by Lee Stephen
Travis wiped the sweat from his brow. “Yes ma’am.”
“Captain,” she said through the comm, “we are turning the nose to the fight.”
Clarke rose from his knee. “Thank you, Galina!” His attention returned to the strike team. He, Becan, and Jayden had split to the left side of the street, into the worn cover of an abandoned shack. Across the street—on the far right—Scott, David, and Esther were running for the cover of two dumpsters.
The Ceratopians were also split between the two sides of the street, with one group taking cover behind a dilapidated building farther down on the left, and another mirroring them on the right.
Scott found cover behind one of the dumpsters, then leaned around its corner to open fire. David and Esther skidded behind him.
“I don’t think this is how we were supposed to start!” David said.
Ceratopians. They had only fought them once before, but the aliens had left them with permanent impressions. The average Ceratopian stood at just over eight feet tall. Some were taller than that. What their weapons didn’t crush, they crushed themselves. They were brutes. A close encounter with a Ceratopian was like a close encounter with an avalanche—an avalanche that wanted to gore you.
Ceratopians were protected to the core. They were covered with metallic gray armor, and the horned frills that crested over their heads served as natural barricades to EDEN snipers. They could be taken down conventionally, but their most vulnerable spot was the tan-colored skin just beneath their necklines.
Easier said than done.
As a neon-red beam zapped his way, David ducked behind the dumpster again.
“They have us outnumbered at least three to one,” Scott said. “Work on suppression until the Eighth gets here.”
“Yes sir,” David said as he leaned out to fire. Esther stood rigid behind them.
As Becan suppressed from the shack’s window, Jayden slipped out the back door and scurried up a ladder. As soon as he was on the roof, he laid down and attempted to aim.
Clarke adjusted his comm from below. “Captain Ulrich, this is Captain Clarke of the Fourteenth.”
Ulrich’s voice emerged through the static. “I read you, captain.”
“We’re at our position on the southwestern end of the town. We’re suppressed at the moment, but our beach team are en route to the Cruiser.”
“Understood, captain. My team will be in position to assist you at your position momentarily. We already have a team dispatched to the Cruiser.”
“Thank you, captain,” Clarke answered, adjusting his comm thereafter. “What’s the view, Timmons?”
Jayden shook his head from the roof. “I can’t get a clean shot, sir. Not on any of ‘em.”
Back in the Pariah, Galina removed Maksim’s chest plate and shoved it against the wall. Maksim was unresponsive. She placed her med sensor against his chest, where it showed three broken ribs and a cardiac contusion.
Galina injected him with stabilizer and got on the comm. “Captain, Maksim is suffering from serious heart and rib damage. We must get him to Novosibirsk soon.”
Clarke growled then answered. “Is he okay for now?”
“He is stable, captain,” Galina answered, “but the sooner he returns, the better.”
“Has Travis repositioned the ship?”
“Yes, we are landing now.”
Clarke shouldered his assault rifle and leaned against the inner wall of the shack. “Tell him to fire the blasted nose mount.”
“Da, captain.”
“And make himself bloody useful,” he muttered off-comm.
Scott and David hadn’t slowed their firing since they’d taken shelter behind the dumpster. Between the two of them, only one Ceratopian had been felled. They weren’t even sure it was dead.
Suddenly, a shatter of neon caused David to cut a spin in midair as a neutron ray slammed into his shoulder. His gun flew from his hands.
Scott spun to find him.
David landed with a thud. He kicked and propelled himself back behind the dumpsters. The armor of his shoulder was blown off.
“You all right?”
“Yeah,” David grimaced as he grabbed his shoulder. “It’s dislocated.” His eyes watered as he looked past the dumpsters. “My rifle’s in the street.”
Scott turned to Esther. The alpha scout had been frozen behind the dumpster since the battle began. “Pop his shoulder back and get his gun,” Scott ordered her. His focus returned to the battlefield.
Esther made no response. She stared at David open-mouthed, her arms locked at her sides.
“Esther,” David said. She only stared. “Esther!” A moment passed, and he shot a look back to Scott. “She’s shocked.”
Scott growled and ducked from the fight. He shouldered his assault rifle and stepped to David. “Give me your arm.” David held it out, and Scott gave it a violent yank.
David howled as it slid into place. “Veck!” He bit his lip and looked at his rifle as it lay in the open. “Cover me?”
Scott crouched and leaned into the open. He trained his rifle on the clustered Ceratopians and opened fire. “Go.”
David scrambled into the street, grabbed his rifle, and slid back into cover. He checked the stock. It was undamaged. “Lizard barely even hit me.” He shouldered the rifle and engaged again. Several of his bullets hit a Ceratopian in its frill, and it ducked out of sight into an alley. He glanced back to check up on Esther, but Scott was already upon her.
What David saw next completely stunned him. Scott grabbed Esther by the collar, ripped off her helmet, and slapped her dead in the face. The force of the blow was so hard it almost knocked her off her feet.
David started back as Esther’s mouth fell.
“Wake up!” Scott roared, slamming her helmet back in her hands. “And get in the game!”
David stared slack-jawed at the scene.
Esther stuttered a terrified whimper, then clumsily adjusted her helmet back on her head. “Sir, yes sir, I’m so sorry!”
Scott readied his assault rifle and edged to the rim of the dumpster. He swung around, aimed at a Ceratopian, and gunned it to the ground.
David never said a word.
Jayden squinted and rolled as a neutron ray zapped past his head. It missed him by inches, and he exhaled.
“Veck, tha’ looked close to me,” Becan whistled from below. “Yeh all righ’ up there, Jay?”
“I felt it!” Jayden said, shifting back into position.
“We need air support!” Clarke screamed through the comm. He shot a glance to the Pariah, which sat motionless in the street. “Why aren’t you firing the bloody cannon?”
Seconds later, Boris’s voice crackled through. “Captain, she will not fire. We are trying.”
Clarke’s mouth fell open. “She won’t bloody fire?”
“Nyet, captain. The cannon is jammed.”
“Brilliant,” Clarke said. “That’s just brilliant.”
Travis grunted from beneath the cockpit, where he fiddled furiously with the cannon mount. “Veck, veck, veck! Come on, Pariah!”
Boris’s eyes widened from the co-pilot’s seat. “Travis! Grenade! Grenade!”
Travis banged his head on the console, then scrambled into his seat. When he glanced out the window, his mouth hung open. The red glow of a Ceratopian pulse grenade was in mid-flight, heading straight for the nose of the ship. Travis’s muscles tensed, and he and Boris ducked down. “Hold on!”
As soon as the grenade touched the Vulture’s nose, a burst of invisible energy exploded. The Pariah was rocked upward as its nose left the ground. Galina screamed from the bay.
The ship landed with a crash, cockeyed from its previous perch. Travis wrestled into his seat and grabbed the controls. “We’re dustin’ off!”
Boris fell back into the co-pilot’s chair.
“Captain,” Travis said through the comm, “we’re moving to a safer location—”
Clarke cut him off. “I know, I know! Go
!”
As Travis pulled back the stick, Galina emerged from the cockpit door. Blood dripped from her hairline. Her eyes gleamed with rage, as a slew of Russian hatred poured from her mouth.
“Do I wanna know what that means?” Travis asked.
“No,” Boris answered. “You do not.”
As Clarke fired from the window of the shack, Dostoevsky’s voice crackled through the comm. “We have converged with the Eighth by the Cruiser. We are beginning our assault now.”
Clarke reloaded his gun. “Good luck, Yuri.”
“Yes, captain.”
All of a sudden, a neutron ray burst through the window. It slammed straight into Clarke’s breastplate. He flew airborne through the shack, where he nearly crashed through the back wall.
“Captain!” Becan said, whipping around.
Clarke squirmed on the floor. “Help me get this bloody thing off!” His armor was dented completely inward, pressing into his chest. He fell back and screamed.
Becan scrambled to the back of the shack. He skidded beside the captain and hustled to unclamp the damaging breastplate.
As soon as the armor was loosened, Clarke shoved it off of his body and buckled over. “Bloody hell!”
“Yeh all righ’?”
Clarke ripped off his shirt, revealing bruised and bloodied skin. He pounded his head back against the wall.
Becan was on the comm immediately. “Galya, we need yeh down here. Clarke’s been—”
“No,” said Clarke into the comm, cutting the Irishman off. “I’m fine. Travis, stay up there and fix that cannon!”
“Are yeh sure, captain?” Becan asked.
“Yes, I’m sure.” He clenched his teeth. “Get to the window and help Timmons.”
“Yes sir.”
Clarke pounded the ground and leaned his head back. His armor, creased inward beyond use, lay abandoned at his side. He mustered his endurance and pushed up.
Scott was about to reload when Clarke’s strained voice addressed him through the comm. “Remington, I’ve been hit for six over here. What’s your situation?”
“We’re accomplishing nothing,” Scott said, frustration brewing in his voice as he reloaded a fresh clip. “We’re just here.”
“I’m open to any suggestions you might have.”
Scott fired a volley around the corner, then ducked back. Esther was by his side taking shots on occasion. For the most part, the scout was ineffective. “What’s Ulrich’s status?” Scott asked.
“He should be here momentarily,” answered Clarke.
A neutron ray exploded against the corner of Scott’s dumpster. He closed his eyes and jumped back as a wave of shrapnel struck him, tattering against his armor. A small gash was sliced through his cheek, spackling his visor with blood. Grinding his teeth together, he felt the cut. When he pulled back his fingers, they were soaked. His eyes burned, and he snarled back into his comm.
“I’m sending Esther ahead to overlook the streets.” At the sound of her name, Esther froze. “I’ll have her coordinate attack orders back and forth between us and the Eighth, based on whoever the Ceratopians are focusing on. When they’re gunning for us, the Eighth will attack. When they’re gunning for the Eighth, we’ll step forward. We’ll constantly hit their weak side. Let’s end this stalemate now.”
“Let’s, then,” Clarke answered. “That sounds better than anything else we’ve accomplished. I’ll get you in touch with Ulrich.”
Scott turned to the alpha scout. “Move ahead and find a high vantage point. I’ll have the Eighth fortify a position further down the street. They’ll be impossible for the Ceratopians to miss.” He stared her straight in the eyes. “As soon as the Ceratopians avert their attention to the Eighth, give us the word to attack. We’ll press forward, and the Eighth will fall back. When the Ceratopians shift their focus to us, relay it to the Eighth. They’ll press forward while we fall back. We’ll alternate our attacks based on the enemy’s weak side.”
“Yes, sir,” Esther said. Her voice wavered.
“We’ll notify the Eighth of our plan and wait for your signal. Tell us as soon as the Ceratopians take sight of them. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“Go.”
As Esther turned to make her way through the back streets, David placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her. She flinched and turned his way.
David could see it in her eyes. She was terrified. “Esther,” he said. “You’re going to be okay. You can do this.”
“Yes, sir,” she stammered.
He slapped her shoulder. “Go get ‘em, girl.”
She disappeared into the back streets.
Scott was on the comm with Captain Ulrich a moment later, where he relayed the details of the plan.
“Understood, lieutenant,” answered Ulrich. “We will take their attention and open their flank to you. We will not attack until you instruct us.”
“We’ll let you know when we engage.”
“We will wait for you. Good luck, Remington.”
Scott closed the comm channel and knelt to fire.
Every move Esther made was in silence. Her feet flitted along the ground like a ballerina’s as she traveled down Khatanga’s back streets.
Scout armor was different from standard EDEN armor. It was lightweight and minimal. It was designed for stealth. As she passed beneath the windows of the warehouse walls, she listened to the exchange of gunfire. Everything was distinct to her ears. The swapping of projectile and neutron. The double-pop of a hit. The vocal cries of the fighters—both human and alien. She was trained for the discrepancies of each.
The mission had shocked her. It was nothing like the Academy simulations. If she lost in the simulations, it didn’t matter. But here, everything did. And so far, she’d completely blown it.
Stop messing around, Esther, she thought. You can still do a good job. You can still turn this around. Just do what you were trained to do, just like David said you would. As she neared Ceratopian territory, she closed her brown eyes and listened.
She didn’t understand Ceratopian. Few people did, and they all worked in Intelligence. Nonetheless, she listened as they barked out their rich tones. She listened.
She listened.
Then she opened her eyes. Her analysis was complete. There were five on her side of the street. She heard their distinct voices. One was deep. A second was deep, too, but not quite as deep as the first. Two lingered in mid-range, and one was injured. The injured always sounded different. She heard nothing at all to indicate that necrilids or canrassis were present.
She scanned her immediate surroundings until she found a single metal pipe that ran up the wall of the nearest warehouse. If she could climb it and reach the roof, she could view the entire field—the Ceratopians below her and the ones on Clarke’s side of the street. The pipe was rusty and old, but she was lighter than anyone. She braced her hands and feet around it and began to scale her way up.
“Travis,” Clarke said through the comm, “where are you?”
The pilot’s voice emerged a moment later. “We’re orbiting the field. The ship got rocked a bit by that pulse grenade, but she’s okay.”
“What’s the status of the cannon?”
“Nothing, sir. We’re not getting anything, especially after that hit.”
“Stay in orbit until we give you further instruction. It’s too volatile down here at the moment.”
“Yes sir.”
Above the captain, on the roof, Jayden squinted his eyes and pulled the trigger. A Ceratopian stumbled backward and fell, as Jayden struck with a perfect neck shot. “Hell yeah,” the Texan said through the comm. “Finally nailed one.”
“Tha’s the way yeh do it,” said Becan. “Now just do it a dozen more times.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m workin’ on it.”
Esther’s feet padded against the warehouse roof as she crept to the height of its metal pitch. She could still hear the Ceratopians below, oblivious to her pre
sence. But there was one less voice now. One of them must have been killed. As she eased her eyeline above the rooftop, the whole of the battlefield came into play. The first thing that she saw stunned her cold.
They were huge. Not just huge. They were gigantic. Their thighs were the size of tree trunks. Their arms were as thick as her body. Their horns could bludgeon a car.
She realized at that moment what they were up against. In a war of strength, humans didn’t stand a chance. Whatever they’d win, they’d win tactically.
Tactically.
She resumed her task.
The majority of the Ceratopians lurked on the opposite side of the street. Her eyes darted amid them as she performed a headcount. Eleven. There were eleven Ceratopians on the other side, swapping turns to fire around the corner. As she’d predicted, there were no necrilids or canrassis at all.
With the four remaining on her side, there were fifteen in total. Between the Fourteenth and Eighth, they could be stopped, especially if demolitions from the Eighth were involved. There was no doubt about it.
She scanned to the northeast. The Eighth came into view. They were grouped together between two buildings, out of visual range of the Fourteenth beyond the neon flashes of neutron. They crept steadily closer to the Ceratopians’ position. Soon their presence would be known.
Esther’s heart rate quickened as she waited for the Ceratopians to spot them. She knew her instructions well. As soon as the aliens saw the Eighth, she would tell the Fourteenth to attack. It had to be perfect timing. She waited for the Ceratopians to show any sign of averted attention, any momentary glance away from the Fourteenth at all. It would happen at any second.
She flinched as she watched the exchange of gunfire. Her fingers trembled. Her brow dripped. The right moment. Wait for the right moment. Wait for the right moment, when the battle would shift in their favor.
The right moment.
Then it happened.
The Ceratopians shifted around. Their horned heads turned as they held their fire and surveyed the Eighth. They were now aware of the newly arrived unit. Their weak side was exposed.
