Angel’s platoon listened as the radio traffic erupted almost like gunfire as the spec ops platoons closed on the swarm. They were ordered to fire as soon as they were in range, but the swarm sensed the danger and started fleeing before the first platoon was even in range.
35
Port Gantry, Hoover District
Neo Terra, Tau Ceti System
“Attack! Attack! Attack!” Colonel Hale shouted into the command channel. “All forces, move in.”
It still took several minutes for the Zephyr Personal Transports hidden behind the warehouses to load up the marines and chase after the swarm. Alpha and Charlie groups both ran toward the aliens, anxious to get in on the fight. They fired as soon as they could, but the swarm was already on the move, pulling back and then funneling away from the flanking maneuver by the special forces platoons charging down from the north and the regular forces racing up from the south.
“They’re running!” Hale said. “We’ve got them on the run.”
The marines on foot raced after the swarm, but they had little chance of catching the much faster aliens. When the zips came charging out of the safety of the warehouses, they flashed across the four hundred meters that made up the kill zone, kicking up billowing clouds of dust. The video feeds from the surveillance planes were lost, and only the comlinks let the colonel know what was happening.
“Bravo group, talk to me,” Hale ordered. “Spec ops, what’s happening? We’ve lost visual.”
“The swarm is fleeing, sir,” said Captain Malachi Reynolds. “We’re in pursuit but just out of range.”
No one saw the zips from Port Gantry crash, not even the vehicles directly behind the forerunners. The heavy vehicles were built to protect the occupants from gun fire, not collisions. The transports drove over the tunnels dug just below the surface, which immediately collapsed under the zephyrs, their heavy engines dropping the front wheels down into a four foot trench that halted the big vehicles instantly and killed the drivers. Many of the occupants in the rear compartment were not strapped down and were thrown against the forward bulkhead or roof of the vehicle with such force that bones were broken. Many died in the crashes, but without good visuals, the vehicles racing behind the forerunners also crashed into the trench, or worse into the already smashed transports.
It took several minutes before someone caught sight of the carnage and called in the danger. Fourteen transports were wrecked, and well over two hundred marines were lost before anyone knew there was danger. The drivers slowed, or stopped, waiting for the dust to clear before moving forward.
The marines on foot hurried to help their fallen comrades, without any thought given to the fleeing swarm. Hale cursed his bad luck. His trap had failed, but his own units had run carelessly into the trap set by his enemy. He felt tears stinging his eyes and his hands shook as he raised the microphone to his lips.
“All units, stand down,” he ordered. “See to the fallen.”
The surveillance planes were ordered to keep the swarm in sight and the spec ops teams were ordered to maintain as much distance as possible while keeping tabs on the fleeing aliens. Four platoons of special forces were formidable, but the fear of more traps by the swarm called for caution rather than haste.
“Where the hell are they going?” Hale asked, furious at his enemy but even angrier at himself. He should have seen the trap. He should have realized they weren’t just stalling.
“The swarm is moving away,” the captain monitoring the video feeds announced. “Looks like they’re flanking us, sir.”
“Let’s shift everyone around to the western side of the city,” Hale ordered.
“Wait, sir,” the captain replied. “They’re moving toward the mountains. Looks like they aren’t taking any chances on closing with Port Gantry.”
“Colonel Hale, come in sir,” a voice said over the comlink. “This is Captain Keppler and we have deceased aliens on the ground sir.”
“What’s that, Keppler?” Hale asked.
“Some of the slain drones are still here, sir,” Keppler said. “They’re dead and we have secured the bodies.”
“Excellent work, Captain. Hold your position, we’ll get teams to you ASAP.”
“Finally,” another officer, a lieutenant in charge of logistics who had been watching the battle from behind Colonel Hale, said. “It’s about time we found out what we’re dealing with.”
“Yes,” Hale said. “It wasn’t a total loss after all.”
“And we saved the port, sir,” the lieutenant said.
“Thank god for small favors,” Hale replied, then began giving orders for teams in hazmat suits to collect the carcasses of the fallen aliens. The rescue effort to help the marines injured or killed in the vehicle pile ups was all consuming, and by the time the battlefield was cleared of bodies and debris, no one noticed that Major Dixon had been among those in the vehicular carnage. He had given the order for his spec ops teams to engage, then caught the first transport racing toward the retreating aliens. He had just snapped himself into a harness, when the transport slammed into the trench. Knocked unconscious by the sudden and violent stop, he was still alive, hanging in his seat by the five-point safety harness, when another transport crashed into his vehicle so hard it sheered the passenger compartment from the cab and sent it flying forward. The compartment landed on its roof and slid over eight meters on the dusty ground.
Nearly an hour after the wreck a group of marines found Major Dixon alive, but unconscious, hanging from his seat. They carefully cut him loose and laid him out on the ground, calling for medical assistance. Medics strapped the major to a gurney and carried him back toward Port Gantry. Word reached Colonel Hale, who left the flight tower and met the medics at the trauma center that had been set up in one of the empty hangars. He found Dixon awake, but strapped to a back board, while doctors checked to see if his spine had been injured in the wreck.
“What’s happening?” Dixon asked in a weak voice.
“We’ve got them on the run,” Hale said. “The port is safe. You rest, Major. There’s nothing for you to worry about. We’ve got your spec ops teams on reconnaissance only, just trailing the swarm.”
“Where?” Dixon asked.
“The bastards are running scared. Headed into the mountains the last I heard.”
Colonel Hale was just about to turn away, when he heard Dixon gasp.
“Colonel,” Dixon urged.
“What? What’s wrong Al?”
“The ARC platoon,” he said in weak voice. “McDuall Station.”
Colonel Hale thought about the experimental mech platoon. They were a small group of mixed branches of service. He knew they had been sidelined but he couldn’t put his finger on where exactly. The colonel stepped over to one of the doctors who was stationed on Neo Terra.
“Where’s McDuall Station?” Hale asked the doctor.
“Umm, I believe that’s southwest of here,” the physician replied.
“In the mountains?”
“No sir, there are no settlements in the mountains.”
“Very good,” Hale said. “Carry on.”
The colonel approached the next wounded man, and promptly forgot about the ARC platoon, which he guessed was still completely out of the way and the least of his worries.
36
McDuall Station, Hoover District
Neo Terra, Tau Ceti System
“They’re heading straight for the mountains,” Beemus declared.
“Oh shit!” Ruiz said.
“That means we’re on,” Cash said. “Lieutenant, a word.”
Angel felt her heart racing. She wanted to help and she wanted to run away. Surely they were wrong, she thought. Surely the swarm wouldn’t head into the mountains. Didn’t Major Dixon tell her they hadn’t been sighted in the mountain ranges? She realized that the mountains around the co-op weren’t towering, granite summits, but still they would surely be enough to shelter her small platoon. She followed Staff Sergeant Cashman awa
y from the rest of the platoon who were still huddled around the communication center.
“Lieutenant, we have to do something,” Cash said.
“No, we don’t,” Angel replied.
“The swarm is coming this way,” he argued. “They’ll tear through this compound and kill every one of us.”
“You don’t know that. They don’t go into the mountains.”
“I’ve seen these mountains up close,” Cash argued. “They’re coming.”
“That doesn’t mean they’ll come through here,” Angel argued. “They could change direction at any time. There are a lot of mountains.”
“But only one pass,” Cash said. “We have to be ready. That choke point you sent me to is a perfect ambush site.”
“Staff Sergeant,” Angel said, feeling as if her world were suddenly spinning out of control. “Are you really suggesting that seven of us ambush a hive with thousands of aliens in it? Have you lost your mind?”
“We can set up on the steep mountainsides,” Cash said. “There’s cover there. We might not stop them, but we can do our best to keep them from rushing through the pass and destroying the co-op. That’s our objective, right, to protect this farm.”
“No,” Angel said turning away from Cashman. “We can’t do that.”
“We have to,” he urged.
She walked away from him, moving back toward the comms station, but wishing she could run far away. What had she been thinking, she wondered? She wasn’t a soldier, joining the CSF had been a mistake. She needed to go home.
Fear was crippling her mind. She could feel her heart racing and her entire body was trembling. Tears filled her eyes and her face flushed. She was a coward, she knew that, somehow she had always known it. Cashman was a fighter, but she was just a pretender. Somehow she had gotten caught up in someone else’s game, and she needed to get out. She would have to find a way to resign, to pay back the money she’d earned and get back to Earth, back to where she was safe. She could go home, get a job, and forget about Neo Terra and everything happening on a planet she should never have been to.
“We have multiple wrecks,” someone on the comlink reported. “I repeat, transports have fallen into some kind of fissure. Massive casualties. We need help down here.”
“What’s going on?” Angel asked.
“Sounds like the staff sergeant was right,” Bolton said. “They set a trap and we ran straight into it. The comm channel is nearly overloaded with chatter.”
The dust clouds were still obscuring the video feed from the surveillance plane, but multiple reports of the accidents were pouring in from the battle field near Port Gantry. Some of the marines calling in were in a panic, reporting destroyed vehicles, and dismembered marines. Something inside of Angel snapped. It felt physical, but she knew that it wasn’t. Her fear turned to rage as they listened to the reports. Tears fell from her eyes, and the carnage she could only imagine was terrifying but she no longer wanted to flee. She wanted to strike back at the creatures who had killed so many humans.
“They’re still headed toward the mountains,” Beemus said. “At this rate they could be here in about two hours.”
Angel turned to Cash, who wasn’t behind her anymore. He had gone to one of the storage crates and was flipping the latches to open the lid.
“How long will it take us to get to the ambush site?” she said.
“Ten minutes to the site, another ten to get into position,” he said.
“Our weapons won’t be much good from a distance,” she pointed out.
“That’s why we always come prepared,” Cash said, lifting the cover off the crate and pulling out what looked to be a shoulder mounted rocket launcher.
“That’s right baby,” Ruiz said. “Time for some payback.”
“Daniels!” Angel said in a loud voice. “You’re on comms duty. You’ll be our eyes and ears. You don’t leave the station no matter what. You’re on duty until I relieve you in person. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” the petty officer replied.
“Tell me you have explosives,” Angel said to Cash.
“A little, what do you have in mind?”
“Beemus, can your airmen plant bombs?” Angel asked.
“I don’t see why not?” the chief warrant officer replied.
“We have a case of plastic explosives and blasting caps,” Cash said. “About two hundred pounds all told, with remote detonation devices.”
“Excellent,” Angel said. “Lump, what are those mountains made of?”
“Shale mostly, with granite underneath, some sandstone,” the farmer said. “Not the best material if you’re planning to dig in. It’s pretty loose and not all that stable.”
“That’s perfect,” Angel said.
“Hang on,” Hays said. “The swarm can sniff out explosives. Hell they eat that shit.”
“He’s right,” Ruiz agreed. “And if we bring the mountain down on top of them they’ll just dig their way out.”
“Look, we can’t kill the entire swarm,” Angel said. “We don’t have the weapons for that sort of thing. Our job is to turn them away from the farm, and hopefully get some payback in the process.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Vancini declared.
“Let’s lay it all out, and make a plan,” Angel said. “We don’t have much time.”
“You heard the lieutenant,” Cashman shouted. “Unload this crate, get everything laid out neatly on the ground.”
“Rogan, you airmen get us some transportation ready,” Angel ordered. “We’ve got one shot at this. And if they get through the mountains before we’re in position we’ll have lost before we started.”
Joan Rogan nodded.
“You sure about this?” Cashman said quietly to Angel as his fire team unpacked their weapons crate. “Chances are we won’t survive. I didn’t mean to push you into doing something you’re not ready for. I can lead the team. You take the airmen and Petty Officer Daniels to safety.”
“No,” Angel replied. “You didn’t push me into anything. I don’t want to die, John, but those animals have to be stopped. This is personal now. We may die in the process, but we’re going to take as many of those monsters with us as possible.”
“Oorah,” Cash said quietly, his face beaming with admiration. “Lieutenant, you are one hell of a marine.”
37
McDuall Station, Hoover District
Neo Terra, Tau Ceti System
Time was flying by and Angel could feel it. The slow drag of waiting was over, and what was left wasn’t enough. They could spend days preparing for the ambush, but they didn’t have days. They didn’t have one day, or even a few hours.
“We’ve got four rocket propelled grenades,” Bolton said.
“Two belt fed .50 caliber machine guns,” Cash added, “and our personal weapons.”
“Let’s talk ammunition,” Angel said.
“We have four canisters of the belt ammo for the .50 cals. A thousand rounds in each.”
“We’ve got three canisters of frags,” Cash said, “with seven hundred and ten rounds in each one. That’s five magazines worth of ammo for each of our TA71s. And we’ve got twice that for the Tragger 51s.”
“We need something to carry the extra weapons and ammunition in,” Angel said.
“They got grain sacks,” Hays suggested. “It won’t be pretty but it’ll work.”
“Get them and get everything loaded,” Angel said. “We have to move now.”
“Explosives are ready,” Beemus said. “I sent Airman Rogan ahead with the plastique, we’ll follow with the detonators.”
“Good,” Angel said. “How are we on vehicles?”
“Rogan is on the ATV,” Beemus continued. “The rest of us can load into these two cargo haulers.”
“Excellent,” Angel said, glancing around, trying to make sure that she hadn’t forgotten anything.
“Daniels, any word from Hale or Dixon at the FOB?” Angel asked.
“No ma’am, we’re still getting lost in all the chatter from the marines wounded or killed in the initial attack.”
“Alright, keep trying. I need to know as soon as you reach someone,” Angel said.
“We’re ready,” Cashman said.
“Roger that, staff sergeant,” Angel replied. “Let’s get moving.”
She got behind the wheel of one of the cargo haulers. They were simple machines, just a big combustion engine with a small cab and a flat cargo bed. The smell of fuel and oil was strong in the garage as she feathered the accelerator. The cargo hauler had six wheels, and rolled quickly across the compound. The road leading to the mountains wasn’t hard to find, but it was little more than a rutted path, and the cargo hauler wasn’t built for comfort.
Angel pushed the pace as fast as she dared to go. Cashman was in the seat next to her. His Nelson Arms TA 71 looked nothing like the weapon she had learned to shoot in basic training. The forward hand guard of molded heavy plastic had been replaced by an airflow guard that looked almost like a lattice around the barrel. It had a pistol style fore grip, and the wooden buttstock had been replaced with a foldable metal stock that could be adjusted for the shooter’s purpose and preference. The aiming sights had been removed, replaced by small aiming scopes with a laser distance indicator. The weapon looked rugged and well used.
“You any good with that thing?” Angel asked, trying to calm her nerves as they drove up the bumpy mountain road.
“Good enough,” Cash said. “You okay?”
“This is insane you know? We’ll probably all be slaughtered but we have to do something.”
ARC Angel (ARC Angel Series Book 1) Page 20
