Planetfall

by L. E. Howel

  The few hundred yards that they had walked from the camp now seemed like miles as they moved slowly through the damp undergrowth. Birch’s arms and knees were sore and wet and his back was beginning to ache from the exertion. Still they edged slowly back toward the others. Birch was aware they were approaching the camp, but he still could see no sign of it. There was no light. They must have been keeping the shield up in some hope of avoiding detection, but it made their return difficult. In the dim light of the sliver of a moon he couldn’t even be sure they were going in the right direction. He hoped Edwards had a better idea of where they were going.

  As they crawled Birch’s mind raced over what they had discussed. It all projected a pretty bleak outlook for their mission. He wondered how bad it really was. More immediately they had to make it back to camp. That noise had been close-by and if they had been seen then whatever it was would be after them. Its shadow seemed even now to stretch across them, perhaps it was only inches away, about to strike; he couldn’t be sure. He shivered, partly from the cold that was seeping in with the water through his damp pants, partly in anxious anticipation of what might be following them.

  A screeching sound pierced the air again, much closer this time, and was met almost instantly by another from the other end of the clearing. Edwards froze for a moment and looked over his shoulder to Birch. “This isn’t working,” he muttered angrily, “there’s more than one and I think they’re trying to get our range. If we hang around too long they’ll pick us up so never mind secrecy, speed is the issue now. We’re going to have to run for it. Are you ready?”

  “Run? Where’s the camp?” Birch looked wildly around but could see no sign of where it could be. It was still hidden.

  “Just follow me,” Edwards hissed as he lifted himself up and ran into the darkness.

  SIXTEEN

  Birch struggled to his feet and ran after the distant form of Edwards fleeing into the empty darkness. His knees were wet and his legs ached from the crawling, but he knew that if he lost Edwards here he would never find his way back. No light was showing anywhere, save for that cast by a thin moon, and Birch couldn't see where the camp was. He had the impression of tall dark trees towering all around him, but that was all. The others had left the shield up, but it looked like that thin protection wasn’t going to last long now. It was going to be a fight to survive.

  He didn’t look back. Edwards' warning rang ominously in his ears; he wouldn’t like what he saw if he did, but somehow running from an unseen and unknown enemy made his fears grow. His nerves tensed. His whole body was prepared at any moment for the impact, to be brought down from behind and destroyed. It was hard, running wasn’t in Birch’s nature, but somehow his life had demanded it. Every day demanded it, if only to give himself the chance to fight again later. Still, he hated himself for it.

  He was catching up with Edwards again, but there was still no sign of the camp. The encompassing darkness made it difficult to see anything, and a moment later he had fallen behind again as he stumbled on the uneven ground. It was in that instant Birch heard it again, the sound of an owl screeching, but much louder and closer this time. He knew that it was no owl, but a human predator, swooping in to attack its prey. He glanced instinctively behind him and, while he saw nothing, he was sure he could feel something back there swiftly approaching. He shivered, turned again, and ran madly, wildly after Edwards.

  His legs pumped hard. His feet thudded swiftly through the soft grass beneath him. He was catching up to Edwards again, but before he could reach him the night air seemed to engulf the man, and he disappeared from sight. Birch froze instantly, unsure for a moment what had happened. He suddenly realized. The shield, he had found it and had run through to the other side. Birch lunged toward the point Edwards had disappeared, but as he ran a sudden “whoop” sounded right behind him. As he turned to defend himself he felt two large hands with claw-like nails grabbing at his throat. He struggled, tearing at the talons, but they were unrelenting. They were squeezing the breath out of him. The fingers gouged deep into his flesh, choking him. He felt his strength and his life waning as his hands fell limply from the struggle. His vision darkened and in final desperation he mustered his remaining strength to kick out behind him, landing a powerful blow on his assailant. That was enough; the man cried out and loosened his grip.

  His attacker staggered in pain. Birch stumbled back on his heels, released from the powerful grip he almost fell. His breath was coming in rasping gasps and the pain almost gagged him. He tried to clear his head as he turned quickly to run for the camp. Before he had taken another step he caught the brief impression of burning eyes and matted hair as the man leapt at him again. He felt those hands again at his throat as he fell backwards with his attacker on top of him. In that instant a strange impression of jumbled light and fractured reflections fell through his mind. It might have been the last images before slipping into unconsciousness, but as he landed Birch blinked. They had fallen through the shield. They were in the camp.

  The face of his attacker was now clearly visible in the light. It was wild and dirty and the teeth were bared in a snarling grimace contorted with the effort of crushing his windpipe. All of this was a blur to Birch, who was struggling for his life, and yet at the same time his mind was beset by thoughts and images. Not of his struggle, but of the past. His past. If this was the end what had it been worth? He had to live, to do more, yet the agony in his throat was real. In the grip of those hands his future wavered and he seemed powerless to resist it. Still he tried. He struggled.

  Somewhere beyond his fight he heard shouting, confusion, and then a sudden blast above him, followed by the sickening crackle and smell of burning flesh. Smoke poured from the back of his enemy. He screamed wildly, tearing more viciously into Birch's neck before being pulled off by one of the soldiers. Birch blinked and watched mutely as the wild man pushed the soldier aside, ran a few steps, and disappeared through the barrier and into the night air.

  "Get him!" Birch heard Konik's voice barking sharply at two soldiers who quickly ran and disappeared after the man. The other soldiers were grabbing weapons, ready for any further breaches of their defenses. All of this was very distant to Birch. He was fighting for breath, gagging and choking for air through his swollen throat.

  Birch struggled to his feet. Again he had caught the flavor of death and the taste was bitter in his mouth. He shuddered as the feeling crashed over him like mighty waves; he felt as though he was drowning in his emotions.

  He coughed violently through his burning throat. Birch tasted the blood flowing freely from the side of his mouth and wiped at it with the back of his hand. By this time DeSante and Karla had reached his side and were trying to help him into a nearby truck, but Birch waved them away with a scowl and limped slowly over to where Konik and Edwards were talking.

  It was obvious that the Commander was extremely agitated and that Edwards was receiving the brunt of his anger. "Stupid," Konik's enraged tone rang out, "totally stupid! You’re supposed to be the expert, so how did you land us in this situation? I don’t even know why they choose people like you for missions, you’re type have no experience. All you have is theory. It’s men like me who’ve been out here doing it that know what to do, not you research people. Well, it seems like those eight years as a zoo monkey hasn’t prepared you for this, and now we’re all going to pay for it!”

  Edwards frowned angrily. "Don't lecture me, Commander. I didn’t see any better suggestions from you, despite all of your ‘field knowledge’. This is something different to anything either you or I have faced before. It’s not like anything I’ve even heard of. It looks like we’re up against a combined assault and it really looks like they were expecting us. That’s the only way they could have been this prepared.”

  "What are you saying?" Konik thundered, "That they knew we were coming? That’s impossible. This is a Code One mission. It’s utterly impossible.”

  "Nothing is impossible, Commander," Edwards re
plied coolly, "perhaps if you spent more time studying than fighting you might have understood that. Don’t underestimate them. They’ve done more today than I ever expected them to do, and I’ve seen them do a lot. We shouldn’t be surprised at their ingenuity. Right now they’re massing for an attack out there. You better get that shield down so we can see what we’re fighting against, or they’ll massacre us before we even get a chance to see them.”

  Konik chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully, "You may be right, about the danger," he replied in a muted tone, "but my men will catch that Ares before he gets back to report to his friends. There’s no need to expose ourselves by lowering the barrier. That would just open us up to attack.”

  “Under normal circumstances you might have a point. A single scout could be stopped,” Edwards’ voice was steely calm. “These are not normal circumstances. The markings out there make it clear, they’ve been watching us, they know where we are, and they’re coming at us right now with deadly force.”

  Konik shook his head, “That’s just not plausible, I’ve fought these guys for twenty years and that’s just not going to happen. They prefer to attack in small numbers, terror cells that take out one or two before disappearing or dying. What you’re saying just makes no sense.”

  “It makes no sense only because you are unwilling to open your eyes to something new.” A sharp edge to Edwards’ voice glistened through his words. “I don’t know how it happened, but we better do something about it now. Either you give the order to lower that shield and set up a defensive cordon or I’ll override you with DA authority and do it myself. I’ll leave the choice to you. Either way that barrier is coming down.”

  Konik glowered at Edwards. The man looked ready to kill both his allies and his enemies.

  “Sergeant,” Konik finally bellowed, “lower the field and set up a defensive cordon around the trucks. Prepare for battle!” The sergeant saluted and passed the order along to the troops. A flurry of activity followed through the camp. The lights were suddenly doused as the shield flickered and disappeared. Their defensive bubble had burst. Amidst the noise and bustle of clattering guns and thumping boots Konik stared angrily at the dark outline of the Special Operative, “You better be right about this,” he snarled, “or you may never make it back to see your beloved DA again.”

  Edwards laughed bitterly, “I better be wrong, Commander, or none of us will make it back to see anything again.”

  The soldiers took up their stations, staring out into the inky blackness that surrounded them. Like the wagon trains of old, the circle of trucks stood resolute, awaiting the onslaught that would decide their fate. Good against bad, savagery against civilization, winners and losers, the living and the dead. In the pages of the history books, or more usually in the glare of the celluloid film, the scene was a romantic one that stirred you with a fine yearning to have lived in those glorious days of expansion and exploration. From the perspective of reality it was bloody terror.

  Now they waited. An hour passed without incident. Konik frowned, "Those men should be back by now. It shouldn't be taking them this long to track down a wounded subject like that.”

  Edwards shook his head. “They must have run into whatever’s out there. You shouldn’t have sent them out. There’s nothing we can do for them now. All we can do is wait for the Ares to try and come in and get us. That’s our best chance.”

  Birch glared out into the dark clearing. Sometimes he imagined he could see something out there. Shapes moving, something was running hunched over, but he couldn’t be sure. His finger, frozen on the trigger of his rifle, grew stiff, and his mind wearied into fatigue as another hour passed. Finally it came, the sound they had anticipated and dreaded, the screech of an owl swooping for attack. It echoed and reechoed in the trees around them. This was it, war.

  SevenTEEN

  The sound echoed and reechoed around them, growing stronger with every passing moment. Konik shouted orders, his voice struggling to be heard above the screams, while sweaty soldiers stared unblinkingly from their positions behind the trucks. Their fingers rubbed methodically against the triggers of their rifles, urging for any viable target. “Only shoot when you’re sure you can hit them,” Konik bellowed, but his voice, usually a striking symbol of his power and authority, was faint against the battle cries engulfing it. “Don’t waste ammunition shooting at shadows!”

  There were plenty of shadows to shoot at, and they all were moving. It was impossible to tell where their enemies were. Numerous human or natural forms seemed to be scurrying and dancing amidst the darkened forest, like the old fears of Salem brought to life. It seemed to Birch that the greater number of those shadows must be little more than just branches of trees, blown upon a stray breeze and creating the impression of life and movement in the dim light. The thought was a fleeting hope that hardly had time to settle into his mind before it was dashed, for the shadows were now moving more purposefully toward the camp. These were not the shadows of branches, but rather hundreds of human forms in a great dark mass, like the waters of an angry ocean, swirling up to destroy them.

  Edwards gasped, “It’s worse than I thought!” His voice was hard and clear, even through the screeching cries that surrounded them.

  Konik nodded grimly. “Get ready for it,” he shouted. “It looks like they’re trying a frontal assault and we’ll make them pay for it. On my orders: rapid fire at will. Do not let them pass. Let’s see if they have the stomach for what we’re going to give them.”

  Birch’s shoulders tensed as he prepared to fire. He paused to wipe the sweat from his eyes. He caught sight of Karla a few feet from him. She held her gun rigidly toward the advancing enemy. Fear was etched into her features, but as she stared into the darkness he also saw a calm determination he hadn’t expected. Lauren and DeSante, too, were nearby. Instinctively they all had been drawn together at this moment. Perhaps there was more to bind them in these circumstances than could ever have divided them in the lifetime of their past. Jane wasn’t in sight.

  The mass of shadows swelled and surged, as with the release of a swollen river through the dam gates. They were getting close enough for Birch to make out the individual forms among the crowd rushing at them. Edwards had been right, this was bad. It looked like a lot more than they could handle. Still they waited for the order. The hard features of the enemy’s faces could just be made out when the command was finally given.

  “Fire!” Konik’s words cut through the shrill screams around them and was instantly met with the thundering blast of repeated arms fire into the mob before them. Birch thought he had downed at least five in the fist volley, but it hardly seemed to slow their progress. The shapes neither slowed nor flinched in the slightest, but seemed to hurl themselves all the more recklessly at them. It surprised him that none of them seemed to be returning fire. It was as though their single aim was to reach them and squeeze the life out of their enemies with their bare hands, just as they had tried with him earlier. What primitive impulse they were following in this war plan he couldn’t imagine, but the effect was disastrous to them in terms of life lost.

  Relentlessly they fired into the rushing throng. The crashing gunfire, and the glow and smoke from their discharging weapons cast a strange effect over the scene, like an old smelting plant, an industrial setting in which destruction was the only product. The firing continued and their faces were illuminated in the effect, but the shadows cast distorted them to ugly caricatures in deep red hues.

  “Keep firing!” Konik was shouting, but there was no stopping them. As one enemy was shot another would trample their fallen friend, alive or dead, underfoot. It was a crazed rush; more like a mindless stampede than any planned strategy, and Birch shuddered at the maddened frenzy of it all. If they treated their own with such contempt then it gave him little doubt that capture was not an option. This was a fight to the death.

  “Shore up the west side!” Konik’s futile shouts grew faint. His words were almost indistinguishable through
the deafening screams of the advancing enemy. Rather than muting the screeching, their heavy casualties seemed to increase the Ares’ volume and intensity. Here was a rebel yell to set fear into the heart, and the more they died, the louder and more piercing it became. A real primordial scream of anger, anguish, hatred, and malice, all compressed into a shrill plaintive screech that numbed the mind and made it hard to think. Birch would have done anything to stop that dismal howling.

  They were close now and an unholy rage seemed to possess them, so that they ran toward the barrier with even greater velocity. Finally they hit, like a great breaker against a sea wall, and the splash of the human tide was no less spectacular. A great swarm of arms and legs clawing to climb up the trucks, met by soldiers desperately firing down into the mass. The trucks shook under the barrage and one soldier lost his footing and disappeared, screaming, into the heaving throng below. The other soldiers fell back in horror as arms and hands reached out to grab them. The Ares clawed their way up the truck. Still the troops kept firing, but they were swiftly overwhelmed by the sheer numbers clambering up at them.

  “The west side, reinforce the west side!” Konik was literally screaming to be heard, but it was too late. The west side was being overrun and the defenses were collapsing. The Ares had reached the top of the truck and from this position finally let loose with their own weapons in a deadly spray of gunfire. A soldier fell beside him and Birch turned to see a torrent of bodies jumping down into the enclosure. He fired into the advancing horde, but it was only a moment later that his own truck was shaking under the press of the bodies hurling themselves against it. It swayed on its wheels drunkenly for a moment before toppling over on its side with an enormous crash and explosion that sent orange flames licking up into the night sky.