The female spider lifted the second armored truck.
Bastian ran off the wall, raced across the courtyard, and faced the spider.
She towered over him. God, she was huge. Those legs rose taller than Bastian, and the abdomen loomed like a craggy asteroid. The beast still held the truck overhead with two claws.
Red eyes like bags of blood turned toward Bastian, wet, blinking, filled with malice. The creature hissed, jaws opening, jaws that could devour worlds.
A goddess, Bastian thought. A spider goddess from beyond the dark. Charging Bear was right. These are deities.
Bastian froze. He tried, failed to move. The terror was too great.
Earth will fall, he thought. Humanity will end.
Then he thought of Rowan. Her smile. Her tears.
He howled and opened fire.
He emptied a magazine, focusing all his bullets on the same spot—one of the legs holding up the truck.
The enormous, gleaming black leg cracked.
For a second, the armored truck swayed. Then it fell, slamming onto the spider.
A marine armored truck weighed twenty-five tons. As much as a family of elephants. All that weight crashed into the spider and cracked the abdomen open like a bad egg. Blood and ooze spilled across the courtyard. Trapped under the truck, the alien squealed and whimpered. Her legs twitched.
She looked up at Bastian with one red eye. It gleamed, a bead of swirling red evil.
"She will die, Bastian …," the creature hissed. "Your daughter will be ours to eat …"
They knew about Rowan.
How the hell did they know about Rowan?
Bastian knelt by a dead soldier, took a magazine from his vest, and recharged his Gideon. He aimed at the spider's red eye.
"Off you go to hell, bitch."
He opened fire on automatic. His bullets tore the eye apart and plowed into the brain. The female spider thumped down dead.
* * * * *
But more females rose from the snow.
Soon a dozen of them surrounded the base, attacking the walls.
Bastian saw it happening on his MindLink. The gargantuan arachnids climbed the walls, stomped through the base, and slaughtered all in their path.
They were moving closer to the center of Fort Liberty. To where Rowan hid.
The girl sent a telepathic message. "Daddy, I hear them coming closer!"
"I'll hold them back, sweetie, I promise," Bastian said. "Meanwhile, Bear will look after you."
Through the MindWeb, Bastian saw the giant there, standing guard over Rowan. At seven feet tall, muscular and armed with a damn big rifle, Bear struck an imposing figure. But even he could not take down these female rahs. Not alone.
"Second Platoon, with me!" Bastian cried. "Charge! Tear her down!"
They ran toward one of the towering females. The rah spun toward them, screeching. She swept her claws across the courtyard, mowing through soldiers like a scythe through wheat. Soldiers fell, sliced in half.
The survivors stood all around the spider, roaring, firing their bullets. One man fell to friendly fire—the son of a local apple farmer. Bastian had often taken Rowan apple picking on his farm. The other soldiers kept shooting.
"Focus on the lower leg!" Bastian shouted. It was almost impossible to hear anything over the roaring bullets, but he telepathized the words too. "The front left leg. Yes, there, concentrate your fire!"
It took several Gideons working together to rip that leg apart. The spider dipped, swaying on her remaining legs.
"The other front leg!" Bastian shouted.
The marines concentrated their fire. The second leg buckled. The spider thumped down.
The soldiers cheered and kept firing, taking out her eyes. In her death throes, the spider cast a web, trapping several soldiers—a final, desperate move before the bullets finished the job.
Bastian cursed, pulling sticky cobwebs off his limbs. The things stank.
He surveyed the battle through MindWeb, tapping into the MindLinks of his fellow Badgers. He could see through their eyes. What they saw appeared as little video feeds, hovering before Bastian.
He sent telepathic messages to a few fellow captains, who were fighting elsewhere on the base.
"Where's our battalion commander?" Bastian asked.
The battle was still raging, but he had a moment—just a moment—to talk.
"Nobody knows!" replied Captain Anderson, commander of the Wolf Company, which was currently defending the northern wall.
"Are there any senior officers here?" Bastian said.
He sent the telepathic message to all officers in the brigade. A few ignored him. They were busy battling the spiders. But a few answers came back.
"I haven't seen any damn battalion commander," replied a lieutenant.
"What about the colonel?" asked an ensign. "Has anyone seen Colonel Holt?" The colonel commanded the entire base.
"I did," Bastian said. "Through the MindWeb a few hours ago. Last I saw, a spider was munching on his severed hand and poking through his guts. Holt was a good man. But I think he's gone."
Silence fell over the MindWeb.
"Who's in command?" Captain Anderson finally asked.
Bastian thought for a moment. "Nobody. We are. Together. The senior officers are dead or missing. Junior officers and NCOs—we will hold this brigade together. Our troops need us more than ever. Keep fighting and keep your MindLinks on. Let's keep communicating throughout the battle."
"Gotcha."
"You got it, boss."
"Let us know if you need help at the southern gate."
"Oh, I need help," Bastian said. "But you guys do too. Let's hang on. I've been trying to contact other bases. We could really use some air support, let me tell you. No luck so far. Nobody's answering. Everyone's fighting for their lives."
Normally a few hundred noncombat soldiers served at Fort Liberty. One department was in charge of communication with other bases and corps. None of them had reported back from Christmas. Hell, there was no way for them to get here. Not with rahs surrounding the base on all sides.
Bastian spent a moment on MindPlay, trying to reach somebody, anybody, outside the base. He needed air support. Armor support. More infantry. Anything would help right now.
Nobody was answering. The Freedom Brigade was cut off.
Then three more rahs, males this time, ran toward Bastian. He minimized his MindLink windows and kept fighting.
* * * * *
"They're breaching the wall!" rose a cry through the MindWeb. "This is Captain Anderson from the north wall. They're breaking in! I need assistance."
Bastian was still in the south. He was helping reconstruct the barricade of armored trucks and sandbags, sealing the broken gate. A hundred troops from his company were on the wall, firing into the countryside, holding the enemy back. The spiders kept clawing at the barricade, trying to climb the walls. They just kept coming.
Bastian dumped a sandbag into place, then paused, drenched with sweat. His left arm ached so much he could barely move it. Black spider blood covered his uniform. He raised his MindPlay HUD and connected to Captain Anderson. He stared through the captain's eyes.
Dammit.
With her mighty claws, a rah female had managed to crack the northern wall. The gargantuan arachnid was now widening the crack, allowing the smaller males to pour in.
"Anderson, hang tight," Bastian said. "I'm bringing a platoon to reinforce your position."
His company was already cut down to half its size. His beloved Badgers had suffered the heaviest losses in the brigade. That was not surprising; they had defended the fort alone most of the night. Only a hundred Badgers still fought, half their original size. Reluctantly, Bastian divided them in two.
"Alice, stay here with fifty marines and defend the barricade," Bastian said. "I'll lead the other fifty north and save Anderson's ass."
Alice was leaning against a refrigerator taken from the galley. She was shoving it onto t
he barricade, adding to the pile of heavy objects. Sweat dripped down her forehead, and blood stained her two blond braids, but despite her wounds and weariness, she was still fighting. God bless her.
She nodded. "Come on, Bas, I know you're sneaking off to have a nap."
"You got me. See ya soon, Alice. Oh, and try not to kill all the spiders while I'm away. Save me some."
"You wish!"
They were both battling exhaustion. Bastian could barely use his left arm now, and he needed to replace his bandages, drink, and eat. And yes, a nap would be nice. He'd have time for all that later.
Breathing hard, he ran through the base, leading fifty men. They raced by the armory, and Bastian sent one squad inside to grab as many bullets as they could, then catch up with them at the north wall. They raced by the kitchens, the latrines, the barracks, and the training yard. Finally they reached the northern wall.
By the time they got there, it was a mess.
The rahs had widened the crack in the wall. A truck could drive through the damn thing. The aliens were pouring into Fort Liberty. A dozen or more were already inside, and more kept coming.
"Anderson!" Bastian said, scanning the battle. He couldn't see his fellow captain. "Anderson, where are you?"
Bastian brought MindPlay back up. Icons representing every officer in the brigade floated before Bastian, little hallucinations the size of golf balls. Anderson's avatar was grayed out.
"Anderson?" Bastian said. "Come in. Bob! Bob, are you there?"
A rah screeched.
A severed head flew and slammed down at Bastian's feet.
It was Bob Anderson, his mouth open in a silent scream. Bastian stared down at the head. The two had gone to the same high school. He remembered them once fighting over a girl, then deciding their friendship was more important and sharing a beer. Now little Bobby, who knew how to ride his bike on its back wheel, who always got more girls than Bastian, who was always better at darts—now this boy, this soldier, this officer—he lay there in the dirt. A head. Unceremoniously discarded. A piece of Bastian's childhood. Of his soul. A head in the dirt.
Bastian looked up. He saw the rahs pour through the breach. A hundred, maybe more. His platoon was falling fast. One spider was eating a headless body.
There is no victory here, Bastian thought. Not at Fort Liberty. Not on Earth. They will kill me. And my soldiers. They will keep going and they will kill my daughter. How did this happen? How could this nightmare be real?
A boom sounded in the distance. The ground shook.
The rahs froze, spun back toward the plains.
A rumble sounded, distant, coming closer. Rahs screeched.
Another boom shook the world.
Bastian frowned, ran across the bloody ground, and climbed the northern wall. A rah leaped at him. He shot it, knocking it off the wall, and stared at the prairies.
A cloud of snow and smog was racing down the road.
A tank. A tank was roaring toward Fort Liberty.
Rahs charged at it. The tank fired again, clearing a path through. Rahs flew, limbs snapping off. The tank crushed one of the spiders beneath its treads, then kept roaring forth. The banner of the Alliance fluttered from its turret—a proud eagle with golden wings.
It was just one tank. Bastian would have preferred to see an armored division. But even one tank lifted his spirits. Whoever was driving that thing had some serious brass balls.
A rah female, the one that had cracked open the wall, spun toward the tank and screeched.
The tank fired.
A shell slammed into the rah. The gargantuan spider burst open. Black blood splattered the yard. Organs slapped onto the ground, still pulsing. The tank kept charging, plowing through the enemy, and finally lodged itself in the cracked wall. With its armored bulk, it sealed the breach.
For a moment the battle died down. Bastian and the other soldiers stood, covered in blood and dust, staring in wonder at the tank.
An icon popped up on Bastian's MindPlay HUD.
NEW CONTACT ONLINE
The tank's hatch opened, and out crawled Colonel Holt.
* * * * *
He was hurt. Badly hurt.
Bastian could see that at once. Colonel Harry "Hound Dog" Holt, commander of the Freedom Brigade, was dying.
The colonel was missing one hand; a tourniquet was constricting the stump. Bandages wrapped around his midsection like a mummy's shroud. The injury was bad. A deep stomach wound.
Bastian had seen it happen over the MindWeb. Seen the spider sink the claw in.
Somehow Holt was alive. Those injuries would have killed any other man within seconds. Holt had managed to ride a goddamn tank back to the base.
Covered in blood, pale and shaking, Holt climbed down the tank and stumbled across the yard.
Bastian ran toward him. He caught the man just as he collapsed.
"Hey there … Captain," Holt managed to rasp.
"Sir." Bastian held his commanding officer. "Let me get you to the infirmary, sir."
Commanding officer? Holt was more than that. Bastian barely spoke to his father anymore. Holt had become a surrogate father. A lump filled Bastian's throat. He had to save this man's life.
Holt coughed. Blood speckled his lips. "Wait. Bastian. I have only a few seconds left. I'm dying. They tore up my insides, the bastards. Let me die out here. On the battlefield, among the corpses of my enemies. Not in some infirmary bed."
"You're not going to die," Bastian said.
The battle resumed. Bullets whistled and rahs shrieked. But here in the dirt, Bastian focused on his dying commander.
"The bastards … knew where I lived," Holt said. He was shaking now. His skin was gray. "They came right to my house. They hit all the senior officers at home. Every lieutenant, colonel, and major. They're gone, Bastian. The spiders knew to hit us at Christmas. Knew where the leaders lived. They're doing it all over the world. They've been watching us, studying us. You were right, Bastian. You tried to warn me. I didn't listen. You were right." A tear rolled down the dying man's cheek. "Forgive me."
"Sir, I forgave you the moment you rode that tank into our base," Bastian said. The lump in his throat grew. He was struggling not to cry. "Now where the hell did you get a tank?" They were an infantry brigade with no armored attachment.
Holt laughed, coughed, laughed some more. "I kept it around my farm, parked right behind the chicken coop. Every man needs a tank, son."
Bastian laughed too, and now his tears were falling. "It took guts to ride here alone in a tank."
"And I only have half my guts. The damn rah ate the rest."
Bastian wondered how the colonel was still alive. That stomach wound could have killed a wild boar. Holt was high on stims, Bastian realized. He saw the dilated pupils, the pulsing veins. He was drugged up. And it would wear off soon.
"There's one thing I don't get, son," Holt said. "If the spiders are so damn smart, why didn't they just nuke us from orbit?"
Bastian knew the answer. "They want to eat us." He wiped tears away and barked a laugh. "It sounds ridiculous, but I think they landed on the ground because they want to eat us. They've been eating the corpses. This isn't war for them. It's a hunt."
"Goddamn." Holt shook his head. "You're right. They're predators, not conquerors." He coughed for a long moment. There was a lot of blood. "Son, don't let them eat me. Burn me when I'm dead. Burn me down to ashes. Don't let the bastards eat me." He grimaced. "Any more than they already ate, at least. I hope my hand gives them indigestion."
"I promise," Bastian vowed.
"Captain," Holt said, voice weaker. "I want you to record my next words on your MindLink. Are you recording? Good. The other senior officers of the Freedom Brigade are all dead. I'll be joining them soon. Bastian King, I promote you to colonel, and I name you the new commander of the Freedom Brigade. Win this war for me, Colonel. Win this …"
His voice faded.
His heart stopped.
Bastian lowered his
head, holding his commanding officer, his mentor.
Then he rose to his feet and pulled up MindPlay. His software was upgrading. His promotion to colonel was being pushed through. New stats came to life. Suddenly Bastian didn't just see his own company on the hallucinatory interface. He saw the entire brigade. Thousands of marines.
The Freedom Brigade was his to command. And Bastian vowed to honor his mentor, to lead wisely, and to win this war.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Starship Freedom
80 million kms from Earth
07:47 December 26, 2199
I cannot fight alone, Emily thought. I must find soldiers. Brave soldiers like Mr. Darjeeling. With them I will find … not safety, no. But a position to stand at. A place to swing my sword. To be one in a formation, one in an army, not a single light in the darkness but part of a great flame.
So she walked onward, but she saw only bodies. Savaged bodies on the corridor floors. Most were tourists. A man in a Hawaiian shirt lay by the bulkhead, his glass shattered. A young woman lay in the corner, still holding a Freedom the Frog plushie. Her belly had been slashed open, and eggs gleamed inside her.
Darkness closed in. Emily could barely see. It was as if the corridor was contracting, becoming a tunnel, leaving just a small circle of light, then a pinpoint. She gasped for air, and the veil lifted. She was close to fainting.
Be strong, Emily, she told herself. Your grandfather faced the Red Dawn in war. Your ancestors faced the scourge of Nazism. You are a single leaf, trembling in the wind, but you grow from a mighty English oak, and your roots run deep.
She walked by the bodies, chin held high, her blade held before her. Niles was feeling a little better, and he even managed to fly, but he complained relentlessly about aching screws and sparking circuits.
Gunshots sounded in the distance.
A screech rose. Then men shouted and more gunshots rang out. A battle was raging ahead!
Starship Freedom Page 28
