Resurgence

by Daniel P. Douglas

  A hefty bulk collapsed onto Eastaway along with rainfall. He opened his eyes and saw the DOG, dead still now, clutching him with all fours. Its optical sensors gawked at him with vacant black orbs.

  It’s lost power, Eastaway thought.

  He heaved the heavy thing aside and scrambled to his feet. “Fisher!” he shouted, running toward the downed soldier. Reaching the young man, Eastaway knelt by him. He took him in his arms and rolled him over into his lap. The busted DOG control box and stubby pulse shooter emerged from below Fisher. He had smashed the master power controls with the butt of his weapon.

  What also emerged was the sight of Fisher’s bloodstained faceplate.

  “Shit!” Eastaway said.

  He loosened the faceplate’s manual release knob and shoved it upward. Blood gushed from Fisher’s mouth. Where blood didn’t cover it, his face revealed an ashen-death complexion.

  “Did I stop them?” Fisher said, gutting out the words. He trembled and blood surged again from his mouth.

  Eastaway held him close and said, “You did! You stopped them, brother.”

  Fisher’s head shook up and down in a violent tremor. He clasped one of Eastaway’s hands, squeezing it tight. “Tell Anna and Josh—” His voice fell silent, his shuddering ceased.

  The devoted husband and father who had not yet felt the warm, soft, sweet touch of his first-born child died in Eastaway’s arms. A silver chain with a Christian cross clung to his palm as Fisher’s hand slipped away.

  Chapter 8

  Countermeasures

  While he sat in a slump in the muck, Eastaway’s self-loathing thoughts mired his ability to complete even the most fundamental of tasks. Fisher’s chain and cross dangled in his hand. Uncertain about what to do with it, he simply put it over his helmetless head and around his neck for the time being. It slipped beneath his collar.

  The dead specialist’s comm gear pack sat in Eastaway’s lap. He knew how to operate it, and he knew what message needed to be sent. Instead, the DOG attack replayed in his mind, draining his concentration away from immediate operational needs. Self-hatred consumed him then too, as it had been his decision to bring the damn killers along.

  “What’s the word from above?”

  Sapp’s question boomed at Eastaway from behind, jarring him back to the present. He sniffled and cleared his throat.

  “Just finishing up here,” Eastaway said. He compiled the updated info in haste and pressed the transmit key, sending his encrypted SitRep upstairs. Anticipating expedited extraction this time, he picked up his helmet and slammed it into place.

  Other than Eastaway and Sapp, only a corporal named Jose Perez and two privates—Boyle and Dodge—remained alive. Of those, Sapp, Perez and Dodge all suffered some sort of non-life threatening physical injury or injuries during the DOG attack.

  Sapp approached closer and saddled up next to Eastaway in his olive-drab jumpsuit. He was only partially armored now, and gashes revealed themselves across his right cheekbone and forehead—the result of collateral damage from high-velocity fragment projectiles. The only armor on his huge frame consisted of helmet minus faceplate, and shoulder and upper-arm segments.

  With Eastaway eyeing him, Sapp peered down at him and said, “The rest of the armor is too busted, too shattered….” He paused and shook his head, and then said, “Too many blast waves.”

  Eastaway nodded, and in an effort to overcome the sad truth, said, “And yet, here you are.”

  Sapp allowed himself a small grin despite the obvious pain it caused his cheek. “And yet, here we both are,” he said.

  In slow, methodical movements, the three other troops consolidated the dead, their equipment, and weapons in neat rows near the edge of the crater. Eastaway and Sapp glowered at the scene.

  Finally, Eastaway said, “Both minds and matter.”

  “Huh?”

  “The enemy can control—outright manipulate—minds and matter.”

  “It’s a horror weapon. How do we fight it?”

  “I don’t know…” Eastaway paused and stood. He gazed at the other troops and then back at Sapp. “But their use of it may telegraph an attack indicator.”

  “How so?”

  Eastaway raised his voice so the others could hear him. “Anyone else feel sudden sickness just before the attack?”

  The three troops paused their work, and then nodded their heads.

  “Nauseated,” Corporal Perez said.

  “I nearly vomited,” Boyle added.

  “Yep,” Dodge said.

  Eastaway looked up at Sapp, who said, “Me too, Boss.”

  “So did I,” Eastaway said. “But that’s not the only time it’s happened….” He hesitated, and then said, “On the Slipstream, when Beach acted crazy weird.”

  Sapp grunted and nodded.

  “The dropship when Vinetsky was out of sorts. He said he was nauseated too. And then just before the drop.”

  “Yeah….”

  “Right before McCormick took off his helmet.”

  “When Holt turned on me,” Sapp said, his eyes growing larger.

  By this time, the other three troops had stepped up closer to hear more of the details of the conversation underway.

  Eastaway narrowed his eyes at Sapp and shook his head. “I didn’t feel it then. But I did just before… O’Malley… And the DOGs.”

  “It felt strong when I was with Holt. I wonder why you didn’t—” Sapp cut himself off and his already big eyes widened more. “Line of sight, or…maybe line of fire?”

  Eastaway recalled the moment and then said, “You two had advanced ahead. Up and over the rise in elevation.”

  “Into the line of sight of the colony complex.”

  “And into the line of fire of the weapon which they probably shoot from there.”

  “Do you really shoot a…a…telekinetic weapon, Jerod?”

  “Beats me.”

  “But yeah, that’d be my guess for its location too.”

  Corporal Perez chimed in and said, “If this thing shoots anything, it’s invisible. Like radio waves.” Eastaway and Sapp looked at the sweaty, dirty, and bloodied corporal standing next to them. Continuing, Perez said, “So, maybe ECM could defend against it?”

  Sapp rested his bandaged hand on Perez’s shoulder, nodded, and said, “ECM or a low elevation profile.”

  “Those are now our defenses against it until extraction,” Eastaway said.

  “The only thing is,” Perez said, “ECM draws battery reserves faster than an El Paso hooker can suck on a Friday night.”

  The group grumbled and nodded. In unison, they leered into the deep crater next to them.

  “That might suit our immediate low profile needs,” Eastaway said.

  “That hole’s as wide and deep as an El Paso hooker’s on a Friday night,” Perez said.

  “Stop,” Private Dodge—the only female in the group—said. “It really hurts when I laugh.”

  <> <>

  “Shit,” Li Xia murmured. She crouched and held still, vanishing into the jungle surrounding her. Several large crimson-armored soldiers emerged ahead of her in a wedge formation, their movement angled to cross in her path.

  She held her breath as the group stomped their way closer. Analyzing the situation, Li Xia decided a quick escape stood out as her best option if discovered. Speed, along with continued concealment and protection offered by chameleon camouflage and ECM remained her advantages over these dozen or so lumbering brutes.

  As the soldiers neared, the clear faceplates of their oversized helmets revealed the visages of reptilian-humanoids. First-hand visual confirmation of threat stream reporting that Abraham Harel had been breeding Angorgals shivered a chill through Li Xia from end to end.

  Within the midst of the group’s rear, however, a sturdy human male with a blond flattop hulked along. He wore a comm headset, no helmet, padded, lightweight armor patterned with a mix of green hues, and tall olive-drab boots. His choice of arms included a pulse carbine wi
th an attached grenade launcher and blaster pistols holstered on each hip. A few different grenade types also hung in dual bandoleers across his chest, and a sheathed machete adorned his back. On occasion, verbal communications in what sounded like broken English and grunts out of him interrupted his shit-eating grin.

  Passive eavesdropping gear of Li Xia’s grabbed an incoming text message to the squad of bipedal reptilians and their human leader. A discreet alert inside her helmet shifted her attention to the message, which included grid coordinates, and indicated only five REF soldiers remained alive. The message’s last lines read, “Enjoy batting clean-up. But be quick. Chinese war fleet approaches!”

  Li Xia peered down at the gray-black mud squishing out from underneath her left foot and right knee. She shook her head. Divergent priorities, protocols, and loyalties clashed within, compressing her chest and weighing her down. Clenching her fists, Li Xia raised her head. The covert operative's legs first lifted, and then moved, her toward the looming fight.

  <> <>

  “Still no reply from upstairs,” Eastaway said.

  “Resend the SitRep,” Sapp said.

  “I did already. Twice.”

  “That bastard Beach; it’s been hours.”

  Eastaway glanced at the four survivors in the crater with him. Steady rainfall wetted them all. Puddles flourished in the bottom of the hole. He sighed and then said, “That structure up there looks like it leads underground.”

  “Better for longer-term protection,” Sapp said.

  “I’ll blow a hole in its front door,” Eastaway said, reaching for Fisher’s ECM pack next to him.

  “No, let me try,” Sapp said, clutching the pack before his lieutenant grabbed it.

  Eastaway glared at his platoon sergeant. “If ECM works, Fisher’s kit will protect both of us. I’ll cover you.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Sapp said. He gave up the gear.

  “Keep in touch,” Perez said, looking up at them from the muck.

  “Stay low,” Eastaway said. He powered up the ECM pack and slung it onto his back. An invisible, protective sphere of scrambled interference across the electromagnetic spectrum now accompanied him and Sapp. Together, the pair then slogged sideways up the crater’s sludgy embankment until they cleared its top.

  In silence, Sapp knelt among the row of dead soldiers while Eastaway provided cover. The platoon sergeant opened a side compartment in two of the dead soldiers’ exosuits. From within each container, he withdrew a red Sanabren brick and detonation actuator. He set them down and lifted an olive-drab satchel from next to Fisher’s body. After Sapp did a quick check of the bag’s contents, he stuffed the Sanabren and actuators inside it and then draped its sling over his neck.

  Rising, Sapp said, “Let’s go.”

  Eastaway’s chin dipped into his chest as he passed by his dead soldiers. An ache dispatched from hell seized the back of his throat. Seeing Fisher, he gnashed his teeth and looked away.

  In tandem, the pair maneuvered through the jagged makeshift funnel in the dense overgrowth blasted apart during O’Malley’s death.

  The once black—but now green-moss-infused—structure had angled sidewalls and a flat roof. Its far side melted into the terrain behind it. Above that rose an anomalous granite outcropping that jutted and crawled well up into the jungle’s canopy. A portion of the black structure’s lower middle front area held a rectangular cutout section that led a few meters up to what appeared to be a sealed entrance.

  Reaching the cutout, Sapp knelt. Behind him, Eastaway followed suit, but with his back to the platoon sergeant.

  “You have a light?” Sapp said.

  Eastaway popped open a compartment on his armor’s left thigh legging. He pulled out a porta-lamp and tossed it.

  Sapp caught the light and switched it on. He illuminated the darkness and after a few seconds said, “Uh-huh….”

  “And?” Eastaway said.

  “Hints of a vertical seam in the middle… horizontal seams across… and then more vertical seams. Looks like two doors. Most likely they once swiveled at the sides toward us.”

  “Center seam, then.”

  “Let’s do this.”

  <> <>

  “Red alert, red alert! All hands, battle stations, battle stations! Conglomerate fleet arriving!”

  Inside his quarters aboard the Slipstream, Captain Hans Krieger heard the announcement. It shouted at him from overhead speakers, driving his closed eyes wide open.

  He set the bottle of synth-whiskey aside. It tipped over in the process, but its remaining contents failed to create much of a spill. Krieger buttoned up his black tunic and steadied himself for the trek up to the ship’s EOC.

  In the exterior corridor, troops and crewmembers hustled in both directions. With unsteady footing, Krieger waded into the torrent just as rumbles and vibrations shuddered through the ship.

  <> <>

  “You have enemy inbound from the north,” an unknown female voice transmitted to them.

  Eastaway furrowed his brow, and Sapp halted his movements.

  “Strong infantry squad fanning out for pincer attack on you,” the voice said again.

  Sapp moved right against the entrance wall and Eastaway shifted back and left. Both had good cover from the reported approaching enemy. They each raised their carbines, but the knotty concentrated overgrowth ahead of them obscured much of their views.

  “Perez, you guys getting this?” Eastaway said.

  “Affirm,” Perez said. “We’ve got a thin defense set up at the hole.”

  Eastaway squinted through the rain. His HUD’s distance viewers kicked in. He saw the helmets of Perez, Dodge, and Boyle at the top of the crater.

  “Who is this?” Eastaway said into the comm transmitter, his speech quick.

  After several tense seconds of silence, a hesitant reply from the unidentified female said, “An ally.”

  Then, a deafening explosion erupted near the crater.

  <> <>

  Fire and smoke engulfed the Slipstream’s EOC by the time Krieger had stumbled his way into it. Large, still-functioning—but flickering—overhead monitors indicated the Chinese Conglomerate had fielded two cruisers and four destroyers against them. The enemy ships had fanned out and were pummeling the surprised Slipstream from her left and right flanks. Chinese pulse cannons and large-caliber kinetic projectile accelerators fired incessant barrages against the lone REF vessel.

  What could have only been the intense flash from a close detonation of a low-yield tactical nuclear warhead preceded the sudden shut-downs of the monitors and other electronics. A violent roar howled through the Slipstream’s innards, and an abrupt jolt quaked its hull.

  The shock wave knocked Krieger to the deck.

  <> <>

  A hail of plasma bolts crisscrossed the scene in front of Eastaway and Sapp.

  “Damn it! They’re pinned down!” Sapp shouted.

  “Can’t see targets through the thicket!” Eastaway said.

  Just then, a smoke grenade descended onto the ground in front of them and erupted between them and the crater. Its vapors coalesced amidst the makeshift funnel in the spindly overgrowth.

  Two large crimson-armored troops appeared from overhead, dropping off the structure’s overhang in front of Eastaway and Sapp. The pair of REF soldiers rocked back on their heels and raised their carbines at the encroachers, who wasted no time plunging headlong toward the smoke intended to conceal their rush on the crater.

  Eastaway and Sapp unleashed remorseless bursts of fire from their carbines. Both their enemies tumbled forward onto their bellies, shrieking, jerking to a halt in the muddy, makeshift path. Still, Eastaway and Sapp continued firing at the downed intruders and didn’t cease until the expanding smoke cloud enveloped them a few seconds later.

  Vision obscured, Eastaway switched to thermal view. He saw one of his soldiers move out of the crater toward to their right flank. Angry energy rounds chased after the soldier, and multiple explosions bello
wed inside the crater.

  But blasts also detonated on their left flank. Shrieks accompanied those detonations. They sounded just like the death screams from the pair Eastaway and Sapp had laid out in front of them.

  “I think we may have some help over there from an ‘ally,’” Sapp said, indicating their left side.

  “Affirm.” More movement visible on Eastaway’s thermal view showed three enemy troops moving from left to right near the crater. He aimed his carbine, but the dense foliage prevented any clear shot at them.

  “Targets?” Sapp said.

  “Three, near the crater, left side.”

  The smoke had thinned some, and Sapp, squinting, said, “I see them. Just barely.”

  Eastaway switched to normal view. Just then, blue plasma hurled toward the three enemy soldiers from the right flank. One of them shifted a few meters in that direction, but his steps were quick, and Eastaway squeezed the trigger too late. The energy bolt from his carbine zipped behind the man’s head.

  “Crap!” Eastaway said.

  “I don’t have an angle on the other two through the brush!” Sapp said.

  As the smoke dissipated, Eastaway caught sporadic glimpses of the man’s profile at whom he had just fired. He was bulky, sporting a flattop. While this enemy soldier knelt, he leaned right to evade incoming fire from his front. The young lieutenant raised his carbine again. His adversary tilted his head in a manner that exposed it to Eastaway’s line of fire.

  And to Eastaway's recognition of an enemy since his childhood.

  <> <>

  Inside the Slipstream’s EOC, Krieger failed to transmit an emergency message to Eastaway. Multiple electromagnetic pulses from Chinese Conglomerate nuclear weapons had overwhelmed the ship’s communications systems.

  Krieger slammed his fist onto the console in front of him just before another explosion knocked him onto the floor. He crawled out of smoke toward the adjacent fiery bridge. The flames there chased the ship’s commander and Captain Beach out, and they stumbled into the hazy EOC. Since comms stood out of commission, the ship’s bloodied leader gave the order to retreat to a three-man courier team. He dispatched them directly to the engine room while the Slipstream still had FTL escape capability.