Alien Storm

by Ken Bebelle

  Cam signaled to her team and they started off the last two hundred meters to their vehicle.

  “Lieutenant,” Jeeves broke in. “A Ringhead jumpship has just decloaked 500 meters north of you.”

  Looking up, Cam spied the jumpship racing towards them. Fuck. The engines whined as the ship flared to a hover. She watched six hulking Ringheads leap from the craft, landing easily on the ground and begin bounding toward them. As the aliens loped down the rocky terrain, Cam noted with relief they weren’t in the ice armor. Small mercies. They were totally outnumbered. The APC was to the east of them, and the alien horde to the north.

  Rosie screamed and ran off. It didn’t matter, there was no cover up here. With no time to set up the blast cannon, they were stuck with just their rifles and her team was about to get swarmed.

  “Firing line, now!” Cam bellowed.

  Mack bumped her as he stood shoulder to shoulder. With concentrated fire they systematically took out the closest alien barreling towards their position, the sound and fury echoing across the desert landscape. Cam noted that Burke and Garcia managed to take out one of the six aliens as they rushed the firing line.

  The four remaining Ringheads closed to melee range. Cam’s breath tightened, her heart ringing in her ears. This was going to be ugly.

  The closet Hunter bull rushed them and barreled through O’Neill and Jonesy’s position. Both men were thrown backward to the rocky ground. Jonesy’s bald head slammed against a small boulder with a sickening crack. Neither man moved.

  Cam shuffled backwards, sliding her feet over the rough terrain. A quick glance showed her rifle was nearing the end of its charge. She yelled over the crackling bursts from her gun. “Jeeves! We need air support!”

  “Colonel Phillips has deni--”

  “Goddammit Jeeves! We’re getting slaughtered here!” She dropped her empty rifle and whipped out her service pistol. Be like a fucking squirt gun.

  Garcia and Burke were down. A dark stain was soaking into the dirt around Burke’s head. Wailing fear bubbled up from her gut, threatening to burst from within her and consume her.

  Mack moved forward, blocking two of the aliens from getting to Cam. She managed to bring her pistol to bear and managed a lucky shot into an eye, driving it back, but the second one lifted Mack’s lanky frame and threw him into the encroaching darkness.

  One of the Hunters leaped at Cam, landing nearly on top of her. She stumbled back on her ass, kicking and scrambling to avoid its clawing hands. She saw Jonesy’s body in the distance, ducked, and ran under the Hunter’s legs, diving for Jonesy’s modded rifle.

  Everything began to move in slow motion as she caught hold of the grip of the rifle. She landed on her back looking up at four Hunters closing in on her from all directions. The bodies of her fallen teammates surrounded her, bodies broken and scattered. She braced the rifle and fired at the closest Ringhead, burning a smouldering hole through its neck. The alien dropped to its knees, howling in pain. The rifle was empty.

  Behind the downed Ringhead she saw movement. Mack’s tall frame standing up, wobbling against a boulder. He was still over a hundred meters from the bus. He would never make it. He turned and they made eye contact for a split second. She knew what she had to do.

  She got to her feet, facing down the Ringheads. “All right you fuckers. Let’s dance. Mack! Get to the bus! That’s an order!” She brought up her service pistol and began peppering the Ringheads with hollow point rounds, running and dodging as they swiped at her with their claws. It wouldn’t do much damage, but it would piss them off.

  Mack hesitated a moment then began zigzagging away, pulling Julio up from behind a boulder and making a beeline for the APC. Rosie stood next to it, wringing her hands and yanking Miguel close. Cam felt a surge of pride in Rosie’s will to live.

  When her pistol clicked empty Cam tossed it and brought up Jonesy’s rifle. “Which one of you a-holes gets it next?” Before she could fire, she got slammed from behind. Dammit, stupid, slow! Her stim was wearing off already, her arms were feeling heavy. She was lifted into the air and she got a close up view of the Ringhead’s face. Up close it was just as ugly as she remembered. The Hunter began squeezing her but the upside of her new titanium alloy rib cage and reinforced spinal column was that she was a lot harder to break. Unfortunately, it didn’t help her kill aliens any faster.

  Cam hammered at the alien with the butt of the rifle, trying to beat its head in, keep it focused on her. It didn’t seem to notice, but it squeezed harder, pushing her breath out of her. In the distance the APC lights flicked on and the engine rumbled to life. The other Ringheads were looking around on the ground for something. One of them grabbed Garcia by the legs and started dragging him.

  As his head bumped against a rock, Garcia’s eyes blinked open. Coming down off the stim was making Cam’s hands shake uncontrollably. She dropped her rifle and hung in the alien’s grasp, too exhausted to fight. At the sound of the rifle hitting the ground, Garcia’s head snapped up and he made eye contact with Cam. There was no need for words between them. Garcia reached into his vest and yanked out the Vapor-11.

  Cam yelled. “Do it!”

  Garcia pushed down and twisted, activating the bomb. Only fitting he’d remember to use it now. Cam watched the countdown flashes of the bomb, the memories of her life rushing across her brain in a mad collage. She thought about Keenan, and wished she had time to say goodbye to him. But they’d made their choices and they knew that every time they signed off, that might be the last time they talked to each other.

  The Vapor-11 was the latest model, with a radius of fifty feet. The powerful blast wave of the thermobaric weapon would take them all out. Cam knew there was no hope for Jonesy, Garcia and herself, but at least Mack made it to the safety of the vehicle, and all the survivors with him. The blinding flash filled her vision and a hot blanket of air flung her back as her mind winked out.

  Six

  Survivors

  MACK

  The headlights cut a cone through the darkness. In his mind’s eye all Mack could see was the blooming fireball that had consumed his teammates. He drove through the darkness over rough ground, the APC pitching back and forth.

  Mack jumped in his seat as a hand pulled at his arm, drawing his gaze to the right. A female civilian huddled in the front passenger seat, eyes wide as saucers. She said something, but Mack couldn’t hear. What was her name? Why is she here?

  Mack blinked his eyes, his vision graying as if blinded by a blizzard. He focused on her mouth, tried to read the words he could not hear. The steering wheel jerked in his hands and the humvee veered to the left, a jarring movement. The vehicle pitched wildly hitting boulders, and the passengers smacked against the interior. The woman turned to look through the windshield, and her mouth opened wider with a silent shriek.

  She lunged over and slapped him in the face.

  Mack snapped back into focus as the sharp impact against his cheek cut through the fog of his consciousness. He was driving the APC but he couldn’t remember how he got here. The large knobby treads were chewing up the scrubby landscape as he drove with only two wheels on the asphalt.

  Mack slammed the brakes. The APC skidded to a halt and growled at an angry idle, almost drowning out the weeping cries of his passengers The busboys huddled on the floor, shaking, tears cutting through the grime on their faces. Rosie - her name is Rosie - breathlessly crying in her seat.

  His face hurt. He touched his forehead and felt a bruise there. He looked out the windshield and saw the scrubby landscape in his headlights disappear abruptly into darkness about ten feet ahead. He’d almost driven them over a cliff. He must have hit the steering wheel with his face when Rosie had stopped the humvee.

  He took his foot off the accelerator turning to Rosie. “Sorry….and thanks.”

  Rosie nodded hesitantly, the whites of her eyes still visible in the dark interior of the bus.

  “I’m here now,” Mack reassured them. “I’ll get us back
to our base and we’ll get you to safety. I promise.”

  Miguel began to speak, his soft words causing Rosie to straighten in alarm and climb into the back of the bus. “Julio’s bleeding!”

  Shit. Mack shut off the engine and began to rummage for a field kit.

  At that moment, his comms blared. “Echo One this is Base, do you read?”

  Mack closed his eyes for a moment and answered. “This is Echo One, over.”

  “Echo One, this is Base, we read you. Sitrep?”

  He’d been expecting Phillips but had gotten Gunny instead. Mack’s grip on the wheel tightened until his knuckles whitened as he relayed the last few minutes over the comms. “We need to go back. We need to retrieve LT, Jonesy, Nell, and Cho. We gotta get them out of there and burn those Ringheads!”

  Gunny’s cool voice came on the line, the familiar New Yorker cadence reassuring. “Mack, we are assessing our next move now. You get your civvies back to base first before anything else. Base out.”

  Before Mack could get himself into trouble for insubordination, Gunny signed off. Mack felt his face heating in frustration at the injustice of leaving his team behind. At last he found the kit and hustled to help Rosie out with Julio. Typical of head wounds, Julio bled profusely but after cleaning him up, Mack was relieved to find he hadn’t hurt the young man too badly. Methodically wrapping the wound steadied his hands, and by the time he was finished he felt the jagged edges of his adrenaline easing off.

  Mack backed the APC away from the drop and began winding his way back to the road. He followed the destruction through the scrub back to the main road and they were on their way. Through sheer force of will, he kept his eyes open and moving, pushing the failing vehicle back to the base. It was a long windy drive, and he concentrated on just keeping his shit together and willing the vehicle not to give out on them.

  An eternity later the APC sputtered through the outer perimeter of base camp. Raised sniper nests with spotlights and AA guns dotted the exterior. The interior of camp was a hive of activity, dozens of men and women hurrying back and forth, securing and prepping gear.

  Mack parked the bus and sat listening to the frame ticking as it cooled. Every inch of Mack’s skin felt raw, like he’d gone through a sandpaper army crawl. It hurt.

  “I’m sorry about your friends,” Rosie whispered. “Thank you for getting us out of here.”

  Mack nodded and tried to sound human. “Someone will be along to get you. Stay here until then.”

  Mack stepped out and headed for the command tent. When he got there he found Colonel Phillips at a desk looking over a map of the area. Phillips looked up as Mack approached, his craggy face pulled into sober lines.

  Phillips cleared his throat and then spoke in his measured tones. “Mack. We’re all hurting without the rest of Alpha and Bravo, but I’m glad you made it back. Good job getting the civvies out.”

  “Sir, we need to get back in there. We need to retrieve my teammates, and we need to alert SECNAV about what those Ringheads are doing with that new tech. If they can come this far south with their new armor--”

  “Mack, how long has it been since you ate?”

  “Sir?”

  “How long since you ate? Slept? You’ve been going hard for eight hours plus. Grab some water and chow and get some rack.” Phillips returned to studying the maps before him.

  Mack felt as if he’d been slapped. His adrenaline high had abandoned him, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about Cam, Jonesy, and Cho, and all of them. “Sir, all due respect, but--”

  Phillips sighed. “Mack, this is an order. Eat. Rest. Now. We’re not going back in there for a while, we’re waiting on some lab coats to show up. They’ve got something they want to try, and they’re saying this is the perfect spot for it. They rescinded the missile launch. They’re due in a few hours, and we’ll move out at first light.”

  Phillips came around the desk and gripped Mack by the shoulder. “Son, I know what you’re feeling, believe me, I do. But if you want to do right by your teammates, you need to get your head on straight first. Get some rack. That’s an order. I’ll send someone to get you.”

  Mack sat on his bunk, staring off into space. He had gone to the mess, and eaten, zombie-like, as activity continued to bustle around him. The bunks around him gaped like empty eye sockets. There were seven lockers on the far wall he would need to go through to sort out personal effects, things to get back to family members.

  Jesus, what am I going to say to Keenan? Cam had been so happy when she had told them all the news, but Mack had worked with her long enough to read her well, and see the anxiety that comes with trying to put down roots during wartime.

  Thinking about Cam and Keenan sparked an ember of anger in the center of his anguish. As he looked back across the lockers the heat inside his chest grew.

  The door opened and a medic stepped inside. He’d been expecting Dr. Patel, but this was better. She would have been too tough. This young medic would do just fine.

  "Mack? Commander Phillips asked me to come by and make sure you got some quality rack." The medic set his kit on the bunk, opened it and removed a hypo.

  Mack's hand shot out and caught the medic by the wrist before he could administer the sedative.

  "Hey, man," he looked up at the medic. "You got any stims in that kit?"

  Seven

  Betsy

  SASHA

  Security patrols of Reno sucked donkey balls, especially afternoon routes when the desert sun turned the APC into a sauna. Sasha grumbled and swore and showered before throwing on another fresh tank top. And now, she was hungry again. The only thing that was going to improve her day was if Stan had finished his calculations of the modifications to Betsy.

  And maybe a drink. That was another thing she liked about hanging out with the lab and workshop squints. They did all kinds of random things, which included running a still. Patel, Abbé, and Chin were like a bunch of PhD preppers, curing meats, brewing beer, and making shine in the workshop extension to the lab. It meant Sasha rarely had to go off base for a little R&R.

  Duties completed and other than twiddling her fucking thumbs for the rest of the night, Sasha had nothing better to do but to work on her railgun and then start hitting their homebrewed shine.

  She shrugged on her dark gray SDU jacket, with its right sleeve cut off to accommodate Ripper, and headed to the lab.

  Hopping into the lift, she felt her spirits lift at the thought working on her pet project. “Good evening, Unit Captain Kennedy,” the elevator’s AI chimed.

  “I’m going to the lab. Is Dr. Abbé there?” Sasha queried.

  A pause. “Dr. Abbé, location confirmed in the lab.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “You are most welcome Unit Captain Kennedy.”

  Entering the underground maze of Base Camp, she shivered from the drop in temperature. During her rehab, she’d spent plenty of time here in the bowels of the base, working out in the busy gym, or arguing with Stan at the lab while he handled her follow ups. Even here, at the refuge of base camp, Ripper had garnered her more than her share of stares. Queen of the freaks even here in freak central.

  In contrast, being in the workshop reminded of her home. Although the garage of her childhood home was nowhere near as nicely equipped, the feeling of calm that the workshop gave her felt the same. Sasha spent many a warm summer night in her old garage with the door open, rock music streaming, and just tinkering on some project or another with her dad.

  The youngest of four, Sasha had been the only one to truly follow in her father and grandfather’s footsteps, honing herself as a young cadet at West Point and joining the “Long Gray Line”. Unlike her father and grandfather who served in an age of peacetime, Sasha saw combat nearly continuously in the later years of her commission.

  Not much time for tinkering until her rehab forced her to find something to do or lose her damn mind.

  Stepping into the lab, she spotted Stan in his usual work station,
gesturing animatedly with someone on the holo screen. He scrunched his fingers through his tight ebony curls as if trying to fish information out of his massive brain. The light near the holo screen cast a prism against his polished black skin.

  She strode quickly to the workstation next to his, where Betsy’s prototype pieces lay. As she got closer, she realized Stan spoke in French, the syllables melodic and rapidfire. Huh, must be one of the Swiss scientists.

  Spotting her, Stan looked away from the hologram and waved cheerfully. Then he gestured to the printing chamber with a pointing motion before returning to his conference. Ooh. Trembling, Sasha made a beeline for the printing chamber in the machine room. Grabbing a pair of goggles off the hooks, she pulled it over her short hair, the protective gear allowing her to stare in fascination at the rays emitted from the 3D printer. If only Dad could see this. It was so damned cool.

  Mesmerized, Sasha watched Betsy’s rail manufacturing in progress, the meticulous motions of the printer lulling her. Sasha’s shoulders relaxed, the tension of the earlier day falling away. She didn’t know how much time passed before Stan tapped her on the shoulder and motioned for her to head back to the workstations.

  Sasha followed Stan back to his desk and he began speaking before she even yanked the goggles off.

  “Sasha! I worked the calculations out earlier this morning, look!” Sasha grinned at the animated doctor, amused as he waved his tablet around enthusiastically. It was actually pretty fun to talk to him about topics other than Ripper.

  As they stood over the prototype, Stan brought up his tablet display, showing an exploded hologram schematic of the rail gun. He slid the drawings off the tablet and onto the table where they hovered over the weapon.