The Captain of the Argo sat in the Argo's main control chair as she and the other two crew members accompanying her stepped off the lift and onto the bridge. Several others were already at their stations, waiting on the Captain's orders. Kitty hurried to her own and began to run the standard, post-voyage diagnostics on the sensor arrays as she had been trained to do. She glanced at the readings and blinked at the numbers. Something was not right here.
Commander Tiffanie Gray, the ship’s communications officer, shot her a nervous glance. It was enough to let Kitty know that something was definitely up and whatever it was, it wasn't good. For the first time since she had been chosen for her job, she wished she hadn’t been tasked to the bridge.
“Sensors online and operational, Captain,” Kitty reported. She knew that the ship's AI would have had the sensors up and running long before she reached her post, but it was her job to verify that they were in working order. Even Medea could mess up, Kitty knew from training. After a few minutes of silence on the otherwise bustling bridge, Captain Whitmire stood. He tugged at his blouse and straightened out the wrinkles.
“Open a ship-wide channel,” he ordered Commander Gray. Kitty felt her heart skip a beat. The ship's AI could have done it for the Captain, but Medea’s primary job was to guide the ship during the long journey across the stars when everyone was in cryo-sleep. Besides, Kitty knew from the last time she had been on the bridge, as advanced as Medea’s programming was, the Captain always preferred a human being more. “This is Captain Nathan Alexander Whitmire speaking. At approximately, 0513 Zulu time, we achieved a stable orbit around Earth. Ladies and gentlemen, we are home.”
Whitmire's words seemed to echo through out the corridors and various sections of the giant ship as Kitty listened to them, first hand, her station only a few yards from where he stood. She watched the Captain pause as Governor Jocker Trion came onto the bridge. Kitty’s earlier sense of unease tripled on seeing the governor. She had only seen the woman one other time before, and that had been at the commissioning ceremony of the Argo. The governor exchanged a tense look with Captain Whitmire before he continued. “At this time, we have been unable to establish communications with the city of Alantica, or any of the other great city-states for that matter. It is with profound sadness that I must inform you that it has been confirmed that Alantica has fallen to the Kaiju, as have Pacifica and Lemura.”
The following silence that spread across the bridge was deafening. The utter shock of the captain's words was nearly too much for Kitty to take in. Alantica... gone? It was like something out of a nightmare. She had grown up there, protected by the tall, massive walls and the loyal soldiers who patrolled the shores around it. She remembered the small candy shop around the corner from her parent’s apartment and felt a small tear form in the corner of her eye as another positive memory of her childhood was ripped away from her. She sniffed slightly and rubbed her face. She had to put on a brave face for the rest of the crew. That was how everyone knew her to be – the perky, happy, cheerful civilian sensor technician. It was a role, everyone knew on the intellectual level, but Kitty knew that the facade helped.
“Unfortunately, the news I have to share with you gets no better,” Whitmire went on. “During the time we were away, it appears the Kaiju won the war. Not a single city-state has answered our hails, small or large. Those Medea has been able to get detailed scans of thus far appear to have suffered the same fate as Alantica. Almost every land mass we've scanned so far is teeming with lesser Kaiju, except for Lemura. While that city-state remains silent as well, Nathan has detected power readings there that can only be of human origin. If there are survivors trapped within the fallen walls of Lemura, I feel it is our duty to take them in before we leave Earth once more. It's clear there is nothing for us here. Not anymore. Our home, our planet, is lost. End general transmission.”
“So... that’s it?” Ensign Hiro Iwakuma asked from the helm after a moment of absolute silence. “We’re just going to leave, like that? Where will we go? What will we do?”
Kitty understood his concern and near panic. She felt something very similar threatening to well up from deep inside her. The calm emanating from Captain Whitmire, however, prevented the fear from overwhelming everyone on the bridge.
“That is our long-term plan, yes,” Whitmire explained. “And Hiro? Remember your military bearing, son.”
“Yes, sir!” Hiro snapped, his eyes locking back onto his duty station.
“But while we're here, we also need to resupply the ship and try to take aboard anyone left alive,” Captain Whitmire continued. “It's our duty. All security and expeditionary personnel will be getting their orders shortly. As for the rest of us, we'll continue to learn what we can about what has happened here from orbit, as well as see if any of the orbital platforms remain functioning... though that seems unlikely at this time. Those platforms were built exclusively to support the ISS in the construction of the Argo, and were likely abandoned some time ago. Still, they're our best bet for refueling without endangering more of our personnel than need be.”
*****
Lieutenant Jim McCoy sat in the aisle between the rows of lockers as the rest of his platoon was gearing up. Like most everyone else, he supposed he was in shock. Sure, it sucked that the mission had failed. But to come home to find the great cities of Earth gone? It simply was too much. So far, he was holding it together, if only by reminding himself that he was still alive. He guessed that this counted for something, especially when so many others were dead.
Corporal Steven Kirby slammed a fist into the door of his locker. Bright red blood smeared on the metal facing as he hit it again and again. “Damn it, Lieutenant, sir! What the crap are we supposed to do now?”
“Denting that locker isn't going to change anything,” McCoy said without looking up from where he gazed at the Argo's cold metal floor. “You heard the Old Man’s plan, like everyone else. We’re Marines. Still are, despite the security personnel moniker they’ve hung on us to make the civvies more comfortable. But some things never change, and us doing our jobs is one of those things.”
“Yeah, we bust in, save some civvies, load up, and bug out,” Kirby growled. “Not much of a plan if you ask me.”
“No one did, Kirby,” McCoy pointed out.
“Even if we load back up to max,” Private First Class Doug Grimes chimed in from a nearby locker, “the Argo can only hold so much. I mean, this ship has what, the storage space for maybe six months food and water? A bit longer maybe on the air with the scrubbers burning at maximum function and no breakdowns.”
“You're right and you're wrong.” McCoy stood. “That's six months for the entire population of the Argo. The Old Man’s not going to wake the civvies or non-essential personnel we already got onboard. You can count on that. The newcomers will grab some of the reserve beds and we’ll put them into cryo as well. Simple. It'll stretch things out by bunches, and give us more time.”
“Time?!” Kirby snapped. “Time for what? All we'll be doing is waiting to die!”
“That's enough, Kirby,” McCoy warned.
“I guess the LT means we'll be planet-hunting, Kirby. Right, sir?” Grimes turned to McCoy with a questioning expression.
“That's as good a guess as any,” McCoy admitted after a moment. “To be honest, it may be the only thing we can do.”
“The Argo's got the firepower to do some serious damage,” Kirby's voice was calmer now, but still tinged with hurt and anger.
“So what?” McCoy asked. “We can't take on an entire planet of Kaiju, Kirby. It's the same forsaken mess as Alpha Centauri was. Even if we somehow, by the grace of God and the Argo's weapons, pushed the blasted Kaiju back at one of the city-states, we couldn't hold it. Not for long, and not without constant resupply, which the Argo, I’m sad to say, cannot sustain.”
“Four months,” a deep, gravely voice sounded from behind them. Kirby and Grimes jumped slightly at the arrival of Gunnery Sergeant Jonny Iffland. “If
you managed to take a city-state and found yourselves under constant siege, you may have four months before supplies run out. And that, ladies, is simple arithmetic. Ammunition kills Kaiju; food feeds Marines so that they have the strength to keep killing Kaiju. Take one away and you lose. Instead of whining and bitching about things, why don’t you finish kitting yourselves out and get your asses down to the armory before I find something creative that needs to be cleaned. Understood?”
“Yes, Gunny!” Kirby and Grimes barked in unison and hurried out of the locker room.
“Thanks for the assistance, Gunny,” McCoy told his senior non-commissioned officer.
“You had things well in order, sir,” Iffland said in a respectful tone. “However, part of my job as your gunny is to make sure that the Marines are motivated and eager to do battle. I failed in my job, and for that I apologize, sir.”
“Gunny, if anyone was excited about going on a suicide run to a dead world, I’d seriously question their sanity,” McCoy announced.
“I’m excited as all get-out, sir,” Iffland stated in a flat, bored tone. “I’m going to be the first Marine to combat-drop onto Earth from space, specifically into a potential warzone. Granted, I never thought that this would be after a failed colonization of a world inhabited by sasquatch-yeti things...”
“I’ll meet you down in the armory.” McCoy grinned and finished zipping up his coveralls. He walked out of the locker room and followed the Marines towards the armory.
Though the Argo's complement of troops numbered five hundred, the ship carried only a hundred and fifty suits of combat armor. The Dogkiller’s battle armor was bulky things, and McCoy didn't really care for them. For all the sheer firepower they brought to the table, to him they felt like death traps. Every time he suited up, it felt more like getting into a coffin than a bipedal tank.
McCoy had spent a good portion of his life within the giant walls of Pacifica. He'd been born there to parents who were the average run-of-the-mill folks trying to make ends meet and get by in a world gone insane. When he came of age, he joined the Marines as fast as he could. The military offered a level of advancement and lifestyle he knew he never would have had a chance at. His unit was immediately shipped off to Atlantica, and he never saw his family again. Sometimes, he regretted that, others not so much. He had a new family now, the one he had chosen. When word of the Argo's construction got out to the public, McCoy had done everything he could to make sure he would be on it when it left Earth. That, he didn't regret at all.
*****
Captain Whitmire laid the data pad on his desk, looking up as Kitty and Tiffanie entered his briefing room. They were both extremely nervous and apprehensive; it was easy to see.
“Take a seat,” he gestured at the chairs in front of his desk. The two women did as he instructed. Once they were settled in, he continued. “I'm sorry to have called you away from your duties. I realize there is a lot going on right now, but I have need of your particular set of skills. Kitty, you're the best civilian sensor tech onboard the Argo. Your aptitude skills are off the charts, and you far exceed the physical standards set forth by the security forces. And Diana, you're the ranking communications officer. As I am sure you both already know, the orbital stations around Earth were abandoned once we left the system, just as we feared they would be. They've either been abandoned and scavenged, or their orbits became unstable and they eventually fell from the sky.”
“That's correct, sir,” Kitty ventured. “Scans of those on this side of the planet with us show no life-forms aboard any of the ones still in the air.”
“And I still can't raise any of the others on any frequency,” Tiffanie added.
“One of the stations still seems to have power,” Whitmire said with a glance at Kitty, who nodded. “Tango Zeta 3, actually. It is rather close to our current position, which is extremely fortuitous. I am sending over a small detachment of engineers, along with a platoon of security personnel to salvage what they can from it. But what I really want is that station's logs. I, for one, want a clearer picture of what happened while we were gone. Those logs could tell us a lot about the fate of those we left behind on Earth, as well as help us to decide the course of action we need to take next.”
“But I thought you had decided that already, sir,” Tiffanie shifted in her seat uncomfortably.
“To a degree, the governor and I already have,” Whitmire admitted, “but in our current situation, a lot could change on extremely short notice. If the logs are encrypted with newer codes than those we are currently using and others escaped Earth besides us, or the station's systems have suffered damage and any messages left for us are recoverable, you two are the best chance I have at getting my hands on that data. However, neither of you have any field experience, and I know that this is far outside your normal job. It’s why I’m asking for a volunteer.”
“I'll go,” Kitty said after a moment. Tiffanie looked relieved as Whitmire nodded.
“Good,” he said. “I was hoping it would be you, no offense to the commander. This was not a choice I wanted to make for either of you. Get your gear together. The three shuttles leaving for Tango Zeta 3 will be heading out in less than hour.”
“Yes sir!” Kitty replied. “I'll be ready.”
*****
Grimes vomited onto the floor of the transport, the foul-smelling remnants of his breakfast splashing against the metal floor. None of it landed on the young soldier, which McCoy found surprising. Not an easy task with the safety harnesses that he and the other members of First and Second squads wore. The five-point metal harness was designed to prohibit movement and prevent injury, and turning one’s head to vomit was supposed to be impossible.
Entry into the Earth's atmosphere was a bumpy ride. The entire shuttle shook and vibrated as it descended towards the planet's surface. It came as no surprise to McCoy that the younger soldiers, who had never been forced to be airborne qualified, found the violent movements of the shuttle to be nauseating. He glanced over at Grimes and saw the poor kid had begun to dry heave, his stomach now empty. He’d considered ordering everyone to not eat before dropping, but considering that it had been well over a year since anyone had eaten a thing, he decided against it.
McCoy still felt bad for the younger soldier, though. His own stomach churned and gurgled nervously, but he had been airborne qualified back when it had meant something. He also had been part of the initial drop onto Alpha Centauri Prime, and felt that he was ready for the new hell they were about the enter. He looked around the bay at the rest of the men. He knew precisely how many of them had made a combat drop before, which was not many. Still, he had confidence in his men.
The wild bucking of the shuttle eased as they passed through the turbulence at long last. The shuttle pilot’s voice came over the shared comm link of both squad’s combat helmets. “ETA in five.”
“You heard the man, ladies,” the Gunny barked. “This is gonna be the best day of your young, pathetic lives. Tell me how good it’s gonna be!”
“Damn good!” the two squads chorused loudly.
“How good?” the Gunny asked.
“So good it hurts!” the squads finished. More than a few of them were grinning now. McCoy hid a small smile of his own. While he was in overall command of the drop, he had worked with the Gunny for a long time and trusted his senior NCO explicitly. The Gunny, he knew from experience, knew the men better than anyone.
As soon as the shuttle touched down, its rear door sprang open and the safety harnesses snapped open. The Gunny led the squads out onto the beach just outside the main entrance to the city of Lemura. McCoy followed on his heels, but froze in his tracks only feet outside of the shuttle. The walls of the great city were scarred, with entire sections of them collapsed. The beach around the shuttle was covered in the skeletons of lesser Dog Kaiju and rusting, damaged suits of combat armor. McCoy didn't recognize the design of the suits, but could easily see the lethality in their design lines. They were like sleeker vers
ions of the Dogkillers, the two armored squads they would be linking up with would be wearing, but better armed and technologically advanced. He wished for a moment that he had these suits at his disposal instead of his standard armor.
McCoy’s own two squads were pure infantry. No Dogkiller armor for them. Captain Whitmire had deemed it would be best to have some troops on the ground that could go places which the bulky Dogkiller suits might not be able. McCoy often suspected that Whitmire was a traditionalist like himself when it came to all the high tech toys the army and navy had at their disposal these days.
Kaiju Apocalypse II Page 2
