Yet the Marines were no longer there. As one they rushed toward the line of explosions before them, the billowing orange conflagration growing by the second. Their weapons trained forward in unison, a solid column of flame and death burning and blasting through the deep column of the enraged Zerg.
“Don’t look back! Run, you bastards! Run!”
Ardo ran next to Littlefield, the metal case banging between them. His free hand held his gauss rifle, swinging wildly as it spewed destruction indiscriminately in his path. There was no effort to fire for effect—all he could do as he ran was random damage and add to the carnage already taking place.
They were nearly at the wall of fire they had created. Severed Zerg limbs and burning viscous fluid cascaded around them.
“Keep Firing! Keep running!”
Ardo caught a glimpse of Cutter off to his left. The huge Firebat thundered forward, the female civilian draped over his shoulder. She bounced with each step like a rag doll. With his free hand, Cutter poured plasma into the Zerg line.
The flames wrapped around Ardo as he crossed the line. The footing had already gotten difficult, the ground slick with charred and ruptured Zerg organs. The metal box banged against his leg, letting him know that Littlefield was still there, running and pulling him forward.
An unearthly scream tore across the com channel. It continued, an ear-piercing squeal of terror.
“Esson! Jeez, Lieutenant! They’re all over him! We gotta—”
“Keep running, Collins! That’s an order!”
“But Lieutenant, can’t you hear him?”
“Run, damn you! Don’t look back!”
The internal temperature of Ardo’s battle armor was growing by the moment. He could feel his hands and feet starting to blister. Suddenly he ran directly into a standing Zergling. Ardo screamed but did not stop, knocking the creature down in his rush before both vanished from each other’s sight amid the conflagration.
He was shocked when, in the next instant, the flame was gone from his smoking faceplate.
Before him lay the long expanse of the southern Basin. Molly’s Nipple. The Stonewall Peaks. All he had to do was reach the rim. All he had to do was . . .
The chatter of automatic fire rattled across the com channel.
“They’re coming! They’re nippin’ at my ass! Oh gods of . . .”
A scream drove like a needle into Ardo’s ear. Before it died, two more joined it, each unique in its death sound.
“Keep running, you dogs!” Breanne breathed through the com channel. Her own voice had an edge to it Ardo had never heard before. Was she winded or just afraid? “Keep running and don’t look back!”
Instinctively, Ardo looked.
The Zerg were closer than he thought and more numerous than he imagined. To either side of them stretched a carpet of the aliens pouring across the landscape, streaming toward him.
Ardo stumbled at the sight. Littlefield, maintaining a death grip on the case slung between them, shot ahead. Only his companion’s pull on the box kept Ardo on his feet and moving forward.
“Do that again, kid,” Littlefield huffed between breaths, “and I’ll leave you behind.”
They were covering open ground now, their battle armor once more carrying them with incredible speed toward the steep incline of the Basin wall. Ardo briefly remembered how much fun he had had crossing this same ground and coming down that incline just a few hours ago. Or was it months ago? In the open, they were widening the distance between themselves and the Zerg behind them. Now he was faced with having to run up that sheer face. Ardo realized with a start that the vertical face would slow down his battle armor considerably, but it would not hinder the enraged Zerg pursuing him.
“Sarge,” Ardo huffed. “My weapon’s dry. I need to reload.”
“Drop it, soldier,” Littlefield chuckled with a dry throat.
“Sir?”
“Drop your weapon.” Littlefield was a strong warrior, but even his training was being taxed by the full-out run. His words were gasping over his breath. “It doesn’t matter anymore, son.”
“But, sir!”
“Do you . . . do you know what’s . . . what’s on top of that cliff right there? There’s a bunk and a hot meal waiting . . . for me . . . for you. It’s sitting . . . sitting just inside the most beautiful Confederacy per . . . perimeter wall you’ve ever seen. Auto . . . auto-defense cannon turrets. Bunkers. Prettiest bunkers . . . you’ve ever seen full . . . full of fresh soldiers who really want to . . . play shooting gallery at a wall of angry Zergs.”
Ardo looked at the top of the cliff face again. He could almost see the walls of their base at Scenic. It seemed to be a million steps from where he so desperately continued to run.
“Drop your gun, son,” Littlefield croaked. “If we don’t clear the rim of this basin . . . no amount of ammo . . . in that fine weapon of yours . . . will save your ass . . . or mine.”
Ardo glanced at Littlefield. The old warrior smiled at him through his panting breath. Ardo noticed for the first time that Littlefield had already dropped his weapon and ammunition packs.
Ardo tossed his gun aside, put his head down and ran.
The floor of the basin began to rise in front of them. The relatively smooth floor was giving way to the more uneven terrain leading up to the base of the rim wall. Ardo frantically scrambled across the ever steeper ground, his feet propelling loose rock behind him from time to time. The climb was getting worse with each step. The stone face of the cliff rose above them. The battle armor was powered for many things, but flight was not one of them.
He stumbled onto the access road. It crossed back and forth along the cliff face, a series of switchbacks leading up to Scenic. It was the only way up the cliff.
Ardo risked another glance back. The Marines had put a hundred yards between them and the following Zerg. It would not be enough. The Marines would have to navigate the switchbacks, but Ardo could already see that the Zerg were under no such restraint. The buglike creatures scrambled and leaped over the intervening rocks with barely any check. They would come straight up the cliff face.
Someone else noticed it, too.
“Marines! Prepare to hold and fire!”
Lieutenant Breanne. She was going to stop and make her stand.
“Melnikov. Littlefield. Get that case back to base! Cutter! Follow them with that civilian! That’s the mission. The rest of us hold here as long as we can. Maybe it will be enough.”
“Holy shit!”
“Shut up, Collins! That line of rocks at the edge of the roadway! Everybody take a position and prepare to fire.” Breanne’s voice was like steel. She had made up her mind, and nothing and no one could change it now.
The squad, breathless and aching, dashed to the group of protruding boulders lining the side of the road like broken teeth. The Zerg swarm swept toward them.
“Littlefield! Get out of here now or I’ll—”
A bright tone sounded suddenly in Ardo’s helmet. By the sudden reaction from the remaining platoon members, they all heard it, too.
Ardo, looking at Breanne’s face at the time, saw her eyes go wide. She looked up. Ardo followed her gaze and caught a glimpse of a brilliant arching contrail etching itself across the bright sky.
“Turtle down, Marines! Now!” the Lieutenant barked.
Ardo, out of trained reflex more than thought, tossed himself to the ground behind the nearest boulder. He closed his eyes, but to little effect.
The world suddenly went painfully white.
He could feel the concussion through the ground a moment afterward. He had experienced this many times before, but there was still something about being under such primal, unquestioning power that shook him to his soul. It was coming, the great beast, and the shaking ground only heralded its approach.
The shock wave from the tactical nuclear blast had compressed the air in front of it into a wall of force. Distance had dissipated its effect, but it was nevertheless deadly. It passe
d over Ardo and his battlesuit, shaking him through the armor until he thought his teeth would be dislodged.
It would only be a moment, he knew. Either way, it would only be a moment.
Then the moment passed . . . and he was still there.
Ardo staggered to his feet.
The outpost that had been Oasis was hidden beneath the roiling red cloud—probably was the roiling red cloud, Ardo realized. The line of Zerg had not had any warning. Most were dead from the shock wave. Those few who remained seemed either confused or blind from the flash.
This certainly was no time to question which.
“Move it, Marines!” Breanne whooped. “Let’s get home before these Zerg pigs figure out what happened!”
Ardo grabbed the handle on the battered metal case and turned, grinning, toward Sergeant Littlefield. “That was one amazing rescue, eh, Sarge?”
“Is that what that was?” To Ardo’s astonishment, Littlefield’s face was grim. “Let’s get this box home. I need a shower and my bunk.”
CHAPTER 11
HOMECOMING
THEY DRAGGED THEMSELVES OVER THE CREST OF the Basin wall. It was a site Ardo had wondered if he would see again. The walls of Scenic Outpost, dark in the failing light, thrust up out of the sandstone. Beyond its walls lay bunks, showers, meals, and, most of all, some measure of security. The Command Center towered over it all, beckoning Ardo like a siren. Its flashing beacons were so beautiful that it almost moved the Marine to tears. Breanne straightened them all up on the ridge. It would not do to have them straggle in like a bunch of whipped dogs, she said. She formed them up, admonished them in no uncertain terms to keep themselves tall and proud or she would personally insert something unnatural into their anatomy that would force them to stand up straight. Then, with snap and precision, she marched them toward the garrison’s deployment gate. Their fear of her overwhelmed their tiredness. What remained of the detail approached the compound like some sort of dust-caked military parade. If Breanne had had a flag, Ardo was certain she would have been waving it by now.
Ardo afforded himself a single backward glance. The great atomic cloud was dissipating over the Basin, its angry glow spreading eastward over the red mountains beyond. It had been an airburst: a detonation at a designated altitude that slammed down like a fist on anything beneath. The result was heavier physical damage but also a much lower radioactive fallout rate than from a ground detonation. Still, Ardo wondered if anyone had mentioned these facts to any settlers who might be remaining downwind of the deadly cloud’s fallout. Most likely not, he decided. The Zerg are probably all that remain east of here anyway.
Their formation was much smaller than it had been earlier in the day. Ardo counted heads as they marched. The platoon of Marines was down by about half. Ekart, the second Firebat from his own squad, was missing and presumably either shredded or smashed flat on the floor of the Basin somewhere around Oasis. The same fate apparently had been visited upon Collins and Esson.
At least he hoped they were dead. It was entirely possible, he realized, that for some of them the nuke had blown the Zergs off them and welded the seals in the battle armor, but not completely crushed them in the blast wave. Sealed inside your own battle armor, unable to move on an abandoned, radioactive plain . . . The aching in his head was returning. Probably best not to think about it.
So it was another glorious day for the Confederacy Marines. Half their number had been left behind, but Ardo knew the mission would be chalked up as victorious. No, he realized, it was more than half. The Vulture cycles had not waited for them to return, but he recalled they had lost all but two before they had fled Oasis, and he did not actually know if either of them had survived to reach the garrison.
Glorious. All for a little metal box banging incessantly against his thigh and a single civilian draped over Cutter like a broken doll.
Breanne and the remains of her squad marched up to the east gate with all the dignity they could muster. A vibrant rust-colored sunset silhouetted the dark metallic walls of the garrison compound. There was something unnatural as they approached, something Ardo could not put a name to in his mind. As they approached the main lock, however, Breanne must have sensed something, too. She suddenly held up her left fist. The Marines all stopped at once, wary.
Breanne stood there for a moment. Ardo could not tell if the lieutenant was concerned or simply undecided.
“Breanne to Scenic Ops,” she called over the com channel.
Silence. That was it, Ardo realized. He had not heard anything over the com channel but their own chatter as they approached the wall.
“Breanne to Scenic Ops. Respond, please.”
The wind was picking up in the evening, the sound of the blowing sand hissing around their helmets. Ardo looked at the low bunkers set on either side of the lock. The dark slits had been comforting a few moments before. He had imagined each filled with sentry troops prepared to defend them against any assault. Now they seemed ominously empty and dark. He tried to see if there was any movement beyond the black slits, but it was impossible to tell.
The Marines glanced uneasily at each other.
The com channel crackled slightly.
Breanne signaled the platoon to ready weapons. It was not until that moment that Ardo realized he was without his gauss rifle. He felt suddenly quite vulnerable. He glanced accusingly at Littlefield, still holding the other handle on the metal box between them. Littlefield took no notice, his eyes shifting over the darkening walls of the garrison.
“Why don’t they answer?”
“Could be a com problem.”
“Could be? What if it ain’t?”
Breanne stepped up to the keypad entry panel next to the massive, sealed gate. It took her several attempts before she managed a proper sequence the gate would accept.
Ardo felt it more than heard it. The massive gate through the garrison main lock groaned slowly upward. Breanne raised her weapon but held her ground. The others in the platoon followed her lead.
“Mellish, Bernelli, on point! Move!”
The two Marines hesitated only a moment, then moved quickly forward, gauss assault rifles held high. Each took up a position on either side of the darkened lock, peering in over their gun sights.
“Clear, Lieutenant!” Mellish called with a decided lack of conviction.
The inner door of the lock began to grind open as well. Its mass rose slowly, revealing the center of the garrison compound beyond bathed in the deepening rust of the sunset.
“Lieutenant?” Bernelli asked with a nervous edge to his voice.
“Hold your ground, Private!” Breanne stepped forward, her eyes trying to see beyond the narrow lock opening. “Cover us. Xiang, you’re with me.”
Breanne stepped into the lock, followed by the private. Both were swallowed at once by the dark corridor, their outlines etched against the deepening red of the compound clearing beyond. Just as quickly both figures stepped back into the light as they left the confines of the lock.
“Everyone, move up,” Breanne called. “Quickly, people!”
Ardo glanced once more at Littlefield. The old veteran nodded, and they quickly moved forward with the rest of the platoon.
The clearing beyond the lock was not much more than a rally point set amid the too closely spaced buildings of the garrison. The Confederacy liked to keep their military bases tight and efficient: the smaller the area, the easier it is to apply resources and the less terrain you have to guard. At least, that was the doctrine engrained in all their commanders. The result was often a crowded hodgepodge of structures built far enough apart so that ground vehicles could maneuver between them. When fully staffed, this made any Confederacy garrison like an anthill, its narrow passages teeming with Marines, support personnel, and command staff all in a hurry to get somewhere.
Stepping hesitantly out of the lock space, Ardo noted once more that Scenic Garrison had been deployed like every other base he had ever served in, with one very notable ex
ception.
No one was home.
The lock entered the clearing through the east side perimeter wall. The clearing itself had served as the landing area for the Dropships. Several buildings crowded in on the marginal open space. A ragged line of supply depots had been constructed in a tightly fitted puzzle on both the north and south sides of the clearing. A matching pair of missile turrets rose above them on either side. Their deployment heads still rotated as their homing systems searched automatically. To the west of the clearing, directly across from the lock, stood the three barracks units they had so casually left that same morning. A wide passage just to the south led back to the massive Command Center, the top of which could be seen towering above the barracks. The upper parts of the factory center and machine shop could just be made out farther beyond. A pair of SCVs stood next to a stack of supply containers on the north side of the clearing. Everything was exactly where it should have been.
“Mellish, cycle the lock.” The lieutenant’s voice was calm and quiet. Ardo used to talk the same way to the horses on his father’s farm to calm them down when they were skittish. “Let’s get that door closed. No sense being surprised from behind.”
“Yeah,” someone muttered over the com channel. “Especially since we got plenty to surprise us in front.”
“That’s enough, Bernelli.” Breanne’s voice remained ice calm. “You get that door closed yet, Mellish?”
“Yes, sir. Lock’s secure.”
“It’s like they all just got up and left,” Xiang muttered.
“Yeah,” Littlefield agreed, “but look: I can see them leaving the supply huts and turrets—those are all built here—but the barracks are mobile. Hell, even the Command Center flies itself on those repulsor pads. They’re all mobile units, and still in good repair by the looks of ’em. If they were evacuating, why not take the hardware, too?”
“All good questions, but what we need are answers.” Breanne had made her decision. “Let’s sweep the area. There may be people trapped or hurt or otherwise unable to communicate. Something’s happened here, and whoever you run into is probably going to be a little nervous.”
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