Colony Down: Battlefield Mars Book 2

by David Robbins

  None of the fires that had started when the Martians burst into buildings and disrupted the electrical systems had lasted long. The building modules weren’t flammable, and the contents that had been set ablaze were extinguished by the sprinklers. Which was why smoke was rising from various quarters, a cloud of it covering an entire block.

  Archard spied a cluster of creatures moving along a side street in the general direction of the Security Center. Banking, he flew to the near end of the street, zoomed in on the Martians with the RAM’s night vision, and set his targeting system on automatic. Tiny crosshairs appeared on each image. All he had to do was select the weapon to be used. Archard chose a dart. It flew true and was almost to the Martians when it separated into its one hundred component flechettes. Every Martian was struck by multiple razors and died oozing the viscous fluid that passed for their blood.

  “Security Center, do you read me?” Archard said.

  “Loud and clear, sir,” Private Everett responded.

  “Be advised, I just took out a gaggle of Martians in your vicinity.”

  “A gaggle, sir?”

  “Be on the lookout for more.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Archard regained altitude. His motion sensors pinged, reacting to the presence of the flyers above the dome. He was about to go investigate a column of smoke near the Broadcast Center when his commlink blared.

  “Captain Rahn! This is Lieutenant Burroughs. Do you copy?” Her tone suggested a crisis.

  “Rahn here,” Archard quickly answered.

  “I’m in Dome One. I require your assistance ASAP.”

  “I can be there in five,” Archard said.

  “Make it sooner.”

  As he boosted his thrusters, Archard said, “Where are you exactly, and what is your situation?”

  “I’m at the hospital,” she replied, “and we’re being overrun.”

  Dome One and Dome Two were linked by a modular walkway wide enough for a tank and high enough that when Archard reached it, he only needed to bend at the RAM’s knees to make it through.

  As he emerged, Archard heard a chorus of terrified screams and panicked cries, along with the unmistakable sounds of a pitched battle. One look, and an oath escaped him.

  Dome One was suffering the brunt of the Martian onslaught. Twice the number of structures were damaged, and many times the number of bodies lay in the streets. The hospital, situated at the center, was the tallest building. Smoke curled from several stories.

  Archard took it all in as he took to the air once more. Pegging the thrusters, he swept in over the hospital.

  Hundreds upon hundreds of Martians were pouring up out of newly made tunnels and sweeping out of side streets to converge en masse on the colony’s facility for treating the sick. And there, close to the hospital, was Lieutenant Burroughs in the other RAM 3000, single-handedly resisting the onslaught. She unleashed a missile, incinerated onrushing creatures with her flamethrower, and used her Minigun. Arcing up and over the roof, she blasted Martians attacking from the rear.

  “Not on my watch!” Archard heard her shout. “Not on my watch!”

  His thrusters roaring, Archard descended to her side. “The cavalry has arrived. Do you want the front or the back?”

  “The back is fine,” Burroughs said, and flashed him a smile through her faceplate. “And thank you.”

  “Kick ass,” Archard said. Propelling to the front, he suited his actions to his command and opened up with his ion cannons. Martians were destroyed in droves. He lobbed bombs to either side of the hospital, their detonators set to go off on impact.

  Dropping to block the entrance, Archard loosed three frag grenades in rapid succession. They landed so close together that they not only reduced dozens of creatures to blasted pieces, they created a small crater.

  And still the Martians came.

  To Archard, it was his battle under Albor Tholus all over again. Only this time, he didn’t have to contend with the flyers. And, so far, he hadn’t seen any of the blue S.O.B.’s that were so hard to kill.

  His commlink chirped, Lieutenant Burroughs exclaiming,

  “They’re coming in waves!”

  “Same here!” Archard told her.

  He slaughtered with ruthless abandon. That he was protecting helpless patients had something to do with it. So did the fact he had grown to despise the Martians with a deep and bitter hatred. They never showed mercy, never any compassion. They were all about killing. They ripped people apart with no more regard than if humans were vermin to be exterminated. He could not slay the creatures fast enough.

  For their part, the Martians assaulting the hospital displayed the tenacity typical of their kind. Archard mowed them down, and still they attacked. He blistered them, he incinerated them, and still they charged. His darts sliced them to pieces, his missiles blew them to atoms, and still they sought to get past him.

  Archard used every weapon in the RAM’s arsenal. And just when he began to wonder if it would be enough, if he would, in fact, run out of ammo before he ran out of creatures to kill, the waves lessened and finally, ultimately, stopped entirely.

  Suspecting a ruse, Archard hovered and took stock. He had one Penetrator missile left, four darts, and half a dozen grenades. His ion cannons were recharging, but he was out of magnetic bombs. The flame thrower was running low. And he only had about two thousand rounds left for the M537 Minigun.

  A sound caused Archard to turn and raise his right gauntlet, but he didn’t fire. “All clear back there?”

  “They’ve stopped for the moment,” Lieutenant Burroughs said, descending. “Thank God. I’m almost on empty on everything.”

  “Head for the Security Center and rearm,” Archard said. “Private Everett and Private Pasco will help. They know the drill. I’ll hold the fort here.”

  “Maybe we should stick together, sir.”

  Archard was about to tell her it was an order, not a request, when a low rumbling filled his earpieces and up the street chugged a tank. Dents and scratches showed it had been in the heat of combat.

  “Captain Rahn, sir!”

  “Corporal Arnold?” Archard had almost forgotten that Major Howard sent the corporal to defend Dome One.

  “And Private Niven, sir,” Arnold said. “We had a firefight with those things or we’d have been here sooner.”

  “How low are you on shells and ammo?”

  “Plenty left,” Corporal Arnold said.

  Archard opted to take a gamble. “I want you to stay here and defend the hospital while Lieutenant Burroughs and I head to the Security Center. We’re about dry.” In his estimation, it was worth the risk if it meant having both battle suits at peak performance. “We’ll refit and hurry back.”

  “Take your time, sir,” Corporal Arnold said. “From the sound of things, the Martians have called it quits.”

  Archard boosted the gain on his helmet audio input---and realized Dome One had gone quiet. The screaming had stopped. So had the scuttling sounds of the creatures.

  “They might be reassembling to try again,” Lieutenant Burroughs said.

  “Or maybe they’re going after the other dome, sir,” Corporal Arnold said.

  Archard hadn’t thought of that. It made tactical sense, though. If the Martians were more hard-pressed in one dome than the other, they might concentrate their forces on the weaker. Once it fell, they could throw everything at the hardest to take.

  “On me, Lieutenant,” Archard said, and rose higher. “Corporal, we leave the hospital in your hands until we get back.”

  “No worries, sir,” Arnold said.

  “At full thrust, Lieutenant, on my mark,” Archard said. “Now!”

  Together, they arced toward the walkway, twin humanoid rockets blazing in the artificial atmosphere of the golden dome.

  Archard was impressed by how Burroughs handled her RAM. She matched his every more. When he slowed to descend, she was his shadow. Their heavy boots thudded to the ground, and Burroughs f
ell into step beside him.

  Archard tried his commlink. “Major Howard, can you read me?” He was overdue for a sitrep on the other dome.

  There was no answer.

  “Let me try, sir,” Lieutenant Burroughs said, and repeated his call.

  Again, no reply.

  “Not good,” Archard said.

  “Could be interference of some kind,” Burroughs said.

  “This close?” Archard said skeptically. Only long-range communications were affected by a blackout. Local channels still got through. “Sergeant Kline? Private Heinlein? Private Bova? Do any of you read me?”

  Static hissed like bacon in a frying pan.

  “It can’t be,” Burroughs said. “Not all of them. We’d have heard something.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Archard said grimly, and hurried on.

  CHAPTER 29

  Kralun the Martian raced along a tunnel with hundreds of his fellow Gryghr, Nilista once again at his side. Even though they had only been separated a short while, reuniting with her had made him deliriously happy. She had sensed his feeling, and explained that bindmates joined in more than bodies. They were bound to one another in their very sentience.

  In his former life as a Blue Worlder, Kralun would never have imagined crustaceans capable of such depth of emotion. But then, there was a lot about the Martians he would never have imagined.

  His main concern at the moment, though, was their attack on the golden eggs. It wasn’t going well. The initial plan to overwhelm the Blue Worlders by force of numbers with minimal loss of Unity life had not worked out.

  Kralun blamed their failure on several factors. For one thing, there were a lot more humans at Wellsville than there had been at New Meridian. Gathering them took longer. That delay gave the human military time to respond. And there were a lot more soldiers, with a lot more weapons.

  It didn’t bother Kralun that the Aryghr and Hryghr had miscalculated. Martians weren’t perfect. They were no different than Blue Worlders when it came to making mistakes.

  And their miscalculations were now being remedied.

  Reinforcements were pouring in from all over. In the meantime, those already there were to use the new tunnels the drillers were burrowing to attack select targets.

  Which was what Kralun and those with him were about to do. A tank was protecting the Administrative Center, and the Hryghr were marshaling a great number of Gryghr to assist in taking it out.

  Kralun realized he was still thinking mostly in Blue World terms, and chided himself.

  Nilista, aware of his every thought, sought to comfort him with, “What you are going through is normal, bindmate. The transformation does not take place in a single night. It is a continuous process. In the fullness of time, you will fully be one of us. Never fear.”

  “With you at my side, I don’t.”

  “You should merge with the Unity again, bindmate,” Nilista said. “There is much being imparted.”

  It was harder for him than it was for her because he was so new at it. It also left him feeling drained. But he did as she wanted and felt himself immersed in the river of collective consciousness. Without having to sort and sift, he became aware of certain aspects of the attack.

  Their leaders estimated that about half the Blue Worlders had been gathered so far, their heads en route to the laboratories of the Eryghr.

  Kralun also learned that the assault on the golden egg that harbored the hospital had not gone well. An army of Gryghr had been repulsed by a pair of RAM 3000’s.

  The Martians didn’t call them that, of course. To the natives, the battle suits were regarded much as they regarded their own carapaces, as hard shells that shielded their internal organs. And that was what they called the RAM’s: Hard Shells. Of all the human weapons, the Martians were most wary of those.

  Kralun reminded himself that he had to stop thinking of the Martians ‘as’ Martians. They were not any such thing. They were the Unity.

  “We near the hive that rules,” Nilista said.

  Kralun slipped out of the communal awareness to be himself again. He couldn’t do both at the same time, as Nilista could. That would take a lot of practice.

  The tunnel brought them up into a large dark building where the Gryghr were massing, only a block from the Administrative Center.

  Kralun could see it off through the front window. He could also see the tank positioned in front of it.

  “Any moment,” Nilista said.

  No sooner did she tell him than a Hryghr crashed out of a building further down, close to the tank. Like a living battering ram, the blue warrior hurtled to the attack. Kralun expected a repeat of what he had witnessed earlier. The warrior would prevail, the tank would be destroyed.

  But the Hryghr was not even halfway to its nemesis when the ground under it erupted in a titanic explosion.

  The Hryghr, as huge and heavy as it was, was flung into the air and literally ripped in half.

  A mine! Kralun realized. The humans had mined the approaches to the Admin Center.

  The blue warrior was dead before its parts hit the ground.

  As if they were endowed with but one mind and one purpose, the Gryghr poured out into the street to avenge him.

  Kralun tried to warn them. He tried to insert himself into the Unity and project images of mines, but he was too inexperienced.

  Those out in front were reduced to fragments by a second blast. Those behind them pressed on and met their end by yet another, pieces cascading down like so many hailstones.

  Thankfully, Kralun was well back in the swarm. But he was far from out of danger. The tank’s operator had opened up with its ion cannon, to devastating effect. A dozen Gryghr near him were reduced to their elements in midstride.

  The turret gunner was doing his part, too. Martian after Martian fell as the MASER turned their insides to jelly.

  The attack wasn’t going well. Were Kralun in charge, he would call it off to regroup. But the Gryghr showed no inclination to retreat. Those slain were instantly replaced by those coming after them. Hundreds died. Hundreds more would have, except that, to Kralun’s surprise and joy, a hole suddenly appeared under the tank. A driller had come up from below. The hole rapidly widened, and the driller withdrew. Drillers weren’t fighters.

  The tank’s rear tilted down. The operator reacted by throwing the tank into drive, its tires seeking purchase that wasn’t there. Kralun recognized the gleam of insignia on the driver’s suit. It was an officer. A major.

  With no traction so it could right itself, the tank became stuck in the hole. Its front end was pointed at the dome, effectually rendering much of its armament useless.

  The turret gunner made it out and ran for the Admin entrance, ducking inside.

  The major left his seat and scrambled to the turret, but he wasn’t quite out when the foremost Gryghr reached him. In the heat of combat, with the loss of so many of their fellows a gaping hurt in the Unity, they forgot their purpose. Instead of ripping off the major’s head and taking it back to convert, they tore him into particles no bigger than a human fingernail.

  Kralun got there in time to join in. His grippers fastened on a booted foot, which he gleefully tore off.

  In the flush of victory, the Gryghr raised their grippers to the stars.

  Suddenly, Kralun became aware of a stir of apprehension. He turned his eye stalks in the direction the rest were turning, and shared in their unease. Down the block new enemies hovered.

  A pair of Hard Shells.

  Captain Archard Rahn and Lieutenant Ula Burroughs took longer than Archard liked to rearm their battle suits. Even with Everett and Pasco helping, the ammunition, darts, missiles, and grenades had to be wheeled down the short hall from the armory, then carefully raised by a mechanical arm and just as carefully loaded. Although trained to prep a battle suit in under ten minutes, it took almost half an hour before both RAM’s were ready to reengage the enemy.

  Katla and Trisna and the children wat
ched, prudently staying out of the way. It was obvious to Archard that Katla wanted him to go over and talk to her, but he didn’t have the time. He needed to get back to Dome One, and the hospital. To that end, as soon as the suits were ready, he waved to her and sealed himself in.

  Archard was first up the ramp and the first to go airborne. They started toward the other dome just as their commlinks blared.

  “Mayday! Mayday! To all U.N.I.C. personnel! This is Major

  Howard! Sergeant Kline and I need immediate assistance at Admin! Repeat! Immediate assistance is required! All units respond!”

  Archard keyed his mic. “This is Captain Rahn. Lieutenant Burroughs and I are on our way.” He swooped toward the Administrative Center.

  Burroughs, doing her shadowing act, said, “What about the hospital?”

  “This shouldn’t take long,” Archard hoped. That they were late getting back to Corporal Arnold was bothering him, too.

  Thrusters at full, they soared over damaged buildings and debris and scattered torsos and arms and legs. In vain, Archard sought for the heat signatures of colonists still alive. The Administrative Center came into view, and the street in front of it.

  “Dear God,” Burroughs breathed.

  Archard brought his RAM to a stop and once again hovered. The area around Admin literally crawled with creatures. The tank had fallen into a hole and was being ripped apart. So was a trooper. Magnifying the visual feed, he recognized the face frozen in a death cry.

  “Major Howard!” Burroughs gasped.

  “I don’t see Sergeant Kline,” Archard said. He hoped the noncom had made it inside. He counted seven heat signatures, all on the top floor except one that was rising in an elevator.

  “The creatures see us, sir,” Burroughs said.

  As one, the Martians had turned and raised their eerie eyes. As one, their grippers rose in what might be construed as a gesture of defiance.

  “Do we engage?” Lieutenant Burroughs asked.