by Jeremy Szal
For maybe the first time, I truly understood my enemy.
‘The corridors are rigged with death-traps every ten metres,’ Grim told me as our fireteam resumed formation, covering each other. ‘I’ll take out what I can, but watch your back!’
‘Same formation as before,’ Saren panted, voice muffled by his helmet. ‘Keep the commslink clear, always have someone on your flank. Move out. Let’s make it count.’
On the schematic, all the other SSC units were slowly carving their way through the corridors, rerouting and doubling back when they encountered traps or blockades. We did the same, moving through telescopic tunnels like the corridors of a lungship, ringed with scaffolds and surface-gear; calling out any hazards and enemy sightings, scanning each sector as we progressed. Jasken suddenly yelled a warning, sending a succession of micronades skittering down the corridor. White smoke gushed out in thick, smothering spurts. Anyone without a helmet would be blind and totally screwed. Cultists emerged from the smoke like armoured wraiths, dark-muzzled rifles already locking us in their sights.
We levelled our weapons, gunfire rattling in a furious exchange of heat and smoke, the fury shuddering in my teeth. The walls and floor buckled and blackened under the munitions. I burst ahead with Jasken, Saren and Kuen at our flank and fired a three-round burst into the smoke, blasting a man in green armour through his faceplate, blood and skull fragments spraying out. Screams and bellows of pain ripped out. Bodies slamming to the floor. Snatches of sun-bright muzzle flashes and glowing visors through the smoke. Blades slashing down, puncturing through armour and through skin. A cultist stumbling sideways, chopped in half by a slingshiv. Molten metal dripping from the ceiling. Beside me, Jasken’s scattershot punched devastating slugs into the incoming enemies, ripping out in furious, coughing bursts. A man wearing armour plastered with Suns slogans was whiplashed sideways, a chunk of his chest blown off, his legs thrashing on the ground. The stormtech gave a warning lurch in my chest and I jerked around, saw a cultist with yellow armour fast approaching Jasken from an angle he couldn’t see. Too close to use anything ranged. I rushed forward and slammed my armoured bulk into the cultist, crushing him into the wall. The blade that nearly cleaved Jasken’s shoulder off slashed harmlessly past, missing him by inches. Teeth gritted, I slammed my fist into the cultist’s jaw, using his body as cover from incoming rounds as I kicked him flailing backwards. Jasken timed it perfectly, lining up the scattershot as soon as he was clear, punching a slug in the cultist’s head, sending him spattering to the ground.
‘Thanks, kid,’ Jasken grunted. The rest of the fireteam was tangled up in fights from behind. We pressed our armoured backs against each other. Breathing hard, staring down the corridor through the sights of my autorifle. Jasken hosing incoming enemies from the front with covering fire, me picking them off from the back. A cultist with bones embedded in her armour was wrestling with Katherine, her dripping blade inches from her throat. I sent a three-round burst ripping out, punching through the side of her head and slamming her to the ground. Katherine snapped a frantic nod my way, then spun around to help Saren.
Yells and echoes of gunfire from other fireteams and assault squads sounded around us. I’d forgotten what hell the battlefield really is. No logic. No order. No feats of magnificent bravery. Just you and your friends clawing through a storm of chaos, fighting like hell not to have your head cleaved in two or a hot shell punching through your chest. My body tried to drag me into it, to break from my defence position and lose itself in the bloody whirlwind of the battlefield like it once had. I gritted my teeth, resisting and overcoming my body’s urges without outright fighting them. If I broke position, I’d put my friends at risk.
A volley of supercharged rounds detonated off my shoulder. White-hot agony ripped down my arm, speared down my shoulder blades. I gasped for air, swimming in sweat inside my armour. My vision hazy with violent shockwaves. Trying to untangle the horrific cacophony of battle. Vaguely aware of Jasken moving to cover me as my shields recharged.
A cultist in blood-red armour swerved around Jasken’s guard and slammed me into the wall. Metal buckled under me, pain stabbing through my skull as my assailant slammed his armoured fist into my jaw. His rifle was jammed between us, going off as we wrestled for it, projectiles the size of a fist punching into the wall around me. Jasken blasted my assailant, but was knocked down by a huge man in charcoal-black armour, the Suns’ symbol painted white on his chestplate. Our defences were weakening. Couldn’t be swarmed. I gritted my teeth and smashed my helmet into my assailant, skull rattling, sending him stumbling back. I hurled myself clear. A barrage of gunfire went slicing inches above my head as I scooped up a discarded scattershot and aimed at my assailant as he charged me. The scattershot jerked violently in my hands as I blasted chunks of his armour off in smoking scraps, throttling the trigger until I got him dead centre in the chest, crunching against the wall. I swung the scattershot towards Jasken’s opponent, barely taking aim before snapping off three rounds into his back, his armour fizzling.
‘That was one hell of a shot, kid.’ Jasken’s skullface filled my vision as he pulled me back to my feet.
The corridor clear, we cut down the remaining Suns engaging the rest of the fireteam before moving on.
I watched Saren and Vanto climb up the scaffolding and run alongside us, tagging incoming enemies. They lit up an incoming squad, their grenades and weapons glowing in my HUD. We focused our fire on a cultist armed with gas grenades and concussion bombs. Rounds ricocheted in furious clatters around us. Heavy, thunking footsteps as a cultist in hulking red armour came barrelling out of the smoke, smashing into us. Metal screamed and crunched. Katherine was slammed to the ground, Jasken half-crushed against the wall. I stabbed our attacker through the hand, pinning him to the wall. He roared and smashed me across the face with his other hand, my head whipping sideways and almost biting my tongue in half. Vanto reared up behind me, blasting him in the head until he slumped down, but the distraction had cost us. A metal thunk at my feet. Concussion bomb. I jerked my head up, an enemy squad charging towards us from around a corner.
‘Armour wall!’ Saren roared out. Age-old battlefield jargon leaped through my memory as I squeezed between Katherine and Vanto in a line-up, shoulders thrust forward, blades extended, the six of us triggering our armour-lock functions. Our suits shimmered with a red hazy outline of triple-shielding, rendering us near immobile in our armour. I just had time to clench my teeth before the concussion bomb erupted and the incoming squad slammed into us.
Whooopf. The world blared into white-hot fury. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t see. All sound swallowed up. Felt like a sun had gone supernova inside my skull and spat shrapnel into my brain. The armour-lock had turned my flesh numb. Shapes moving through the whiteness, the world returning in ear-shattering fragments. Helmets smashing into mine, armour plates grinding against each other, blades stabbing down, bloody teeth gritted, eyes wild with battle fury.
We released armour-lock as one. Ears popping, body tingling, I stabbed at a cultist and cleaved half his hand away as he collapsed, but he was replaced with two more. Guns going off at point-blank range, denting my armour in a dozen places. Grenades exploded in furious bursts of red shrapnel down the corridor, shredding fallen bodies apart. Vanto hacked at a Suns’ helmet like he was chopping wood, the blade crunching down between the bridge of his nose, the black spatter of brains across his eyes. The muzzle flash of a scattershot roared out, blasting Vanto backwards, almost carving through his armour. Couldn’t get a lock on the shooter. Too many of them, overcrowding us too fast. We pulled back as one, spraying cover fire. We’d held, but now we were pinned down. And I’ve seen what happens when fireteams are caught in a killzone.
I quickly told the rest of my fireteam what I was going to do, told them to be ready. ‘Now!’ I yelled, getting a running start and leaping ahead on my thrusters. The cultists dodged out of the way on instinct, but I slammed int
o two of them like an armoured wrecking ball. My skull rattling and the stormtech throbbing, I picked myself up and spun back around, unloaded my handcannon into the corridor, the walls shuddering with echoing blasts. Sandwiched between us, the cultists had nowhere to go as we hosed them from both sides with salvos of gunfire. The heavy, supercharged rounds of my handcannon punching fist-sized holes through them. A cultist with Suns’ phrases scrawled along his armour circled like a shark around the scaffolding, ducking my blasts, trying to get up close. I deliberately missed, let him think he had an opportunity. He reared up like a dark wave, but I feinted left, his scattershot blast punching past me, aimed down the glowing barrel of my handcannon and blasted him. His body thudded down as the echoes of the gunshot died out in my head.
The corridor was clear, but wouldn’t be for long. ‘They’re trying to flank us down the side tunnels,’ Saren said. ‘Move out, quickly!’
But before we could, a barricade slammed down in front of us. Trapping us. We pressed our backs against the wall, Saren and Kuen kneeling down as cultists came screaming around the corner. The walls denting and showering sparks as they ripped out suppressing fire.
‘Grim!’ I yelled over the armoured thunk of incoming enemies.
‘Almost got it!’ Grim yelled.
A cultist in heavy silver armour interlocked with black machinery lunged out, the railgun mounted on his shoulder flashing as it vomited out a slug between me and Vanto, splashing metal-eating acid over the barricade. Saren throttled the trigger, tearing through his ankles and sending him shrieking to the floor. More Suns were peeking around the corner, waiting for additional forces before swarming us.
The barricade dilated open and we rushed through. Grim shut it down again as soon as we were clear. We kept each other covered as we pounded down the corridors. The crackle of bullets echoing from somewhere. Saren was about to lead us down another passageway when I called him back. ‘It’s a trap,’ I growled. The stormtech was pulsing in me, my arm hairs raised. ‘They wanted us to go this way. Like cattle into the meatgrinder.’
‘We don’t have time to argue,’ Saren yelled, already moving forward again.
‘We go there, we’ll run straight into an ambush. That’s why they flanked us, they knew we’d run this way.’ I glanced into the mirrored visors of my fireteam. I thumped a fist against my armoured chest, heaving with the stormtech’s frantic motions. ‘I can feel it.’
‘I’m with the kid,’ Jasken grunted behind his skullface helmet. Vanto and Kuen nodded their agreement.
‘We can’t risk it,’ Katherine told Saren. ‘We find another route.’
The barrier whined and glowed with heat as the cultists began cutting their way through. ‘There’s nowhere else to go,’ Saren yelled.
‘Then we make somewhere.’ Jasken kneeled down and primed a micronade on the floor as the barricade gave a tortured groan, bullets spilling out through the opening slit. The five of us formed another armour wall, spraying covering fire, sheltering Jasken with our bodies. Gunfire clattered on the walls around me, grazing my helmet. Vanto yelled and clutched at his chest as a fusillade almost punched through his shields, his armour blackened and guttering with little fires. The barricade creaked higher. Armoured legs became visible beneath. Pipes along the walls bursting, showering oily fluids in hissing arcs, spraying across my faceplate.
‘You might want to step back!’ Jasken yelled. The words were barely out of his mouth before the micronade detonated, carving open a man-sized hole in the metal. One by one, we dropped into the corridor below.
I glanced up, breathing hard in my helmet. Kuen was the last to come, about to jump down when a barrage of gunfire blasted him backwards and killed his shielding. Saren tried to go back for him, but a cultist swept up behind him and planted his slingshiv through Kuen’s chest. Metal slithered out through his back, glistening wetly. He screamed, hands feebly trying to fend off the armoured cultist in front of him, when a second slingshiv went skewering through his faceplate and his body went limp.
Spitting threats of retribution, Jasken lobbed a microgrenade back up through the hole and yelled at us to run like hell, a shockwave travelling up my back as we tore down the halls, rage fuelling the burning in my legs. The edges of my vision merged with the Renchio battlefields. Foreign languages screaming for the murder of my friends. Dirt and mud crunching beneath my feet.
But I was here now, with a new fireteam willing to lay down their lives for mine, willing to walk into hell with me. Like the old one did. Fighting for a future where their sacrifice and courage counted. Ratchet. Alacatrz. Cable. Kyra. Drummer. Everything I was, everything that had been done to me, I put into this moment. I let the battle-memory burn in me with a fire that not even stormtech could muster.
We raced into a gently lit hangar bay, easily three-hundred metres tall and twice as wide. A semi-completed arrivals hall for a spaceport hotel lobby near the pinnacle of the asteroid. Scaffoldings ran along the perimeter, the walls still charred ash-black from Harvest artillery. A window bay had been torn open, only the translucent blue shield-barrier holding back the hard vacuum of space.
We kept our weapons up and readied as we swept through. ‘No grenades or trap mechanisms in the room,’ Grim told us.
‘No one on thermal,’ Katherine called out.
‘All clear,’ Saren said.
But my hackles were raised and I didn’t hesitate saying so. An exit large enough to drive a chainship through sat open at the top of the metal walkway. We got halfway there before an armoured blast door guillotined down. Magnetic securing bolts the size of a man punched home, echoing like gunshots through the hangar.
‘That’s a dreadnought-class blast door,’ Vanto growled. ‘It’d take a warship to punch through that!’
‘Watch out!’ Grim yelled. Around us, a series of black-barrelled, black-muzzled nanogun turrets thrust out of hidden crevices. Their targeting software was already locked onto us. We ducked down behind a ledge as the soundscape was obliterated, the barrage of rounds shattering the world around us, metal splinters showering out like spears.
‘They’ve got MR-19s!’ Jasken roared, our armour scraping as we inched closer together, blaster fire gouging furrows in the sintered regolith all around us.
‘Meaning what?’ Saren roared back.
‘Meaning we’re screwed!’
Because the universe has got such a messed-up sense of humour, the shield-barrier at the far end of the hangar began crackling. Dread gnawed through my guts.
‘Grav-boots, now!’ I yelled. ‘They’re going to breach us!’
The words were barely out of my mouth before the shield-barrier disappeared and the world was sucked out into space.
47
Trigger Fingers
There’s no way to describe the hard vacuum of space. Not unless you’ve been exposed to it. And the closest description of vacuum is that it’s hell. Cold, annihilating, devastating hell. Nothing else makes you realise so precisely that you’re nothing more than a few scraps of meat and bone.
Everything not nailed down in the room was sucked out with brutal force. Scaffolds, toolboxes, spacesuits, pylons, workstations – all cartwheeling and smashing into each other, tearing out into cold space. Metal decking the size of a man ripped from the floor like strips of paper, slicing inches above our heads. The thunder of the nanoguns was silenced, vibrations shuddering up my body as their devastating assault continued, sparks showering, the floors denting. The monstrous beast that was space clawed at us like a starving animal with a bottomless hunger. My balls wanted to crawl back up into the warmth of my bowels. Every muscle flaring up like hard re-entry from orbit. Our grav-boots whining as they glued us fast to the floor. We looked at each other, panting hard and fast in our commslink, caught between getting shredded by warship-class, military-grade nanogun turrets and hard vacuum. It looked like the end.
But I�
�d already told them of my backup plan. I activated the icon in my HUD – the one given to me by Juvens.
Less than a minute later, a one-man gunship streamed into the hangar. The gunship was shaped like a bullet, the angular edges warbling with tech and ringed with glowing blue lights. Nanoguns swivelled to track the new hostile ship. The gunship’s hull crackled with what looked like lightning bolts, the shielding absorbing the assault. Long-barrelled space-cannons oozed out from the gunship’s starboard flank like skeletal arms. The hangar flared with brilliant blue-white explosions as a volley of railgun rounds and plasma charges streaked from the gunship. I wrenched my neck up against vacuum, watching the nanogun turrets get blasted away into glistening orange slag and torn out into vacuum as if ripped by an invisible hand. I almost wanted to laugh. Here, the Suns’ best ordnance was getting crushed with ease at the hands of an alien species they hated.
Done with shafting the nanoguns, Juvens wasted no time targeting the armoured blast doors that I’d tagged in a golden glow, and giving them a hell of a pounding. He poured an endless stream of furious railgun fire, the metal glowing red-hot as Grim snapped the shield-barrier back into place. We collapsed to our knees as a tsunami of sound came crashing back down and the blast doors were smashed inwards, the bulkheads ripped from their hinges with a shuddering explosion.
‘Thanks, Juvens,’ I rasped into the frequency. My throat was raw as sandpaper. Must have been screaming. ‘You saved our skins. That was a hell of a show.’
The gunship hovered above me like an aquatic creature bobbing in an invisible current as Juvens appeared on my HUD. Surrounded by an array of glowing battle readouts, he was fully armoured and equipped with a sleek black-gold helmet that slipped over his horns like they were metallic scythes. The Space Marshall’s smug voice echoed down the commslink. ‘That was nothing,’ he said. ‘Destroying enemy property helps me sleep at night.’ The gunship swerved away, slipping through the shield-barrier. ‘I’m off to reload. I’ll be circling, if you need me again. Don’t destroy all the cultists before I get there.’
