“For what? What could possibly be so important?” Ethan fumed.
Rebecca recoiled uncharacteristically. “I don’t know. Wraiths aren’t told why, only what.”
“So you put us in danger – you put me in danger – and you didn’t even think why?”
“I tried to stop the attack peacefully. I asked the captain not to go through with it, but he didn’t listen. He said we needed to do something.”
A glimmer of respect for the captain flared inside the growing pit of hatred in Ethan’s gut. He tried to remain level, but each word that came out of Rebecca’s mouth only made things worse. “He must’ve known it was you, then.”
“If he did, he couldn’t do anything about it. I outrank him.”
“Yeah, and that gives you the right to put two thousand lives in danger. It’s your fault I have to live with this!” Ethan held his violated left hand in front of her face, the device welded to it thrumming viciously. His fury was reaching its peak, but before he could explode, an all too familiar note pierced the air – a shrieking, violent note in a painful register that meant only one thing. Half a second later, a bolt of blazing green energy rocketed between Ethan and Rebecca, blasting them back in its wake. They looked through the fence, into the trees in unison to see the forest completely overrun by Naldím.
Rebecca beat Ethan to her feet, sprinting toward the colony. Ethan followed as quickly as he could, outpaced by her enhanced physique but no less fueled by adrenaline. Another shot flew overhead, screaming death.
That first horrible screech pierced the din of the celebrating colonists, and all hell broke loose. Civilians and soldiers alike scattered, finding shelter in the prefabs or running back to the ship. No one was armed and no one was ready.
The Naldím tore into the clearing like a tidal wave, launching their massive bodies into the fence and reducing it to rubble, instantly turning in all directions to attack any human in sight.
Ethan forged a path between the buildings and did not stop running until he collided with Briggs.
“Walker!” the lieutenant panted, brandishing a massive bowie knife. “I saw your squaddies near the ship. Come on!” He pulled a second knife from his boot and handed it to Ethan. “Never don’t carry a knife or two,” he advised, his expression somewhere between a grimace and a grin.
Ethan took the knife and immediately put it to use as a Naldím came barreling through the wall of the nearest building. Ethan ducked under his swinging rifle and brought the blade up hard in his gut, only for it to deflect off the alien’s toughened skin. Ethan darted behind the Naldím and leapt at his back while Briggs attacked from the front, wrapping his legs around the foe and driving the knife into his neck.
Howling, the Naldím threw Ethan clear, opening the way for Briggs to finish him off. Ethan scrambled to his feet. “We have to get to the hangar,” he panted. “I can get a DRAC in the air and give the civvies some cover.”
“Good idea,” Briggs affirmed. He motioned for Ethan to lead the way.
There was no clear path back to Voyager Dawn. The Naldím were everywhere, savagely cutting into the human throng. Most of the soldiers and a number of colonists had turned to repel the Naldím, picking out those isolated from the horde and bringing them down. It hardly stemmed the tide. The aliens just kept coming.
Scanning the crowd, Ethan saw a flash of blonde hair that proved a moment later to be Rebecca, downing two aggressors with ease and charging toward the center of the melee. A few meters off, Kyle had taken up a spent Naldím rifle and was locked in a furious duel with its former owner. Ethan moved in his direction, sure that Rebecca could take care of herself.
Somewhere in the distance, closer to Dawn, a tattoo of gunfire went off. Ethan bounded up the stairs of the nearest building, trying to gain a height advantage over an approaching Naldím. From above, he could see that a Cobra had been deployed under the ship and was raining fifty caliber fire down on the battlefield. Ethan returned to his attack and leapt from the railing, again landing on his opponent’s back. Briggs moved ahead of him and another Naldím fell to their maneuver.
They continued to run, battling their way closer to Kyle. His own duel had not progressed to either side’s advantage in several minutes despite an unending flurry of devastating blows. Kyle danced around his heftier enemy, slicing at him with the Naldím rifle’s bayonet, but it proved fruitless. The Naldím moved too randomly for Kyle to make a critical strike at his neck.
But the Naldím could not contend with three attackers. Ethan and Briggs pushed toward Kyle and the Naldím, raising their weapons. The Naldím turned to face them, opening a window for Kyle to lunge. The bayonet shot upwards, homing in on its target, but at the last moment the Naldím swiveled back around, catching the rifle and wrenching it from Kyle’s grip. With a single, fluid motion he reversed the weapon and ran his opponent through.
Ethan stopped dead in his tracks, his mind instantly fuzzy as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. Kyle was clutching at the rifle, trying to pry it loose. The Naldím ensured it stayed firmly in place. Kyle looked at his killer, then to Ethan, only now noticing his presence, before closing his eyes.
The Naldím lurched forward as Briggs smashed into him, ramming his knife through the base of his skull. Regaining a fraction of his senses, Ethan followed him forward, joining in the brutalization of the Naldím that had killed his friend. Kyle - and everything else - fell out of view as Ethan’s vision narrowed on the Naldím. His adversary, unable to combat Ethan and Briggs’ combined fury, succumbed. Ethan plunged his dagger into the bloody body again and again until finally Briggs pulled him away.
“We’ve got to keep moving!” he yelled, his voice barely registering with Ethan. “Now!”
Briggs yanked Ethan away, nearly dragging him as they ran the final leg of the race to the ship. Slowly, his tunneled vision widened, letting in the sights and sounds of battle, and Ethan found himself again.
“I need…” he panted, “…hangar.”
“Yeah, mate. We’ll get you to a DRAC,” Briggs puffed.
Hangars One and Two swarmed with colonists , everyone desperately scrambling for anything that would take them away from the horror on the ground. Crew members helped them aboard hueys and DRACs as engines roared to life. The blaring PA could only just be heard over the commotion.
“Code Red-Omega,” it cooed, the computerized voice completely failing to reflect the intensity of the situation, “all crew and complement, please evacuate. This is not a drill.”
The hueys were the first to lift off, tearing out of the hangar far above regulation speed. The DRACs, more numerous but much smaller and not designed for evacuation, were the second choice for everyone attempting to escape the ship, and Ethan found an empty one quickly. Briggs led the few colonists that fit onboard before activating the door gun, giving Ethan the all-clear.
Feeling blind without his suit or helmet, Ethan eased the DRAC out of the hangar, attempting in vain to steady it with his shaking hands. The heavy thumping of the door gun told him Briggs was covering the stragglers. The Naldím returned a few token shots, but nothing to damage the craft. For the moment, they were safe.
*
They flew for a long time, forming into an impromptu convoy when they had sufficiently distanced themselves from Voyager Dawn. The captain, in the lead vessel, ordered the upsetting task of role call. Every person on every DRAC and huey silenced themselves to listen for the names of people they knew, and held their breath until they heard an affirmative response. Too often, however, there was no response. The sorrowful cries of those that remained carried over the comm and deep into Ethan’s heart.
He listened intently for each of Omicron squad’s names, knowing with a sharp pang of grief that Kyle would not call in. It seemed a small comfort that the others had survived.
Most were not as lucky as Rebecca and Mason, Ford and Briggs. Many of Ethan’s wingmen and friends from other squadrons were missing, presumed dead, and his heart skipped a b
eat when Moira Goodman nearly failed to respond to her name. She sounded weak, and another voice reported the gravity of her injuries to the captain. With another jolt, Ethan realized that Waffle had been left behind on the ship. He did not want to think what the Naldím would do with the creature.
The DRAC bucked slightly against a wind current and Ethan jammed the stick back to regain control. Unsettled by his sudden lapse in awareness, he drove the painful thoughts to the back of his mind and continued listening to the comm.
“We didn’t see this coming,” Rhodes said solemnly. “We lost a lot of good people today – daring colonists and brave soldiers. But if there’s one thing the host of a colony ship can do, it’s adapt. So don’t count us out yet.”
He paused, either out of reverence or simply to let the message sink in, before moving on to a new topic. “I know nobody wants to do this now, but it’s important we re-organize squads before we touch down. We’ll need to set up a perimeter quickly. There will time to mourn later.
“Sergeant Walker,” Rhodes said, clearing his throat, “You were second in command to Lieutenant Goodman. Given her condition, all remaining airmen will now report to you under Raptor squadron. You’re lieutenant now.”
Ethan swallowed hard, a flurry of mixed emotions filling him. He switched on his comm. “Yes, sir.”
“Thank you. Lieutenant Callaghan, the remainder of Beta squad is being assigned to you. Sergeant Williams…” Rhodes read down the roster, reassigning soldiers to various squads. Ethan knew each of them was experiencing the same loss, the same anger at the idea that they were expected to form a new squad and forget the one before. It was not so simple.
A long while later, as the landscape became less familiar and Voyager Dawn began to fall over the horizon, Rhodes finally gave the command to set down. Ethan dialed the DRAC into an approach pattern bound for a cliffside clearing the captain had marked as their new base of operations, and watched as the first marines disembarked from the hueys to secure the area.
Unloading the camp on the site was a task performed somberly, no one quite ready to accept they would not be returning to Dawn.
Worse still was the dawning realization that they had nothing in the way of provisions except the emergency supplies stowed aboard the DRACs and hueys. What they had was not meant to support so many people.
The civilians were given lightweight thermal blankets to huddle under together and mourn the loss of their friends and family. The pilots and marines were expected to carry on. They spent the day arranging their vehicles into a semblance of order, redistributing fuel and ammunition so that each soldier had a share. There was not much to go around.
The sun was setting when Ethan finally set up his tent, which was to be shared with Omicron squad. When he found Mason, intent on enlisting his help with the construction, the sergeant was completely subdued.
“Heard about Kyle,” he said simply. Quietly, he added, “Shame.”
“He went down fighting,” Ethan offered, hoping it would buoy Mason, if not himself. He didn’t share the marines’ desire to die like a warrior.
“Rather would’ve had him keep fighting,” Mason responded. “Don’t get many like Kyle Yoshida.” He spotted the tent poles in Ethan’s hand and gestured for him to lead the way to the site. They began setting up the tent.
“Out of all of Omicron squad,” Ethan said slowly, minutes later, “I wish I got to know him better.”
“Think we all could’ve known him better,” Mason grunted, hauling a portion of the tent upright. “He was quiet. Liked his space.” He stopped, sighing as the canvas slid down the tent pole defiantly.
“You okay?” Ethan asked hesitantly.
Mason took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Can’t keep the squad in line if I’m not. What’ve I always said?”
Ethan took a moment to remember what Mason was referring to. It was a mantra Mason had taught him after the events on Dawn Four.
“Win now, mourn later,” he recited.
“Damn straight. Once this is all over, we’ll have plenty of mourning to do. Right now, we got lots of winning to do.”
The Forest Again
“It was almost pitiful, watching them scurry about. With their precious daylight returned, I expected some semblance of a fight.”
“They only fight under cover of darkness. Every time we engage them openly, it results in their defeat. No – not defeat – slaughter. You are right. It is pitiful.”
“It is our duty, nonetheless, to eradicate them. With their forces routed, we can move forward with our plans. Is their vessel occupied?”
“By a hundred Warriors. N’muhl’on is extracting some fascinating data from the ship as we speak.”
“There is nothing fascinating about the Humans. Only disgusting.”
For the longest time, Ethan had only had to view the alien forest from the safety of Voyager Dawn’s halls. Once again exposed to its elements, the months-old memory of his forced march through it still distressingly clear in his mind, he felt uncomfortably vulnerable. The Bullhounds were out there, and the Naldím. And those were just the threats he knew of. Doubtless there were more terrors yet to be discovered.
Though Rhodes wasted no time establishing a perimeter, posting sentries atop Cobras and sending patrols into the woods, he still seemed reluctant to plan any assault Voyager Dawn. Ethan had a dreadful sense of déjà vu regarding the matter. The rest of Omicron squad agreed when he voiced his concerns. “Yosh said it,” Ford exclaimed upon Ethan’s comment. “He said we shouldn’t sit on our asses, didn’t he? Look where it got us.”
“Watch it,” Mason snapped. Despite the mantra he had taught Ethan, he seemed to be taking Kyle’s death particularly hard. Ford, on the other hand, was giving Rebecca’s cold impartiality a run for its money. Ford tended to be the most outspoken of the group, but with his cigar supply running low, his grumbling increased, filled more often than not with “could’ve” and “should’ve”.
Then there was Rebecca herself. Every time Ethan saw her he felt a chill run down his spine. The trust they had built over the course of their harrowing mission together had dissolved the instant she confessed to being the saboteur, and Ethan was determined to justify his anger. A voice in the back of his head reminded him during those frosty moments that Rebecca was not completely deserving of his animosity; she had said she was in the dark as well. If I believe her, Ethan would counter himself viciously.
“All I’m saying,” Ford said loudly, snapping Ethan out of his reverie, “is that while we’re here ditzing around in the mud, those alien dipsticks are figuring out our weapons and our ship. We don’t do something soon, and there’s nothing we can do.”
“It’s no piece of piss to run a colony ship,” Briggs offered. “Takes years to learn how. Took me three and that was with a fancy tutor.”
“You were tutored on ship ops?” Ethan asked.
“Paps wanted me to run the company, mate. Can’t build ships if you can’t run ‘em. Reckon I know Dawn better than all you lot combined.”
Ford opened his mouth, ready to challenge him, but was interrupted by his comm. Everyone’s comms, in fact, except Ethan’s, suddenly buzzed to life.
“All marines to sector three border,” Commander Hadings’ voice crackled. “Full arms.”
The crack of a rifle sounded through the trees. Omicron squad scrambled to their feet and headed toward the makeshift barracks, leaving Ethan alone by the cliff’s edge. For a moment he considered going after them, to help with whatever was happening, but as Rebecca was keen to point out, he was no soldier. A few lucky kills did not a warrior make.
Blast after blast bellowed out from the combat zone for several minutes, in which time Ethan decided to arm himself and search for answers regarding the perimeter’s security. He found Hadings in the center of camp, poring over a digital map of the region. Not as familiar with the commander as he was with the captain, Ethan offered a hesitant salute by way of introduction.
“Lieut
enant,” Hadings said, barely glancing up from the readout.
“I wanted to know what the situation was, sir,” Ethan said awkwardly. Conversations with Hadings tended to be difficult. He was a man of few words.
“Some of those ferals got ideas,” the commander grunted. “It’s not a problem.”
Ethan had forgotten about the other Naldím. From the moment he had encountered them in the caves until the marines rescued his squad from the hunting party, his mind had been in survival mode, and was evidently not keen on remembering the event. It took a moment for the memories to return in living color.
“We haven’t tried allying with them, sir?” he asked.
“Agent Winters informed me it was highly unlikely,” Rhodes said, suddenly appearing from within the tent behind Hadings. He was nursing a massive bandage around his torso and sporting a slight limp, but his lips were tight and his eyes were sharp, as ever. “I deferred to her judgement on the matter.”
As Hadings stood and the pair saluted the captain, Ethan quietly simmered. It had been the captain deferring to Rebecca’s hazy orders a dozen times over that had landed them in their current predicament. She may have been intelligent, but that didn’t make her decisions right, certainly not by Ethan’s standards. Still, at least the captain had tried to go over her head. Ethan had to remember that.
“In any case,” Rhodes continued, switching his gaze to Ethan, “the ferals couldn’t be approached even if we wanted to talk to them. We had a few more patrols run into them after you did, and we didn’t get inside fifty meters before they got worked into a frenzy.”
“They’re animals,” Hadings added affirmatively, “they’re not sentient anymore.”
Ethan nodded in half-hearted consent and excused himself. Turning to leave, he suddenly found himself face to face with Mason. Perched atop the the sergeant’s shoulder, much to Ethan’s surprise, was Waffle.
The little beast squealed happily and leapt to Ethan, who returned the affection with delight. Rhodes and Hadings watched the exchange with repressed surprise.
Voyager Dawn Page 17
