Exodus: Empires at War: Book 05 - Ranger

by Doug Dandridge

  Cornelius nodded and started forward, aware that the entire squad was now bunched up behind him. And behind them the platoon. He was the tip of the spear, and as such he was expected to get them where they were going without running into the enemy, unless it was on their terms.

  A couple of kilometers further on he saw another of the big beasts. This one was laying on its side, its soft underbelly ripped out, obviously fed upon by some predator. Cornelius went to one knee and put his hand on a paw print the rain had not yet erased. It looked like the print of a hell hound, only much larger. Walborski looked around, wondering if the animal or animals were still around. Seeing no sign he stood up and continued to move, keeping his eyes and ears peeled. The rain started coming down again, and the Corporal lost what little auditory alertness he had.

  Movement caught his eye, and he stopped and zoomed his vision in on that area. More of the damned plantimals, he thought, cursing at whatever God had seen fit to put such monstrosities on the planet. There were a bunch of them ahead, some damned gathering of one species. He wondered if they were mating, making more of their damned kind.

  “Shit,” yelled someone to his right rear. Cornelius turned to see Jorgeson fighting with a plantimal that had tried to snag him with its tentacles. Jorgeson was trying to get to his blade, but his arm was grabbed by a tentacle before he could reach the hilt jutting over his shoulder. If not for the survival suit the creature would be injecting a deadly caustic poison into the PFCs arm. His internal nanites might be enough to fight it off, but maybe not.

  Cornelius dropped his rifle to hang around his neck from its strap and reached back for his own combat blade. Like many of the Rangers he had acquired his own blade since joining a permanent regiment. His was a finely made Wakizashi, a Japanese style short sword with a monomolecular blade. It came easily out of the sheath that repaired the edge while the blade resided within. He really liked the sword, which was really quite the combat weapon. Jorgeson carried a Gladius style short sword, another deadly weapon in the right hands. Unfortunately he couldn’t get a hand on it, straining as he was now against the three tentacles that had his right arm.

  The Corporal brought his blade down in a chop that severed two of the tentacles. Jorgeson tugged on the last one and got his hand on the hilt, then pulled his short sword from its sheath. Cornelius cut that last tentacle on an upswing and freed Jorgeson, who turned and brought his own blade around to cut yet another questing member.

  The plantimal went wild, whipping the rest of its tentacles around. It started hooting, a sound that was answered from the jungle. Cornelius shoved his blade into the body of the creature and pulled it to the side in a draw cut. Blue fluid spurted out and the tentacles dropped.

  “Here they come,” yelled a voice behind Cornelius, and he looked up to see scores of the hybrid creatures coming out of the jungle toward him, answering the call of their now dead compatriot. It was that swarm he had seen just before the attack on Jorgeson, and they were moving in their slow lurching manner toward the Rangers. They were obviously a different species than the one they had seen the herbivore eating earlier, distinguishable by the shape of their tentacles and the arrangement of spines on their limbs and bodies.

  The Rangers fired, laying a killing blast of explosive rounds into the mass of life forms. Blue fluid spurted out, and half the creatures went down. Lacking more than rudimentary nervous systems and no intelligence, the creatures didn’t know when to stop. The survivors continued on, and soon there were no living creatures.

  “Fan out,” called out the Lieutenant, running up to the scene of the fight. “Make sure we didn’t alert any Cacas that might be nearby.”

  The men of second squad started to move, fanning out in all directions through the water soaked jungle. Without warning a particle beam came out of that jungle and hit one of the men, converting his head and shoulders to superhot vapor. The rest of the body dropped to the ground, along with all of the other Rangers.

  Cornelius dove with the rest. The mission was now a bust. They had intended to find a Caca patrol and set an ambush, not get into a head on firefight. But that was what they had, and if they couldn’t extract themselves quickly they might still be fighting when Caca reinforcements came up and surrounded them.

  The Corporal was not under fire right now, and he looked around to see the other four members of his team were not pinned either. The same could not be said about second squad, who was pinned down and taking so much fire they were having a hard time returning it. He couldn’t spot the platoon leader and sergeant, or the third squad. From the fire that was falling on the aliens it was apparent that they were fully engaged in the fight, as was the other team of his squad..

  Walborski rolled over and flashed his hand signals to his men. They all nodded, and he low crawled through the jungle, the rest of the men on his heels. After thirty or so meters he got up into a crouch and turned to his men. More hand signals, telling them what he wanted, and they were moving slowly through the jungle, to where he hoped to find the flank of the enemy position.

  It was five agonizing minutes to cover the distance, listening to the firefight going on without them. The muted phuts of Ranger rifles, the cracks of hypersonic rounds, the angry insect sound of particle beams. Even a few alien roars and the screams of a couple of humans. The Rangers were pinned down, despite their better training, and they were not equipped for a head to head fight with an armored and heavily armed opponent. And all because some wildlife had by chance gotten disturbed by a passing Ranger.

  This has got to be the flank, thought the Corporal, as he looked on at a couple of Cacas that did not seem to be doing anything but looking to the side. Ready for us, I guess. Cornelius flashed some more signals, then moved a little further along, until he was behind the aliens.

  Cornelius flashed more hand signals to Jorgeson, and the PFC nodded, then drew his Gladius. Cornelius pulled his own blade, now repaired by the sheath to pristine condition, and started his stalk. The jungle gave him cover up till the last ten meters or so, and the Cacas had no idea something was coming up behind them. It had started raining again, which helped even more, muffling all sounds. As they got within strike range the Corporal nodded to his mate, then charged forward as fast as his legs could carry him, taking the ten meters in much less than the single tick of a clock. He thrust his blade through the armor into the back of the creature, then pulled it with a draw cut. Jorgeson hit his Caca in the neck with his blade, cutting through the thin flexible armor at that point. The armor went rigid, which might have stopped a projectile, but did nothing to retard the ultra-sharp blade.

  Cornelius returned his sword to its sheath and waved the other three men forward. He gripped his rifle and ran forward, his eyes darting around to spot any Caca. Their suits had limited cammo settings, but the rain was actually helping to outline them to the sharp eyes of the enhanced humans.

  Two of Walborski’s men took out the next pair of Cacas, while he and the other two ran on to take out the next position. They leap frogged in this manner, working their way down the line. At one point they took out a heavy weapon emplacement, destroying the crew of the particle beam that was laying down devastating fire on the Rangers.

  The Corporal ducked down as a particle beam flew by overhead, striking the trunk of a tree and exploding it in a shower of splinters. Walborski took one in his cheek. He pulled it free with a grunt and felt the flow of liquid down his face increase as blood mixed with rain. The particle beam moved to take one of his men under fire, and Cornelius pulled a grenade from his webbing and armed it, then whipped it overhand at the enemy position. It hit and detonated, blasting earth, leaves and the body of a Caca into the air.

  “Hit them,” yelled Walborski, standing up and charging forward, firing his rifle from the hip and tracking on any Cacas that entered his line of sight. He yelled at the top of his lungs, his men following suit, and overran position after position. After about the fifth one the rest of the platoon attacked into th
e teeth of the enemy.

  A half dozen Cacas broke and ran at the end. Rangers took off in pursuit and they didn’t get far.

  “Good work, Corporal,” said the Lieutenant after the mopping up. “You really pulled our asses out of the fire.”

  “If I had done my job properly, sir, they never would have come up on us.”

  “Bullshit,” said the officer, shaking his head. “We ran into something in the jungle that forced us to reveal ourselves. Nothing more.”

  Sergeant First Thorwaldson came running up to the officer. “We got hurt, sir. Bad.”

  “How many?”

  “Nine killed, ten wounded. Four of them badly. All the dead are unrecoverable.”

  “We’ll help the wounded,” said the officer. “Leave the dead.”

  The Sergeant First nodded his head with a pained expression on his face. The Rangers had a motto of leave none behind. But they were also practical. There were eighteen healthy survivors in the platoon, not enough to help the wounded and carry the dead, while leaving enough whole bodies to provide security.

  “Staff Sergeant McAllister was not among the living, Walborski,” said the Sergeant First, glancing at the Corporal. “And Chantamurta is wounded. So you’re in charge of first squad.”

  The Rangers moved as quickly as possible, the threat of the Cacas lending strength to their legs. Cornelius took the rear this time, scouting behind, the most likely point of contact. After ten klicks he was aware that something was tracking them. He wasn’t sure what. Only that something was moving. He caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye a couple of times, moving low to the ground. Like a hell hound, but not quite. He thought about what it might be while fingering his wedding ring on its chain. Whatever it is, I’ll kill some of them, and dedicate them to you, honey.

  A kilometer further on one of the Rangers on the flank cried out. Cornelius ran to that position, to find one of the men from third squad dead on the ground, his throat ripped out. The man would have been recoverable with the proper equipment, which they didn’t have, and they didn’t have the time to get him to such.

  Something moved in the bush, and Cornelius brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired off a shot. There was more movement, away. Cornelius stared at the jungle for over a minute. There was something out there, hunting them. Something new, not of this world.

  Three kilometers along the way Cornelius turned quickly, sensing something behind him. He sniffed the air, picking up the smell of rotting vegetation that permeated the jungle. And something else that he had never smelled before.

  Movement flashed in his peripheral vision, and he turned with his weapon to see something from nightmare coming at him. He snapped off a shot, hitting the creature in the chest. It fell over, but was on its feet in a moment and running back into the jungle.

  The platoon was really glad to see the base again. They had lost another two men to the jungle, one wounded, the other the healthy man who was helping him along. Cornelius was not really sure how secure they should feel. If the things that had hunted them were allied with the Ca’cadasans, the base might now be compromised. There was no way to tell if that were so, but everyone was now on high alert.

  After a meal Cornelius was called to the Captain’s office. He reported, not sure if he was going to be commended or dressed down, as he was still feeling responsibile for the platoon falling into the firefight with the Cacas. Instead he found the Captain already with the Lieutenant, and a set of Sergeant insignia sitting on the desk.

  “We’re bumping you up to Sergeant, Walborski,” said the Captain. “Lieutenant Schwarz said it was your clear head and leadership ability that got the platoon out of a bad situation. Since you were already an NCO, and the platoon needs someone to replace second and third squad leaders, it was an easy decision.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Cornelius, saluting is CO. He wasn’t about to turn down promotion, especially since this would now put him on even footing with Devera.

  Three days later they were out in the bush again. The platoon had been brought up to partial strength by the infusion of some replacements, all fresh out of training. Again they were sweeping the jungle, looking for the enemy. Cornelius would have preferred a real objective, someplace where they knew there would be Cacas, a place they could hit hard and get away. Unfortunately no one had asked his opinion, so here they were, on another search and destroy.

  They had never been to this area before, twenty kilometers to the north of the forward base. The vegetation was the same, as were the animals, and of course the nasty plantimals. Cornelius was again on point for the platoon. Despite his new position he was still the best woodsman in the platoon, so his assistant babysat the squad, something the highly trained professionals really didn’t need, while he played scout.

  Again it was raining, hard. And again he could feel eyes on him from the jungle. He stood there for a moment, fingering his wedding ring and wondering what he was feeling. There were people with psionic abilities in the Empire. They were rare, and the majority of them were very weak and erratic in their abilities. The Imperial family had a strong line of psionics, especially in the precognition of dreams. He had tested as a child, like all on the core worlds, and had been found to be above average, which really didn’t amount to much. But now I’ve had my mental capacity boosted, with the augmentation of my nervous system. Did that release some kind of latent ability?

  It could have been imagination, though he was sure it wasn’t. Which, as far as he knew, didn’t mean a thing if it was his imagination. He dropped the ring back inside his suit to fall onto its chain. I need to get moving, he thought, a shiver running up his spine at the thought of what might be watching him.

  The feeling continued with him for kilometers further into the jungle. But nothing happened, and he started to wonder again if it was just his imagination.

  Something howled to his left, about fifty meters into the jungle. Cornelius flashed a hand signal to the next man behind him and took off into the jungle, his rifle at the ready. He slid to a stop as he entered a small clearing, the sight to his front enough to shock anyone.

  A plantimal had claimed another victim. Or at least it was trying to. The large creature was caught in the grip of the plantimal’s tentacles. The clothing it wore was much like a survival suit, with the same kind of cammo covering as their own. The tentacles were not having much luck penetrating that suit. The tentacle that was reaching down the throat of the creature did not have that problem.

  The beast was shredding the body of the plantimal with the retractable claws of its hand like paws, both forward and back. There were only four of the paws, attached to as many legs, indicating that this was not a native beast. Blue body fluid spurted from the plantimal. The narrow but powerful jaws crunched down on the intruding tentacle down its throat and severed it. The jaws then locked and the creature’s body went into convulsions.

  “Get the Lieutenant up here, now,” he ordered one of his men. The plantimal was finished, its tentacles falling to the ground. The beast, which from its clothing had to be an intelligent animal, fell with it.

  Cornelius walked up to the creature, looking down on the dog like head and the glazed eyes. He noted the clothing, and the tools that were attached to it. Some of the things looked like weapons, and he was sure this was one of the things that had attacked them before. The things he had sensed in the jungle.

  “We’re heading back to base,” the Lieutenant told his men after he had studied the creature. “I think this is more important than a sweep.”

  “There’s probably more of them out there,” said Cornelius, looking at his CO.

  “That’s why we’re going back in a tight formation. I don’t want these damned devils to pick us off on the way back.”

  There was an attack on the way back, three of the creatures coming out of the jungle and trying to get the body of their compatriot. That left them with one wounded Ranger and two more dead aliens to bring back.


  Cornelius had never seen anything move as fast as the aliens, with the exception of his fellow Rangers, who were in the same class. He was sure if there had been more of the creatures than this small hunting party the results might have been much different.

  The men at the base were very excited by the bodies the Rangers brought back. Battalion command was even more so. Several squad sized patrols had disappeared in the last week, without a trace. Previously this had been a game that only the Rangers were good at, the Ca’cadasans being big and clumsy in the jungle that was obviously not their natural habitat. Now there was a new player that seemed to be fitted perfectly for jungle warfare.

  All patrols were cancelled for the next couple of days while the medical staff went over the bodies. Rumors started to circulate. That these were genetically engineered life forms that didn’t exist in a natural state. That they had been created to hunt humans. That they were the real rulers of the Ca’cadasan Empire, come to clean up the mess that their inferiors had created.

  Cornelius didn’t buy into any of the rumors generated by the mill. He decided to reserve judgment until someone with some real knowledge briefed them. With that in mind, he spent much of his time in his quarters, the small room given to an NCO. There he recorded messages, for Junior, that might be read in the future, and for Devera, who hopefully had not moved on to something closer to home. That fear was alleviated when a message crystal made it to the base in the mail bag.

  “My dearest Cornelius,” said the image of the woman as she stood in the small holo. “I have missed you so much. I know you are in combat, and not always able to communicate back to me. From the messages I have received you look well, and I was so happy to hear about your promotion. At the rate you are advancing you’ll be a general in no time.”