by William Cray
What the hell is going on, Ben thought as he reached for his boots, which had tumbled out of their prearranged order when the cot spilled over. Pulling them on and sealing them up, he zipped up his flight suit and grabbed his survival vest and helmet on the way out of the door.
Four-Oh-One was spooling up in the hanger. There must be a mission, he thought, pissed that the Major, or at least the Chief hadn’t woke him up. One of the exiting maintenance crew looked over at him in confusion. Ben just shrugged his shoulders, as confused as anyone.
Something was wrong, beginning with an engine start up inside a temporary hanger before it was towed out. Maybe, Houseman thought, it was a hot mission and the Major was in a rush to get airborne and they had forgotten about their new junior navigator. But that couldn’t be it either, initializing the NAV system to the mission profile was his job and they couldn’t have forgotten that.
Houseman made it outside, into the hanger, still pulling on his vest and helmet as the arrowhead nose of Four-Oh-One edged out of the hanger, backwards, passing through the isolation doors. Equipment and parts flew back into the hanger rear as Houseman and the other Techs ducked the flying debris, tossed into the air like twisted binding clips by the powerful reverse thrusters of the Dauntless. Out of instinct, Houseman waved manically, running towards the retreating ship. He could make out Major Sari scanning the cockpit interior as she prepared the ship for flight. Chief Fisk was nowhere to be seen either. Sari looked out of the canopy at him but the Major simply gave him a blank stare and resumed her checklist.
Angry now, Houseman yanked his helmet off and the sound of the spooling engines almost made him nauseous from the high-pitched decibels. He rushed into the hot thrust of the engines, next to the forward hatch, banging against it with his helmet. But the door never opened. Instead he gave up, pulling his helmet back on against the piercing noise that had probably just made him partially deaf. Houseman watched as the Dauntless cleared the hanger and pitched up as it backed away, pivoting under thrust above the skyport taxiway, then as the throttles were pushed forward, Four-Oh-One jetted away on a stream of white-hot thrust.
Houseman raised his hands to his eyes, shielding it from the debris blown up as the big Dauntless started a slow climb, then darting to the surface, running low and hot along the oxide dust surface of Mars. Its flight path brought it in line with the dark spire in the background, jutting up from the surface and into the sky.
Airborne, Master Chief Fisk got up from his ejection seat, wobbling against the G-forces being applied to the Dauntless as it streaked across the surface towards the Stratospire and their rescue mission. Fisk made his way back towards the avionics access panels back along the lower spine of the delta-wing ship. He dropped down to his knees to stabilize himself against the turbulent ride this close to the surface and popped open the panel he was searching for with the multi-tool he kept on his belt. Once open, he removed a small cylindrical component out of the right breast pocket of his flight suit, dropping it into the open compartment labeled “WEAPS”. The cylinder slid in snuggly, clicking to confirm it was locked into place. Once emplaced, Fisk went forward, through the outfitted passenger compartment and into the cabin. He took up station at the empty flight engineers seat, checking the station, ensuring the correct settings were selected before he activated the weapons panel.
The console lit up when he pushed the correct sequence of buttons. Satisfied that everything was working as expected, he pulled on his weathered flight helmet, which he attached to the fire control system with a long flexicord. The screen on his visor came alive with the image of an aiming circle. The turret mounted on the bottom aft of the vessel followed the movements of his head as he turned left and right before settling the reticule on the growing image of the Stratospire ahead.
31
Power Dome 4
Radiation Exclusion Zone
Mars
“All right Captain. Let’s go.”
Isley turned to the gathered collection of twenty one anxious men and women, wearing the various uniforms of the six different agencies involved in the debacle of Clean Sweep. Now they stood together, poised at the at the Power Dome entrance. Many of the provisional troops dawned ill-fitting equipment with strange weapons and heavy loads of ammunition slung over their shoulders. They discarded their standard radiation isolation coverings in a pile. They might die today, but it wasn’t radiation that would kill them. Most of them were cops, with a few soldiers. Some were medical first responders, slinging their medical kits and picking up rifles. The broken pieces gathered together, trying to puzzle out a way to get inside the dome without dying.
The core of the group was an eight person tactical squad from NMCPD. They would be committed last, punching through the defenses arranged inside Power Dome 4 and striking for the control room. Everyone else in the formation would sell their lives to get Isley’s assault unit into position and intact. One last time, Captain Isley assembled the men and women around the Territorial Guard armored truck that would carry them as far as the barriers, or until it was stopped by fire.
Isley was a veteran police officer, a former tactical unit leader and a damn fine cop Cole thought as he watched him. His trademark blonde flat-top hair, that took the edge off his appearance was tucked under his helmet, which he briefly removed as he walked the line, making eye contact with each one of them. They straightened a little bit more under his gaze. He pointed down the long defended corridor, down the dark frightening path arrayed with weapons to their front.
“Down that path are our brothers and sisters,” Isley began, making eye contact with each as he passed. “No matter what else happens today, that will not change. They hold this corridor against their will. They know not what they do or why. They are innocents in this, as much as anyone. But so are the people down in the trench, down in the city, also our brothers and sisters. We are sworn to protect them. We must go down this path and shut down the plant. This is part of something we don’t understand, but that doesn’t matter now. We have a job to do. We are sanctioned by the Prime Minister. He has asked us to do this hard thing. Some of you may have served with the men and women at the end of that path, but I want each of you to remember. They are already lost to us. All we can do now, is our job.”
Isley replaced his helmet, pulling tight the chinstrap and removing the weapon from his shoulder. The others in the line followed his lead and strapped their helmets on tight and readied weapons. “Do not shirk from the task fate has delivered us. Our failure will mean many lives, the lives of our families, the lives of our brothers and sisters and we will save theirs by forfeiting our own. There is no greater honor.” He nodded his head once, then indicated to load the truck.
The men and women began to file in one by one, crowding into the tight confines of the vehicle designed to hold half their number. Cole moved towards the truck, among the last to climb in, but would be among the first out. As he passed he smiled at Isley, whose scowl rumpled his face under the helmet.
“Impressive speech Captain.”
Isley’s grimace broke into a beaming smile. “What, you never saw “Valkrie of the Heavens?”
“You stole that from a movie?”
Isley climbed in after him, pulling the heavy aft door shut with a loud clunk, then squatting next to it in the crowded compartment. “Every word. The last part anyway.”
Isley touched his vest com switch, “Lets roll Corporal, get us as close as you can. When you can’t go any further, punch off your countermeasures, then get out and follow me.”
The truck whined into to gear, and began rolling forward with a lurch, cramming everyone together to a chorus of curses. Cole could smell the tang of urine in the air, from somewhere in the overcrowded truck. He couldn’t find the heart to chastise someone for being as afraid as he was himself. He hoped the scared trooper would do his job, that everyone would do their jobs.
Isley looked back at Cole, wrinkling his nose into a
repugnant snout. “Geez, Commish…that ain’t you is it?”
The whine of the engines drowned out his response as the truck rolled down the street, jerking around a series of barricades erected along the path. The trucks independent spherical wheels whirled and navigated each barricade, smashing them aside with an eight ton jolt, or swiveling and changing direction to avoid jumbled cars and overturned incinerator bins strewn into a series of roadblocks and kill zones along their path. The truck continuously gained momentum, crashing through barriers with wild gyrations and violent swerves, rattling the troops in the armored interior. The truck continued its mad, headlong rush until the whine of the engines died in a sudden fizzle and a final powerful collision slammed the truck up on its front wheels with a crash stop, throwing everyone in the compartment to the vehicle front, crushing the wind out of those unfortunate enough to be loaded first.
Through the cacophony of moans and curses, Cole heard the crash of weapons, pinging off the vehicle front, like angry pellets raining down on a tin roof. Cries of “Let’s go” and “Open the doors,” rang out from the compartment but Isley held the door handle firm, not swinging them open, listening at the exit. When the sound he waited for didn’t come he touched his com.
“Corporal Rocker, hit the countermeasures…. hit the button damn it.” No response came over the net.
Isley cursed, looking back at Cole with the first inkling of concern etched on his face. Yelling over the pings crashing across the vehicles skin, “Ok…this is our stop. Unload fast and find cover. Move up as quickly as you can. Everything opens up at the end of the road.” Isley looked back at Cole. “It was great working with you Commissioner.”
Isley yanked open the door with a strong jerk of the handle, and the assembled team poured out like a stampede of frightened animals, rushing to find the safety of cover. Cole spilled out right behind Isley and headed for the overturned remains of a truck jammed up against the front of the armored vehicle. He ducked below its chassis as blue neuro-beams swept overhead and kinetic energy rounds zinged by. Cole looked back over his shoulder at a figure bolting over the top of an overturned red delivery van, climbing over its driver’s compartment and onto its side, rushing for the front of their stopped armored vehicle.
Isley ducked below the sweeping neuro-beams now zeroing in on him as he slid across the truck sides, leaping to his feet and rushing to the front of the armored vehicle. The first high velocity military grade round struck him on the left shoulder, ricocheting through his arm and down into his chest cavity, throwing him back. His right arm grasped the handle on the vehicles driver compartment door, and his momentum pulled the door open as he was shot through and fell to the ground.
As the door swung open, their driver rolled out of the truck, his chest caved in by a smoking hole. He landed on top of Isley in a jumble of limp limbs.
Without the cover of the vehicle’s countermeasures, they were pinned down on each side. Rounds zipped overhead, cracking with hypervelocity speed, trailing rippled shockwaves in the air. The men and women piling out of the armored vehicle dove and slid behind whatever cover they could find as rounds crashed overhead. They looked over at him with wide eyes, clenching their weapons to their chests.
A young NMCPD patrol officer dove in behind them. He crouched low behind the overturned delivery truck, starting to crawl in on himself, balling into the smallest space he could find. The others were also shirking, their survival instincts freezing them in place, as murderous fire zipped overhead. Already the attack was stalling.
Isley's assault team piled out of the truck last, staying low and maneuvering like veterans into the best defended positions. Some used their gun sights to peek over the top of the barricades and around the vehicle to gain vantage points. They were the most prepared for this and they were starting to move, to get into the fight, but they were the reserve, the best soldiers to be used last, to make the final assault. Cole couldn’t expend them in an effort to get the current deadlock lodged in their favor. He had to get them into position before sending them in, even if it took the lives of everyone else in the assault group to achieve that. One of Isley’s men peered over the edge, bringing his long weapon to bear, but before he could get into position a neurobeam flashed onto him and a KE round slammed into his helmet, jarring his head back with a whiplash crack. The man went down limp and bleeding. The sight of one of their elite going down depressed the others further into their tiny, self-protective holes.
They had to get moving again. Just get them to the next set of barriers. Cole said a quick prayer for his wife and children. He pulled his left forearm ballistic shield out to its full length along his arm, squeezing the thumb grip and extending the shield to cover his torso to mid thigh. His pistol wouldn’t do any good at this range, so he holstered it, and took grip on the overturned delivery trucks side, preparing to hoist his six five frame over its edge.
He took one last breath before vaulting, holding it in his lungs for an instant longer. Then with a hard exhale he launched himself up and over.
A rapid series of whumps and smoke plumes spewed out in front of him. The chorus of grenades and noisemakers shot from the front of the armored vehicle like rolling thunderclap, strewing smoke and confusion in the direction the incoming fire. The MS grenades fired their hovering rockets and climbed up to two meters as they discharged.
Cole struggled along the top of the overturned truck, lugging his extended shield across his body, flattening out. Looking up, he watched as Isley tumbled back to the ground from the armored cab, one hand still reaching up towards the deployed countermeasure handle. Cole rolled to the ground on the exposed far side of the vehicle, behind the blinding screen of smoke and chaff to this front. Landing hard, he swung the shield up, crouching behind it and running the last few steps towards Isley's body. Cole leaned down, using his shield arm to screen him from the random fire zipping through them. Near misses sprayed metal flak against his shield.
Cole rolled Isley over. He was dead, taking a second shot to the head during his effort to reach the countermeasures handle. Cole slid his friend and collegue under the cover of the truck, crossing his arms and legs in a dignified repose…there was nothing handy to cover the hero’s body, so Cole left him as he was in death.
Neuro-beams sparkled and flashed as the tiny metallic chaff strips short-circuited their coherence. Rounds pinged through the armored front, slashing across his shield with jarring thumps. Cole climbed to his feet, using his shield arm and the cab door to guard his flank as he reached up over the driver’s compartment. Blindly feeling around on the truck top he found the pin in his fingers. He yanked as hard as he could.
As it give way, Cole lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. A series of loud metallic crashes followed him down to the ground, slamming onto the concrete as concentrated fire swept through the blooming countermeasures.
Held in loose military mesh netting, seven P-Teks tumbled from the armored vehicle’s roof and slammed onto the street below the truck. They began to unfold, extending their articulated arms and stubby legs, erecting themselves upright and deploying ballistic shields like a phalanx of ancient Greeks. As each P-Tek came to its upright position, it struck out, towards the sound of the fire, adding to the confusion and of the defenders as they charged forward.
As Cole started to rise, a hand reached out for him, grabbing his vest and pulling him upright as the air crawled back into his lungs. The strong hand lifted him up and a rifle was thrust into the other. Cole looked into the man’s face. It was the young patrolman who had been cowering in the shell of the overturned truck just a moment ago, his eyes filled with fear. Now the cop looked back at him as others passed by, moving forward, falling into line behind the ambling P-Teks. The young cop said, “Let’s go Commissioner. Keep moving forward. We have a job to do.”
32
Mars Orbital Tower
Main Shaft
Anne Braiselle plunged through the heart of the snake with the speed and mo
mentum of a bomb. The hexagonal black skin inside the orbital tower flexed and contracted as it swayed to the cadence of Martian atmospheric soup. Like the ribs of a cobra, the Stratospire writhed on the anchored moon above. It held on to Phobos with deployed fangs, holding its position against the torrents of the Martian upper atmosphere.
Within a few hours she broke free of the scales covering the tether at the top and she fell through the open sky of Mars, staying close to it in a swirling decent. Her Tri-Lum armor would prevent any active countermeasures or weapons around the tower from engaging her as she plummeted through the dark sky.
Heat built up slowly as the random particles of carbon dioxide, nitrogen and fleeting terraformed oxygen molecules banged against her streaking armor, generating a wake of blue and yellow fireballs. They sparked in the ionized shockwaves forming behind her.
She sensed the Intruder below her. It was a strange sensation at first, but the range, speed and energy of her decent protected her, for now. The energy of the Intruder swelled up to meet her like the blossoms of a carnivorous plant drawing in a hungry insect, waiting for the simplest touch to clamp down and digest. The Intruder had found a kernel of her consciousness, but it seemed unconcerned. She immediately went into her concentration trance to shield her from each attempt to distract her and upset her flight. At this speed, they didn’t need to subvert her mind, just distract her enough to cause a lapse concentration. Despite the interference she edged closer to the strands of the Stratospire, manuvering around it in a spiral. They could reach her, but she was approaching inside its directional arc. But soon she would be inside its range. The battle for her mind would begin when she slowed down up ahead.
