Alien War Trilogy 1: Hoplite

by Isaac Hooke

  “I don’t care at this point,” Tahoe said. “As long as someone gets her out.”

  “The longer we sit here and argue about it,” Manic said. “The less our chances of rescuing her.”

  Rade delayed a moment longer.

  You don’t have to do everything yourself. Rely upon your men.

  He made up his mind.

  “All right,” Rade said. “Skullcracker, you and Manic will enter the airlock and attempt the rescue while the rest of us provide a distraction.”

  “That’s a Roger with a capital r,” Skullcracker said.

  Rade exhaled. It felt like a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

  Rely upon your men.

  “Let’s move into position,” he said.

  seventeen

  Tahoe and the others lurked in the undergrowth eighty meters from the periphery of the enemy camp. That was about as close as they could get without alerting the enemy to their presence, according to Rade.

  White wireframes overlaid Tahoe’s vision, outlining the trees and shrubs the HS3s had previously mapped in the darkness. And although the geodesic domes weren’t discernible from his position, the video feeds and telemetry information provided by the scouts closer to the camp gave him everything he needed to spy on the enemy. Not that there was all that much going on in the camp at the moment anyway.

  Tahoe thought of Rebecca Vicks. She had such a joyful, almost naive smile, yet it was entirely at odds with those eyes of hers, which had stared at him with such intensity. He could have sworn she was promising secret delights in the privacy of her bed while on the surface she discussed the vapid intricacies of extractor repair. She laughed at his jokes even when they weren’t funny. She crossed her legs, asked him questions about his upbringing, and what it was like to train as a MOTH. She never asked him about his wife, never brought up a boyfriend or husband. It was obvious she had wanted him. It was a feeling Tahoe unfortunately hadn’t experienced in a long time. She made him feel desirable again. It was a good feeling.

  He tried to ignore her, at first. Tried not to flirt. But she had won him over with that vibrant spirit of hers, that joie de vivre. And soon he caught himself repeatedly trying to impress her. Repeatedly teasing her, flirting. Soon he wanted her just as badly, if not more than she pretended to want him. He felt like a teenager all over again.

  And yet he knew theirs was a relationship that would never be.

  It was a schoolboy’s crush he had for her. A fleeting, unattainable lust. He was a married man. With two kids. He’d never betray Tepin. To do so would be to betray his children. Still, his lust for Rebecca boiled his blood. It was hard, being out on deployment, away from his wife for eight months. The virtual sex toys helped, but those couldn’t replace a real flesh and blood woman. So when you were on deployment and a woman came on to you in any way, shape or form, it was very hard to resist. Especially given how terrible his home sex life had become.

  Tahoe wanted to be the one to come to Rebecca’s aid, a white knight riding forth on his trusty mech steed. Again, mostly because he wanted to impress her. That urge had driven him to fight Rade, his best friend. Looking back, he had been a fool to confront Rade like that in front of the men. He was very lucky that Rade had brushed the incident aside and agreed to delete it from the video logs. Still, he doubted their friendship would ever be the same.

  When Rade had assigned Manic and Skullcracker the task of entering the airlock to rescue her, Tahoe had agreed, but at the time secretly decided he would disobey. But as he waited there in the jungle, crouching in the dark, the voice of reason at last returned. He realized it was probably better, even preferable, if someone else rescued her. He needed to distance himself from Rebecca as much as possible. For Tepin and the kids. Yes, let Skullcracker be her knight in shining Hoplite armor.

  Besides, she was a strong woman. She probably didn’t even need anyone to rescue her. She was likely already on the cusp of escaping on her own. In fact, Tahoe kept expecting her to come waltzing through the thick foliage, blaster in one hand, alien captive dragged along the forest floor in the other.

  Then again, even a resourceful woman like her, faced with an alien foe, would find it difficult to escape captors such as these. Especially without a mech.

  “The HS3 is in place,” TJ said over the comm. “I’m just waiting for the support Centurions to assume their positions.”

  “Get ready, people,” Rade transmitted.

  Rade. Tahoe still found it hard to believe Rade was their LPO. Facehopper’s promotion to chief had happened so fast; Chief Bourbonjack announced his retirement on the same day that Facehopper took over. Rade had already been in the process of studying for his LPO exam, and he took the test immediately. He was promoted to leading petty officer two days after Facehopper became chief.

  Tahoe had been so proud of his friend. Many others in the platoon were happy for him, too. But not everyone was pleased. TJ had already taken the exam two years ago, and felt that he should have been the one who was promoted. He had talked shit behind Rade’s back for the first two days until Tahoe and some of the others had confronted him about it.

  “We can’t function as a coherent team if you’re going to constantly talk down our LPO behind his back like this,” Tahoe had said. “If you keep this up, we’re going to make your life so miserable, and I mean living-hell level miserable, that you’re going to request a transfer to a different Team.”

  TJ never said a word behind Rade’s back ever since. Even so, his disrespect was still obvious from the way he often scowled at Rade, sometimes in front of him, and the disgust that always entered his voice when he formed the word LPO. That disgust was present at the start of their current operation, Tahoe noticed, but had gone away as the mission progressed. TJ was finally learning to respect Rade as a leader.

  Something that I would be wise to do, Tahoe thought, shaking his head once more as he thought of what he had done. I always have to pick fights with those in charge. First Facehopper, now Rade. Guess I have a thing against people in authority. He smiled wanly, remembering his upbringing. He always fought against the will of the elders growing up. But one of the hardest battles he had ever endured was leaving the reserve. Defying the elders in that final manner had been almost as hard as MOTH training. Almost.

  “All combat robots are in place,” TJ sent. “Ready to deploy the HS3 on your word.”

  “Deploy,” Rade transmitted. “Here we go, people.”

  Tahoe cleared his mind and watched on the overhead map as the HS3 moved into the alien camp. He saw flashes of light through the foliage far ahead, and heard a wailing siren. The scout was doing its stuff.

  The HS3 retreated into the jungle, still wailing and flashing its lights. The siren doppler shifted.

  Nearly all of the red dots in the camp moved after it in pursuit.

  Tahoe slowly rose to his full height, preparing to break into a controlled sprint. The HS3s had already mapped out the best path each of the Hoplites should take: his particular route overlaid his vision as a green trail through the wireframe representation of the surrounding topography.

  “Hold,” Rade sent. The plan was to give the HS3 a chance to draw the scorpions at least a klick away, because when the Hoplites attacked, any enemy tangos that remained behind would almost certainly recall the others.

  Tahoe glanced at his overhead display. The scorpions pursued the scout extremely fast, slowly overtaking it, lending credence to the theory that one of the scorpions had kidnapped Rebecca. Tahoe ran a quick calculation and determined that the four-legged robots would outrun the HS3 in approximately ten minutes. The HS3 had instructions to shut off its lights and sirens and fly up into the canopy when the pursuers came too close. The scorpions would likely use their jumpjets to pursue, and if they actually succeeded in breaching the upper boughs, they would have a tough time finding that HS3, which would be in hiding by that point. When the enemy inevitably abandoned the pursuit, the HS3 was to attempt to coax t
hem into chasing again.

  Tahoe doubted many of the scorpions would continue the pursuit, given that Rade and the others were set to attack the main camp well before then.

  “Hold,” Raid transmitted.

  Tahoe felt his stomach knot up. He hated waiting in the moments leading up to battle. The Teams, and the whole navy for that matter, were all about waiting, and he had developed an impeccable patience. Except when combat, that crucible of life and death, was imminent.

  Come on. Come on.

  “Hold...”

  He wondered what the robots were doing to her in there. Maybe her body was already dissected. That was another reason he shouldn’t be the one to attempt a rescue. He didn’t need to see her like that.

  “Transmitting attack pattern,” Rade said.

  Tahoe received two targets. He was part of the group that would take down the four-armed robots in front of the airlock, clearing the way for Skullcracker and Manic.

  “Now!” Rade sent.

  Tahoe sprinted through the undergrowth. “Hunts With Cougars, take over!”

  “Aye, Cyclone,” the mech’s AI returned.

  The Hoplite could navigate the thick foliage far better than he in that darkness, and it changed speeds between fast and slow depending on the obstacles. The advance was unfortunately noisy, but there was nothing to be done about that. By then, the Centurions in place around the perimeter would be opening fire, providing a further diversion. White flashes and thunderous booms from up ahead were testament to that.

  The instant Tahoe emerged from the foliage and into the camp proper his missile alarm flashed.

  “Missiles!” someone said over the comm.

  Tahoe wrenched control of the Hoplite away from the AI, activated his Trench Coat, and dove to the side. The propellant-powered shards of metal expanded from his mech, and explosions detonated all around him. He was hurled against a nearby tree.

  “I’m hit!” Keelhaul said.

  Tahoe instinctively checked Keelhaul’s vitals on his HUD. Keelhaul himself was fine, but his mech’s left leg was completely blown off.

  Tahoe glanced his way and on the thermal band he saw that Keelhaul had adopted a firing posture, and was unleashing frags and lasers from his position on the ground.

  Good man.

  Tahoe got up and dodged behind one of the smaller geodesic domes. TJ was there, peering past the far edge.

  Tahoe joined him. Beyond awaited the main geodesic dome. The airlock was in plain site. There was no sign of the two roaches, nor any scorpions. He glanced at the overhead map and saw that most of the squad had gathered behind the farther dome, where many of the remaining enemy seemed to be taking cover. The scorpions that had been drawn away by the HS3 were already racing back toward the camp, tracked by the scout that had drawn them away in the first place.

  “Skullcracker, Manic,” Tahoe sent. “The airlock is free!”

  “We’re kind of pinned right now,” Manic replied.

  “TJ and I have a clear line to the airlock,” Tahoe sent. “Do we have permission to proceed, boss?”

  “Do it,” Rade returned. He of all people would know that plans had to be fluid amidst the unpredictable ebbs and flows of live combat.

  Tahoe exchanged a look with TJ’s Hoplite. “Let’s get her while we have a chance. Cover me.”

  Tahoe left his position and raced across the jungle toward the larger dome. He sensed movement beside him. Too late he realized it was one of the roaches, stepping out from behind a thick bole. Its missile launchers were rotated into both hands, and its shoulder-mounted lasers were pointed directly at Tahoe. Those glowing eyes glinted malevolently.

  Two frags exploded in rapid succession on the enemy’s hull, and the roach stepped backward. A hole appeared in one of its eyes as a laser bored through. Another frag detonated, and that head blew clean away. The roach toppled.

  “You’re welcome,” TJ sent.

  Tahoe reached the man-sized airlock. “Hunts With Cougars, protect!”

  Tahoe opened the cockpit and leaped out as the mech assumed a guard posture. He dove for cover inside the protruding outer rim of the airlock. He retrieved the laser blaster from his belt, the only weapon he could fit in the mech’s cockpit. He had stowed a rifle in the storage compartment of the Hoplite’s back leg, but at the ranges he expected to deal with over the next few moments, a blaster was all he needed.

  Through the sights he scanned the nearby foliage as TJ’s Hoplite left cover. It seemed clear.

  TJ reached the airlock and ejected. His mech immediately assumed a guard stance beside Hunts With Cougars.

  TJ went straight for the airlock’s control panel.

  “We’re never going to get this open,” TJ said. “There’s no way to interface with it. Looks like we’re going to have to blast our way inside.”

  “What if she’s not wearing an environmental suit in there?” Tahoe asked fearfully.

  “Then she’s probably already dead,” TJ replied grimly.

  TJ pointed his blaster at the hatch. Before he could fire it opened of its own accord. He exchanged a glance with Tahoe, then moved inside. Tahoe followed.

  The airlock sealed behind them and the air vented.

  There was dim light provided by some sort of HLEDs above, so Tahoe switched back to the visual spectrum.

  White gas misted into the airlock from below. The fog became translucent as it dissipated.

  “The atmosphere just became Earth-like,” TJ said.

  The inner hatch opened, revealing a brightly lit chamber.

  Tahoe and TJ advanced at the same time. Tahoe went high, TJ low.

  Tahoe scanned the compartment. It seemed to be a sick bay or other medical type facility, what with the hospital-like beds, intravenous machines, and other surgical instruments.

  He spotted Rebecca lying unconscious on one of the beds. She was dressed only in her cooling and ventilation undergarments. There were clamps around her arms and legs, and a vise pinning her forehead. The long, telescoping fingers of a surgical robot had driven multiple needles into her shaven head, forming a claw-like pattern. Her chest still rose and fell, so that was a relief.

  Tahoe suppressed the urge to run to her. Someone—or something—else was in that compartment. The hatch wouldn’t have opened by itself, after all. Unless some kind of AI was running the place.

  “I’ll take the nine o’clock.” Tahoe moved into the compartment on the left side, while TJ advanced on the right. The two of them proceeded to sweep the place.

  Tahoe found more of those surgical robots beside other beds. They had the same basic design as UC Weavers, and yet they were different in subtle ways. Instead of a sphere, their heads were dodecahedral, for example, as were the cylinders that composed their torsos. The biggest difference was their exterior: instead of silver, they were made of a black metal polished to a mirror-like sheen. It reminded Tahoe of the Hoplites when he had first seen them in the hanger bay of the Rhodes, before their camouflage patterns had activated.

  Tahoe found a man crouching behind one of the tables. He was dressed in UC-style fatigues—the bars on his sleeves told Tahoe he was a commander. Or had been, at one point. Assuming he hadn’t stolen the clothing. His cheeks sagged, as if he had spent too long in the slightly stronger gravity of the planet. He had an olive complexion, and wore a pencil-thin mustache. His lips possessed nearly the same thinness, as did his eyebrows. And those icy blue eyes themselves, well, they seemed dead. An Artificial? But even the eyes of Artificials teemed with life. Not like these joyless, emotionless orbs. If it was an Artificial, it was malfunctioning.

  “Found someone,” Tahoe said over the comm. Then he switched to the external speakers. “Stand up,” he ordered.

  The man complied.

  “So you speak English,” Tahoe said.

  He gave Tahoe a slimy smile. “Yes.”

  “You’re from the John A. McDonald?” Tahoe asked.

  “Right again.”

  “What happened
to your ship?” Tahoe said.

  “Destroyed. We escaped to the surface in lifepods.”

  “We know that,” Tahoe said. “But what happened?”

  “We were attacked by... something.”

  Tahoe sighed. “Turn around,” he ordered.

  When the man obeyed, Tahoe shoved him toward Rebecca. “Go to her.” When the two reached her, Tahoe told him: “Remove those needles and unbind her.”

  Behind him, TJ finished his sweep of the room. “Clear on my side.”

  The man walked behind the robot and accessed some external interface. The needles of the strange Weaver retracted, and then the fingers telescoped inside one another, withdrawing. Small droplets of blood marked where the needles had penetrated.

  On the bed, Rebecca continued breathing, but her eyes didn’t open.

  “What were you doing to her?” Tahoe said.

  “Me?” the man said. He removed the vise from her forehead, and then the binds from her hands. “Nothing. It was them.”

  “Who?” Tahoe tried again.

  “Them.”

  Tahoe waited until the man released the clamps from her feet, and then he pressed the tip of his blaster into the man’s temple. “You gotta tell me a bit more than that. Who are they?”

  “I don’t know,” the man said. “They’re aliens. And yet they are also human. And machine.”

  TJ approached the bed. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “He won’t say.” Tahoe turned to address the man. “Wake her up.”

  The man shook his head. “I can’t. She will awaken when they deem fit.”

  The dome abruptly punctured in two places as a laser shot from outside tore through the fabric. The atmosphere began to rapidly leak out. Due to the existing pressure outside, the decompression wasn’t explosive, but more like a large weather balloon deflating. Judging from the way the fabric was descending, the dome wasn’t actually geodesic at all—it had no support frame.

  “Cyclone, we really have to go,” Rade transmitted.

  Tahoe checked his map and saw that most of the scorpions had returned from their diversion into the jungle. He heard the M7 going off outside, thanks to the combat robot that wielded it, along with frags and electromagnetics.