“So, now what, Sergeant?” Corporal Davis asked. She looked nervous; she kept turning as if she were trying to watch in all directions at once.
“I don’t know,” Sergeant Kennedy said. He was having a hard time thinking, but there was one thing he knew about the MinSha. “If there were some of those damn MinSha here, there are probably more close by. Damn bugs.” He tried his radio even though it was one of his “red” systems. Nope. “Any of you guys got comms with Top or the Colonel? I think I remember telling them we had MinSha here, but I’m kinda fuzzy after that.”
“Stand by,” Sergeant Freese replied. After a brief pause she reported, “They’re going after the MinSha commander down in some tunnels underneath here. Top got hit by a grenade and his suit’s messed up.”
“They’re going to need help,” Kennedy decided as Sergeant Lewis and Corporal Gibson ran up. “Their damn commander isn’t going to be alone, and the Colonel’s only got two CASPers with him, one of which is fucked up. They’re going to need us. Let’s go.”
“Dude,” Corporal Gibson said. “Your suit looks pretty fucked up, too. What are you going to do if we come across any of the insects?”
Kennedy ran a scan of his weaponry. Corporal Gibson was right; all of it was inop except for one system. He activated the switch, and the giant spring-loaded sword blade extended and snapped into place on his right arm, extending over two feet beyond his fist. He looked at Sergeant Crouch’s body and stood a little taller.
“What am I going to do if we run into any of the bugs? I’m going to kill the motherfuckers.”
Manager’s Office, Peskall’s Pretties, Planet Moorhouse
“All right, Handley,” Mason said. “Move out.”
Nigel started to follow the trooper, but Mason stepped in front of him. “My suit may be messed up, sir, but it’s still better protection than what you’ve got.” Mason entered the corridor and Nigel followed the senior enlisted.
The passageway wasn’t much to speak of. Although there was a flat area next to the door, the passageway immediately sloped down into the ground at a steep angle. Hewn from the rock, it had been braced periodically to keep it from caving in, but wasn’t much larger than a CASPer in either height or width. Nigel had a great view of Top’s back as he limped along, dragging his right foot, but not a lot else.
As Private Handley had noted, the passageway ran for about 30 feet then made a turn to the left as it continued down. After another 20 feet, the passageway leveled out; it also widened and grew taller, and Mason moved forward to limp alongside Handley. Nigel could finally see a little of the way ahead, although the two CASPers still blocked most of his view.
After another 100 feet, they came to the cells, barren squares about 10 feet by 10 feet, with bars that ran from floor to ceiling on all sides. The first several were empty, aside from small bunks or piles of some sort of straw.
“Damn it,” Mason said, stopping suddenly in front of one of the cells. He reached over and ripped the door from off its hinges with a single pull, but he was too large to make it through the small doorway in his suit. He stepped back, allowing Nigel access. “Is that who I think it is?”
Nigel stepped forward, dreading what he would see. A body lay in the middle of the cell, not moving. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized who it was. The clothing was tattered and the hair a rat’s nest, but it was his sister. Parisa. He dropped his rifle in the passageway and ran forward.
“Oh shit. Parisa!” Nigel fell to his knees next to her. She’d been shot at least twice, and her chest was a mess. Something important had been hit; there was blood everywhere, and it pooled around her. Judging by the bubbles that continued to form, she was still alive…and shot in the lung.
He took her hand. “Parisa, can you hear me?” She didn’t move.
“Is she alive?” Mason asked.
Nigel looked up. “Just barely. She’s been shot a couple of times, and one is through the lung. I don’t know what to do for her!”
“Without a hospital, there isn’t much you can do,” Private Handley said.
Nigel looked back down. Parisa’s eyes were open, and she was looking at him. Her lips moved, but Nigel couldn’t hear what she said. He leaned forward to where his ear was next to her lips.
“Bastard said…wouldn’t see you. Was wrong.” She coughed out a glob of blood. “Knew…you’d figure…out. Something else…need to…do.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll do it together.”
“Not possible.” Her hand reached up and pulled Nigel closer. “Avenge me!”
The hand fell away, and her head rolled to the side. She was dead.
“Fuuuuuuuck!” Nigel yelled.
Mason screamed something inaudible and ripped the door off the next cell and began beating the bars with it. Several snapped out of their frames under the assault and rattled as they hit the ground. “Damn it,” he chanted with every blow. “Damn it.” Crash. “Damn it!” Crash. “God fucking damn it!” Crash. Crash! CRASH!
“Hey uh, Top, Colonel,” Private Handley said, “I’ve got movement up front.”
Locked in their grief, neither man responded.
“Top, Colonel!” Private Handley yelled. “I’ve got movement up front! MinSha!”
Mason threw the door through the hole he had made in the bars, and it clattered loudly as it hit the floor inside. He turned to find Nigel retrieving his laser rifle from the passageway. “Stay back, sir,” Mason said. He gave Nigel a push that threw him backwards down the hall. “These motherfuckers are mine.”
The last cell had a solid metal frame and door, which Mason ripped from its hinges as easily as he had the others. Holding it as a shield in front of him, he advanced down the hallway, and rounds immediately began hitting it.
“What are you doing, Top?” Private Handley called as he fired to the side of the advancing trooper.
Mason half-turned as a MAC round penetrated the shield, but bounced off his armor, having spent most of its energy penetrating the cell door. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. “You can come with me or not, but I’m getting some revenge.”
* * * * *
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Manager’s Office, Peskall’s Pretties, Planet Moorhouse
Sergeant Kennedy led the group down the tunnel out of the manager’s office. They had caught the manager removing a box from a hidden safe when they arrived, and Sergeant Kennedy had appropriated it as spoils of war.
The manager had pointed out where the other humans had gone when asked; having five CASPers crowded around you aiming weapons in your vicinity could be somewhat intimidating.
It wouldn’t have been hard to find their direction of travel in any event; the path of destruction led from the bookcase on the floor, through the shattered door and into the tunnel.
They followed the passage as it turned and widened, and then reached the cell block.
It looked like a major battle had occurred; some of the cells were completely trashed, although Sergeant Kennedy didn’t see any evidence of weapons impacts that would have caused the damage.
The colonel sat in one of the cells with his back to the door, a woman’s head in his lap. The only blood was the red of humanity, and Kennedy could see enough of it to know that the woman was dead. Judging by the scene, the woman was Parisa Shirazi, former head of Asbaran Solutions and sister to Nigel.
Despite all of their efforts and travel halfway around the galaxy, they had failed to save her.
The colonel was obviously taking it hard; his head was down, and he didn’t give any indication he had heard them approach.
“Sorry, sir,” Kennedy said.
If Colonol Shirazi heard him, he didn’t give any indication.
“Where are Top and Handley?”
This time the colonel did move; he waved a hand further down the tunnel. “Go away,” the colonel finally muttered.
Sergeant Kennedy turned toward the rest of the group. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go find Top.”
>
The group had only taken a few steps down the tunnel when they heard the unmistakable sounds of a heavy weapon. “Hurry,” Kennedy added. “Before it’s too late.”
Tunnels Under Peskall’s Pretties, Planet Moorhouse
Private Handley watched Mason advance down the tunnel, holding the door in front of him. Some of the bigger rounds staggered him, but then he would regroup and press onward. Private Handley glanced at the colonel, who sat in the center of the passageway where Mason had thrown him, looking stunned. As the colonel gave no indication he needed help or that he was even going to get up, Handley fell in behind Mason as he strode down the passage.
The private caught up with Mason, and he could hear the senior enlisted muttering something as he proceeded down the tunnel. Handley turned up the gain on his receivers, and after a few seconds he realized Mason was repeating the same mantra as he advanced. “Gonna kill them,” he said as he stepped out with his left foot, followed by “Gonna kill them all,” as he dragged his non-functional right foot up.
Mason kept repeating it, over and over, and Handley began to doubt Mason’s sanity; he also started to rethink his decision to follow the senior trooper. Handley was safe following behind him, though, or at least relatively so; leaving the safety of Mason’s shadow would put him at risk from the fusillade of MAC rounds and laser bolts passing by him.
Handley realized with a start their progress was slowing; the further they traveled, the more Mason had to lean forward into his shield to absorb the impacts of the MAC rounds, and maintaining his balance was taking more and more of his time.
But the litany continued, “Gonna kill them; gonna kill them all.”
Handley risked a glance around the side of the shield and saw the problem. With no one returning fire, the MinSha had become bold. The passageway widened into some kind of chamber after another 100 feet, and the MinSha had formed a firing line across it; at least six of the bugs were in the open, shooting at the humans.
That would never do.
He attached his rifle to the mounting clip on his leg and pulled out two grenades. He pulled the pin from one and threw it as hard as he could over the top of Mason’s shield, then armed and threw the second as quickly as he could.
The bugs yelled something untranslatable by his suit, and they scattered like cockroaches when the lights come on.
The grenades detonated and, as the pressure on the shield diminished, Mason ran forward, moving the remains of the cell door to the side so he could see as he sprinted. Increasing his speed to keep up with Mason, Handley got a better look ahead as they advanced. There was a large, open area at the end of the tunnel, and then nothing. The mining pit, with its three mile drop off, lay beyond the chamber.
Handley didn’t have time for more than a glance; the MinSha were climbing back to their feet. Mason reached them just in time and shielded himself as the first one fired. He caught the laser bolt on the cell door, and then he was upon the enemy, swinging the door like a giant fly swatter.
The shield came down on the alien that had shot at him, and chitin and fluids sprayed as the Minsha’s body disintegrated under the blow. Mason threw the door like a flying disc at a second MinSha, decapitating it. Mason’s giant knife blade sprang out as he turned left and advanced on a third.
A laser bolt flashed off Mason’s shoulder, and Handley turned to find several more MinSha on the right that had survived the grenade blasts. One was already firing; Handley shot it first, and a string of MAC rounds crossed the alien’s chest, penetrating armor and chitin with enough force to pass all the way through.
A second MinSha leveled its weapon at him, and Handley stepped forward. Holding his rifle across his body with both hands, Handley knocked the weapon out of the alien’s claws with the butt of his rifle, then reversed the stroke and drove the rifle butt between the MinSha’s eyes, shattering its skull. The alien dropped, and Handley stepped forward to fire point-blank at a third MinSha that was struggling to its feet, leaking blue blood from a number of wounds. The alien was hit twice in the head and fell to the ground.
Handley turned back to find Mason standing over the remains of several more MinSha. Blue viscera and blood dripped from his knife and looked like paintball splatters across his armor from head to toe. The senior trooper wasn’t moving; he just appeared to be looking down at the disemboweled MinSha.
Handley walked over to Mason’s side and waved a hand in front of his camera pickups. “Are you okay?” he asked.
No response.
“Hey, Top,” he said, trying again. “Are you all right?”
Again, no response. This was creepier than when Mason had been repeating his chant.
A metallic noise reverberated through Handley’s speakers. Damn, he had forgotten to turn the gain back down. He spun to see what had made the noise; another squad of MinSha were setting up a crew-served weapon on the other side of the large, open bay. The noise he’d heard was the click of the heavy MAC snapping into the tripod.
And it wasn’t just a large, open bay—it was a hangar bay. Some sort of MinSha courier ship sat on the other side of the alien troopers.
“Get down!” Handley yelled, diving behind a nearby pallet of equipment. He hit the ground and rolled to look back. Mason hadn’t moved.
“Mason! Get down!” Nothing. Handley didn’t know what Mason was doing in his suit, but he appeared to be completely detached from the outside world.
Swearing under his breath, Handley rose and raced across the intervening distance to slam into Mason, knocking both of them to the ground as the first rounds flew past over them. On his knees, Handley struggled to drag Mason to the safety of another equipment pallet.
He had just reached the pallet when Mason slapped his hand away. “Stop!” the senior enlisted said simply, then he started to rise.
“Stay down!” Handley ordered, planting a hand on Mason’s chest to pin him down.
Mason struggled against him for several seconds as rounds began impacting the pallet, then he stilled. “Where are we?” he finally asked.
“We’re in a MinSha hangar, and there is a squad on the other side of the bay with a heavy weapon.”
“Who else is with us?”
“No one.”
“So what’s our status?”
Handley risked a glance above the pallet, then ducked back down as the heavy MAC began firing again. He had seen enough, though. As he had feared, the MinSha squad was advancing on them. Using the crew-served weapon for cover, the squad had split and a group of three MinSha was flanking them on both sides.
“Our status?” Handley asked. “We’re pretty fucked.”
* * * * *
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Hangar Bay Under Peskall’s Pretties, Planet Moorhouse
“Hurry up and kill them before more of their damned suits show up,” Commander Tranayl urged.
“I need them to stand up,” the MAC gunner replied. “The tires in that pallet are stopping our rounds. I don’t want to move the weapon; it would give them a chance to attack. Besides, the squad should force them from cover shortly. They almost have the humans flanked on both sides.”
“You want them to stand up?” Tranayl asked. “I can do that. Just be ready.” He mounted the courier ship’s ramp and selected the hangar’s intercom system.
Tunnels Under Peskall’s Pretties, Planet Moorhouse
A voice came over the hangar’s speakers. “Nigel Shirazi, if you can hear me, I wanted to compliment you on how close you came to saving your sister. Had you arrived a few minutes earlier, she might still be alive. Too bad, really, just like it’s too bad we didn’t get a chance to meet. Unfortunately, I have places to go and humans to kill, so I have to be going. I look forward to our next meeting, for I am sure we will meet again.”
A red haze covered Mason’s vision, and it took all of his control not to charge into the teeth of the heavy weapon just to kill a few more of them. His soul ached; they had only been a few minutes too late…
Handley peeked around the side of the pallet. “Brave bug,” he said, dropping back into cover again. “The little bastard is on the boarding ladder to the ship. It’s almost as if he were daring us to shoot at him.”
“He’s here?” The tenuous hold Mason had on his emotions snapped. He stood up, yelling a feral cry of rage and fired at his tormentor.
Mason’s first few rounds went high, and then an alien MAC round hit his weapon, destroying it. He continued firing, pulling and releasing the trigger, unable to comprehend why his rounds weren’t having an effect. Oblivious to everything except the urge to kill, Mason also failed to notice when a second round removed most of his suit’s right hand and lower arm. He continued pointing the stub of his arm at the MinSha on the boarding ladder, firing the weapon that was no longer attached, while lighter weapons from the other MinSha riddled his suit.
“Top!” Handley screamed. “Get down!” When Mason didn’t flinch, Handley chopped at his leg, trying to bring the senior enlisted down, but the leg of Mason’s suit had locked fully extended when it failed. It didn’t budge.
“Damn it,” Handley said, realizing his error. He climbed to his feet and tackled Mason to the ground.
Tunnels Under Peskall’s Pretties, Planet Moorhouse
Sergeant Kennedy held up a fist as he approached the end of the tunnel, and the group behind him stopped in place, scanning for danger.
“I see Top and Handley,” Kennedy reported. “They’re laying down behind a pile of shit. Someone must be shootin’ at them. Weird; one’s on top of the other. It almost looks like they’re trying to have sex in their suits.”
Asbaran Solutions (The Revelations Cycle Book 2) Page 29
