The sickening sensation faded, but Eastaway’s nervousness remained.
“Something weird, sir,” Fisher said into a private channel with his platoon leader. His worried face appeared on a small screen on Eastaway’s HUD.
“What’s that, Fish?”
“The engagement settings on the DOGs. Somehow they got changed to their highest level. Attack and pursue.”
“Did you reset to alert and hold?”
“Yes, sir. I guess I could have bumped a setting or something. Just never happened before.”
“Keep an eye on it.”
“Will do.”
Eastaway cut into Sapp’s channel and said, “Unexplained glitch with DOG engagement settings. Fish seems worried about it.”
Sapp raised his lowered head, then twisted it downward at Eastaway. “You think it’s possible they can control more than just minds?”
“I don’t—” Eastaway cut himself off. One hundred meters ahead, he saw five of his troops clustered in a semi-circle. They had their backs to Sergeant O’Malley, who moved in close among them from behind. Five red-brick Sanabren charges clung side by side to her torso.
A breath burst out from Eastaway’s chest, but no time remained for him, or anyone else to say anything.
O’Malley detonated the charges in a brilliant flash of light that, in an instant, decimated her and the five troops who had guarded her from harm.
The world spun in a jungle-green whirlpool, and then blackness smothered Eastaway.
Chapter 7
DOGs of War
“We need to withdraw from orbit and resupply,” old Captain Cheng said, resolution in his tone.
Li Xia knew why.
Their covert reconnaissance ship’s electronic countermeasures and stealth shield consumed heavy energy reserves. This mission’s profile allowed only for expedient, hasty orbits and a scarcity of time for adequate passive intelligence-collection opportunities. Such was the tradeoff for vanishing into your own little black hole. As for revealing their position over Oeskone for the sake of more sustained eavesdropping—well, it just plain failed as a viable alternative, based on highly classified and restricted intel estimates about alien tech capabilities in the hands of Harel and his colonists.
“But I’ve nearly triangulated an emergency Chuanli burst signal, likely from our contact,” Li Xia said.
“It’ll have to wait until next time,” Cheng said, impatient.
“This shouldn’t wait.”
“I’ll not risk detection.”
“Then let’s do a quick drop.”
“What did you intend to drop?”
Li Xia smiled.
“HQ would have my ass if—”
Beautiful lashes fluttered around pretty brown eyes.
Captain Cheng sighed. His sternness—and heart—melted. “So long as it’s quick.”
“I’m already gone.”
“If you survive, we’ll attempt recovery on the next orbital transition. I suggest you take extra power packs along. And should you get killed or captured, I’ll deny granting you permission to leave this ship.”
“And the crew says you’re ‘mean.’”
“Huh! They wouldn’t know mean if it shot them in the ass. Do avoid the REF infantry and the colonists. How about this: Just avoid everyone and stay out of trouble.”
“Aw, you really do care about me.”
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The five-meter-wide circular platform that had elevated Eagan Rodenmeyer fifty meters above the center of the colony complex descended at a slow but steady pace. His eyes hung half open during the descent. Dusky tint encased a transparent thermoplastic bubble on the platform, muting the morning sun along with some approaching clouds. The bubble surrounded Rodenmeyer and the customized metallic chair on which he sat. He relaxed his head, turning it away from the sun’s direct rays.
The chair accommodated Rodenmeyer and a black metal harness contraption with tentacle arms that reached around him from his back. The tentacles looked like the legs of a large, black insect. The insect’s head attached to the back of Rodenmeyer’s neck by way of a pulsing, circular suction-cup device.
Situated behind and elevated just above the bubble on the platform rose a rectangular dish antenna about ten meters across and three meters high. Immense power and other sturdy cables connected chair to antenna, and ran down the platform’s support column to equipment hidden in underground recesses.
The platform descended below ground level inside a circular gray-and-black metal structure, the width of which extended just beyond that of the antenna. Overhead, doors rumbled closed once the antenna cleared the surface. After the platform finally ceased its descent twenty-five meters below ground, a brief hissing sound from the release of excess hydraulic pressure whooshed throughout the area.
An entrance in the circular structure’s metal sidewall slid open, and Abraham Harel and Doshi stepped through it. With curious expressions, both men approached the bubble. Doshi reached up, unclasped its single door’s handle, and tilted it open.
Harel hunched forward and lurched inside the bubble. He stood next to Rodenmeyer and put a hand on his second-in-command’s shoulder.
Behind Rodenmeyer, Doshi loosened the pulsing suction cup. As he lifted it away, innumerable tiny silvery parasitic-looking tubular feelers withdrew and disappeared into the mechanical insect’s head. The back of Rodenmeyer’s neck presented a seeping, circular sore pockmarked with an untold number of tiny red perforations.
Doshi removed the harness from Rodenmeyer’s back, unplugged wires that ran from its base into a recessed panel in the chair, and then stepped aside with it.
“How did it go?” Harel said.
Rodenmeyer’s half-open eyes fluttered and he tilted his head up. “Several more dead.”
“How many remain?” Harel said.
“Maybe ten or so. Another scan of their ship says no reinforcements pending. Damn, I’m exhausted. This is hard work. I need a nap.”
“Where are the survivors?”
Rodenmeyer pried himself off the chair and stood. “Maybe five kilometers south. They found an Angorgal structure covered in thick overgrowth.”
“What structure?”
“Don’t know, never seen it before.”
“Will they get inside?”
“They might,” Rodenmeyer said, snickering. “They packed some pretty potent explosives.”
Harel cupped a hand over his mouth. Worry lines creased his forehead. He removed hand from mouth, and said, “Can we use the ship?”
“It’s not ready to fly.”
“Damn it, Eagan!”
“What?”
“Can we power up the ship on one of the landing pads, raise it, and then use its device from there?”
Rodenmeyer blinked several times while his wheel’s turned. “It may work.”
“Make it happen.” Harel straddled the chair. “I’ll deal with the intruders before they manage to go underground.”
While Doshi helped Harel strap on the harness, Rodenmeyer said, “We could also send Doshi out with some troops.”
Harel sighed and then looked over his shoulder.
“I’m in,” the flat-topped grunt said, grinning.
“Let them bat clean-up to us, Abraham. We shouldn’t have all the fun.”
“It’ll be good prep for battles yet waged against the Combine,” Doshi said.
Harel rubbed the back of his still sore and red neck. “Fine. I’ll remove a few more from the gene pool, and leave the rest for you.”
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Sapp’s voice vibrated through Eastaway’s skull with all the harmonic resonance of a doomsayer. “Nothing’s left of them. Just a fucking hole.”
Eastaway’s blue eyes fluttered several times, and then remained opened, allowing him to see the jungle’s canopy overhead. Sporadic sun rays spliced their way through breaks in the foliage, looking like bayonets plunging down on him and his platoon from heaven.
“Why, God…? Why…
?” Eastaway muttered.
“Say again, Boss?” A few seconds later, Sapp appeared directly over Eastaway’s faceplate. He leaned in close.
Eastaway laid silent a little longer. “Nothing.” Sapp and Fisher helped him up.
A wide, smoking crater occupied a large area in front of the low-lying structure. Demolished overgrowth recoiled away from the gaping hole in the ground in a torn and gnarled mess. But a makeshift funnel path now existed to the building’s apparent entrance.
“Fish, send a SitRep. Request extraction ASAP,” Eastaway said, resignation soaking his words.
“Will do.”
Eastaway switched to a private channel with Sapp. His voice cracking, he said, “Rick, I don’t know if I can keep it together.”
“None—and I say again—NONE of this is your fault.”
Eastaway grimaced and bit his lip. He fought back sobs and his breathing hitched.
“Jerod, the bad guys killed our comrades. Not you. And soon enough, we’ll deliver payback.”
The faces of the men who killed Eastaway’s mother flashed through his mind in a bloody instant. He was sure at least one of them was located on Oeskone. He’d known that since viewing the comm vid on the freighter featuring Eagan Rodenmeyer. That murderer may even have been responsible for killing his REF platoon brethren, the only family to which Eastaway ever felt he had truly belonged.
“But you’re right. We need to extract and regroup first,” Sapp said.
Eastaway scowled at the sharp illuminations stabbing them from above. Why have you forsaken them? he thought. Why let evil thrive?
Fisher’s voice broke in on another channel. “Sir?”
Eastaway cleared the thickness from his throat. “Go ahead and push us all the LZ coordinates, Fish.”
“Sorry, sir, but the reply was simply, ‘Drive on.’”
Eastaway exhaled a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes, tilted his head to one side, and clenched his jaw. After a few seconds, he righted his head, opened his eyes, and then, over a platoon-wide channel, said, “We’re blowing a hole in this building and sheltering inside. Take cover. Fish, unleash the DOGs of war.”
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“I’m hungry, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” David said. “Can I go eat now?”
“I’ll go with you,” Tatiana said.
“No, I’d rather go alone.”
“I must insist.”
“Fine, I’m not hungry anymore.”
Tatiana groaned. She knew her son very likely suffered from a growing headache, too. Unlike her own, though, which originated out of parental frustration, his stemmed no doubt from the lack of adequate sustenance yet this morning. His stubbornness and her concern for his immediate well-being won out.
“Go,” Tatiana said. “Bring me back some fruit or something.”
David spun on his heels and then exited their quarters, heading for the dining hall alone.
Tatiana ran her fingers through her short dark hair and settled into a chair at the computer table. After flipping some power and other switches on her equipment, she sat back and relaxed. She held no expectation that certain comm relays vital to her work were functioning again.
But to her surprise, she soon learned that at least one of them—Oeskone’s local superluminal hub—operated at about fifty-percent capability. She connected to her covert hop point’s infrastructure on the hub and checked data flow. Broken packets littered the space, but slow reintegration resumed.
“Well, that’s a start.”
But then she noticed some unique and disturbing new transmission patterns emerging.
“Shit.”
To be certain, Tatiana cross-referenced the signal data with multiple resources available on her computers. She shivered at her confirmation of the fresh, intermittent data flow.
“They’re coming…here.”
Tatiana scrambled out of her quarters and ran through several brown and tan modular corridors linking the complex together. Dodging colonists, she didn’t stop running until she reached Harel’s office. Pressing the office’s exterior buzzer switch multiple times failed to elicit a response.
Frustrated, she turned and ran down a corridor that led toward one of the complex’s exits. She figured a security station would be located near it, and someone there could help her track down Harel. Rounding a corner, though, she stumbled headlong into Eagan Rodenmeyer.
“Well yeah, baby,” he said, holding her against his body.
Tatiana tried to peel herself away, but he tightened his grip and rubbed on her some more.
“Come on, bitch. Servicing the elderly must be old by now,” Rodenmeyer said, laughing.
“Where’s Abraham!”
“Oh, you two on a first-name basis now, eh?”
“Shut up, you fool!”
Rodenmeyer unclasped one of his hands and then belted her with a solid backhand. He let Tatiana tumble backwards onto the metal mesh flooring.
She glared up at him, and then said, “Tell Abraham a Chinese Conglomerate war fleet approaches Oeskone!”
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Under increasing cloud cover and drizzle, a wolf pack of three DOGs stood shoulder to shoulder near the entrance of the building. Behind them, Eastaway, Sapp, Fisher, and the eight remaining platoon members fanned out at a distance in cover.
Fisher held the control box for the DOGs, programming the breach attack commands into it. After he finished, he set the control box on the ground next to him, and then picked up his stubby, fully automatic assault pulse shooter. “Ten seconds, then they’ll hit the entrance,” he said.
“Roger,” Eastaway said. Undulating waves of nausea heaved up from his gut again. Then the roiling sickness subsided as quickly as it had appeared. Short-term memory functions kicked in. He furrowed his brow. “Anyone else feel sick?”
Multiple affirmations crackled across the platoon’s shared comm channel.
Eastaway gripped his carbine tighter and peered sideways at the soldiers in his vicinity. A discreet chime inside his helmet told him the ten-second countdown for the DOGs had ended. But when he looked at them, he saw they stood motionless.
Other recollections launched themselves toward the front of Eastaway’s consciousness: The earlier glitch with the DOGs, and Sapp’s question to him about whether or not the enemy could control more than just minds.
A realization hit him like blunt force trauma to his gut, but it jolted him too late.
The DOGs spun. Each armored beast held a directed energy minigun inside their back, which all of them deployed in an instant.
“Shut them down!” Eastaway said.
“Yes, sir!” Fisher said. But before he could reach the box, a barrage of blue energy bolts struck Fisher in the shoulder and upper torso. He tumbled rearward and landed in a heap on the mossy ground.
The comms crackled with angry, confused voices. Hot plasma sizzled all around. Eastaway dove behind dead, knobby underbrush. Flashes and smoke rose over him as heated energy bursts impacted the cover just above his head.
Sapp’s voice cut through the din. “Focus all fire on the middle one!”
Eastaway understood his platoon sergeant’s intentions. Thick-skinned armor required concentrated firepower to break through it. He leaned up and aimed his carbine to shoot at the middle DOG, but all three pounced forward, separating in a violent, speedy frenzy.
On the move like that now, the DOGs presented a difficult target. Meanwhile, their miniguns swiveled and aimed, spitting out innumerable bolts of plasma hell.
The middle DOG ran by Fisher, who now crawled toward the control box. While in a mid-leap, the DOG’s minigun pummeled the ESR specialist with another lethal burst of fire. Fisher collapsed.
Plasma rounds fired from Eastaway’s troops hit the DOG too, causing some minor damage. But it dashed onward, fleeing toward the young lieutenant’s right flank to join with another DOG over there. Eastaway fired at it, but an abrupt detonation on his left flank drove him down in cover.
&nb
sp; Soldiers’ screams howled through the comms.
Eastaway pounded his fist into the moist earth as the horror set in: A DOG had just ignited its Sanabren belly charge.
Another blast on his right flank shoved him into the muck again.
Eastaway then rose up and leveled his weapon. Its sights found the third DOG charging straight for him. He squeezed the pulse carbine’s trigger in rapid succession, but the energy bolts just deflected off the armored hunter. It leapt at him, crossing over the twisted thicket cover. The traitorous beast landed square against Eastaway’s chest, plunging him onto his back.
The DOG’s red, glowing eyes glared down at him. With hell staring him in the face, and fearing sudden death from an explosive detonation, Eastaway struggled to shove the weighty mech-hound off him. He sealed tight his eyes as a deadly incarnation of his miserable failures trampled his chest.
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While her chute disintegrated into a fine dust next to her, Li Xia ensured the electronic countermeasures (ECM) pack she carried remained energized and functioning properly. The ECM equipment was a real power suck. But as she had assessed from recent exfiltrated data out of Oeskone colony computer files, it functioned as a somewhat viable defense against telekinetic detection and attack waves.
She lacked concern about maintaining a sufficient energy supply, though. After all, as Captain Cheng had advised her, she brought additional power packs with her. Her only concern revolved around the unconfirmed reports that the colonists possessed EMP weapons. If struck with an electromagnetic pulse, the ECM pack and other vital electronics would fry, rendering useless her defense against the suspected telekinetic weapon the colonists possessed.
Standing, Li Xia activated the chameleon camouflage integrated into her lightweight, infiltrator exosuit. Designed for speed and evasion, the suit’s leg actuators sprung her forward in a swift track toward her destination: A Chuanli burst transmitter twenty kilometers away she believed her source had set in place.
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Resurgence Page 8
