by Ray O'Neil
All that mattered was having the Siegfried a success.
By the time he reached his latest creation, the captain was vibrating, his arms and legs shaking violently. Flying down onto a knee, Demeitri held the captain’s head steady to press the indentation under where the left ear is, activating the helmet's receding mechanism. Folding backwards, the armor plating and glass visor around Washington’s face allowed a sputter of foam to shoot out, the african-american soldier coughing loudly. His eyes were unfocused, unable to see anything. The medical team was already at the elevator from the lower levels, but it wasn’t going to do anything for him.
Tossing his head away from Demeitri, vomit sprayed out of the captain’s mouth. Pooling up at his side and clinging onto his shoulder armor, the chucks of food turned a dark red on the second spew. Unable to control his body, the soldier held himself against the cold ground, his back flexing as he gagged and sputtered. With his eyes rolling to the back of his head, he fell flat into his own pool of expelled blood. By the time the medical team got there with their equipment and stretcher, they found Demeitri knelt down before a sprawled out corpse.
Holding his head down, Demeitri sighed. There was no grief, only personal defeat. “Get rid of him.” He turned away and stood up. Adjusting his suit, he saw there were droplets of blood across his jacket. Wiping his mouth, he smeared some more blood across his cheek with a sleeve. “And have the Siegfried sent for cleaning.”
“And, so, the list goes on,” Valerie remarked, handing Demeitri a handkerchief to clean his face with.
He took it, rubbing his whole face with it, only having a little bit of it across his mouth. “It’s the only flaw,” he said softly.
“It’s a crippling flaw, sir.”
“I know.” Lowering the handkerchief away from his face, Demeitri kept his eyes down. “Everything is perfect. The reaction time. The power output. The defensive measures. The superior loadout. Everything but its regeneration module. It’s only flaw is the one thing that it can’t be without.”
Valerie put a hand on his shoulder. She would never touch anyone past their wrist and only with him was she willing to move her hand upwards and massage the back of his neck. With a weak smile, Demeitri held her wrist, slowly moving her hand away. Valerie’s face never budged as she looked into his eyes the entire time, showing a hint of sympathy towards him. As faint as it was, Demeitri was the utmost thankful for receiving it.
“Valerie, show me my list of candidates, will you?”
“As you wish, sir.” Pressing a few buttons on her wrist screen, she turned on its holo-feature and had the page float over her extended arm.
Demeitri swung a hand through the digital page, beginning the search for a new recruit worthy of commanding the Seigfreid. Names and ranks of all kinds flashed by the screen, showing their history of action. He only wanted the best, just as the Beowulf was given to the best during Second Spear. He needed a ruthless warrior, someone able to kill and survive all on their own. An unstoppable killing machine.
An ERA insignia flashed in front of them, Demeitri stopping the search with a wave of his hand. The man in the mugshot stared out towards Demeitri with his piercing blue eyes. Like a caged lion ready to be released into the wild. Young in the face and with his skin aged from battle. Valerie gave him a look of uncertainty.
“You want him?”
Demeitri continued to read though the information under the profile picture. “I don’t know why, but I have a good feeling about him…”
When he saw the letters SSP, he knew his choice of Emich Aumeier was not going to disappoint him.
Chapter 6
The harbor was quiet; the bell of a buoy far off in the distance. Icicles clung under the metal railing, building up after days of absent maintenance. The tranquil waves slowly crawled along the harbor’s small shoreline, with the wind as dead as everyone in the town. The northern east side of what used to be the United States was the least likely place for Rasvelg rebels to appear. Being a small town, there was also a church — something that would have been demolished a long time ago if the town wasn’t in the middle of nowhere.
Under the still ocean, bubbles gradually formed, growing in intensity. Like appearing out of thin air, a shadow burst from under the dark waters. The night sky limited visibility, despite the moon being full and bigger than ever. The shadow was followed by others, all flying across the sky and landing on the sandy shore. Grouping up, they took cover at the concrete wall nearby.
Walking in infiltration versions of the Merrow-Class Exoframe, their steps were light and their limb armor was spread apart enough to prevent unnecessary clanking of protective plates; sacrificing defense for stealth. The synthetic material that covered them was flexible enough to move freely and quickly underwater, the suit also having its own personal decompression system built in to prevent the bends after any deep sea operation. The squad of UAM marines equipped their weapons, each one of them having different gun for a different role. The submarine they were launched out of in their transport tubes awaited for any sign of action. Once given the signal or once all the vitals of the squad are offline, the giant destroyer-class sub is to unleash hell as a last resort.
That wouldn’t be needed tonight.
Moving further into the harbor area, they made their way into the town, crossing the streets in complete darkness. The streetlights haven’t worked ever since the town was deserted not too long ago, not even the hum of a neon sign to accompany them. Using night vision capable of mapping out underwater areas, their line of sight was in the form of a black and white grid. Lines covered the surface of buildings and cars for them, showing their marked destination as a blip in the world in front of them. As they moved quickly through the wrecked streets, another marine moved across a rooftop, dropping into position.
“This is Hauser, I’m at the vantage point. Clearing out sentries now.”
Looking down the infrared scope of his R330 “Elk” sniper rifle, he swung his line of sight towards the church near the harbor. Blips of targets glowed in red on the side spotter map of the scope, showing the around around the scopes narrow view in the the lower right corner. The church itself was lit up like the sun, a heat coming out of it so strong that it created a halo around it. It didn’t surprise him after what he learned the Rasvelg practiced during his short training. Directing his attention to the areas away from the church, he checked his side spotter and swung his rifle towards the nearest blip.
“Copy that, Hauser. Echo Team is at the church. Preparing for breach and clear. Recon tagging almost done.”
Hauser fired a round into the head of a wandering target — cigarette sizzling in their hand. The suppressed shot barely made a flash or a sound, it bullet small enough to only be effective against humans. Even though it was a lower grade, the hollowpoint round turned the target's head into a burst of blood and skull fragments. While the body slumped to the ground, Hauser quickly focused in on another target across the street, letting another round loose.
Bodies continued to drop around the area, more to be found inside of the church. Within its holy walls, a massive piles of bodies filled the corners, making a massive circle around the group of cultist in the center. They chanted in front of the huge fire made of the bodies they poured gasoline over to begin the ceremony. One by one, the cultist tossed in more fuel for the fire, building it up until there was enough flames to engulf the entire building. It was their idea of a “cleansing ritual” after one of their raids.
They didn’t plan on leaving. They wanted to burn. That was the only way for them to live with their saviors outside of our world, according to their teachings.
A Rasvelg leader stood before the circle of kneeled down followers, wearing a mask made of stitched up skin. Each one of the members kneeled down around him had a scar on their side, as if a chuck of their flesh was ripped out and never healed properly. Most of them had tattoos covering their bodies, as well as an encumbering amount of piercings; that was the ty
pical look for a Rasvelg rebel. The more they had, the more devoted to their saviors they were. From under the skin mask, their leader had metal rings pierced into the sides of his cheeks, known as jaw loops.
In honor of the Fricka Niflheim, mimicking the breathing holes on the sides of their mouthless faces.
The endless chanting was muffled through the stained glass outside. Everyone in Echo Team stood in front of their own window, holding their Breach Blaster up to the top. They waited for the squad leader to fire first, keeping their sights “locked” on a surface to be sure the ziphook–attached to their chest–will have something to pull them towards. With a hollow thump, the first Breach Blaster went off, followed by the others without a second to spare. The ziphooks latched onto the roof of the church, small stun grenades dropping loose from the impact.
The church flashed with multiple bangs, the sound dampeners in the suits protecting the soldiers from any effect. Carried by their ziphooks, they flew in, guns on full auto. It was originally meant to be a hostage rescue, but once intel revealed that the hostages were taken out by the time the submarine got to the launch-zone, plans were changed to take out and reoccupy. Most of the Rasvelg forces remaining in the small American town were all gathered within the church. Most of them.
Filling the building with high powered gunfire, the marines came in from all sides. The dazed and blinded rebels in the center barely had time to get off of their knees, turning into bits of flesh as the bullets tore through them. Kicking the double doors wide open, the support gunner unleashed deadly airburst rounds with his heavy GRIZ90 “Grizzly” machine gun. Exploding before reaching their target, the airburst rounds sent metal shrapnel in a wide arc, taking out everything in front of it like a rapid firing shotgun. By the time the other marines touched the ground, the thirty-or-so rebels were nothing but blood stains and severed limbs.
The smell inside was repulsive, flies buzzing loudly now that everything was quiet again. Regrouping near the pile of burning bodies, they tried to keep their mind off of the fact they were standing within a mass grave. Checking the piles for any activity, they lowered their rifles. Everyone reloaded in unison, taking the small break they had to add in a fresh mag.
“Right side is clear.”
“So is the left.”
“Good job, boys,” Mitchell said, cocking his C99 “Vulture” assault rifle. “Time to clear the rooms. You know the drill, under over. This place has a school attached to it, so expect plenty of strays to be hiding in the classrooms.”
Parker huffed out a thick laugh, “Imagine that. These guys are always shooting up schools and now they’re making us do the same.”
Mitchell pointed at him. “I want you to stay at the preacher stand and use it as a stand for your Grizzly. Once they see the place isn’t up in flames like they wanted it to, they’re going to be checking what’s up.”
“I don’t get it.” Parker walked over to his ordered area, almost dragging his Grizzly on the ground. “Why clear out this place when we can just let the mother burn?”
Spencer strutted behind Parker, turning his demolition-type Vulture into “GL” mode — it’s barrel transforming to fire grenades instead of bullets. “Don’t you get it, dummy? This place is old as dirt. If we let them burn it down, they burn the entire city down. It’s a fire trap since its cut off from the power grid. Plus, we need a hangout spot for when the boys come in and do the dirty work. After we clean it up a bit, it won’t be half bad.”
Parker set his Grizzly onto the pew, the metal hooks of its automount feature extending out and clawing onto the sides, turning it into a stationary gun. “Leave it to the UA to keep useless towns like this alive. Why don’t we just keep it the way it is? A nice fire, a nice view, plenty to eat.”
Jackson overheard, scoffing right away. “You’re sick, man,” he said happily in his deep, smooth voice. “I’m going to tell the kids all about you when I get back home. Give them something to be afraid of when I tuck them in.”
“Har, har.” Parker stayed in position in front of his gun, watching the doors through the dying fire. “Don’t blow yourself up room clearing.”
Entering the school part of the church, Spencer and Jackson went down the halls. Turning the knob to the door, Spencer shot off a black hole grenade — a type of explosive that sucked everything towards it with a reverse-blast, causing anyone in its radius to be crushed instantly. Changing over to another room, he continued the process of opening and firing. The sound of the controlled vacuums whooshed within the rooms, tables and bodies crashing into the cores of the grenades. It was loud, but anyone in the rooms were either too drugged out or too dead to hear.
“One for you… and one for you… and one for you… and one for you…”
Following behind him, Jackson entered the rooms right after and took out anyone still hiding or unlucky enough to survive the grenade's effect.
While they made their way room by room, Mitchell got to the top of the spiral steps, going around the bend to head to the tower. The dull booms of the grenades going off and the following gunfire continued downstairs. By the time he got halfway, the bells rang out above, getting his attention. Shouting and hollering could be heard through the bells, all coming from where he was headed.
“We burn for the Niflheim! We die for the Niflheim! Long live our lords! Praise our lords!”
He didn’t carry any grenades, so he moved his way slowly, aiming down the sight. There was a light at the top, causing him to turn off his night vision. Feet pounded down the steps towards him, a loud growl echoing down the narrow area. A rebel entered his crosshair, carrying a sawed off shotgun. Both were hit in unison, firing at each other at the same time. The trench coat wearing rebel spun around, his upper body torn apart at the shoulder. Mitchell slammed into the wall, taking two buckshots to the chest.
Thankfully, they weren’t enough to penetrate his armor, just leaving his stomach stinging like crazy. As the dead rebel tumbled down the stairway, the marine pushed off of the wall, huffing in discomfort. The others within the tower charged towards him, filling the single file path with bodies. Michelle stood his ground, emptying his Vulture on them. With no time to reload, he swung the butt of his gun, taking them on by hand.
As for Parker, he was still keeping his eyes on the door, seeing nothing enter ever since the others left to do their thing. While he stood there, he looked down at his wrist screen, checking the environment report to see if it was okay to turn off his Exoframe’s air supply. Right away, his suit’s computer detected several chemicals in the air that were too poisonous to breathe in at their concentration. But there was an element detected that took him off guard. One that made him double check to make sure his wrist screen wasn’t glitched.
“Aesirium?”
Highlighting it and turning on the detector feature, his visor showed where the Aesirium was coming from. Since it was a substance that only came from Niflheim, he figured there was a body hidden in the piles surrounding him. The cloud of Aesirium wafted from behind him, causing him to turn around, leaving his gun at the podium. It circulated around from a big object, which Parker saw once he turned off his chemical detector. It was a coffin, bigger than one made for a human.
What Parker didn’t know was: Aesirium only came from the breath of a Niflheim. Never a dead one.
Trying to open the coffin’s hatch, he seemed to struggle to lift it. Using the full strength of his suit, the hydraulic system of the Merrow whirled, slowly bending the metal where his hands were. A gust of air nearly blew him back, a sudden pressure releasing from within. He didn’t see the tubes that were connected to the coffin, supplying it with ozone. A gas that could keep a Niflheim unconscious at high levels.
Once Parker created an opening for the gas to escape, the ozone level inside lowered… drastically.
Sharp red eyes shot open, glowing in the dark. Backing away, Parker watched the giant Niflheim rise out of its holding, pale blue gas clouding around it. Hurrying over to his gun,
he lifted the Grizzly out of its holding. Swinging it over to the approaching alien, he held down the trigger. Airburst rounds showered the Niflheim in metal shards, but it didn’t have enough stopping power to break through its skin.
Sprinting up to Parker, it slapped the machinegun out of his hand and tackled him to the ground.
Spencer fired his last grenade into a room, taking cover against the wall to reload. From the room across from him, the door was pushed wide open, taking him by surprise. A Rasvelg with a mohawk and his eyelids pierced together at the sides was holding a E-bow, its arrow surging with electricity. The laser sight rose up to his chest, pinning a red dot on Spencer. Already looking down, he saw it, his eyes widening once he realized where it was coming from.
“For the Niflheim!”
The arrow was released, hitting Spencer in his left collarbone. Vibrated through an electronic system as it leaves the E-bow’s rest, it flies off with a burst of sparks. Able to penetrate Exoframe armor just enough to release its charge into the suit, bolts of electricity covered Spencer. Crying out in pain, he stood there stiff, unable to move as the arrow tip burned his skin — intensifying. Coming out of the room he was just clearing, Jackson saw the rebel readying another arrow.
A blast of his 505 “Rottweiler” shotgun sent the man flying across the hall, its under-over barrels sending one shell with buckshot and another with psi-shot. The pellets filled the rebel with holes, the psi-shot hitting–what was left of him–with a force hard enough to send him flying down the rest of the hall. Hurrying up to Spencer, Jackson punched the arrow in half, severing its wires and ending its discharge. Grabbing the broken steel shaft and pulling the arrow out of his teammate’s armor, he slapped the side of Spencer’s helmet to wake him up.
“Come on, sleeping beauty. There’s no blood. You’re good to go, man.”
