Gates of Hell

by Daniel Gibbs

  The fist symbol for “Hold” flashed through her HUD, and Ruth instantly froze in place. She cranked her head from side to side, got into the closest brush to the trail, and engaged the power armor’s stealth generator. Designed to change the exterior camouflage pattern to blend in with whatever was around it, the hope was it would make her and the rest of the team invisible to the League patrol.

  “I’ve got eight tangos coming up the trail, Master Chief,” Ahmad said.

  “Hold. Do not engage,” MacDonald’s raspy voice whispered. “Let them pass by.”

  Seconds stretched into minutes, and minutes seem to drag on for hours as the patrol slowly made it by. Most of the enemy troops looked like they were no older than Susanna. Ruth observed sloppy weapon-handling skills and a general lack of interest in doing anything but walking down the path. Good for us… if they bothered to look anywhere, I’m sure a determined hunter would quickly discover the team.

  Then everything started happening—very quickly. Ruth heard something snap—a branch or a twig—it sounded like the crash of thunder in an otherwise quiet and peaceful wooded glen. A moment later, shouts rang out in a foreign language, which she recognized as Russian, followed by the sharp report of automatic gunfire.

  “Engage! Engage! Waste ‘em!” MacDonald shouted across the commlink.

  Ruth popped up from the brush where she was concealed, bringing up her suppressed battle rifle and aiming for the center mass of an unlucky League soldier standing ten meters down the trail. She squeezed the trigger, sending a trio of rounds down range.

  The Leaguer fell backward, and Ruth saw bloodstains spread across his uniform. “Tango down,” she said into the commlink, then took off down the well-worn dirt, heading toward where the rest of the enemy patrol would be coming back from.

  Three soldiers appeared from behind a large boulder that blocked Ruth’s view, their rifles blazing. Her armor absorbed the impacts, but she was knocked off her feet and thrown backward. As she fell, she fired her weapon on full auto, spraying the area they occupied and hoping she’d take them down.

  No such luck.

  An instant later, one of the burly men landed on top of her, punching the faceplate of her power armor. He accomplished nothing except possibly breaking a knuckle, while Ruth took the opportunity to knee him in the groin with her servo-assisted armored knee.

  The man howled in pain, granting her a momentary reprieve.

  She reached down to her leg and Ruth’s hand found the butt of her sidearm. Thank God it’s still there. With practiced muscle memory returning to her, she drew it and quickly fired twice into the unlucky enemy’s chest. Blood spurted from the wounds, and the Leaguer made a gurgling noise as he collapsed to the side.

  Then the other two soldiers opened up on her with their rifles at full automatic, the range point blank. Ruth felt like someone had punched her in the gut until her insides were ready to burst. The pain was intense and searing. She struggled to raise her sidearm; one of the Leaguers kicked it out of her hand.

  “Now you die, suka,” one of the men said in broken English. They aimed their rifles at the weakest point of power armor—the helmet’s faceplate.

  As Ruth tried to force her body to move, a shot rang out. One of the men in front of her collapsed in a heap, blood spreading across his uniform. She triggered a last-ditch backup of her suit—a combat knife built into the right gauntlet. It sprang out into her hand. She thrust the blade up, aiming for the closest flesh of her enemy.

  The remaining Leaguer squeezed the trigger on his weapon, sending another fifty bullets into the center of her armor while cursing in Russian. He dropped the rifle and drew a sidearm, continuing to fire on her.

  Special operations variant armor was better than even the best TCMC power armor, but every construct of man had a breaking point. The suit’s master alarm went off, indicating imminent failure as Ruth fell back to the ground, overwhelmed with pain that seemed to emanate from every nerve in her body. Through it all, she heard the report of another high-powered rifle. Immediately, the remaining soldier collapsed, shot in the head.

  The team… must be the team. Waves of pain swept through Ruth’s body, even as she tried to force herself up. The internal medical diagnostic program indicated she had a broken rib. The suit had a limited ability to medicate its wearer, which she used to administer a mild pain neutralizer. As she stumbled to her feet, Mata and Meissner appeared out of the forest.

  “LT! You okay?” Mata asked.

  “I’ll live,” Ruth said. “Who do I owe the thanks to?”

  Mata flipped his faceplate up. “That would be my handiwork. If you’d stayed down instead of trying to play hero, I would’ve finished off the other one before he unloaded on you again.”

  Ruth nearly doubled over in pain. “Sorry, Chief.”

  Meissner completed a check of all three Leaguers’ bodies, retrieving Ruth’s sidearm from where it dropped as he did. “Not looking so great there, LT.”

  “Broken rib, according to your amazing technology.”

  Mata pulled the med-kit off his back. “Sit down, Lieutenant. Let me examine you.”

  “We need to get back to the rest of the team and get out of here, Chief. I’ll live.”

  “Don’t make me order you to as your doctor.”

  Ruth smirked inside of her helmet. “You’re not a doctor, Chief.”

  “Closest thing within ten lightyears. Now sit down.”

  Nothing to be gained by toughing it out. I’ll only slow the team down. Not sure what Mata can do with his little kit, though. Ruth gingerly sat on a log, the pain still searing through her torso. It feels like a helicar landed on me. “Okay, doc. You win.”

  “Thank you,” Mata replied, flashing a dazzling smile. He knelt beside her, running a device over her torso. “Three broken ribs, two more bruised. I’m amazed you’re not bleeding internally.”

  “I’m a tough little Jew,” Ruth said with a snicker.

  Mata laughed. “Something we agree on.” He pulled another device out of the bag. “Hold still, please.”

  “What is that?”

  “Bone regenerator.”

  Ruth’s eyebrows shot up. “Those are the size of a person in the doc shack on the Lion. Where’d you get a hand-held version?”

  “Special ops is first for all the fun toys, LT.”

  A warm sensation spread through Ruth’s chest as Mata ran the device back and forth repeatedly. It’s almost like I can feel my insides tugging together. So weird. “Thanks, Chief.”

  “Not quite good as new, but close enough for government work.”

  “We’ve got to move,” Meissner interjected. “They got off a warning, and reinforcements are coming. Master Chief says to clear out.”

  Ruth raised a hand. “I’m fine. I can walk.”

  “Forget walking; we’ve got to run,” Mata said with a smirk.

  “No time like the present,” Meissner replied before taking off at a full run.

  Mata held out his hand, which Ruth took gratefully and pulled herself to her feet. “My armor’s damaged, Chief. I may slow you down.”

  “The team takes care of itself, LT. Like it or not, you’re one of us now.”

  Ruth cracked a smile in return. “I’ll remember that, Chief. Hey, is Susanna okay?”

  “She did fine. Kept her head down and did as instructed. Can’t ask for more out of a civilian. Now, move!”

  They took off as fast as possible down the path, while Ruth’s mind raged at her injuries. We’re not coming all this way for the League to win. Whatever it takes, we will defeat them.

  18

  The chime to David’s day cabin rang twice in quick succession, causing him to glance up from the casualty report he’d been reading. “Come!” his voice rang out, and the door opened to allow entry to Aibek, Calvin and Taylor.

  The three officers lined up in front of his desk, Aibek and Calvin glancing toward Taylor, who spoke. “Colonel, we have some new information on the investigat
ion.”

  “By all means, have a seat, gents,” David said. “Just pull an extra chair over.”

  Calvin shrugged. “I’ll stand, if it's okay, sir. Tired of sitting around on this ship waiting to shoot some Leaguers.”

  Everyone laughed politely at the joke as they sat down, though David found himself thinking it wasn’t entirely meant to be funny.

  “What do you have?” David asked, all business.

  “One of the raiders, the Monterrey, behaved strangely when we asked for updated crew rosters and her comms shop to undergo lie detectors,” Taylor stated.

  “Define strangely, Lieutenant.”

  “Well, sir, it took forever to get a response, and I had to request one multiple times. Finally got a message back from her CO saying they were busy with tracking a League ship and would get back with us.”

  “It’s entirely possible that’s true,” David observed.

  “Only their transponder location shows them behind the lines,” Aibek interjected.

  “Ah.”

  “Part of this is a hunch,” Calvin said from his position behind the two other men. “Personally, it felt wrong to me when Taylor explained it.”

  “My training would tell me to instruct you that hunches don’t matter, only observable facts. However, I’ve had hunches before and they panned out,” David said, thinking back to the entire debacle with Admiral Seville placing a sleeper agent on the Lion of Judah under the guise of a POW.

  “We’d like to visit the Monterrey and conduct the interviews ourselves. Most likely, the mole in the comms shop has intercepted our request and has doctored the CO’s response,” Taylor said.

  “Okay. We’ll show up unannounced, take a shuttle over, and have a chat.”

  “I want Marines on the shuttle, sir,” Calvin said. “We don’t know who we can trust over there, and maybe it gets dicey if the CO feels like we’re being unfair.”

  “I’m the ranking officer on site, Colonel. That’s all that matters. We don’t need to take a VBSS team,” David replied, mildly annoyed at the idea of taking fully armed and armored Marines to visit a friendly vessel in the CDF. They’re our brothers and sisters in arms. We shouldn’t treat them like criminals.

  Calvin cleared his throat. “Just suggesting caution, sir.”

  “Noted. If it makes you feel better, we can bring one escort, and you can both carry sidearms.”

  “Excellent, sir.”

  “I’ll be joining the investigation unit,” David said matter-of-factly.

  “Your place is on the bridge, sir,” Calvin immediately replied, his face clouding over.

  “Colonel,” David began, his eyebrows raised. “We’re going to another ship and telling them they have a spy in their midst. The absolute least I can do as an officer in the CDF is look Major Drymand in the eyes and tell him what’s going on.”

  Calvin and Aibek glanced at once another before Calvin spoke. “What if the spy is present and tries to harm you, sir?”

  “I know how to fight,” David deadpanned. “Ask any number of Leaguers in the past that tried their luck against me. Or the Monrovians, for that matter. You’re not winning this one, Cal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  David glanced toward Aibek. “XO, you’ll take command in my absence. Don’t scuff up the paint.”

  Aibek laughed, as did Calvin and Taylor. “Aye, sir.”

  “Back-of-my-head math says we’re good for a Lawrence drive jump.”

  “Correct, sir,” Aibek replied.

  “Then let’s get moving. I’ll head with Colonel Demood to the shuttle, along with Lieutenant Taylor and whoever else you’ve picked. XO, to the bridge and get us underway.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Aibek answered.

  “Right behind you, sir,” Calvin said.

  David stood, and the rest quickly followed. “Dismissed, gentlemen.” Traitors… for the life of me, I can’t accept there are traitors in the CDF. I pray this is a misunderstanding or some League technological trick where they hacked a computer and made it look like human intelligence interactions… that would be far easier to accept.

  Aibek pulled down the starched khaki-colored uniform shirt he wore after exchanging salutes with the TCMC sentries that guarded the Lion of Judah’s combined bridge and combat information center. Human clothing is so strange, he thought, passing by the rows of enlisted personnel working consoles that monitored the ship. These uniforms lack functionality, do not look good, and have a tendency to rip easily. I must, however, conform to what the humans wear when I serve among them, as one of them. He came to a halt next to the CO’s chair to find it occupied by Hammond, who was the current officer of the deck on watch.

  “Lieutenant Hammond, I have the conn,” Aibek stated formally.

  “Aye aye, sir. Colonel Aibek has the conn,” Hammond replied, standing as she spoke. She walked back to the navigation console and took her station, excusing the junior officer that had been manning it.

  Aibek sat down in the chair David usually occupied, stretching out his long Saurian legs in front of him. “Navigation, plot Lawrence Drive coordinates for the current location of the CSV Monterrey. Pull its existing location from our blue force situational awareness uplink.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Hammond replied.

  A voice to his left called out, “Major Hanson reports as ordered, sir.”

  Aibek looked to his left to see Hanson standing there. “Thank you, Major. I need you to ride, how do the humans say it, shotgun for me?”

  “No problem, sir. Just surprised to be requested on the bridge.”

  “With Colonel Cohen busy with the boarding party, and Lieutenant Goldberg deployed elsewhere, you were next in line,” Aibek stated as Hanson dropped down into the XO’s chair.

  “Well, I’ll try not to let you down, Colonel.”

  “I hope you do not, Major. Otherwise, I would be forced to space you as a warning to others who would shirk their duties,” Aibek said with a toothy grin.

  “Uh,” Hanson stammered. “Joke, sir?”

  “Perhaps,” Aibek replied, his large Saurian incisors still showing in his grin.

  “Conn, navigation. I have located the Monterrey and plotted our jump coordinates, sir.”

  “Navigation, charge the Lawrence drive.”

  “Aye aye, sir, charging.”

  “Have we let them know we’re coming, sir?” Hanson asked.

  “No. Colonel Demood didn’t feel it would be prudent to do so.”

  “This entire situation is a bit weird, if I may say, sir.”

  “It is not every day we uncover possible espionage, Major.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  “Conn, navigation. Lawrence drive charged, sir.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Navigation, activate Lawrence drive.”

  Each race has its own version of the technology the humans call Lawrence drive. A multicolored wormhole formed to the front of the Lion, its maw creating a kaleidoscope-like effect through the transparent metal windows that sat fore of the CO’s chair. It remains a beautiful sight to behold, and a sure sign of God and the Prophet’s power and grace.

  “Conn, navigation. Wormhole is active, sir,” Hammond announced.

  “Navigation, take us in, maximum sub-light speed.”

  The massive vessel began to move forward in space, its inertial dampeners compensating for the increased of G forces generated by the engines. The mouth of the wormhole loomed, and suddenly, they were inside; the transit took less than five seconds, and out popped the mighty ship on the other side. The field of stars was completely different as he viewed them through the window.

  “Conn, TAO. New contact, designated Sierra One,” Kelsey announced after the customary delay in sensor readings after a jump. “Sierra One identified as CSV Monterrey, sir.”

  “Communications, please send my compliments to Major Drymand on behalf of Colonel Cohen. Inform him Colonel Cohen will be shuttling over and request docking permission.”

  �
�Aye aye, sir,” Second Lieutenant Jefferson Bell, Taylor’s relief and second watch communications officer, said.

  “Feels weird to be up here on the bridge,” Hanson said.

  Human small talk. Most inefficient. Aibek did not respond.

  “Conn, communications. Monterrey has replied and given docking instructions to their shuttle hangar,” Bell interjected.

  “Notify our boarding party, Lieutenant,” Aibek said.

  “What now?” Hanson asked.

  “We wait.”

  19

  “Lieutenant Bell just indicated we’ve got docking clearance from the Monterrey, sir,” Taylor announced, jolting David out of his thoughts in the jump seat of the shuttle’s cockpit. Demood and the pilot were also present, making for a slightly cramped ride.

  “Well then,” David mused. “Let’s get this flight underway. Warrant, if you please?”

  “Aye aye, sir, undocking now,” the pilot answered.

  “This whole thing feels wrong, somehow,” Taylor said.

  “How’s that, Lieutenant?” Calvin asked.

  “Traitors or moles in the CDF? I don’t recall ever hearing about either before.”

  “There’s been traitors and moles since the beginning of time, Taylor,” David said, injecting himself into the conversation. “I doubt we hear about them now because such things are bad for morale. Count on there being some small percentage of citizens in the Terran Coalition that supports what they think is a better system of government without thinking it through.”

  “Enough to throw away their lives and get God knows how many of their fellow soldiers killed?” Taylor responded earnestly.

  “Ideology does strange things to people.”

  “Give ‘em a fair trial, then shoot them, preferably in the head,” Calvin said, his tone dark and foreboding.

  “Do I need to remind everyone we’re not rolling in there like a bunch of cowboys?” David said, pointedly toward Calvin.

  “No, sir,” Calvin replied. “Just not interested in giving whoever this loser is three hots and a cot for the rest of his or her miserable life.”