Bradley, a junior flight deckhand, also referred to by the pilots as a deck monkey, sat on the floor of the five-story, two hundred foot long empty landing bay located on the top part of the Phoenix. The stillness was odd, like an abandoned beehive. 24 hours had passed since the last attack and 52 hours since every fighter, troop transport, search and rescue, cargo shuttle and scout ship had left. Everyone from the flight deck crew was gone, everyone save Bradley. He was ...