Cold Planet: A Gateway Universe Story

by Brian Dorsey

  “They should try to maintain spacing, but this area here will drive them closer together and toward us,” said Yates, pointing to the area where the deeper swamp water ran into a small outcropping of drier land close to the thick forest cover. “They should elongate their line of march here…Shara, you take cover by that tree. That should put you close enough to them. With you there and the LT over here, I will conceal by that fern outcropping with Daemon.”

  “We’ll have to be quick to take them without firearms. If you do need to go hot, use pistols,” directed Martin.

  ‘Five minutes out,’ came Sellers voice over the short-range comms.

  “Time for some payback,” declared Shara with a smile as he drew his combat knife.

  “Be quick, accurate, and deadly,” added Martin, unsheathing her sword and walking to the edge of the dry outcropping.

  Stepping off solid ground into waist deep water, Martin’s feet sank to mid-calf in the muddy bottom. Slogging her way through the chilly brown water, she worked back toward the outcropping until the frigid water was only knee-deep. ‘Good spot,’ she thought, standing next to a large fern. She shoved her left hand into cold, thick mud, grabbing a handful. First, she rubbed the grime onto her face. Ignoring the smell of methane and filth, she scooped up another handful and ran the dark brown mud through her hair to mute the scarlet red color. As her face grew tight and the mud hardened in her hair, Martin lowered herself into the muck and waited.

  In a few moments, the sound of clanging metal and movement of gear alerted Martin that the Terillian patrol was approaching. ‘Loud and sloppy,’ she thought as she heard the Terillians for another minute before they came into view.

  The first Terillian came into view just as he stepped off the outcropping into the waist-deep water.

  “Shit!” he cursed in Terillian.

  “Get back up here,” ordered the sergeant leading them. “We’ll stay up here until we get into the forest. Just don’t get too bunched up and keep your eyes open.”

  Lying prone in the cold muck, Martin gripped her sword and controlled her breathing as the Terillian on point walked past her position, not even a meter from her. Just a little bit further and trap would be sprung.

  “The Scout Rangers took out those Humani,” replied one of the men. “I don’t know why we’re out this far.”

  “Keep it down and focus,” ordered the sergeant, turning toward the complaining solider. “Maybe some got away, and don’t forget about whoever hit the patrol to the north. We just need to cover another kilometer and we can head back, so keep your shit together, your mouth shut, and your eyes and ears open.”

  The sergeant turned away from the soldier and the patrol began to move again. A few more loud, clumsy steps and the last Terillian moved past Martin’s concealed position.

  It was time.

  Martin sprung from the muddy water, her sword at the ready. The last Terillian heard her exit the water and turned toward her just in time to receive a powerful slash across his chest. As the soldier screamed and collapsed to the ground, Martin rolled forward and jumped to her feet, driving her sword through the chest of a second guard. Over the shoulder of her impaled opponent, she saw Shara driving another enemy to the ground, shoving his knife into the Terillian’s neck as the two fell. A flash of fur and loud scream told Martin that Dameon had taken out another Terillian.

  Then it was over.

  Martin, concentrating on slowing her breathing after the sudden, violent attack, looked toward Yates position. The sergeant was standing over the last Terillian. Pressing his foot against the Terillian’s chest with his rifle pressed against the enemy’s forehead, Yates looked back toward Martin. “Here’s our canary,” he smiled.

  “Let see if he sings,” replied Martin, walking over to the Terillian.

  Staring down at the soldier, she was impressed with the way he held himself given he was a regular. She knelt next to him and placed her face close to his.

  “You’re going to answer a few questions for us, Ter,” she said in Terillian.

  Still pinned to the ground by Yates’s foot, the Terillian looked back into her eyes. She could tell he was afraid but working hard to hide it. A Scout Ranger wouldn’t talk, at least not in the limited time they had. But maybe a regular might.

  “Kill me if you wish,” he replied. “I will go to the spirit world with my honor.”

  Martin leaned in closer, pulling a knife from her vest and pressing it against the Terillian’s cheek. “We’re not going to kill you,” she whispered.

  She wasn’t sure what to do next. Interrogation wasn’t really in a Guardsman’s toolkit, but they did know pain.

  She pivoted and drove her knife into the Terillian’s thigh.

  The Terillian let out a groan, clinching his teeth.

  “How many Terillians are on this planet?” asked Yates, also in Terillian, as he pulled the prisoner to his knees.

  “I will sing my death song,” spat the captive as he looked up toward Yates. “You do your worst.”

  “Let me help you sing,” replied Martin, grasping the Terillian’s left arm and extended it into the air.

  “Do it,” grumbled the Terillian.

  He let out a scream as his elbow snapped against the blow from Martin’s knee.

  “How many?” grunted Martin in frustration. This wasn’t her forte. She didn’t mind killing Terillians; she didn’t even mind hurting them but this felt…uncomfortable and awkward.

  “No,” panted the Terillian. “Never.”

  Martin’s body tensed. With a grunt, she drove her foot into the prisoner’s back, knocking him to the ground. Her frustration grew. Glancing at Yates, she let out a long breath. The sergeant, a veteran of countless missions in the Dark Zone, returned her gaze.

  “It’s not about hurting him, LT,” said Yates calmly. “The brain can work through pain. It’s about showing them death and letting them decide if they’re really in a hurry to get there.” He reached down and grabbed the Terillian by his hair. “Let’s show you death,” he grunted as he pulled the prisoner toward the muddy water.

  The Terillian kicked and tried to resist but Yates drove his foot into his prisoner’s knee. The Terillian fell to the ground as his knee buckled and snapped. Before the Terillian could rise, Yates drew his knife and drove it into the small of the Terillian’s back. The prisoner let out a moan and arched his back as the sergeant’s blade ripped through his lower spine.

  “Stop moving,” grunted Yates as he yanked the blade from prisoner’s back.

  Martin felt an uneasy twinge in her back as the Terillian fell into the muddy water, helped with a shove from Yates.

  Yates jumped from the outcropping into the water with a splash. “Come here,” he said calmly as he pulled the struggling Terillian’s torso out of the water.

  “No,” pleaded the prisoner. “I—”

  Yates shoved the Terillian’s head into the muddy water.

  “He’s not fighting,” declared Shara.

  “That’s because he can’t move his fucking legs,” answered Yates, pressing his hand against the back of the Terillian’s head. A few more seconds and Yates pulled the prisoner’s head out of the water and leaned the paralyzed Terillian against a rotted-out tree trunk.

  His face caked with thick mud, the captive coughed and spit mud and water out of his mouth.

  “Did you catch your breath, Terillian?” asked Yates.

  “I’m not going to—”

  “Shut up,” said Yates as he drove his knife into the Terillian’s side.

  Martin instinctively stepped forward to stop Yates. Then she stopped; they needed to know about the base and if their comrades were still alive. Her stomach churning from the evil she was watching—and allowing to continue. She stood motionless, letting Yates do what she knew she could not.

  The captive let out another moan. He opened his mouth to speak.

  “Not yet,” said Yates and he placed his hand over the Terillian’s mouth with one h
and and pulled another knife from his vest. “This one’s for your liver,” he said matter-of-factly as he slowly pushed the blade into the Terillian.

  She had to force herself to watch, but what else could they do?

  The captive began to grunt rhythmically with heavy puffs of air as pain coursed through him with every breath.

  “Now, we can talk,” said Yates as he leaned in toward the Terillian, another blade in his hands. “So you know you’re paralyzed. That first blade stickin’ out of your ribs has punctured one of your lungs. That’s why every breath feels…well, you know how it feels. Even though that hurts, it will take a while to kill you.”

  “I—”

  “I’m not done,” interrupted Yates. “That second knife is stuck in your liver.” He tapped on the lower blade with the knife in his hand and the man let out a groan. “This, when I do pull it out, will be how you bleed to death.”

  Martin had never seen Yates like this. She was at the same time disgusted and in awe of the brutal necessity of her sergeant’s actions.

  “Just so you understand, Ter. I am going to kill you but you can decide how you go—fast or, well, not so fast. All you have to do is answer three questions. If you do that, I’ll let my LT end it with a quick blow from her sword.” He held his knife in front of the prisoner’s face. “I’m going to give you one chance to answer my questions and if you say no or I think you’re lying to me…I’m going to start cutting.” Yates turned the blade back and forth in the air. “But I’m gonna start down here on your legs where you can’t feel it. That way you can see what I’m gonna do…which is to take this really sharp knife and start removing the skin and then the muscle.” Yates placed his hand, still holding the knife, against the Terillian’s cheek. “Again, you won’t feel it…but you will have time to think about what it will feel like when I move up to parts with feeling. And by then my blade will be dull so I need to put a little more oomph into each slice.” Yates gripped the Terillian’s hair and pulled his head upward. “Do you believe what I am telling you?”

  The prisoner nodded his head.

  “Good. So, first—and last—time…question number one. Where are the Humani captives?”

  “The…co-command structure,” huffed the Terillian. “I heard…” The prisoner stopped to cough up a mouthful of blood. “I heard an officer say…say that they would be taken off-world when the one officer was starting to recover from his injuries.”

  “The one injured by the lancecat?” interjected Martin. “The captain?”

  “Yes,” coughed the prisoner.

  “And your unit’s strength?” asked Yates. “How many—”

  The Terillian’s head snapped backwards, slamming into the rotten trunk as the back of his head exploded.

  “Sniper!” yelled Shara as he dove for cover.

  Martin hit the ground as the whizz of a round passed over her head.

  “Where the fuck is Sellers?” yelled Shara. “He’s supposed to be covering our ass.”

  “Sellers, come in,” spoke Martin into the comms link. “Sellers?” A round exploded next to Martin’s face, causing her to roll from the outcropping into the mud. “Damn it,” she cursed. “Sergeant, you and Shara cover and I’ll move around his flank.”

  As Yates and Shara began firing into the swamp, Martin took in a quick breath, exhaled heavily and leapt to her feet. A sapling exploded next to her face, showering her cheek with tiny splinters as she disappeared into the thick undergrowth.

  Her face burning from the peppering of splinters, she raced through the damp forest, leaping over fallen trees and bursting through tall ferns as she paralleled the source of the gunfire. As the sound of gunfire grew muffled by forest, she turned ninety degrees toward the direction of the sniper. Martin sensed something to her left and looked to see Daemon next to her. “Daemon, find Sellers!” she ordered and the dog turned sharply left, disappearing from her view.

  Martin pushed her body onward as she came across a small rise in the elevation. At the top of the small rise, she dropped to her behind and slid down a steep incline into the knee-deep swamp below. She rose to one knee, quickly scanning the area with her rifle at the ready. Someone was out there, close.

  Moving from right to left, she looked through her scope, searching each hiding place she would have picked if she were the enemy. She scanned passed two evergreens grown together, with vines wrapped around their bark until it disappeared into the canopy.

  Nothing. She moved on.

  Something made her flash back to the tree.

  As the tree came into view, she saw a red and yellow flash. It was the painted face of a Terillian Scout Ranger, the warrior’s rifle pointing toward her. Martin dropped into the water as a salvo of gunfire erupted and bullets flew over her head. “Stupid,” she mouthed, leaning against the base of a tree.

  Martin spun to her right and stood with grunt as she brought her rifle to bear on the last location of the Terillian.

  Nothing. She scanned around the area and came back to the original location.

  Still nothing.

  The water rustled behind her and she spun around.

  She threw her rifle in front of her body just in time to block the Scout Ranger’s attack. Martin reached for her pistol with her right hand, but a powerful blow to her jaw staggered her as the Terillian ripped the rifle from her hands, tossing it into the muddy water. She recovered quickly, blocking the next swing of her enemy’s tomahawk and driving her foot into his chest.

  The Scout Ranger tumbled backwards but continued into a roll and leapt back to his feet. Martin again reached for her pistol, but as she brought it to bear the Ranger’s tomahawk crashed into the weapon with a metallic clang, knocking it from her hand. The momentum of the Terillian, however, caused his right side to be exposed and Martin pounced.

  She slammed her boot into the ribs of her opponent followed by another kick to the outer knee of the Ranger. As the Terillian stumbled, she stepped backward, drawing her sword. “Come on,” she shouted in Terillian. “A fucking tomahawk?”

  The warrior stood and looked at her. He was the first painted-face warrior she had seen. They were said to be the elite among the already elite Scout Rangers. Red and yellow face paint running diagonally from the back of the warrior’s shaved head to his jawline made his brown eyes look almost black. Despite the fierceness of his look, she could see the surprise in his eyes.

  “Not expecting a woman?” she asked.

  “You are Hanmani,” he replied. “So you are my enemy.” He spun the tomahawk in a circle around his hand.

  “Come on!” she yelled, and the Ranger lunged toward her.

  He moved quickly, faster than any other Terillian she had faced. Martin blocked his attacks but was forced backwards until her back slammed against a tree. She blocked another thrust of the Ranger’s blade, but he drove his knee into her gut, almost lifting her off the ground. Her vision blurred as he shoved her backwards and the back of her head slammed into the hard bark of the tree, causing her sword to fall to the ground. Still dazed, she grabbed for his hand as he wrapped it around her throat and squeezed tightly.

  “Not bad,” grunted the Terillian. “But not goo—”

  The warrior’s comment was cut short as Martin delivered a quick jab into her opponent’s face and in one movement, gripped the Ranger’s arm with both hands and flipped her body into the air, her legs wrapping around her opponent’s outstretched arm. Twisting her body, she drove her enemy to the ground. As the two slammed into the swamp, Martin arched her back for leverage and pulled on the Terillian’s arm until the pressure released and his elbow snapped backwards. The warrior let out a grunt and kicked his body toward her, landing a boot to the side of Martin’s head.

  Dazed, she rolled away from the warrior and quickly pulled her sword from muck. As the Terillian rose to his feet, Martin rushed at him, her sword held above her head.

  Looking up as Martin drove her sword toward his head, the Ranger lunged forward. Martin felt
her feet leave the ground as her opponent lifted her feet into the air, sending her falling backwards. She hit the water and instantly drove her sword upwards causing her attacker to pivot to the left and fall into the water beside her.

  She jumped to her feet, sword in hand.

  He was gone.

  Martin frantically scanned the swamp for signs of the Ranger. Turning in a full circle, she saw nothing. Still looking for any signs of movement, she trudged through the water and retrieved her rifle and sidearm.

  ‘LT’ came Yates’s voice over the comms. ‘What’s your status?’

  “I’m fine,” she grumbled. “The sniper got—” She released the voice actuator when she saw Yates, Shara, and the war dog emerge from the underbrush. “He…it was one of the painted-faces…he got away.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” replied Yates. “That’s why Sellers was there for cover. We found Daemon with him a hundred meters back. He’s dead.”

  “Shit,” cursed Martin. “He must have been trailing the patrol.”

  “Hunting…using the regulars as bait,” replied Yates.

  “At least we found out the captain and the others are still alive and on-planet,” said Shara.

  “But the element of surprise is gone—now word will get back that there are still Guardsmen out here,” said Martin. “We need to get moving. Every Ter on the planet is gonna be up our ass in the next two hours.”

  Chapter 12

  Martin wiped the sweat from her forehead as she watched the Terillian patrol disappear into the distance. Her stomach ached from hunger and her head pounded from sleep-deprivation. She was sick of the muggy air, her waterlogged feet, and the damn evergreen-muck smell that permeated everything. But it was still better than the cold.

  For four days Martin and her remaining men had been on the run and the non-stop avoidance of Terillian regulars and constant concern for Scout Rangers and Phel was beginning to take its toll. They still had a lot of fight in them, but it would be downhill from this point on.