by Tyler Leslie
CHAPTER 13
Davis was beside himself with excitement. The weeks following his graduation had been hectic to say the least. He had been assigned to a platoon and shipped off to Australia within a few days of entering the group of soldiers. Apparently intel had surfaced regarding an attack on the country, and several hours before Davis and his fellow soldiers arrived the reports turned out to be accurate. A very large Scurrat’kan force—commanded by their equivalent of a two-star general, no less—had literally exploded out of the ground right next to the city of Perth and laid waste to the majority of the city. It was Davis’ platoon’s job to provide assistance to the remaining people in the city and attempt to clean up the mess left by the mini war that had just raged through.
As the helicopter carrying his platoon landed at the foot of Perth, Davis’ breath caught in his throat. There was no way for him to be prepared for the scene of utter devastation that lay before him. Buildings were not merely leveled, but burned to the ground completely. Rank, bloodied bodies lined the streets like a macabre ornamental rug, the blood tracing patterns on the dusty road.
The soldiers all found themselves speechless as they stood on the perimeter of the town. None of the intense training they had endured could have prepared them for such a welcome. Davis had always imagined his first encounter with a situation like this. In his mind he had always been strong and confident, able to take charge of his emotions and follow his troops without much impact. The reality was that he had no idea what to do but stand there with his battalion in silence.
Lieutenant Griggs, a gruff and stereotypical military man, broke through the silence roughly. “Alright, soldiers, this is neither the time nor the place for gawping at helpless innocents. You all knew the direness of the situation before we even set foot on the helicopter. These Scuratt’ka are merciless and will do exactly the same to you without a moment’s hesitation if you let ’em. We’ve got a job to do, so you all better suck it up, suck it in, and get on the move!” To punctuate his point, Griggs harshly shoved the nearest soldier with the butt of his carbine and started moving forward into the devastated town.
Despite, or perhaps even because of, the Lieutenant’s largely unsuccessful pep-talk, Davis felt fear rising inside him to a degree he had never before felt. He had been supremely confident in his training, always pretending like it had been the real deal, real combat. He now realized that no matter how hard he had pretended, it had never really been real to him—even in the final trial when the enemy warrior had him pinned, he still knew safety was right around the corner. Now, in this alien and oppressive environment, there was no safety, no solace, and no peace. There was only the cold, brutal reality of the war that they had been sequestered from for far too long. This was it, and there was nothing to do but face the enemy now.
Davis suddenly realized his platoon had left him behind at the chopper. He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed. Resisting the strong urge to yell for them to stop, Davis tore into the fastest run he could muster in his heavy gear, a movement that more closely resembled the gallop of a three-legged horse than an actual sprint. He tried hard not to focus on the bodies that lay around him, instead keeping his eyes on the slowly enlarging backs of his compatriots. Here in Perth the heat was tremendous—a fact not helped by the fifty-odd pounds of gear he was laden with. He had slung his carbine over his shoulder when he started to run, but the thing kept sliding off his shoulder and nearly taking a tumble in the dirt. Davis had been told the weapon was nearly incapable of jamming, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He hefted the weapon into his hands and continued to run in this way for about a minute.
Finally Davis made it within shouting distance of his companions. He wondered how on earth they had managed to make it so far from him so quickly. Apparently Lieutenant Griggs didn’t understand the concept of taking things slow.
Davis was just about to put on a burst of extra speed when something exploded to his right, sending him off his feet and into the carcass of a ruined building. For the next few seconds his world was nothing but ringing and blinding white light. He could only numbly feel his body, and could tell he had landed sharply on his side, but was having trouble moving his right leg. A few more seconds passed and consciousness returned in full, along with an intense pain in his leg and side. Davis bit back a scream and gritted his teeth so hard he thought they might actually snap off from his gums. He knew the explosion that had landed him here had likely been caused but a Scuratt’kan ambush, but he had no idea if they knew he was still alive. His question was answered within moments as the shiny black armor of an elite warrior filled his world. Without a single noise the warrior grabbed the piece of roofing that was pinning Davis’ leg and tossed it away like a rag doll, then lifted Davis by the straps of his ammo bag and held him at face level.
Davis couldn’t see the face of the warrior, but he knew there was some sort of smirk behind that armored visage. The warrior turned his head and shouted something to another warrior in the Scurrat’kan language, received something that sounded like a guttural laugh, and then turned his attention back to Davis. The creature seemed to be studying him, analyzing his threat level. Apparently he concluded that Davis was nothing to fear, and he tossed the man back into the dirt from which he had grabbed him. The warrior turned his back on the Marine and began to walk away.
Davis had just started to blow out a sigh of relief when the warrior turned and, in a movement that could hardly be followed by the eye, back-handed Davis across the face, instantly knocking him out cold.
“. . . Marine! Get up, you pussy-footed no-good excuse for a soldier! I swear if it wasn’t for… you’d be totally and completely…”
Davis swam in a sea of black and grey, a conflagration of barely discernible light and sound that roiled over him like an all-consuming fog. He was aware of someone yelling at him, yet couldn’t muster up enough conscious thought to reply—or even focus on him at all, for that matter. He felt like he was caught below the surface of a sea of molasses, unable to right himself and seek out the intoxicatingly fresh air above. A few minutes passed and he was able to make out a crowd of people above him. The haze came and went, and for a fleeting second he recognized the grizzled and permanently angry face of Lieutenant Griggs hovering over him; then blackness once more reigned.
When he finally surfaced into full consciousness he was confronted with nearly the entire troop of soldiers he had been flown in with, their expressions plastered with emotions ranging from annoyed to concerned, to utter passivity.
“It’s about darn time you woke up, Marine!” Griggs was not pleased at all by Davis’ ‘stunt’ as he would later call it. “I don’t know how your drill instructors did it, and I certainly don’t know how that abysmal Commander Pikes does it, but here in my troop we leave no man behind! That means all these good men had to stand around for a good forty-five minutes waiting for you to get your sorry keister up off the floor!”
Davis wasn’t sure how to reply. As if it had been his fault that he was ambushed and knocked out by a ten-foot-tall hostile creature!
Griggs didn’t even give Davis the chance to retort. “Are you sure you can handle this assignment, Marine? If you want I can call your mommy and have you airlifted home in a jiffy! I’m sure she’ll be tickled pink to have you home again, grabbing for the bottle and ready to coo!”
Davis knew if he said anything at all disrespectful he’d likely be smacked with the butt of a carbine, so he disobeyed his instinct and kept his mouth shut. Instead he offered through gritted teeth, “I’m ready for active duty… Sir.”
The Lieutenant leaned in until his nose was literally touching Davis’. “I must be going deaf, Marine, because I didn’t hear a word you just said!”
Davis squared his jaw and said it louder this time. “I’m ready for active duty, Sir!”
Griggs assumed an expression like he’d just been slapped in the face. “I
s that what you call a proper response, Marine? I’ve heard better from my retarded infant cousin! Make me believe it!”
Davis sat up, puffed out his chest, pulled in a lung-full of air, and shouted at the top of his lungs. “I’m ready for active duty, Sir!”
Griggs gave a barely discernible nod, and with the look of disgust still adorning his face, stood up and addressed the Marines standing around him.
“All right, Ladies, we’ve wasted enough time standing around baby-sitting this soldier. We’re lucky the enemy hasn’t shown its ugly mug yet. Let’s move out and mop up this place! Move move move!”
Davis was hauled to his feet by two of his fellow soldiers and shoved in the direction Griggs was moving. For a fleeting second Davis wondered if he was really cut out for this.
Prince Davenport took a step back from the painting he had been working on for the past two weeks. Ever since he had returned from his foray with the Senator, he had been working tirelessly on it. It was a copy of a Van Gogh that he had felt was inferior to the quality it should have possessed. The Prince therefore was burdened to take it upon himself to improve the piece. Naturally, when finished, it would be sold at twice the price the original would have gone for. It was, after all, superior art from a superior man.
His art-filled revelations were interrupted by a knock on the door of his studio. If it had been anyone less than Godfrey, he would have fired the man, or woman for that matter, on the spot.
Godfrey bowed low as was customary for him, and said, “Your Excellency has a comm call on the private channel. It seems rather urgent, if I may say so.”
The Prince nodded and waved the ‘youth’ off. His ‘private’ channel was reserved only for MindGate, so it was indeed a call of utmost importance. He turned back to the painting. He would finish his work first. You can’t rush art, after all…
CHAPTER 14
Davis was in the middle of a war zone. It must have been a mere three minutes after he had been reunited with the living world before the Scuratt’ka had attacked again. This time, the entire troop had been ambushed and was pinned behind a crumbled pile of stone that once served as the front wall of a general store. There seemed to be about five warriors outside the shop, and all of them were mercilessly attacking the soldiers, not allowing them even the opportunity to peek a head up and see what they were up against.
The pinging sound of metal slamming against ruined brick reverberated throughout the remains of the shop, striking the hearts of the men with mounting fear each time the noise erupted. Even Griggs seemed to have mellowed out a bit. He was in battle mode now, and wouldn’t stop until every last Scuratt’kan warrior lay still on the ground.
Even if Davis had wanted to yell out a command or even an encouragement to the men, he couldn’t have. Such was the level of noise ricocheting around inside the shop. That was far from the biggest issue that faced them, however. If these were the same soldiers that had bushwhacked him earlier, there was an elite warrior with them, and because none of the marines were armed with plasma weaponry, that spelled certain destruction for the entire squad.
It was obvious by the expression on Griggs’ face that he knew this truth, too. None of the soldiers had been equipped with the MG Transmitter due to it being temporarily recalled after a malfunction. There was therefore no way to kill the elite warrior, and he could have his way with them at his leisure.
Suddenly the pinging of the attack stopped and silence reigned. All the men simultaneously caught their breaths, wondering what was about to happen. A few minutes passed before anyone was daring enough to try to capture a look outside. One of the men Davis hadn’t gotten to know was the first to peek around the corner, and was summarily the first to yell in victory.
“They’re gone!” He laughed in excitement. “They’re really gone!”
He stood up and took a tentative step outside of the shop. The next few seconds came in a slow-motion blur. One second the enthusiastic Marine was standing, the next he was on the floor groping a bloody hole in his chest. Davis scarcely had time to yell out an unnecessary warning before the wall they had been taking cover behind exploded into hundreds of pieces of stone shrapnel. Three huge arms reached into the midst of the men and grabbed two of them, pulling them outside into the daylight and toward certain destruction. Davis dove out of the way of a fourth arm that was blindly flying toward him, rolled, and came up guns blazing. The bullets pinged off the elite warrior’s armor; Davis knew his gun was useless against this foe, but there was nothing else to do but try to take him down.
Time slowed down again, and in the middle of the clanging pinging of bullets, cough-inducing smoke, and screams of Marines getting slaughtered, Davis could dimly make out another sound. A sound he had become familiar with during his months of training—the sound of an AMBA approaching. The heavy, far-off thuds gave way to a sound akin to a vacuum sucking in an enormous amount of air, and then crescendoed to a cacophony of light and explosively loud noise. The arm that had been groping for Davis burst into a blue fog of smoke and fire, flew across the room and smashed into the far wall. The sound of the Scuratt’kan warrior screaming was something Davis would never forget. It was a low, piercing, haunting sound that was more animalistic than anything else.
Davis quickly got to his feet and charged around the corner of the now utterly destroyed wall, and a sight that immediately lifted his spirits filled his vision. Not one, but two AMBAs stood in the middle of the bloodbath the Scuratt’kan warriors had caused. The bodies of the alien warriors were strewn amidst those of his kindred, and the stench of seared flesh permeated the air. Davis took another step forward into the protective embrace of the AMBAs, and looked around for his remaining compatriots.
Only three remained standing—one of whom was, naturally, the die-hard Lieutenant Griggs. Davis didn’t remember seeing him during the attack. Perhaps Griggs had simply removed himself from the action the second it started going down. Davis gave the Lieutenant a hard stare as a test, and the commanding officer stared right back with every ounce of the tenacity Davis had come to expect from the man. Griggs was a man who was not only extremely chauvinistic in his commanding of a unit, but also a very hard guy to read. The Lieutenant continued to hold Davis’ stare for a few more beats, then looked away in what seemed like disgust. He kicked at the dirt, rousing a small cloud of brown fog that slowly floated down the road.
Davis turned his attention to one of the AMBA pilots who was currently exiting the machine. The man jumped off the top step of the ladder attached to the war machine and landed with surprising agility. He pulled off his helmet with a flourish, revealing a mop of white-blonde hair and a smug grin of satisfaction. He extended a hand to Davis out of what seemed like protocol rather than courtesy.
“Hey there, Brother, the name’s Chip.” He held Davis’ eye contact for an uncomfortably long period of time after the two men shook hands, as if he was sizing Davis up as a potential threat. Davis returned the sentiment offered by this Chip and then asked him how long he’d been piloting an AMBA.
“Literally a day, friend. I’ve quickly discovered there’s nothing like the rush of battle while encased in this metal monster. It’s a feeling of power akin to nothin’ else!”
Chip had an accent that was hard to place, either British or South African. Davis never had been able to tell the difference. Either way, he immediately didn’t like Chip. There was just something about him, something that couldn’t really be put into words. It was like he harbored an air of arrogance even though the man exhibited no actual signs of it.
Davis turned to look at the other AMBA pilot, who was only just now climbing down the ladder. There was hardly any time for Davis to get a good look at the man. Within seconds of the pilot touching down on soil he was pierced through the chest by a mirror-polished lance of Scurrat’kan origin. He screamed a gurgled, choked-off scream and fell on his face in the dirt.
Davis didn’t even think about what he was doing, he just reacted. An AMBA pilot was now face first in the mud and there was an attack occurring. The newly graduated Marine rushed for the cockpit of the AMBA, leaping up the ladder like it was a single step. He spun into the command chair and slapped the hatch mechanism, which slammed shut and filled the small space with the sounds of air pressurizing and seals being activated. Davis looked over and saw that Chip had already done the same, and was turning to face the attackers.
From somewhere deep within him, Davis felt a pang of competitive drive surface. This was no time to be foolhardy and show off, but at the same time it made perfect sense to do so. Davis spun his machine around with, in his mind, twice the grace that Chip had exhibited, and bore his weapons down on the advancing armada. As soon as the Scuratt’kan warriors saw the two AMBAs spin to face them they dove for cover. Unlike the first assault, there was no elite warrior to back up this pack and they clearly knew it.
There was little for Davis and Chip to do but stand there and wait for the enemy to reveal itself. Davis stole a quick glance in his rear camera and saw the remaining members of his squad get into cover in front of a nearby building. It was unlikely they’d even have to fire their weapons with two fully armed AMBAs in front of them, but it was still always prudent to take cover.
After what seemed like an eternity, one of the enemy warriors peeked his head around the corner of the building, and immediately was blasted by a soft-ball sized orb of plasma energy. He fell without a sound. Chip whooped with satisfaction, and Davis’ dislike for the man grew exponentially.
There was no sign of the other two Scuratt’ka for several seconds, then out of nowhere one of them leapt on top of Davis. It was all the Marine could do to keep his machine on its feet; Scuratt’ka were nearly as large as the AMBA itself and weighed a significant amount. If one of them were to grapple with the human machine, it would be a hard opponent to fend off—or it would have been had Chip not come charging to the rescue. With surprising agility, Chip cleared the distance between him and Davis and backhanded the warrior right across the side of the head, sending him tumbling to the earth with a crashing thud. He growled in anger and rolled back onto his feet with speed. Davis didn’t give him a chance to retaliate, and put a smoking, grapefruit-sized hole in the alien’s chest. He, like the other warrior, fell soundlessly.
