Kneeling on the ground in the drop zone behind most of his advancing platoon, Eastaway detached his synthetic polymer parachute. He activated its disintegration mechanism. Within a minute or two, the chute and its cords would be nothing more than a fine layer of dust waiting for the next breeze to dissipate it into the environment.
Before rising, Eastaway asked God again to keep his troops safe. During his brief appeal, another fleeting sense of nausea intervened, and then it passed. He braced himself by putting one gloved hand on the ground, and then he finished praying. The thought crossed his mind the prayer had helped abate the sickness, but he dismissed it as he opened his eyes. Multiple data feeds from the NCOs flooded his HUD and garnered most of his attention. As expected, they and other platoon members exited the zone ahead of him and moved in the direction of the first rally point a couple hundred meters away.
Except for one soldier.
Private Leo McCormick stood motionless near the edge of the defoliated area. Hands at his side, a bundled-up parachute lay on the poisonous ground next to him.
“McCormick, you okay?” Eastaway said.
No response.
“What’s going on, Boss?” Sergeant Sapp said, from a distance.
“It’s McCormick. He’s—”
The young private’s dreadful actions interrupted Eastaway’s response. McCormick had just removed the helmet from his exosuit. He sucked in a deep breath of the toxic air.
“No!” Eastaway said, rising. He ran straight at the doomed soldier.
McCormick fell forward onto the sludgy, putrefied ground, heaving, before Eastaway even reached a sprint. A conscious nightmare engulfed the young lieutenant. No matter how hard he ran, he felt as if McCormick remained unreachable.
When reality resumed and Eastaway finally knelt next to the prostrate body, his effort to restore the soldier’s helmet proved futile. Death had consumed McCormick before Eastaway had even reached full stride.
Sergeant Sapp moved in and helped Eastaway carry the body to the initial rally point. After laying him down, the sergeant tasked three soldiers to dig a shallow hole and cover the body with jungle foliage. O’Malley marked a grid waypoint for McCormick’s future recovery.
Eastaway activated his armor’s chameleon camouflage. His suit shifted exterior color schemes and patterns to blend in with the surroundings. Disappearing, Eastaway’s trembling voice offered a few quick words honoring their fallen comrades.
Although some of the troops expressed appreciation for the moment, Eastaway’s sense of growing guilt prevented him from acknowledging their gratitude. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at them. He hoped and prayed that more useless tragedy would not overwhelm them.
But any shred of expectation in that regard existed only in the minds of the naïve.
Chapter 6
Mysteries and Casualties
Thick incense vapors hung throughout the office lined with muted red walls. Harel sat in a black chair behind a large dark wooden desk. “Where were you?” he said.
As she stood in front of the desk—and despite Harel’s calm voice and the low light conditions—Tatiana witnessed fire smoldering in the Devil’s shadowy eyes.
“I needed a break, Mr. Harel. Some irritating glitches prompted me to take a walk.”
Harel rubbed the back of his neck and winced. “Alone?”
Tatiana’s gaze drifted above Harel’s head. “I do my best thinking alone.” A fully assembled oversized set of grayish-green exoskeleton armor hung on display behind him. Complete with a cobalt streak on its chest, a silvery metal shield, and a double-edged short sword, its appearance matched what she had seen in the pit earlier.
“You didn’t even check in with security when you left.”
Tatiana’s eyes met Harel’s again. “Apologies. I’m focused on doing a good job for you, and less on so many rules. I’ll do that next time.”
“Next time, you’ll have an escort to do that for you.”
“Yes, Mr. Harel. I’m sorry that I’ve upset you.”
“Your son said you went to ‘check on something.’ He made no mention of a stroll in the jungle at dusk.”
“David must have misunderstood. He was engrossed in a dinosaur book when I left. He’s fascinated by the big lizards.”
Harel leaned back in his chair. He massaged his upper neck with both hands and narrowed his eyes at Tatiana.
She saw an opportunity. “Can I help relieve your tension? Perhaps a gentle shoulder rub?”
Harel’s stone face twisted out a grin.
“Or rough. However you like it, Mr. Harel.” Tatiana winked.
Harel frowned and offered a slight shake of his head. He cleared his throat, and said, “Gentle would be fine.”
Sauntering into position behind Harel, Tatiana said, “Not that I don’t mind a good poke, but this sword may be in my way.”
Harel closed his eyes and smiled. “There’s enough room.”
When Tatiana placed her hands on Harel’s shoulders and began to rub, she said, “Impressive armor. Very unique. What’s its origin?”
Harel hummed and relaxed beneath Tatiana’s tender massage. “Earth and the galaxy possess many mysteries yet revealed.”
Tatiana smiled, but her expression soon faded when she saw a red, oozing, circular scar on the back of Harel’s neck. She swallowed hard. “No wonder you ache—you are hurt.”
“The hazards of my responsibilities.”
“Dear, sweet Abraham, it pains me to see you like this.”
Harel reached up and patted one of Tatiana’s hands. “You’re too kind.”
“What causes a sore like this?”
Harel withdrew his hand and hummed some more. He said nothing for quite some time. But when he did speak, butterflies quivered in Tatiana’s gut.
“Who do you work for, Miss Kolesnikov?”
Before she answered him, Tatiana offered a sugary laugh to fight off a rise in her vocal pitch. “I work for you, Mr. Harel, and indirectly for whoever employs you.”
“Hmm…why, I serve the Ruuksauro, of course.”
A swift, serrated coldness cut through Tatiana. It felt as if an overpowering malevolence nourished its ravenous appetite on her soul. She pulled herself together, and said, “Then, I also work for the Ruuksauro. Whoever they are…”
Harel’s hand patted Tatiana’s again. His gesture turned into a caress. Resisting rising fear and disgust, Tatiana gritted her teeth and steadied her gait. Conflicting notions of escape and duty swamped her mind.
<> <>
A kilometer deeper into the Oeskone wilds, the platoon spread out and halted a short distance below the crest of higher elevation. The unit’s ESR operator, Specialist Elias Fisher, crouched next to Eastaway. Both nearly invisible in their environment due to the chameleon camouflage, they knew each other’s positons through transponder blips displayed in their HUDs.
Through the intercom, Fisher said, “In response to our situation report, upstairs says mission continues.”
“As expected,” Eastaway said.
Two more transponder blips saddled up next to the pair.
“Boss, I’ll take Holt and scout ahead over that hill,” Sapp said.
“Affirm,” Eastaway said.
The two soldiers moved upslope into the darkness, their shapes masked in blended patterns of constantly changing hues of green.
After Eastaway watched the shapes disappear up and over the rise, Fisher said to him, “Picking up a discreet pulse signal near the colony.”
“Near?”
“Maybe a kilometer or so away from it. Very discreet stovepipe burst. Very low power. Nearly missed it.”
“A covert beacon?”
“That’d be my guess. And…” Fisher paused. His camouflaged right hand reached over to an antenna-festooned olive-drab electronics pack on the ground next to him. After pushing some buttons there, he said, “MASINT says it’s a Chuanli transmitter.”
“Great, a Chinese drop,” Eastaway said,
sighing.
“That’s what it looks like.”
“Tag it, get us all the waypoint. It’s now on our bucket list.”
“Done, and done.”
Sudden directed energy pulses sizzled and crackled ahead of them, in the direction of the apex of higher elevation.
“Cease fire, Holt!” Sapp said, shouting into the comms.
The transponder blips representing Sapp and PFC Holt on Eastaway’s HUD separated, and then they danced in jagged movements.
More fire erupted ahead of the platoon.
“Holt’s lost it, Boss!”
Eastaway and the group sprang to their feet.
“What’s she shooting at?” Eastaway said, lunging up the hill.
“ME!” Sapp yelled.
Several soldiers in pace with Eastaway halted their steps in shock, and crouched, but the lieutenant drove on. His suit’s infrared sensor projected images of two soldiers on his HUD. The much larger one dove and tumbled down the hill off to Eastaway’s left. The other, smaller figure, now stood still, dead ahead on the crest of the higher elevation, removing helmet from armor.
“PFC Holt, stop!” Eastaway said, running harder up the hill at his subordinate.
The glowing image withdrew the blaster pistol from the holster on her right hip.
Instinctively, Eastaway dove for cover, but this movement was unnecessary.
In what seemed a slow-motion surreal instant, Eastaway watched as PFC Holt fired the blaster into the side of her exposed head.
It wasn’t long before others caught up to their lieutenant. He didn’t have to say much, if anything. They figured it out.
On the low side of the hill, troops buried another body in a shallow grave, and another waypoint in the geo-data marked a transitory armor encased burial chamber.
Eastaway and Sapp watched the digging in silence until final shovel taps packed down moist soil. “What the fuck,” Sapp said over a private channel with his platoon leader. “We’re hardly even out of the gate here and—”
“They’re losing their minds.”
“And their lives.”
“What happened up there?”
“She had point. She crossed over the hill ahead of me. I cleared the summit a few seconds after her. Then, she turned on me and started shooting.”
“Just like the kid on the freighter.”
“Yeah…. He killed them all. His friends, his captain.”
“The old lizard man told him to do it, and he obeyed.”
“What are we talking about then? A mind-control weapon?”
“Barely out of the gate, and three good troops have killed themselves.”
“Jerod, how do we fight mind control?”
“You tell me, brother.”
Not knowing what to do, but seeking some kind of additional protection, Eastaway ordered the three dedicated operational guards—or DOGs—unpacked and assembled.
Armed and armored drones that resembled and moved like man’s best friend, they stood a little larger and stockier than a pit bull terrier. Like their canine counterparts, these particular DOGs excelled at hunting and guarding. If they detected targets within their lethal vicinity that didn’t transmit a proper friendly transponder code, then the DOGs considered it with extreme prejudice as a foe. Neutralization actions followed.
A primary control box carried by ESR operator Fisher maintained pre-programmed DOG engagement echelons. The box also held a master power switch and a detonation button. DOGs carried a high-explosive Sanabren charge in their belly, suitable against rushing enemy positions or for breaching barriers.
“What engagement level?” Fisher said.
“Alert and hold for now,” Eastaway said, uncertain.
After assembly, the three DOGs lunged forward, sniffing the air, scanning their dark surroundings with red, glowing electro-optical sensors. They assumed positions around the periphery of the platoon. And yes, as they moved out, it was obvious the DOGs tended toward noisiness, just as Captain Beach had mentioned, but Eastaway could have cared less.
“We’re all set, sir,” Fisher said.
“Good. Message upstairs. Advise of latest casualty and of our suspicion—” Eastaway paused, mulling over how Beach and others would accept his and Sapp’s mind-control assessment.
“Sir?”
“Just tell them we suspect unidentified enemy deploys a mind-control weapon against us.”
Eastaway thought he heard Fisher gulp hard.
“Easy, Fish. And let them know about the Chuanli beacon, too.”
“Uh, will do.”
With that, Eastaway rose and ordered his troops to do the same. Up and over the hill they progressed, DOGs in front and flanks. They trudged deeper into the blackness, wandering farther into the mysterious, deadly jungle.
<> <>
Inside the Slipstream’s command center, Captain Beach read the message from below to himself. First Lieutenant Tom Coopark stood patiently next to him. Beach nodded at the datacom in his grasp.
“May I see the intel?” Hans Krieger said, halting his determined strides right in front of the company commander.
Beach peered up. His face tightened, and his eyes narrowed. He pressed his lips together, flattening them into horizontal creases. Teeth clenched behind them.
“I’m fully read in to this operation, Thomas,” Krieger said. His voice resonated with calm, stern righteousness.
Beach forced a laugh. He shoved the datacom at Krieger, who took it in his hands. Beach crossed his arms, and then whispered something to Coopark. The lieutenant smirked.
Krieger read the message, pain reflected in his face. He gazed up at Beach and said, “We should pull them out, recover the bodies, regroup on our tactics.”
“I’ll take your recommendation under advisement,” Beach said, redness swelling into his expression.
“You’re wasting lives.”
“Operational decisions are mine to make.”
Krieger lurched forward and twisted up his face at the oversized bald bull. He spoke into his chin while his gray eyes peered over it. “Since when do you ever make a decision on your own, you piece of shit?”
Coopark leaned into the fray. He put his hand on Krieger’s chest and applied some pressure. “Maybe you should take a step back, Captain.”
Krieger swiveled his head at Coopark and they locked eyes. The intense focus of the impromptu staring contest worked in Krieger’s favor. Coopark failed to spot the intel officer’s hand movements stirring just outside of peripheral vision range. The wristlock and twist on Coopark plunged him into submission on his knees. The squeal was a bonus.
“Don’t ever touch me again, bootlicker,” Krieger said, with that calm, stern righteousness once more.
“Let him go, Krieger,” Beach said, edgy, worried about the growing number of onlookers.
Krieger released Coopark before Beach had finished speaking. The first lieutenant shook his wrist and held it close. His furtive glances around the command center preceded his rising to his feet.
“Get them out of there, Beach,” Krieger said. He tossed the datacom at the giant company commander’s barrel chest. It fell and smashed onto the hard deck. Krieger pivoted and strode toward the exit.
“Can’t do that,” Beach said. Krieger halted his steps, but he did not turn around. “Orders is orders.”
Krieger closed his sad gray eyes and clenched his fists.
His subsequent steps carried him from the command center to his private quarters.
<> <>
A blinking light on a panel for comm equipment unique to intel officer billets alerted Krieger to a waiting message. In a weighty mass, he sat down in front of the panel. He logged in to an encrypted reception channel under his “Fusion Sear” REF code name.
Krieger squinted at the long-range ESR ship’s message, shaking his head. He rubbed his face, and then reread message:
PER HIGHER HQ, FUSION SEAR TASKING RE: YAMATO STRAND SUPERLUMINAL HUB (YSSH) VOIDED. INTERRUPTI
ONS TO YSSH AND RELATED OTHER TASKED HUBS WILL DIMINISH AT VARYING INTERVALS WITHIN THE NEXT 48 HOURS.
HQ POC: RESTRICTED
The flashing “Restricted” text stiffened the hair on the nape of Krieger’s neck. A heatwave of agitation broiled its way through him. Between Captain Beach’s behavior in the command center and this message, Krieger felt mounting isolation and anguish overwhelming him.
<> <>
Untold ages of concentrated foliage had grown up and over a moss-infested black structure that sat on top of a small hill, smothering it like a dark-green octopus grasping its prey.
In dawn’s thin sunlight, Sergeant O’Malley and five other soldiers approached the black-green mass, which stood approximately one hundred meters ahead of the main group. As they neared it, O’Malley said, “There may be an entrance into this thing, but it’s covered in heavy branches and overgrowth.”
Eastaway and Sapp knelt next to each other. Glancing down at his platoon leader, Sapp said, “Sanabren?”
“It would clear the mess,” Eastaway said. “But not a very stealthy alternative.”
“And those barking DOGs are quiet?”
“They’ve single-handedly discovered several new slithering and crawling alien species.”
“The bad guys already do seem to know we’re here.”
“Agreed,” Eastaway said, sighing. He switched over to a comm channel with O’Malley and her group. “Use Sanabren to clear a path to the door.”
“Affirm,” O’Malley said. “Give me your charges,” she said to her escorts. “Cover me while I deploy them.”
Turning his attention back to Eastaway, Sapp said. “That should remove the blockages.”
“I hope so.” Nervousness and nausea crept through Eastaway again. He sighed, and then lowered his head amidst growing queasiness.
Lord, I speak to you again for my soldiers. Please watch over and keep them safe. They are the best, and deserve your protection. Amen….
Resurgence Page 7
