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Chapter 8: Gunnery Sergeant Noah "Bulldog" Rhodes

Chapter 8: Gunnery Sergeant Noah "Bulldog" Rhodes

Noah moved through the spacecraft’s armory, checking and double-checking the emergency gear. His job wasn’t glamorous, but it was necessary—if things went south, he was the one making sure they had what they needed to survive.

The locker doors hissed open as he ran a final inventory: emergency rations, medkits, oxygen tanks, portable repair kits, and EVA suits. Everything checked out, but that nagging instinct in the back of his mind wouldn’t let him relax. He had been on missions where the calm before the storm had lulled teams into false security—until an ambush, a systems failure, or a life support breach turned routine into chaos. Quiet meant nothing. Quiet was a trick the universe played before it struck. He had been on too many missions where ‘all clear’ turned into ‘all hell broke loose.’

"Bulldog, report on emergency systems," Adrienne’s voice came through the comms.

"Running the final checks now, Captain. Everything’s where it should be, but I don’t like how quiet it is."

"Duly noted. Just make sure we’re ready for anything."

He grunted in response, running a gloved hand over one of the EVA suits. "These eggheads and their toys think they’ve got it all figured out," he muttered to himself. "All the simulations, all the calculations—none of it means squat when the universe decides to punch back." Space was unforgiving. If something happened during the Sol shot maneuver, a single puncture in a suit or a faulty oxygen supply could turn a minor problem into a death sentence. He didn’t plan on letting that happen.

"Aurora, you reading any environmental fluctuations?" he asked, switching comm channels.

"Negative, Bulldog. Life support is holding steady. Why, you feeling paranoid again?" Aurora’s voice held a teasing edge.

"I call it prepared. Let me know if anything so much as hiccups."

    He continued his sweep, moving toward the emergency breach seals and hull patch kits. The ship was sturdy, but he had learned the hard way that ‘sturdy’ didn’t mean ‘invincible.’ He’d once seen a reinforced hull buckle under an unexpected pressure wave, watched a perfectly rated EVA suit fail from an unnoticed microfracture. Sturdy was a lie people told themselves until the universe proved them wrong. The last thing they needed was a micro-meteoroid puncturing the hull when they were whipping around the sun.

     As he finished the final check, he caught a flicker of movement on his helmet’s HUD—just a shadow, but enough to make him stop. His breath hitched, and his grip instinctively tightened around the strap of a nearby gear case. His pulse quickened, adrenaline spiking as his combat training kicked in. He turned sharply, scanning the dimly lit armory, fingers itching toward the sidearm strapped to his thigh. But there was nothing. Just cold metal and silence. He turned, scanning the dimly lit armory, but there was nothing. His pulse remained steady, but his instincts were on edge.

"Gabe, you still tracking that signal interference?"

"Yeah, and it’s getting weirder. It’s not random, and I’m starting to think it’s external."

"Define ‘external,’" Noah said, his grip tightening on the edge of a locker.

"Not sure yet. But if I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know."

Noah exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension gripping his muscles. His fingers flexed involuntarily before curling into fists. His gut told him something was off, but he forced himself to let it go—at least for now. Everything was in place, every piece of gear accounted for, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

They were heading straight for the most dangerous maneuver of their mission, and if something was waiting for them, he intended to be ready.

Why did it have to be something he couldn’t see to shoot? 

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