He legs felt like lead. The plasteen lid of the pod fogged in front of his breath. He strained to see into the darkness across the hall, but the shadows did not differentiate themselves. He gripped the axe handle even more tightly, the effort burning the skin of his palms.
Devil or alien bug, it made no difference. He would go out fighting. He would not go quietly into the night.
He heard a scuffling directly across from where he and the other prisoners hid. And then a jangling. Metal? That made no sense.
He lowered himself gathering his legs beneath him. He could wait until the beasts pounced or he could attack early. That would give him the element of surprise. He was sure he could not match the bugs with strength or speed or weapons.
He mumbled a quick prayer and then quietly starting counting backwards from five to one. He did not have time to tell the others to follow. He hoped they would. Worse comes to worse, the bug would get him but give the others time to scramble, hopefully find some place to hide out, to wait until help came.
When he reached three, several lights burst on and blinded Snake. He lifted his hand to cover his eyes.
"Hold your fire," barked a woman's voice from across the hall. "The prisoners. I had given up all hope of finding you." One of the lights flashed backwards to reveal four soldiers. It was Sergeant Engstrom. "Kill the lights."
Darkness fell.
"Oh god," said Thor. "Finally you came. You don't know what's down here. It's horrible. My brother, my brother... Thank god you came to rescue us."
Engstrom quieted him. "It's not so simple. We've seen it." Her voice cracked. "We are all that are left."
"All that are left?" asked Big T. "Where are the others?"
Engstrom stepped forward and was visible in the dim light of the pod emergency lights. "It killed our men. And now it blocks the way back to the exit. We're trapped. We need to hide."
Chapter Seventeen
SERGEANT SMITH LOVED the sound his men's boots made pounding a steady rhythm down the hall of the Poros. The syncopated beat of a well-oiled machine. That's the way he saw Marine Team 1. His machine.
He led the pack, dark visor down, ammo packs and rifle bouncing reassuringly off his chest and back.
He nodded his head at one of the clerks who popped her head out of her office to see what the noise was about. She smiled back at him. He knew that smile. Floor 1, Section L, Room 21. He'd need to return to that room, helmet in the crook in his arm, sneer on his lips, after the mission. She'd blush. They always did. They never thought that he would have noticed them. They never thought that he cared.
He laughed inside of his helmet. He did not care. Not for her. Well for the soft press of her flesh beneath him, was what he cared about. Her wet lips parting. His triumphant grunting, and then done. The spoils of war
A man had to take what he could in a time of no real war. Heroes needed to be feted. Heroes needed to be sated.
Room 21.
Marine Team 1 was his. He earned them, and they had been the first to the call.
Minutes ago, Smith has been standing in front of Admiral Kronos, ready for his mission, ready to clean up the mess that was the silver-spooned Engstrom's. Kronos, respected for what he had achieved, even though those victories were from a lost generation or two, had stood arms behind his back and nodded at the video screen. The Admiral had a problem with the Acheron. Worse though, he had a problem with Engstrom. Sergeant Smith had saluted sharply, timing the stamp of his left foot to perfection. So sharp that the old man had jumped a little.
"The Acheron will be contained, sir," Smith had barked. "You can count on me."
His footsteps echoed down the hall. They were reaching the end of the Poros. A security force had been stationed near the compression chamber. Milius, big and dumb, stood by the door. Not the man to send in to get the task done, but the man to die holding the line.
Smith snickered. Milius would not be visiting Room 21. Probably fantasized to holograms of some wench back in Poland or Lithuania or whatever gypsy country he had the misfortune to be born in. Smith imagined the wench was already pregnant, sleeping under the sheets of some other man, not willing to send the message to the big dumb lug that when he left he was as good as dead and she was too smart to wait for him.
Smith snapped his feet to a stomp and raised a fist. His team stopped with a resounding thunderclap. Then not a single sound. Not a rushed breath. Not the jangling of gear. Not an errant step to regain balance.
These were his men. His charges. His well-oiled machine.
Milius looked at Smith, then glanced past him to his dozen men. "The whole team, eh? Haven't heard back from Engstrom yet. She and her men okay?"
Smith glared, face hidden behind the dark shield. He waited. He did not nod. He did not shrug. He did not say a word.
Milius blinked, then turned to his men, all of who watched Marine Team 1 instead of the doorway behind them. Smith fought back the urge to reprimand them. He would wait until later. He would wait until Milius was in the middle of a large group, maybe the mess hall, or when the team leaders gathered for a briefing. Then he would rip the man apart. Teach him the value of keeping his team on point.
Milius mumbled some unintelligible order and his men faded away from the door.
"Smith, I haven't seen any activity from the other side so it should be pretty safe sailing through the tube. We disabled the other connectors. This is the last tube connected to the Acheron. No other way in or out."
When Smith started moving forward, Milius lowered his voice. "You need any help in there, boss, you just give a shout. We got your backs. Be there for you."
Smith laughed. "You watch the door. Can you do that? Can you just watch the stupid door like you are supposed to?"
Milius stumbled back several steps, jaw hanging, and his men whispered curses rather than support.
Better to be feared, thought Smith, than to be liked.
Smith did not even give a glance in the direction of Milius one last time before he and his men squeezed into the compression chamber. Too tight for his liking. They sealed the door shut and all eyes went to the indicator lights watching them change from green to yellow.
A moment to pause. To gather his men to him.
"Chumps. All those men out there are chumps. They dream of what you and I have achieved. Never forget that. We are the elite. We are the killers. The A-Team. The rest chumps. They have dreams about doing what we do. Probably cry themselves to sleep every night wishing they could walk in our dust devils. But there is only one Marine Team 1, and that's who we are. Let the others dream. We take the world."
The lights shifted back to green.
Chang struggled with the door wheel. Smith's breath sharpened. He felt the tension rising in his lips but he said nothing. He would not in front of the others. Publicly praise, privately tear them down. Chang, himself dreaming and scheming to supplant Smith, would deal with physical pain later. In private. Smith's breath lengthened thinking about the punishment he would inflict. He licked his lips.
The wheel creaked loudly and spun freely in the man's hands. Chang nodded to the others as if that were some great accomplishment other than opening the door. Smith suppressed a scoff but he could see the looks of disdain in the eyes of the others.
With quiet precision, the men of Marine Team 1 floated out of the chamber and into the tube that connected the Poros and the Acheron, the long stretch. Smith was the last one through and when he closed the door behind him, he saw why the door had stuck. Some kind of webbing – sticky and white – coated the wheel on this side, gumming it up. He would report this back to Admiral Kronos. Some incompetent janitorial staff. They had one job.
He looked back through the thick glass. Milius's doughty face pressed against the glass. Idiot. Smith would suggest to Kronos that the webbing was somehow Milius's fault and get him stuck with cleaning it up. Smith chuckled.
He spun around in the zero gravity. His men clung to the rings along the walls, perfec
tly poised, waiting for him.
He pushed off and glided by them to the lead position. They were the best of the best. The cream of the crop. His men. His legacy. His well-oiled machine.
He was nearly at the opposite end of the tube when he noticed that the door to the far compression chamber was ajar.
He shot a fist into the air and his men formed in an attack position behind, guns drawn. They needed to be careful in here. Despite the ceramic bullets, if they punctured the walls of the tube, Marine Team 1 would not survive.
"Chang, assessment?"
"Sergeant Smith, sir. I will advance and determine the cause of this breach of safety." He signaled to Podorovsky to go with him.
Smith waved Podorovsky back. "Just you, soldier. Just you."
Chang grunted his assent and gathered his feet beneath him to launch himself forward down the tube when a large black leathery egg with a crown of yellow floated from the far compression chamber.
"Looks like we got ourselves a rabbit, boys," Smith announced to his crew. "White Team cover us. Red Team, knives in hand, let's go make ourselves some rabbit stew."
Smith drew his machete from his leg holster, and with half the others of Marine Team 1 gently glided down the hall. The egg floated helplessly in space, rotating gently. It looked just like the dozens that Smith had seen in the storage room on the Acheron.
Smith and his team circled around the egg. Through the opaque shell, he saw a small fetal figure. Humanoid in shape but it was a bug. Smith drew back a few inches. The creature in the egg looked to be as large a human adult. Whatever it was needed to end right now.
He gave the command and the slaughter started. Two of the men on opposite sides of the egg simultaneously thrust their blades forward, cutting though the soft shell, essentially skewering the creature inside. The tips of the blades cracked through some structure unseen. Ochre fluid sprayed out. The bug ripped open a hole in the egg and thrust its head out.
The creature emitted a high-pitched shriek and then a series of clicks. Smith laughed. It was like a stuck pig squealing. It would not be going anywhere.
"Let's finish this cockroach off," he said.
The repressed fury of the men who served beneath his cruel command unleashed themselves with the quickness of their blades. The metal flashed. Ochre fluid splattered the wall, the face shields, their gloves. Smith lashed in with his knife, cutting, hacking, slicing, stabbing. The air filled with the foul stench as the bodily fluids were released.
After a moment, it was over. The soldiers panted, circling the murdered bug. They had their taste. Now was the time to ride this blood lust straight into Acheron. Seal the doors with melted metal.
Sergeant Smith sighed. Orders would be followed. The prison barge would be sealed.
But then he and his men would either stand idly by the sealed doors for the rest of the voyage, or return to their quarters for endless games of cards on their bunks.
He wished that this lump of oozing flesh had offered a bit more of challenge, bigger or fiercer, or had a few brothers along with it.
He wondered if this would be the highlight of his tour of duty on the Poros. Bug catchers. Exterminators.
He was about to order his men back into formation when he heard the door to the far compression chamber squeak.
He laughed. "Looks like our fun might not..."
His words were cut short. Black-plated bugs poured into the tube. Giant bugs, taller than any of the marines. Smith barely had enough time to bring his machete around. Certainly not enough time to issue tactical commands. He was struck hard, narrowly avoiding razor-sharp pincers, and the blow sent him shooting like a bullet down the hall. He smashed into the compression door.
He blacked out for a moment. His machete floated above him, endlessly spinning. His men screamed. The walls of the tube were splattered with red, an impossible amount of red.
He fumbled for his rifle and managed to fire a few shots off towards the writhing feeding ball. The bugs were undeterred. Several of his men were dragged, still alive, out through the far compression chamber. He fired again.
This time he got the attention of one of the bugs. It sprung off its massed brood-brothers and rocketed towards Sergeant Smith.
He only had seconds.
He turned to the door and cranked at the wheel. The webbing gummed it up. It barely moved. He could not open it.
He pounded on the door. Through the two door windows, he saw Milius, smiling, the stupid fat idiot, completely unaware of what has going on.
Smith would have cursed him but an insect claw penetrated him from behind, slipping between his ribs and right through a lung.
He tried to scream but he only spit blood, and as he lost consciousness, he tried to grab at the handle along the walls of the tube, but he had no strength, and instead, he relaxed his body and let the beast drag him into its pit.
Chapter Eighteen
THE WEIGHT OF the gun felt good in Snake's hand. He had taken over the point position from Engstrom and followed a trail of blood in the maze-like hallways of the Acheron. They needed to find a place to hide out.
He was happy to have a weapon and to have strength in numbers again. At first, he did not think that the marines would hand over weapons to the prisoners but they realized that they needed every advantage they could against these alien bugs if they were hoping to get out of the Acheron alive. But the first priority was to hole away somewhere and wait for the proverbial cavalry. He wondered how many marine teams they would be sending in. He suppressed laughter. This would be one of the few times he'd be happy to have marines hunting for him.
"You don't have anything else other than these ceramic bullets?" he asked Engstrom.
The sergeant shook her head. She was prettier than he remembered. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been interrogating him after boarding the Galileo. "Not that I have access to."
He weighed the gun in his hand. "Well I hope these things do the trick against the bugs. Their shells looked pretty solid to me. Wouldn't want the bullets exploding into dust."
"Generally it's pretty easy to crush a bug underfoot."
"Not when they're eight feet tall," said Snake. "And I've been wondering. Where are the rest of the Space Marines? Where are the other teams?"
"We're the only team in here."
Snake gasped. "You gotta be kidding me. Why kind of tactical genius only sends in a handful of men into hostile territory? Did your admiral want you to get killed?"
"He doesn't really know what's going on in here." Engstrom held up a hand and listened. The team stopped. The hissing of water. A distant tapping. "And I wasn't ordered to come in here. Came in on my own."
"You went rogue, huh? You willingly came into this hellhole. You're crazy. I know. You came to give that kiss you owe."
"In your dreams, soldier."
"Maybe yours too." Snake wanted to see her expression but she moved out of the light and into the shadows.
"Kronos, the Admiral, wanted to seal the doors. Melt them shut. But I couldn't do that. I wasn't going to leave men behind."
"Why would you do something that stupid? You know, some folks might say that we're not your men. That we're actually on the other side. We're prisoners. We were going to die anyway."
"I don't leave men behind."
Snake stopped in his tracks and looked at her. He fought a lump in his throat. "I appreciate that. I really do."
"Can't just always think of ourselves, can we? What kind of world is that?"
"Just didn't think you were the type to disobey orders."
"We can all change I guess."
Snake returned to the trail of blood, but even so his head filled with the thoughts of what Engstrom had done and what she had risked. Kronos would not see eye to eye with what the sergeant had done. Disobeying orders would result in punishment. The stasis pit. Maybe lashes with electric whip. In the cases of some sick commanders, the popping out of an eye. He touched the patch on his face. Snake knew
what military order was like and the price to be paid for violating it.
Engstrom must have known the price that she would pay, but she still disobeyed the order. She sacrificed herself to help others. To help him.
Snake shook his head. Why would Engstrom do that? She could have stayed safe just following her orders. No one would have questioned her character. She would have been a good soldier.
The trail of blood thickened. A tapping sound grew. He listened closely. It was not tapping but crunching or grinding. A bug was close.
He signaled to the others and they cut their lights. Snake shivered in the first moment of darkness, but soon his vision adjusted to the gloom, enough so that he could pick out the shapes of the men and women beside him, the pods along the walls, and faint light just ahead.
A chittering wail erupted from ahead.
"Back," whispered Engstrom. "Retreat!"
But before anyone could move, a shadow grew on the floor where the light from the room ahead spilled. It was upright, almost human, but grossly elongated with an over-sized head, and wispy limbs.
Snake shifted so that he stood between the bug and Engstrom. He didn't intend to do it but before he knew it he was standing in front of her. It felt natural. Maybe deep down inside he knew that he owed her.
The bug's feet scraped along the steel floor. Snake fought the sudden shiver running up his spine. He could not suck in a full breath. The gun trembled in his hand. He steadied it with the other hand.
The foul stench of the bug preceded it. He winced. Its shadow grew and clacking noise filled the hall. Snake raised his gun aiming it at where the head of the alien would be when it came out from around the corner. A cold sweat suddenly washed over him. What if the ceramic bullets did nothing? What if they exploded harmlessly off the chitinous shell? What if the bullets only enraged the beast? He was at the front of the line. He would be the first to die.
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