by James Evans
He updated the kills on the HUD and sent a message to Milton. Her response showed her team on the north side of the bunker. They‘d found a barracks but no aliens and no sign that they‘d been detected.
Warden could imagine her contempt for their enemy‘s lax attitude. Not that anyone wanted a fair fight, but Milton would surely also be experiencing the strange mix of embarrassment and pity that Warden felt. He shook his head. Bollocks to that; they’d invaded New Bristol and killed colonists and Marines. They deserved no sympathy.
Warden ordered Milton to hold as long as possible while his section made their way through this floor toward her and Ten cleared the basement. She acknowledged while Warden checked in with Ten, who confirmed they had found nothing of interest. They were heading toward the north wall where there was a staircase that would bring them out on the other side of the barracks area.
Warden updated the HUD and issued new orders. Section One would advance slowly and check each room, Ten would come up from the basement, and they would clear the barracks area after rendezvousing with Milton’s Section.
The bunker had multiple rooms, some small and private, some larger bunks. They were probably only used when the colonists were moving across New Bristol from site to site or doing a maintenance run. There hadn’t been many people stationed here day-to-day as solar plants didn’t need much care and attention.
Terraformers liked to build plenty of capacity into their infrastructure. When the terraforming was done, population growth would consume any surplus and if the weather or atmospheric conditions changed it was always good to have a backup. Bunker-like storm shelters were popular, as was excess capacity in everything from food production to sleeping quarters to energy plants.
Warden was ready to declare the area clear, already heading back to join his Section, when a door opened and a huge alien stepped into the corridor. Eight feet tall, heavily muscled and with scales for skin, the thing had to duck its head to avoid the ceiling. It stood frozen for a moment, caught between Warden and the Marines, nobody able to shoot in the narrow corridor.
Then it roared and took a step toward the Marines. Warden charged, pistol discarded and knife out, reaching for the alien‘s head with one hand while the other swept round to chop out the beast‘s throat.
But the alien was fast, much faster than Warden would have believed possible. It whipped around and batted the knife away with one huge fist then hurled the other at Warden‘s head. The lieutenant ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow, but the beast was canny and cool, and a heavy cross caught him across the jaw, knocking him back and messing with his vision. Before he could move, another blow caught him and sent him sprawling, sliding along the corridor on his back.
As he lay there, dazed and half-senseless, there was a long series of sharp pops. Then the alien slumped back against the wall and slid to the floor.
The Marines hurried forward, and Campbell helped Warden to his feet.
“You ok, Sir? Took a couple of good shots there.“
Warden shook his head, blinking as his vision cleared, then spat blood on the floor. Campbell pressed Warden‘s knife and pistol into his hands. “Mebbe next time ya let us shoot first, eh Sir? Save the fisticuffs for when we get home.“
The lieutenant nodded, rubbing his jaw.
Then the HUD lit up with a message from Milton.
Chapter Eight
Milton swore. Profusely. They’d been approaching the barracks, as quiet as mice when it had all gone to shit. A squad of alien troopers had spewed from the room like a bad choice at a buffet. They’d got body armour on, and they all had the powerful rifles that seemed to be their main weapon. Just because they didn’t all have shoes or trousers on, didn’t mean they weren’t a threat.
The Marines had been forced back, abandoning the forward positions in favour of not being cut to ribbons. Milton was hunkered down behind a storage locker, hoping it didn’t contain anything sensitive to high-velocity impacts. Mustn’t grumble, she thought, the locker door was nice and flat, so her back was comfortable at least.
The corridor she was supposed to have taken, the one just past her left shoulder, was currently a horizontal hailstorm of death. That was a bit of a problem. She had to admit; they were in a spot of bother. Milton looked to her left, where Justine Barber was hunkered down on the other side of the corridor.
Barber let out a huge sigh as if to express just how bored she was at having to wait her turn. She put her rifle in her lap, drew a pistol, passed it into her left hand and twisted at the waist. The suppressor was attached, and she put the barrel just around the corner and pulled the trigger, randomly returning fire until the magazine was empty. Barber looked up at Sergeant Milton and shrugged.
It was worth a try, Milton supposed. It was certainly better than sticking your head out. They were at a T-junction, and the wall opposite the corridor was thoroughly peppered with bullet holes. On the plus side, if the aliens kept up that rate of fire they would have to run out of ammunition. Surely?
Milton switched her gaze to her HUD, checked the status of her team and noted that, although the aliens had surprised them, only a few had picked up flesh wounds. It wasn’t her best day as a Commando, but it could have been a lot more painful.
“Milton, what’s the situation?”
“Bit of a pickle, Sir. They pushed hard, and we only got a couple before we had to fall back. The aliens have the better positions and an apparently unlimited supply of ammunition. Any chance you can lend a hand?” Milton replied via the HUD, flagging the problematic control points she needed to clear on the map.
“Let me check with my secretary; I’m not sure what’s on today‘s calendar. Can I call you back after lunch?”
“I’d prefer it if you could make it a little earlier.”
“Smoke me a kipper then, we’ll see you for breakfast.”
“The Lieutenant is on the way,“ said Milton to Barber and Mitchell, shouting to be heard over the din, “He wants smoked kipper for breakfast so let’s stop buggering about, shall we?” Milton pulled a smoke grenade from her pouch. Barber copied her as Mitchell readied his rifle, standing up and turning to face the corridor.
Milton and Barber threw their grenades, and a second later smoke began to pour into the corridor. Mitchell leaned around the corner, fired a couple of bursts into the smoke then ducked back. That should give the buggers something to think about while Warden brought his group to bear.
Milton messaged the rest of her team, telling them to keep their heads down until backup arrived. There were sporadic bursts of fire from nearby, but the aliens hadn‘t returned fire down the smoke-filled corridor yet. Maybe they were waiting for the smoke to clear.
Milton turned around to her right and inspected lockers on the wall. Access was by key card, so she tried the one she’d got off the enemy. None of the locks responded, so they were probably meant for specific personnel or roles like engineering crew. Her pistol didn’t have any problems opening the lock though. These weren’t safes, after all.
Inside she found boxes of spare parts. Barber looked at her quizzically and fired a burst down the corridor, while Milton rooted around in the boxes. She found what she was looking for and crouched by the corner again, facing the corridor.
The object Milton lobbed sailed into the smoke and bounced across the floor. There was a break in the firing around them, and they could hear it rolling down the corridor. They heard footsteps and a few thuds. Someone had hit the deck. Barber grinned at her and Milton winked. She waited a couple of seconds then threw another.
There was more frantic scrabbling from the far end of the corridor so she bounced the third off a wall, high up, hoping it would find an open doorway. More shouting and a burst of fire. She lobbed one more but they were wise to the game, now, and instead of dodging away they just fired back, shooting indiscriminately down the corridor.
The arrival of the fifth fake grenade must have caught them by surprise when it expl
oded in their midst. It certainly sounded like someone was in pain.
“Nice one, Sarge,” Mitchell said with a grin, and Barber gave a thumbs up. At least one enemy trooper was down, groaning at the end of the corridor. Milton lobbed a few more spare parts, and another smoke grenade then hefted her rifle, listening for the sound of enemy movement.
At the other end of the barracks, Warden pulled the trigger and stitched a neat line across the exposed back of an alien trooper. He switched targets, but the next one was already down, so he marked the point as safe on the HUD and saw that two more were already cleared.
“Milton, how are you doing?”
“We’re all good, Sir. Quieter here, now. They seem to have other things on their minds.”
Warden checked the HUD, examining the positions of his troops and the enemy. The Marines now had the aliens boxed in on two sides now, but the barracks could hold, what, another dozen troops or so. They could press forward and find out the hard way, but that wasn’t his only option.
“Milton, it’s time to invite our guests to the buffet. Let’s make sure they get the message, in three, two, one.”
Noise erupted around the barracks, as both Milton‘s team and Warden‘s directed first at the points controlled by the aliens. Bursts of fire hammered the doors and hurtled down the corridors. No sane alien would poke it’s head out while that cacophony was going on.
Harrington and Fletcher advanced from the lower level, their guns trained on two targets. Marine X was between them, his attention on a third alien. All three of the enemy were shooting, their attention entirely on the hail of bullets that was suppressing them. Big mistake.
Marine X closed with his target, his hand clamping around the forehead and the blade of his knife sinking smoothly between the vertebrae in its neck. He wrenched the knife from side to side, completely severing the spinal column then withdrew it.
On either side of him, there were soft coughs as Harrington and Fletcher discharged their responsibilities, their suppressed weapons inaudible over the exchanges of gunfire between the aliens and the marines.
None of them noticed until it was too late for them to react, the weapons of Marine X, Harrington and Fletcher dealing with the five more before the aliens finally became aware that they were surrounded. Warden was watching, and as soon as the aliens began to turn, he ordered the full assault.
They all rushed forward, converging under cover of fire and overwhelming the remaining half-dozen aliens in mere seconds. A few additional shots were put into still thrashing bodies to make sure, and then there was deathly quiet. Warden stood, breathing heavily for a few moments as he regained his breath.
“Commandos, log your kills, we need numbers,” he ordered, and a steady flow of data began to come in via his HUD. Twenty-eight, in total, since entering the base.
“Overwatch, any activity? How about the dropship?”
“No, Sir. All quiet on the southern front. No sensor sweeps from the ship, engines and weapons are not powering up. The techs have got their main drones up, and there’s nothing at the nearest outposts either,” came the response from Wilson.
He acknowledged the updates and walked over to the barracks, issuing orders as he went. “Overwatch, maintain alert and keep an eye on that dropship. Those with alien hardware, get yourselves into cover as close to the dropship as possible. We need to breach it as soon as we can, and I don’t want any surprises coming out of it.”
Warden surveyed the carnage in the barracks room. Maybe the aliens were nocturnal? They might come from a planet with a hostile daylight environment or predators. Or a variety of planets perhaps, there were at least four types of aliens that he’d spotted so far.
“Check the lockers, search the bodies, we’re looking for their dropship pilots so we can find their ship access cards or whatever they use,” he barked to the commandos standing around in the barracks.
Milton issued the same order to those near the individual bedrooms, look for a pilot or officers, bring everything you find back to the barracks room for sorting.
“Marine X - did you find an armoury downstairs by any chance? I don’t see anything but personal weapons up here,” Warden asked.
Ten grinned broadly, “Yes, Sir. Want me to show you?”
He nodded and followed the Marine down the nearby staircase, signalling a few nearby commandos to join them.
“You might want to get someone to count the dead down here, Sir,” Ten said as they descended the staircase.
“What? I didn’t hear anything. How many was it and why didn’t you say before now?”
“I kept it quiet, as ordered, Sir. That’s what you pay me for,” the unrepentant marine replied.
“Point of fact, Ten, you’re still serving at Her Majesty’s Pleasure for the incident on Arcturus 4, so you’re not being paid at all. You have another four deployments to complete before you’re earning a salary again,” Warden responded.
“True, true. But still, I was a bit busy to log the kills down here and thought you’d rather have me up in the barracks to deal with any enemies still living, than down here counting corpses.”
“Next time, use your HUD for what it’s intended for, let me know if there’s enemy to deal with. You might have needed more backup,” Warden said, trying to get the Marine to understand. He might be serving a penal sentence for his earlier breaches of military conduct, but he was still a valuable commando.
If he hadn’t got a record full of medals and decades of experience in some of the most dangerous zones the RMSC had operated in this century, he wouldn’t have been allowed to return to a frontline position. Aside from discipline issues, he was probably the most skilled and dangerous commando in Captain Atticus’s command.
In this situation, he couldn’t afford to lose him early, certainly not before they had an active cloning bay again. He doubted his point would make it into Ten’s brain though. The man was incorrigible. The only person who’d been killed more times in action was Captain Atticus himself.
“Sorry, Sir. Harrington and Fletcher can count them though; they went past the ones I found when they joined me on the staircase, so they know where they are,” Ten said cheerfully.
“They weren’t with you? They were your backup!” Warden snapped.
“I told them to hang back and cover me, no point risking them if I did run across any problems.”
Warden sighed, there were good reasons why Ten was an administrative and disciplinary nightmare, but you couldn’t argue with his record of bravery, he’d much rather die himself than let a fellow marine take a fatality.
He made a note in his HUD to review the man’s progress through this ground floor later. In most cases, commanders didn’t have the time or need to review individual troopers feeds. Penal Marine X though was always educational, and he could learn from it, improving his future performance.
“Here it is, Sir,” Ten said, pointing to a large storage cage. There were two dead aliens outside it. One was in fairly normal body armour and had been carrying what he was fairly sure was one of the combat shotguns they’d already found. Its head lolled at an obscene angle, a huge gash across its throat. Any more and it would have been incapacitated.
The other was more of a surprise. It was wearing power armour. Warden looked at it, then glanced at Ten who wore a beatific expression that seemed to say, ‘Who, Sir? Me, Sir? I ain’t done nuffin.’ He could almost hear it in Ten’s south London accent. Clearly, he should have called for backup to deal with this target, he wasn’t carrying anything that should have been used to engage a trooper in powered armour except grenades.
“Why didn’t you request backup or use a grenade?” he asked, incredulously. If he hadn’t seen the psychologists reports, he’d have thought the man insane.
Ten shrugged, “Looked like this was their armoury, Sir. Didn’t think you’
d want me to destroy any of their weapons, what with us not having anything that’s much use.”
Warden looked at the corpse again. He wasn’t even going to ask how he’d managed it; he’d just watch the HUD feed. Milton wasn’t going to believe this, he thought.
Ten dragged the smaller alien away from the storage cage door so that it could open fully. It hung ajar, a broken lock dangling from the bolt. Warden went inside and looked around, it was a large space, about the size of a standard shipping container.
There were several large crates, secured with electronic locks and the shelves had been neatly stacked with small arms. He nodded thoughtfully; there was probably enough in here to equip all the remaining men and women of the commando with superior weapons.
He inspected the lock on one of the crates then turned back to Ten who was kneeling by the heavily armoured alien, rifling through its pouches. He found something and held it up with a triumphant grin, standing and walking to the doorway to toss it to Warden.
A key card, alien in appearance but entirely the same concept they used on their restricted munitions. If you broke open a crate of RMSC grenade launchers, explosive charges would destroy the contents and put you at considerable risk. It wouldn’t surprise him if the aliens took similar measures and, if their technology had developed based on that found on a Lost Ark ship, it might be identical.
Warden wasn’t a historian, so he had no idea if self-destruct protocols were in use during the period of the Lost Ark missions, they didn’t even know which ship these aliens had encountered, it could have been one of the first lost or the most recent.
He motioned for Ten to stand back in case there were any additional security measures and using the card went wrong, then he waved the key card in front of the dull, red lock on the case. It went green, and there was a series of pops and clicks as the lock released. Gingerly, he lifted the lid, as if that would help if it did explode.
The crate contained three of the combat shotguns they’d already encountered. “What do you think Ten, useful for boarding their ship?”
