait for an answer but ran over to the vehicle, climbing into the driver's seat. Digging into his front pocket, the Cook took out an item that had been with ship-borne personnel through the days of steam, rocket propulsion, ion drive, and now hyper speed. A pocket knife. The rest of the team could not see what he was doing, other than leaning over with his shoulders moving. Soon the vehicle roared into live and Petty Officer Dawson got out.

"That's the way we turn on half of our vehicles back home in West Virginia," he grinned.

"You drive," Commander Smith said, pointing to Petty Officer Dawson. "You other two, hop in the back."

There was only one customer in the bar when the 5-EX team arrived. One old man who was about half passed out. As they stood in the doorway, surveying the room, Guardian Gladden nodded towards a window with one pane missing, except for a few shards of glass. Everyone followed Gladden's gaze and Lieutenant Moonwatcher leaned over to whisper, "It wasn't like that when I left."

Other panes were missing, but they had been covered with thin plywood and heavy tape. This one had not.

The Bartender noticed the men were wearing side-arms, but he tried to keep a smile on his face as they slowly approached. "Yes, sir!" he called out cheerfully. "What can I get for you gentlemen?"

"Some information," Commander Smith answered. "One of my men was in here earlier tonight. I'm looking for him."

"Can't help you there," the Bartender replied, suddenly busying himself with wiping down the counter-top with a rag. "He left here a couple of hours ago." He nodded towards Lieutenant Moonwatcher, adding, "Shortly after you did."

Like a cobra, Guardian Gladden's left hand shot out to grab the front of the bartender's dingy white shirt while whipping out his blaster to press against the underside of the man's jaw. Tilting his head back. "You have three seconds to come up with a better answer than that or your brains will be splattered on the ceiling."

The other three 5-EX team members were shocked. They all knew the explosive power of a blaster. But they said nothing. Even Commander Smith remained quiet, letting Gladden 'play his hand'.

"There was a fight in here after he left," Gladden hissed, referring to Moonwatcher. "Look at that broken window." Leaning in closer, so close his nose almost touched the Bartender's. "Now our friend is missing. Where. Is. He?"

"Alright. Alright," the Bartender gasped. He took a couple of deep breaths before saying, "Mine 212. About three miles down the road that way."

"O.K.," Gladden said, releasing the Bartender but still not holstering his blaster. "If we don't find our friend, we'll be back. And you don't get a second answer. You'd better pray they haven't moved him."

"Wait!" the Bartender called out. Then with lowered eyes, he muttered. "Mine 213. It's a mile farther down the road. Mine 213."

"Dawson," Commander Smith said, "Didn't you say that there was kind of a waitress here? Where is she? Go find her."

The Petty Officer hurried down the hall to the back and everyone heard some scuffling and cursing. In a few minutes, Dawson was pushing the skinny woman ahead of him, clasping her elbows tightly. She still struggled, kicking out futility while grunting and panting. As she kicked, the 5-EXers could see that she did not wear any panties.

"Ohhh," Commander Smith grimaced at the sight of that hairy pussy with the brown labia. Turning to Lieutenant Moonwatcher, he said, "I wouldn't fuck that using your dick."

When Dawson released her and stepped away, she made a great show of rubbing her arms, playing the role of grossly injured victim. It was at that point that Commander Smith calmly drew his weapon, took aim on the Bartender, and squeezed the trigger. The two concentric circles of blue light that emitted from the end of the weapon dropped the man in his tracks. The Waitress let out a scream, and Smith shot her as well. When the old man tried to run towards the back, Smith said, "Sorry, Pops." and dropped him.

"I have it set on Stun-2*," Smith explained as he put away his weapon. "They will be out for at least two hours. That way we don't have to worry about them escaping and we won't have to leave someone behind to watch them."

"You might still want to leave someone behind, Captain," Gladden said. "Lock the door. Turn out the lights. But that way if anyone does show up who is part of whatever is going on, we can be alerted."

Smith nodded, telling Moonwatcher to remain behind. Only later, after all of this was over, would it register with Smith that after two-and-a-half weeks onboard his ship, tonight was the first time Gladden had called him 'Captain'.

When the hover-craft was about a quarter of a mile away from Mine 213, Commander Smith had Petty Officer Dawson stop the vehicle. They would proceed on foot. As they trudged along, Smith asked Gladden in a whisper, "Were you really going to kill that man back there?"

Gladden turned his head towards Smith, a wide smile slowly spreading over the Guardian's face. "Naw . . . You can't get information from a corpse."

When the entrance to the mine came in sight, Smith and Gladden were surprised not to see any sentries or guards posted and wondered if the Bartender had lied to them after all. Commander Smith told the other two to set their weapons on Stun Level One*. He did not want to have to wait for two hours before interrogating whoever they might encounter.

"Where did you get the flashlights?" Guardian Gladden asked as Smith and Dawson turned on their beams. The two Spacers looked at each other in confusion. Men who live/work onboard ship always carry flashlights. Sweeping the area before them with their electric torches, they tried not to become discourage by the long, endless tunnels of darkness facing them. There were miles of them. And they had no idea of the layout. They could spend days searching.

Not days, minutes. For they had not gone more than a few yards when a faint glimmer appeared up ahead to their right. Following it, the light became more visible. Stronger. Until at last they crept past a branch tunnel that contained Hammer. The Captain frowned when he saw that his First Officer was naked and in chains, asleep on the floor. But he **** himself to move forward, they would return for him afterwards.

Smith and Dawson doused their flashlights and clipped the tiny but powerful units back onto their belts as they got closer to the main source of illumination. Were those voices they were hearing? Why would those people still be up this late at night? But then, for someone who spends most of his life underground, time is just a set of numbers on the wall.

"This will be like shooting fish in a barrel," Commander Smith whispered.

"But how many fish?" Guardian Gladden responded, also in a whisper. "And how big of a barrel?"

"Captain," Petty Officer Dawson hissed and pointed towards the wall to his left. A canvas tarp half-covered a wooden box of emergency flares. The Captain nodded his head, whispering back, "Do it."

Dawson scooted over to the box, grabbed a handful of the cardboard tubes, and, hugging the wall, ran forward in a crouched position. Stopping just before the entrance to the tunnel branching off from the one they were in, the Cook pulled the tab on one flare and tossed the thin, sputtering, smoke-spewing cylinder inside.

"What the fuck is this!" a voice from inside yelled even as a second and then a third flare landed. The occupants ran out, brandishing their hand-held mining trowels as weapons. The first miner fell immediately, as did the second. The third, fourth, fifth all dropped to the ground as silent blue circles of light hit them. It was as if Smith and Gladden were at a shooting gallery, competing for a stuffed animal. Even Dawson 'bagged' one.

They waited several moments for anyone else to emerge. When that did not happen the three men from the 5-EX, with weapons held at the ready, cautiously rounded the corner.

A dark-haired woman with a pony-tail and wearing the same type of jumpsuit as the fallen men was sitting on one of the benches at a wooden table. Tin plates with remnants of food and empty beer-bottles littered the surface. Her short fingernails were drumming on the tabletop. She stared at them, recognizing the uniform of two. The same as their captive.

Rising slowly and extending her arms in front of her, fists close together, assuming they would be putting cuffs on her, she said in a calm voice, "You could have just knocked."

*[Neural Disruptor Settings. Standard issue for Solar Guard armed personnel]

1) S1 - Stun - Loss of almost all motor control for first 5-10 minutes. After that, speech is slurred, cognitive thought is difficult, victim's muscles will be weak, often accompanied by shaking. Vision blurred.
Duration: 10 to 30 minutes.

2) S2 - Stun - Loss of consciousness. Upon regaining consciousness, victim experiences symptoms of S1.
Duration: 2 to 6 hours.

3) K - Kill - Self-explanatory. **** results immediately.
Duration: Permanent.