by J. F. Holmes
“There are over twenty Nekessians out there. I—”
“Don’t worry, Rhiv, I’ll be alright. You two just pass me your power cells.”
He wasn’t going to win this argument, and honestly there was no time for it, with another monster closing, though more cautiously. He passed up the power cell.
“Just be careful, Shiri. I—”
“I know, Rhiv. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”
On his console, Rhivas saw an indicator light up, notifying him that Shiri had ejected.
“Just hold us together a little longer, Tel,” he said as he faced the oncoming creature.
“Glaive Squad, you alright?” he asked; they were currently out of his field of view.
“Yeah,” came the stressed-sounding reply from Kaezyl, “this thing just won’t…got it!” then he cursed.
“Rhivas, target is down, but so are we. This last one’s all yours.”
And how, exactly, do I kill this one?
Rhivas began to move laterally with the cautious but still angry and aggressive monster, wincing as he felt the zadir’s now noticeable limp, and tried reaching the general again. “You there, sir?”
“Yes, Captain. We have some defenses arrayed in the shelter for when the enemy breaks in. Status out there?”
“One creature stands, and I’m in the last operational zadir. Any chance of backup?”
“Not fast enough, I’m afraid.”
“Alright. Some of us are on foot moving to engage the Nekessians. Two of Storm Squad, one of mine, and possibly all of Glaive Squad. You might be able to catch the enemy in a crossfire if your group charges out.”
“Acknowledged. We’ll see what we can do. Good luck, Captain.”
The channel closed, and the monster apparently ran out of patience as it beat its chest, then charged forward.
Ignoring protesting joints, Rhivas dodged.
“Can we get the plasma claws back, Tel?”
“No,” came the terse reply.
So it was damaged claws and teeth against intact claws and that massive brute strength.
“Alright, just do what you can to keep us moving until I figure this out.”
“Just…warn me before we do anything strenuous, Rhivas.”
“I’ll try,” he replied as he cautiously approached the creature.
“Come on, hold together,” he muttered to the zadir as he eased it into a run.
He’d have to hit this thing only on its unarmored parts; he couldn’t risk completely breaking his only remaining weapons for nothing.
The monster charged, and Rhivas gritted his teeth, then, at the last moment, acted.
“Leaping!” he called, then jumped them diagonally to the side and swiped at the creature as it passed.
One of his claws struck flesh and drew blood, but the rest clanged off armor, and they landed awkwardly; their limp was even more pronounced than before.
“Rhivas, I don’t think we can do much more of that. One way or another, this fight’s going to end very soon.”
The creature apparently knew this too and began to close in quickly.
What can we do? What do we have left?
Then, off to the side, Rhivas saw something. The collapsed form of Glaive Squad’s zadir and the monster it had last felled had fallen in such a way that the zadir’s cannon was pointed upward, at approximately a forty-five degree angle—and it looked like the cannon had been damaged as well, now ending in a clear, sharp point, almost like one of the monster’s claws had taken a slice out of it.
An idea quickly formed, and he began to circle the monster, getting into position. There’d only be one shot at this.
The creature charged again, and again he just barely dodged, then repositioned.
“Tel,” he said. “Eject.”
“What?”
“I don’t have time to explain. Don’t worry, I fully intend to walk away from this. Just trust me.”
“Alright.”
A moment later, the light indicating his ejection lit up.
“Alright, you ugly monster,” he said as he got it into position again. “Just you and me now. Let’s end this!”
He gunned the boosters one more time and charged.
In an instant, they collided, the momentum of the charge carrying them forward.
Please work, please work.
Moments later they lurched to an abrupt halt, and for a split second, Rhivas saw the spike-cannon go through the monster’s neck, blood and other fluids spurting out, before he lost sight of it, and then felt a second, sickening impact—along with the terrible sound of screeching metal—and his instruments screamed about catastrophic damage.
A few seconds later all systems shut down, and the zadir went still. The monster, similarly, didn’t move.
Rhivas leaned back, sighed, and closed his eyes for a moment. It was over. His part, at least.
He opened his eyes, then pressed the eject button.
Two seconds later, the cockpit hatch popped, the escape pod closed, and he was flung outside. After a few seconds in the air, the pod bounced on the ground, and then opened.
Immediately Rhivas sprung out of it, empty weapon in hand, and sprinted across the debris- and body-covered battlefield toward the shelter.
The fight appeared to be over; the Nekessians were all down, and people were slowly filtering back outside. Many looked to still be in shock.
But for the moment, only one person was on his mind.
“Shiri!” he shouted as he finally spotted her, seated on the ground with someone tending to a wound on her arm.
She turned to him with a smile. Even with her face dirty, hair askew, and uniform a mess, she managed to look stunning. Rhivas sprinted over.
“Damn Nekessians messed up my look,” she said as the person finished with the bandage. “Hours of work, wasted. I killed them for it.”
Again Rhivas found words failing him, so he crouched down, pulled her close, and kissed her. He didn’t care at this point who might be watching.
He immediately lost track of time, which was fine.
“I like it when you take the initiative, Rhiv,” she said with a wink as they came up for air.
Rhivas smiled. “You look good filthy, by the way. Gives you a wild, dangerous look.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Rhivas cast a quick look around, quickly locating Telthar, Glaive Squad, the general, and his parents.
“Unfortunately, while the fight is over, I fear today has only just begun.” He rose, offered Shiri a hand, and pulled her to her feet.
***
Two days later Rhivas stood with Shiri, otherwise alone, opposite the amazingly quickly-crafted plaque commemorating the victims of the Nekessian attack; sixteen civilians and military personnel, plus four zadir crew members.
Four friends, good friends. Their tiny class of twelve had become eight in an instant.
“I don’t want to go on leave,” Shiri said as she leaned into him and tightened her grip.
Rhivas didn’t, either. He wanted to stay here with the rest of the corps, with Shiri. The absolute last thing he wanted right now was quiet time at home to think on the friends he’d lost and everything else that had happened that day, with family who still hadn’t quite gotten over their own experience.
But he had to reassure her. “It’s only a week. I really feel for Storm Squad. A full mandated month, and then…who knows? Besides, there wouldn’t be much for us to do here, apart from more simulator sessions. Even when we get back, it’ll be weeks at least before our zadir is combat ready. Really, only Telthar will have proper work.”
“I want to kill them, Rhiv,” Shiri said as she turned around. There were tears in her eyes, and Rhivas realized he’d never seen this fierce, fiery girl cry before. He didn’t want to see it ever again. “I’ll kill them all,” she went on.
“No you won’t,” he said as he looked her in the eye and ran a hand through her red hair, now hanging loose. “We’ll kill them all.”
****
Born and raised in New York City, Yakov Merkin now lives in Israel, where he currently divides his time between writing—primarily focused on his Galaxy Ascendant space opera series—his Israel Defense Force service, and Ninja Warrior training. His work can be found on Amazon.
Maelstrom Rising: A Kin Wars Universe short story
Jason Cordova
“Aw, fuck me.”
Uriah Cliff looked down at his squad leader. It was unfortunate for many reasons, but the most noticeable one was that the man at Uriah’s feet was missing his head. Since the human body wasn’t typically able to function without one, the Imperfect was irritated that Squad Leader Joba Duquesa was obviously dead. This was also bad because it meant that Uriah was now acting squad leader for the remaining Wraiths in the unit.
They’d dropped in the night before, using the cover of darkness and the upper atmosphere to infiltrate onto the planet. It was a basic reconnaissance mission, the Wraith Corps of the Twelfth Squad, Fourth Regiment (Hellhounds) tasked with scouting the coordinates of the four primary military installations on the planet before transmitting the information above to the waiting Watcher ship. The stealthy Navy vessel would then transmit the information onward as the squad initiated action behind enemy lines. The end result was supposed to lead to the squad linking up with the rest of the regiment when they dropped in for the invasion and subsequent pacification of the rebellious planet.
The Mark V Wraith suits, as old as they were, had held up remarkably well during the initial part of the drop. Not designed for stealth and not particularly small, they’d nonetheless gotten the Imperfect humans inside them into the atmosphere before the immense heat from their entry had triggered the alert for the rebels. A horrendous number of energy beams had lanced upward as they fell, and one of them had managed to decapitate Uriah’s former squad leader.
They’d all landed scattered about in the midst of a swampy jungle, the suits’ burdensome jets on their backs slowing their fall until it was a manageable crash. Picking themselves up off the ground, they’d spent the remaining darkness looking for their fallen squad leader. Eventually the search had led to this moment, when Uriah found himself standing over the headless suit and muttering under his breath, cursing his misfortune.
“Aw, fuck me,” he repeated and looked around. The others would be joining him shortly, and the sight of the spinal column jutting out of the suit’s armor was a pretty disturbing sight. Thinking quickly, he found an old pile of moss next to a tree and ripped it out of the ground. He carefully placed it over his deceased squad leader’s head—or at least, where it would have been had it remained. It would help mask the squad leader’s ugly demise from the rest of the Wraiths.
The others located him via their HUD trackers and congregated on him. Each of them would now rely on him for leadership to get them into position to wreak the most carnage across the military installations, once they’d been scouted and they were waiting for everyone else to arrive. He had to make command decisions now. It was Uriah’s greatest nightmare come to life. Fucking Joba, why’d you have to go and die? Uriah silently asked the dead squad leader. Unfortunately, no answer was forthcoming.
“Joba’s dead,” Uriah announced as he kicked the suited arm of his former squad leader. As expected, the suit remained partially submerged in the swampy water. Still dead. Uriah’s mood grew fouler. “Took a hit to the face. Kleve, you’re now my second. We’ve got less than thirty minutes until sunrise according to my suit. Let’s roll out, people.”
“Wait.” Cori held up a hand. Uriah sighed within the safety of his helmet and tried to keep his exasperation from showing in his body language. The young Imperfect was a late discovery, one of the rare individuals who’d tested positive before they were to get married. Everyone in the Dominion was tested at the age of three for genetic impurities, which was how Uriah had ended up being dropped off at a Holding Home the day after his third birthday by his parents. He didn’t remember much about them, which was good, in his eyes. It was easier, not having ties to the rest of humanity.
Uriah hadn’t known anything about her before the drop except that she was irritating, high-maintenance, and seemed to think her shit didn’t stink. Not a good Wraith, in his opinion. An Imperfect in the Wraith Corps needed to be ready to kill at a moment’s notice, and even die one day, in the name of the emperor. Uriah had the distinct feeling Cori was not that type of Imperfect. All in all, she was a complete waste of space. How she’d managed to survive the Mechanized Infantry Training Command on Ceres was beyond his comprehension.
Cori continued to complain, “Why Kleve? She’s nice and all, but I’m better educated. I actually went to school. I should be second.”
“Not this shit again,” Uriah muttered, though he didn’t transmit that over the comms. Cori was delicate and easily got her feelings hurt. There were times Uriah wondered how she’d even passed the tests to become a Wraith. Last he’d checked, the mental stress test was strict, and only ten percent of applicants actually made it through. Though mistakes happen sometimes, he allowed. The system wasn’t perfect. He opened his comms to the remainder of the squad and tried his best to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Look, Kleve has the experience, and I trust her. You want the job? Earn it.”
“How can I earn it when you never give me a chance?” Cori whined. Uriah almost turned his gun on her right then and shot her in the head. Using every last bit of self-control, he turned away and began to slog through the ankle-high watery muck. The others followed closely behind, even Cori, in spite of her earlier protests.
The first military installation they found was a launch station near a large lake outside a settlement. The initial overhead photos had suggested that the small village had grown exponentially over the past three years since Maelstrom had descended into their little rebellion. It was no longer a collection of huts, but a slowly growing complex. This discovery surprised Uriah, as it showed just how quickly the rebels had gotten their infrastructure up and running after breaking away from the Dominion. Every rebellion he’d ever heard about— without outside assistance— typically led to destitution and starvation. Historically, only with an outside source was the infrastructure improved before the eating of family pets began, and that usually came at the cost of a junta or dictator running things. He began to wonder just how Maelstrom was pulling everything off.
“Impressive,” he acknowledged as his suit took pictures of the base and began to upload them to the ship orbiting somewhere above. The facility featured three long runways, which suggested that space-capable vehicles could both land and take off from there, and had what appeared to be bomb-proof hangars. He wasn’t sure if they could stand up to a kinetic energy weapon, but then, there really wasn’t much out there that could. A big enough KEW could split open a planet. They call those comets, I think, Uriah thought humorously.
“Contact,” Miggy Gonzales muttered and tagged the contact via his suit. Uriah quickly accepted the data transfer and began to scan the vehicle. It was a mobile anti-air vehicle, armed with what appeared to be a long cylindrical tube attached to the rear of the half-track. The HUD located a second energy source at the rear of the vehicle and quickly determined that this anti-air vehicle was probably near-identical to the one that had killed Joba hours earlier.
Uriah made a silent vow right then and there to kill at least one of the half-tracks before this was over as punishment for killing Joba and making him the squad leader. Lowering himself while trying to scan for any additional vehicles, he glanced over at Miggy. The big man was more at home in his Wraith suit than any of the other members of the squad. Well over two and a half meters tall, and almost as wide, the Mark V suit fit him like a glove. Uriah always felt like he’d stolen someone else’s suit and was trying to run around in it, clumsily, like a toddler wearing an adult’s pair of pants.
“Miggy, how’re you on HEAVY rounds?” Uriah asked him. HEAVY rounds, designed solely for the missile l
auncher that the heavy-weapons carrier wielded, were specifically designed to take down vehicles like the one in the distance. Coincidentally, they were scary efficient on Wraith suits as well. The downside was, the gun that fired the HEAVY rounds was twice the size of the average cannon a Wraith carried. Therefore, even with their enhanced strength, the weapon required two hands to wield, which meant Miggy wouldn’t be running very fast when the time came.
“Full up, locked and loaded,” came the reply.
“Kleve, take Cori and circle around the base to the east,” Uriah ordered as he looked at the watchtower emplacements. They were spread out at precisely 75 meters apart, and were able to see all directions with ease, while providing cover for one another. “Stay in the jungle as best you can. Find that base to the north. Miggy and I will take the western one. Scout, send up the confirmation and move on. Let’s find all four, then meet up at the fourth target in twelve hours. Sound good?”
“Sounds good,” Kleve stated, her voice calm over the comms. Uriah wished he could see her face inside the large suit right there, because he could almost feel the dirty look she gave him through the armor.
“You sure we should be in the jungle?” Cori piped up, ruining the moment. Uriah clamped down on his tongue, hard. He would not groan or shoot the woman in the face, he swore. Not yet. Not until after the mission.
“Yes, jungle,” Uriah reiterated. “The heat signatures from the suits can be dampened in there. It’s summer now, and that means hot, steamy jungle. Go. Hide. Report. Be sneaky. Don’t be stupid. Well, stupider.”
“But…”
“Do your job, or I’ll kill you now and save Kleve the inevitable headache,” Uriah growled. “I’ll be well within my rights, too. Now, off with you.”
Muttering quietly under her breath, loud enough for Uriah to hear but soft enough to claim deniability, Cori followed Kleve, and the two women slid down a small berm. Seconds later they were in the jungle, moving quickly but carefully through the underbrush as the they continued onward to their objective. Uriah sighed and shook his head inside his suit.
