Descent from the Black: An Odyssey One Novella

by Hugh Taylor

  “So what do you need me to do?” Lang asked, feeling helpless.

  “Sleep, dumbass,” Clark responded.

  ***

  Patrick Lang slept. It was a fitful, drug-induced slumber, but when he awoke he could tell that his body had repaired itself quite a bit. Granted, it had quite a helping hand from contemporary medicine, but it was still a relief to feel mostly human again. Though his side still ached, he easily swung his feet off the bed and stood up, gently stretching as he did.

  It wasn’t long before a corpsman came walking over, likely having been notified by the monitors in the medial bed. “How are you feeling, sir?” he asked.

  “Not bad, thanks.”

  “That’s good to hear, sir.”

  Lang got the impression that the corpsman felt he was just being perfunctory, so he added, “No, seriously, thank you. I feel much better.”

  That comment retrieved a smile from the medic, who continued, “The doc already cleared you, given what’s going on. I’m just here to make sure that you don’t fall flat on your face on the way out.”

  It was Lang’s turn to smile. “I’ll do my best, but no promises.” He found it was much easier to move around than he’d anticipated; they really had done an amazing job on him, but it did give him the chills to realize that this was the result of what could arguably called a “flesh wound” from a Drasin weapon.

  Lang made his way to the locker room next to the bay where his EXO-12 was stored. He applied the correct body part to the biometric scanner and his locker opened automatically, granting access to clean uniforms and other necessities. He was about to strip out of the generic uniform they had given him in the med bay when he noticed there was a problem: All of the uniforms had the rank of captain. He was immediately reminded of his shame, and he slammed his locker shut. His heart heavy, he walked over to Operations to find Major Gutierrez.

  He walked into the very busy room and the major spotted him immediately. “Problem, Lang?”

  “Yessir. Do you have a minute?” Lang asked cautiously.

  Gutierrez nodded and led Lang into the hallway. “Is something wrong with the EXO-12?”

  “No sir; at least, I don’t think so.”

  “Then what is it? You’ve got a full platoon again.”

  “That’s exactly it, sir; the captain insignia was never removed from these uniforms,” Lang explained.

  “Oh, it was. I just had it put back,” Gutierrez said, the hint of a smile crossing his face.

  “Sir, you know my promotion was canceled at the last minute—”

  “Normally I’d have some fun with this situation, Captain, but frankly, we don’t have the time. The general you pissed off is dead, not that you did anything really wrong in the first place. Secondly, your company CO is MIA and I need someone to fill that slot ASAP.”

  That was a lot for Lang to digest in a short period of time. There were probably more important questions to ask, but what his brain decided on was, “But you said I was running my platoon, not a company.”

  “Yeah, for now. We’re fragmented and doing our best to regroup. Your platoon has some of the only EXO drivers we’ve got in this area, so we’re dropping you into our sector of the city first. Other platoons in your company will arrive when we are able to get them there. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” Lang said, saluting smartly.

  The major returned the salute but turned more serious. “Don’t let me down, kid. We lose one city and we lose the planet.”

  Lang responded with one of the mantras that had gotten him this far: “They can’t stop me, sir; they can only kill me.”

  Major Gutierrez smiled in response. “There’s the attitude that’s been missing since your … escapade. This is good,” he continued, almost to himself. “I was getting tired of the mopey bullshit. Now go load up,” he added, still smiling. Lang saluted again and double-timed it back to the locker room, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  Chapter 6

  Captain Patrick Lang felt a new sense of purpose, and pride if he was honest with himself, as he walked into the briefing room. “At ease,” he said immediately, as Marines started to stand. “Take your seats; I want you to focus on what Intel has to say.” Everyone else sat as he walked toward the front of the room and stood at ease in front of the large display. “The short version,” he began, projecting his voice to reach those in the back of the room, “is that we are going to be part of the force that saves L.A.”

  Cheers went up around the room, and Lang let them have their moment of hope, waiting until First Lieutenant Schaefer entered the room. “Lieutenant Schaefer and everybody else at Intel has been working around the clock, looking at the larger situation while we’ve been busy securing this base, so I want you to pay close attention.” With that being said, he gestured at Schaefer to take the floor.

  She confidently strode to the center, pressed a button on her tablet, and the screen at the front of the room came to life. “As you probably know, the Drasin have targeted our population centers.” A world map appeared on the screen with indications of the locations where the Drasin had landed. There were some murmurs across the room in response. “We know that they have some level of intelligence, but what currently defies analysis is why they’d throw themselves into areas that we can easily reach, since their main advantage is the ability to reproduce. To date, there have been no landings in Antarctica, for example,” she said, highlighting that portion of the map.

  “We currently assess that there is something about urban areas that attracts them, but whether that is based on a hatred for our particular life-form or some advanced strategy, we do not know yet.”

  “So what do you know?” a corporal in the back asked, but his question was silenced by a stare from Lang.

  Without missing a beat, Schaefer continued, “We know that small-arms fire, such as those wielded by police and civilians, have been ineffective. Responding police units have been, to be blunt, slaughtered on contact. Fortunately, the National Guard has fared better.” Images of old main battle tanks and howitzers doing battle with alien drones filled the screen. “Unfortunately, city streets greatly restrict the movement of the armor and artillery. If a column gets cornered, their chances of survival are low,” she added gravely. An image popped on the screen showing a Drasin climbing a building and firing down on a tank, which was unable to raise its main gun to the elevation required to engage it.

  “The MBTs and 155s are still our best weapon against the Drasin on the ground, but we need rapidly mobile infantry to cover them when the enemy gets in close.” She followed that statement with images from what looked to Lang like New York, showing armored infantry using their agility to take out the Drasin in crowded city streets. “That’s where you come in.”

  “Ooh-rah!” someone huffed from the back of the room.

  “The good news I have for you is that we have maintained aerial superiority, so close air support is available to you. Lining up attack runs down city streets will be more challenging downtown, but the lower the buildings are or the more open space you have, the easier those strikes will be. Saving this airfield itself has helped in this respect a lot; more strike craft arrive here every hour.”

  Schaefer indicated that she was done, so Lang thanked and dismissed her after ascertaining there were no questions. To his platoon, he said, “Our orders are simple: Approach from the south and clear as much territory from … infestation as we can. Other units will be approaching from the east, north, and northwest; the goal is to push them back to their main nests downtown and contain them there until we have overwhelming force that we can bring to bear. Questions?”

  “Just one platoon, sir?” Staff Sergeant Collins asked.

  “For starters,” Lang acknowledged. “But we’ll be receiving other elements of this company who will fall in as they become available. With luck, we’ll be able to form up with the rest of our battalion at some point thereafter. In terms of t
he bigger picture, the brass is still figuring out the details of the joint force, but it looks like it’s up to the Corps to clear the south.” Collins nodded in response and there were no other questions. “We move out in twenty minutes, so load up,” Lang said, glancing at the clock. It was almost dawn.

  ***

  Lang stood inside his twelve-foot armor while the choppers taking him and the rest of Charlie Platoon raced northward.

  “The I-5 is clear,” one of the pilots said over the network.

  “Of tangos, not traffic,” another clarified.

  Not including the second remark, it was good news. Lang was worried that they were going to have to clear the entire interstate all the way up to the city, which would’ve taken time that they did not have. His good cheer only lasted so long, since the ISR data indicated that San Clemente still crawled, though the infestation was much lighter than it was farther north. It ate at him a little to know that he and his platoon would be deploying essentially where he’d started this adventure just the other day; it felt like going back to square one. Have to start somewhere, he mused.

  “Alright, listen up!” Lang said over the platoon’s channel. “First stop, San Clemente! Apparently, they have a bit of a pest problem.” After a pause, he continued, “Much of the area is residential and most of the civilians have fled. The Drasin seem to have spread out more than usual, possibly because the area isn’t as built up as downtown and there aren’t as many raw resources for consumption. Basically, we have ourselves a search and destroy mission.”

  “My favorite type,” someone chimed in.

  Lang ignored the Marine, not berating her for interrupting since it was his favorite type of mission too, and started giving orders. “Staff Sergeant McKenzie, I want your mortar section up in the hills to the east. I suspect we’ll be keeping you plenty busy.”

  “Roger that, sir,” McKenzie acknowledged. Lang left the details to the capable sergeant, and, shortly thereafter, the helicopter carrying the mortar section altered course.

  “For everybody else, here’s the deal. We’ve got a non-standard set of personnel, so I’ve reorganized us into three sections,” Lang said as he sent the data to everyone across the network. “We have three functioning EXO-12s and three assault squads, so each section is centered around them. Fortunately, we picked up quite a few riflemen from other units; enough for two fire teams per section.” Raising his voice slightly, he continued, “Sergeant Barnier!”

  “Yes, sir!” she responded immediately.

  “You’ll take the first section, designation Blaze Four One. Intel shows some hot spots in residential areas near the beach; that’ll be your target.”

  “Roger, Blaze Four One, hitting the beach,” she confirmed.

  “Staff Sergeant Collins,” Lang continued. “You’re running Blaze Four Two and will handle the hot spot in the area north of Blaze Four One.” Like Barnier’s target, it was mostly residential but also mixed in with a few commercial buildings.

  “Copy Blaze Four Two, headed north,” Collins confirmed.

  “The gunny and I will take Blaze Four Three to the commercial area east of the interstate,” Lang informed them.

  After a pause while everyone checked their assignments, Barnier spoke. “Looks like you get all the fun, Captain.”

  Lang knew what she meant, since his zone was the hottest, probably due to there being a larger amount of raw materials for the Drasin to exploit. Lang was about to respond, but Clark beat him to the punch. “You can have the fun jobs when you make gunny.”

  There were a few chuckles on the channel, but they didn’t last long. Every single one of them was well aware that they were facing a completely new type of enemy. Humans could be deadly, too, but with the Drasin there was no negotiating, and no mercy, either. They didn’t have long until contact, but Lang knew that he should say something.

  “Look, we’ve been training for this since the day the Odyssey returned home and opened our eyes. The Drasin have experience fighting planets full of humans, but not Terrans. We’ve now put them on the defensive, and I don’t think they are accustomed to that. We took back our airfield in record time, and now it’s only a matter of time before we take back our city!”

  The cheers that came across the network told him that his speech had worked. Whether or not it worked on Lang himself, he wasn’t sure. The city, the entire planet, actually, was crawling with these things and it was very possible that his platoon would not survive extended contact.

  That train of thought made him angry. He’d been given the list of those who hadn’t survived the attack on Pendleton, and the thought of adding these names to that list started to touch off a fury inside of him unlike any he’d ever experienced. Logically, he realized the danger of dehumanizing an enemy—it had led to some of Earth’s most horrendous crimes—but would it really be so wrong to dehumanize a genocidal invader that wasn’t even human? Lang figured not, and the best chance he could give his people of surviving was to kill as many Drasin as possible.

  Lang’s HUD alerted him when the choppers’ flight paths started to diverge as they neared their targets. He keyed his mic one last time on the platoon’s channel before the drop and said, “Good hunting, Marines.” With that done, he let everyone retune to their team’s channel in order to reduce clutter and confusion, though he could still reach the team leaders on the platoon’s command channel.

  He tuned his mic to default to Blaze Four Three’s channel and said, “Get ‘em ready to drop, Gunny.”

  Clark keyed his mic once in response and stood up, initiating the pre-drop checklists. Lang watched him do his job as he started to prep the EXO-12 for combat. He had everything up and running by the time the rest of the Marines had finished their buddy checks. They wouldn’t be performing a true drop, per se, but the helicopter was not going to completely touch down, since it was vulnerable to particle beam fire every second that it was within line of sight of the enemy.

  Lang unsecured himself from the wall of the chopper as they descended rapidly to the LZ. He was always the first one out of the helicopter on principle, but part of it was he didn’t want to fall on anybody if his … dismount went awry. Trying not to think of that, he prepped himself as the rear door opened. Part of that process was having the NICS needles insert themselves into his neck. The pain faded quickly and he was immediately connected to the machine. Items that would normally display on his HUD he could simply “see” in his head. Similarly, he had a simultaneous three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. It had been disorienting the first few times, but the situational awareness provided to him was simply astounding. When his altimeter indicated that he was fifty feet off the ground, his feet worked the pedals to get the big machine to jump out the back.

  After about twenty feet of freefall, he ignited the EXO-12’s rockets to slow his descent. Just as he’d practiced hundreds of times, he came to a controlled landing and quickly scanned the area. They were intentionally landing far enough away from the Drasin to avoid taking fire while disembarking, but it never hurt to follow procedure or be a little paranoid. The rest of Lang’s team dropped in behind him and rushed out to secure as much of a perimeter as they could on a four-lane road, with a focus to the north. The real-time intel coming from the Carnivore drones above showed the blazing hot infrared signatures of their enemy only a few hundred meters in that direction.

  After sending the “move out” signal across the network, Lang strode down the middle of the street like a gunfighter in an old Western. Due to the bulk of his armor, the relatively small buildings would afford him little cover, so he was planning on relying on his surprising maneuverability—and sheer firepower—to deal with any impending threats. Besides, he figured it was better if the Drasin took shots at him than his less-armored compatriots.

  The riflemen of Bravo Four Three leapfrogged from building to building on either side of the street, escorting the assault squad as they did. Lang kept a steady pace, absorbing all of the data from the EXO-12�
�s various sensors as they moved. Consequently, he was the first one to see the approaching heat signature.

  Lang instructed the computer to fire as soon as the target broke cover. His three-barreled gun whined as it sent a burst of 15mm scramjet rounds, of which it could fire over five thousand per minute. Though he fired before the Drasin poked its ugly head around the corner of the restaurant, the bullets were precisely on time and on target, tearing into the enemy drone before it had a chance to react. “Target destroyed,” Lang said calmly.

  For better or worse, the Drasin were now reacting to their presence. ISR information showed multiple heat signatures converging from the northwest, north, and northeast. “Defensive positions,” Lang ordered as he decided the best place to position himself for the coming attack, trusting his NCOs to make their own determinations, which they did expeditiously. He was happy to note that they had set up a nice crossfire for any targets approaching from a northerly route, but also had an appropriate rearguard. Lang almost felt like a fifth wheel and entered a moment of indecision, but then realized he could risk taking the high ground. After a couple of bounding steps, he jumped and made it to the roof of the store with a little assistance from the EXO-12’s rockets.

  He kept low after landing on the roof and made his way toward the northern edge. As he moved, Lang made a mental note of everyone’s location. He was on top of a medium-sized grocery store, inside of which was half an assault squad and one fire team of riflemen. Across the street, but staggered so as not to be in each other’s line of fire was a similar force. The building they were occupying was a bank, which looked suspiciously like it had been looted, but there wasn’t much to be done about that now.

  All of a sudden, Lang realized that they had yet to see another human being. That realization sent a shiver up his spine. That moment was cut short, though, as the approaching heat signatures were near enough to be within visual range. Lang crept closer to the edge and stood up enough to get line of sight on the enemy. More importantly, this also raised his weapons over the edge of the roof. He resisted the urge to fire, since the Drasin were funneling themselves right into the kill zone that his team had created. If he engaged them, he risked pulling them in a different direction and ruining the ambush.