Descent from the Black: An Odyssey One Novella

by Hugh Taylor

  Lang bided his time as he watched five, then eight, and then a ninth Drasin come racing down the street at full speed, skittering as they searched for the targets that they knew were there. Once they reached just inside of the maximum effective rifle range, the scammers of the assault squad opened fire, and two Drasin simply ceased to exist. Rifle fire could be heard immediately afterward, as scramjet rounds did their best to track their assigned targets, which wasn’t difficult in the confines of the street below.

  Four Drasin survived and made it to the point where they could effectively engage his Marines, so Lang stood up and let loose with everything he had. His tri-barrel whined and his combat laser clacked. The Drasin were better protected against energy weapons, even the multi-frequency ones that the Terrans used, so he had previously programmed the computer to target more vulnerable parts of their biology. Lang didn’t have time to see how effective his strategy was—he figured that they could watch the combat footage later—because the remaining four Drasin were slain within seconds. The subsequent silence was quite a shock to his system, after a minute of pure adrenaline.

  “Captain,” Clark said over the team’s command channel.

  “Yeah, Gunny?”

  “That was too easy.”

  The ambush had gone well, but then, that was the entire point of an ambush. “We had a good plan and we executed,” Lang countered, but without a lot of conviction. “Hey, we have more contacts inbound,” he added, his voice rising unintentionally.

  After a moment, Clark responded, “Look at them.”

  “Yeah, I see them,” Lang started to protest; but then he did see. “Approximately ten of them, approaching from the same direction …”

  “Something’s wrong, Boss,” Clark said.

  Deep down, Lang knew that the gunnery sergeant was right. “Take care of this wave, but keep your eyes peeled,” he instructed before toggling to the area command channel. “Rock, Blaze Six; over.”

  “Go for Rock, Blaze; over,” an unfamiliar voice answered.

  “Requesting additional recon to my north, over.”

  “Is your location secure, over?”

  “Negative, my location is still hot, over.”

  After a brief pause, the voice continued, “We’re a little busy here, Blaze, finish securing your current objective, over.”

  “Negative, Rock. We’re being toyed with, over.”

  After a significant pause, a different voice said, “Blaze Six, this is Rock Actual.” Shit. Lang had just managed to attract the attention of the battalion commander, a lieutenant colonel whom he’d never met; he’d rotated in while Lang was being reassigned. “You’ve got ten seconds to explain, son.”

  “Sir,” Lang began quickly, “the Drasin are knowingly and repeatedly walking into our KZ. We believe we’re being distracted from a higher-priority target, over.”

  More time passed than Lang could stomach, especially since the next wave of Drasin was almost within firing range. Finally, the colonel responded. “We’re re-tasking a bird. You’ll get the intel if we find a threat.” It was clear from the colonel’s tone that the conversation was over. It was also clear that they better damn well find some threat, or Lang could expect to be on the bottom of Rock’s priority list for the remainder of this fight.

  Chapter 7

  Lang’s tri-barreled rifle spun down as the remnants of the second Drasin wave lay dead in the street. He was beyond relieved to not have taken any casualties, but he didn’t feel like doing this all day—stalemates only benefited the Drasin, after all.

  Lang didn’t have to wait long. “Blaze, Rock; over.”

  “Rock, go for Blaze Six; over.”

  “We’ve confirmed a major hotspot a little over a kilometer to your north. The site appears to be a hardware store; IMINT just confirmed the roof collapsing and the formation of a nest underneath; over.”

  “Blaze copies all. Do we have air support?”

  “Affirm, a strike package is available. Your element is needed to secure a perimeter for mop-up ops, over.”

  “Roger that, Rock; however, I have insufficient manpower to secure a perimeter, over.”

  “Blaze, be advised that Echo Platoon has assumed operations in the residential areas. Charlie Platoon has been re-tasked to the nest, over.”

  “Blaze Six copies all. Wilco, out.” Lang was immediately irritated, as he couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t been informed that the rest of his company had been given new orders. He quickly checked the logs and realized, much to his chagrin, that he had been informed. He wondered how he’d missed that and if he was already getting fatigued; but then again, he had been wounded just yesterday. Pushing the emotions aside and toggling back to his platoon’s command channel, he ordered them to begin moving out.

  As his team prepared to advance toward the hardware store, Lang jumped off the roof and landed in the middle of the street, keeping an eye—and all of his armor’s sensors—peeled for anything that moved. As hyper-vigilant as he was, he couldn’t help wondering about the status of the rest of the platoons in his company, and if Echo Platoon was one of them. He knew that he’d be informed of the plan when it was time, but the uncertainty ate at him a little bit.

  “More visitors,” Clark said over the network.

  Lang mentally moved through the data from their eyes in the sky and saw that there were another half-dozen or so attempting to make the same attack as the previous two waves. “We can’t stay here forever, Gunny.”

  “Understood, sir,” Clark responded, which he followed by ordering the fire teams to leapfrog up the street. Lang kept pace but stayed in the middle of the road, carefully checking intersections for potential threats from his sides. They didn’t make it very far before they encountered the next several Drasin. The Marines manning the SCCMs were on the money, though, as the first two aliens to enter the street were immediately destroyed in flashes of exploding warheads.

  The next three came scampering from both sides of the upcoming intersection, and Lang was surprised to still be surprised at how fast they were. Had he not programmed the EXO-12 to automatically fire at the target he selected, he would’ve missed. In fact, the leading element of his Marines both missed with their first few bursts, allowing the two remaining drones to enter the street and return fire.

  With a mix of fear and anger, Lang targeted the one on his left with his gun and laser while simultaneously jumping forward, low and fast, and slamming into the drone on his right. It immediately threw his armored form off it before reaching back to try to impale the small primate strapped into the large mechanical apparatus with one of its pincers. But Lang was faster and fired the EXO-12’s laser into his enemy’s face. The burst didn’t kill the alien, but it sent it reeling backward and clawing at its head. Lang wasted no time in getting upright, aiming, and firing dozens of rounds at the Drasin from only twenty feet away.

  The result of his attack was devastating, and with that threat clear he had the mental bandwidth to check on the rest of his team. He was relieved to see that all of the Drasin were dead, but he could see that one of his Marines was injured. He resisted the urge to run over there, as it was of little tactical use and he could monitor the situation just fine via the data that he was receiving. It appeared that Corporal Radcliffe hadn’t been hit by a particle beam, but had been struck by debris falling from the building where the enemy energy weapon had struck. His suit indicated that his femur was broken, which was automatically being stabilized. Regardless of the efficacy of modern medicine, the corporal would be out of commission for the remainder of this battle.

  Lang could already see the medevac, essentially a CM-powered parachute, on its way. When it arrived, the gunny attached it to Radcliffe’s armor, double-checked that it was secure, and sent it on its way. The chute lifted the corporal into the air and headed toward the nearest forward operating base. Lang was happy that she’d be okay, but her rifle would be missed in the upcoming fight.

  They moved out again, a litt
le more cautiously this time, but encountered nothing more than a couple of random drones, which were easily dispatched. By the time they were approaching the warehouse from the south, the other two teams from Charlie Platoon had been dropped in, one to the east and one to the northwest. Lang paused his advance but waved the gunny and the others on, as he was busy issuing orders over the network. Thanks to powered armor and years of training, they had a solid perimeter established in under ninety seconds. “Rock, Blaze Six; over.”

  “Go for Rock,” came the immediate reply.

  “Perimeter secure; we’re ready for that strike package now, over,” Lang informed them.

  “Negative, Blaze; no air assets are currently available, over.”

  “Rock, we were promised air support when we were assigned this target, over.”

  “The strategic situation has changed and we can’t spare anything right now. Next available sortie is in approximately twenty minutes, over.”

  “Keep us on the waiting list. Blaze out.” Lang knew that at the rate these things bred, twenty minutes could easily be a death sentence for his platoon. Fortunately, he always planned for the worst and when he’d issued orders previously, he hadn’t forgotten about his mortar section. Switching channels, he said, “Sergeant McKenzie.”

  “We’re just getting into position now, sir. You’ll have ordnance on its way in under one minute,” the staff sergeant promised.

  Lang switched to the platoon’s channel and informed them of the impending assault. Like everyone else, he found cover in a relatively defensible position and waited. As soon as the smart mortar rounds were in the air and the Carnivore drones were inbound, Lang could see the data, down to the specific type of weapon, trajectories, and several other items that he didn’t have time to process.

  After two minutes of constant pounding, the assault ceased and all that was left of the warehouse was rubble. Unfortunately, without the large, ground-penetrating thermobaric ordnance dropped by strike aircraft, it was pretty much guaranteed that some Drasin survived the attack underground. “Time to finish this nest off,” Lang said to the troops. “By the numbers,” he added as he slowly advanced on the smoldering remains of the building. Everyone in the platoon was utilizing an infrared overlay or some sort of heat sensor, since the Drasin ran much hotter than humans. Lang was fortunate that, being connected to his armor via NICS, he could process all of that data at once, even with the three-hundred-sixty-degree view.

  The first few bursts of automatic gunfire could be heard as they started to enter what was left of the building. Lang quickly maneuvered to get a visual of the action and saw that multiple Drasin were rushing out of a hole in the ground. Thankfully, his Marines had the entrance to the nest completely covered and the enemy bugs were being torn to shreds before they could clear the hole and open fire themselves. After five of the Drasin were killed, no more followed, leaving an awkward silence.

  “Maybe we got ‘em all,” a private said.

  “We have to clear that nest,” Lang countered, knowing that there were likely many more Drasin consuming and reproducing down there.

  Lang moved to take point until Clark raised him on the platoon’s command channel. “Your mech-beast won’t fit down there, sir.”

  Lang eyeballed the entrance to the nest and realized that the gunny was probably right. Even if the machine could fit down there, it wouldn’t have much room to maneuver. “I’ll hop out and do it the old-fashioned way,” he responded as he prepared to exit the EXO-12.

  “Negative; your place is up here, Captain,” Clark countered. The gunnery sergeant’s tone wasn’t demeaning or patronizing, but guiding in a way that reminded Lang of being lectured by his parents during his teenage years.

  Lang hesitated for what was probably longer than professional, but acquiesced. “Alright, Gunny; send a team down.”

  Clark chose Staff Sergeant Collins to lead a team of riflemen into the hole, since any of the heavier weapons would be just as unsuited as Lang’s armor for the underground fight. “Make sure to take plenty of grenades,” he heard the gunny add. They wouldn’t kill the Drasin, but they would sometimes blow a few limbs off, making it more difficult for them to maneuver.

  It felt wrong to not be the first one to go underground, but Lang did understand that he had other responsibilities. He managed to resist the urge to watch the armor-cams of the Marines going down, focusing on the larger tactical situation instead. He tasked Sergeant Barnier with securing a perimeter, focusing both on whatever might come up from the nest and any potential threats from the outside. In a small way, it reminded Lang of Caesar’s situation in the Battle of Alesia; both the besieger and potentially the besieged. Command must’ve been keeping tabs on Charlie Platoon’s progress, because as soon as his position was relatively secure, Major Gutierrez hailed him directly on the network.

  “Go ahead, sir,” Lang responded.

  “You’re now officially in command of Bravo Company. Three rifle platoons, Echo, Golf, and Lima, are assigned to you.”

  “Roger that, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Gutierrez warned. “Army and National Guard units are still being mobilized with a major offensive planned for tomorrow morning, but they need time and place to stage. That means we can’t have any flare-ups on our flanks.”

  “Understood, Major.”

  “I’m not done yet, Captain,” Gutierrez said. “Your company will be on patrol until it’s time to take part in the offensive. If it’s alien, it moves, and if it’s south of San Juan Capistrano, then it’s your responsibility. Clear?”

  Lang quickly scanned a map of the area and realized that there was quite a bit of geography to cover with just one company. He didn’t think voicing that opinion would be wise, though, so he simply said, “Crystal, sir.”

  Command had already created a company command network and issued new personnel orders. He was now being assigned an XO, a first lieutenant who would literally be dropping in shortly. Additionally, Gunnery Sergeant Clark received a battlefield promotion and would be his company’s first sergeant. “Congrats, First Sergeant Clark,” he said on Charlie Platoon’s channel as he digitally sent the orders to the former gunnery sergeant, who just nodded in return.

  Apparently, his replacement and a new gunnery sergeant for Charlie Platoon would be jumping in with Lang’s new XO. Brief personnel files on both of them, as well as senior leaders for Echo, Golf, and Lima Platoons had also been sent to Lang over the network; some names were familiar. A lot had to happen very quickly, though, so he’d have to read them later. He was about to start issuing orders, but gunfire and a grenade blast could be felt from underground. Lang’s instinct was to deal with the problem, but one look from Clark sent him back to figuring out how the heck he was going to run an entire company in the middle of an alien invasion.

  Chapter 8

  Lang made a final check of the strategic display on his HUD. Much to his surprise, the actions that he had needed to take came naturally to him. The mortar section from Charlie Platoon, his former platoon, did not have to shift their position much in the hills to the east since their effective range covered Bravo Company’s entire area of responsibility. Their Carnivore drones were supplementing other intelligence assets by reconnoitering the immediate area at a relatively low altitude. Lang’s Marines had managed to pacify the entire area, including the nest at the hardware store, so their current mission was essentially that of patrol.

  Lang had assigned geographic areas to the three rifle platoons that he had just inherited, which relieved Charlie Platoon quite a bit. Given that his former platoon was a weapons platoon, he kept the assault and mobile armor sections at his company headquarters, ready to deploy within minutes. He had decided to set up shop in the abandoned businesses near the nest that they’d destroyed, both because the location was relatively central to his AOR and out of a tiny bit of paranoia. He wanted to be near the warehouse in case something else decided to crawl out of the hole in the gro
und.

  Night was falling, and with the pending assault in the morning, he ordered his platoon commanders to make sure the troops got some sleep. He had a feeling that tomorrow was going to be a long day. Seeing that the patrols were up and running as ordered, he exited his armor, put on a set of combat utility uniforms, and prepared to get some shuteye himself. However, his stomach reminded him that he had other needs, so he made his way to the makeshift mess.

  He walked in to the old-fashioned diner and found several groups of men and women eating, including two first lieutenants, one of whom he recognized. “So they made you a captain … again,” a young woman said with a mocking, though friendly smile as she stood to shake his hand.

  “It’s good to see you too, Carter,” Lang responded in kind, returning the handshake.

  “Thanks for the platoon, Captain,” she added.

  “I know they’ll be in good hands,” Lang replied sincerely.

  “Sir, I’m your new XO,” the other first lieutenant said with a salute.

  Lang returned the salute and said, “Welcome. Please, sit; eat while you can.” He then went to get as many scoops of whatever they were serving as he could, returned to the table, and sat down. “Glad to have you here so soon, Lieutenant,” Lang said to the man with the nametag “Weiss.”

  “Can’t think of any other place I’d rather be at the end of the world,” he responded.

  Lang laughed, and it felt good. “It’s refreshing to see a sense of humor.”

  Weiss nodded in acknowledgement before asking, “So Carter tells me you two served together?”