by Rick Barba
The ramp curved onto a narrow ledge with a spectacular overview of the bustling construction site.
Mahnk was ecstatic. He whacked Darox’s arm.
“Look at that!” he said. “So many targets.”
“This is astounding,” said Koros, eyes bright.
Towering floodlights illuminated an area the size of two football fields. A fleet of huge vehicles—cranes, transport trucks, diggers and earthmovers, a colossal plasma drill—rumbled near a large, glowing cave entry cut into the mountainside. Guarding the opening was a stout security bunker topped with ADVENT robotic turrets.
“Look for the Assassin,” said Darox.
Dozens of ADVENT troops and other personnel stood in clusters everywhere. A handful of Chryssalids crouched in positions around the area’s perimeter. But after a few minutes of scanning the site, nothing resembling a nine-foot-tall female blade-master was spotted.
“We do appear to be vastly outnumbered,” said Koros, counting armed units.
“Not even the element of surprise could make this a fair fight,” said Rika dryly. “Not that I care.”
Darox took a knee next to her and leaned on his Kal-7.
“Why don’t you care?” he asked.
Rika shrugged. “The more jabbers and bugs down there, the more I can kill.”
Darox said, “So you want to wade in and kill as many as you can.”
Rika didn’t answer.
Darox glanced at Koros, who stepped up next to Rika as well.
“That sounds suicidal, sister,” said Koros.
“I am not planning to die,” said Rika. “I just don’t care if I do.”
Darox said, “We are a recon fireteam. You know what that means.”
Rika looked at him with cold silver eyes. “I do not need a condescending lecture on recon tactics.”
“Then tell me,” said Darox. “What is our core operating principle?”
Mahnk couldn’t stand it. He burst out, “We kill for each other, not for ourselves!”
Darox looked at him. “Well, that is one way to put it,” he said.
“Because we are kin,” said Mahnk with emotion.
Koros put his hand on Rika’s back.
“I call you sister because I will do anything to make sure you survive,” he said. “In return, I trust that your tactical decisions won’t compromise my health.”
“Exactly!” cried Mahnk. “A kamikaze attack will only get us all killed.”
Darox knew Rika understood. They were all highly trained soldiers. They’d all learned that the standard fireteam’s tactical doctrine—“Overwatch, Suppression, Movement”—was based on a well-known psychology. In the crucible of combat, especially at close quarters, a soldier’s survivability and will is more heavily influenced by the fear of letting down one’s comrades than by “courage” or abstract concepts like patriotism or liberty.
Rika stood up and faced them. “Here is an operating principle for you,” she said. “Everybody go crank yourselves and leave me alone.”
Mahnk grunted. “Good plan,” he agreed.
“I like it too,” said Koros.
Darox turned to evaluate the bustling, well-lit vista below them. “Fair enough,” he said. “Let’s get back to camp. We need to help Mox rethink this undertaking.”
He was about to lead the way down the rock ramp when a small rockslide of pebbles rattled onto the ledge from above. Everybody froze. Then they trained their guns upward as a deep voice called down.
“Don’t shoot, folks,” it drawled, calm but firm. “We have ten rifles, a scatter laser, and a big-ass machine gun locked on your heads right now.”
Darox aimed at the voice. “We are not ADVENT,” he called upward.
“Well, son, I figured that,” replied the voice. “So just set down those weapons. Then we can have us a chat over good Kentucky whiskey.”
Darox nodded at the others. Reluctantly, they laid their weapons on the ground and raised their hands.
“Oh, put your hands down,” called the voice. “You’re not prisoners. Yet.”
At this, a slight smile spread across Koros’s face.
“You are not Reapers, are you?” he called up.
“Hell, no,” said the voice. “Do I sound like a damned cannibal?”
* * *
Skirmishers often ran into pockets of so-called “Resistance” types scattered across the high country. Most were just roving bands of subsistence hunters, ragtag survivalist cults, or a few ranch families banded together to defend a crumbling compound.
In most confrontations like these, an armored Skirmisher patrol would absorb a sudden volley of incoming fire and then quickly lay waste to the poor fools who engaged. But Darox could sense that this was different. Very different.
“Follow that footpath to your left,” called the voice. “It runs up here.”
As Darox led his team up the path, he called out, “Can you identify yourselves?”
“We can,” replied the man.
The Skirmishers traversed a granite outcropping and then climbed up onto a small plateau. There, a dozen heavily armored soldiers crouched behind boulders, eyes to their gunsights. Darox nodded.
“My name is Darox,” he said, “and I cannot drink whiskey.”
A dark figure chuckled and stepped forward.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I’m Captain Roy Thibideaux, XCOM special forces. This here is my Alpha squad.” He took a few steps closer and pulled off his helmet. He looked to be in his fifties. “Say, you fellows don’t look exactly human to me,” he said.
“We are human,” said Darox. “But that is not all we are.”
“What are you then?”
“Hybrids,” said Darox. “All of us were once ADVENT soldiers. I was an officer.”
Now Thibideaux stepped up to him. “Am I meeting my first Skirmisher by any chance?”
“It is very possible.”
“Dang.”
The XCOM captain studied him for a moment. Then he waved his arm to the side.
“Guns down,” he said.
Behind him, the soldiers lowered their rifles. Thibideaux turned to face them.
“I mean all the way down.”
His squad exchanged puzzled looks for a second. Then, one by one, they placed their weapons on the ground.
“Come on out here, kids. I want you to meet some of the most badass alien killers in the Wild Lands.”
Darox couldn’t help but smile at this. When he did, Thibideaux looked at him and said, “Well now, that’s a Louisiana grin right there, brother.” He grinned too. “That’s human enough for me.” He glanced over at Koros. “Say pal, you mentioned Reapers. What do you know about them?”
Koros shrugged. “Not much,” he said. “Just stories.”
Thibideaux pushed out his lower lip. “I hear they like to kill aliens too, which is good.” His face twisted. “But then they eat the bastards, which is downright sickening.” He turned back to Darox. “So, Darox is it? What exactly are you boys doing up here?”
At this, Rika stepped forward.
“Is it not obvious?” she said. “And by the way, we are not boys.”
The captain raised his eyebrows. “My apologies, ma’am,” he said. He gestured to his soldiers, who were shuffling up awkwardly. “I got four badass gals myself on this squad. Eloise here is my suppression specialist.”
A six-foot-tall blonde who’d been lugging a minigun nodded at Rika. She said, “Cap makes me carry the big gun.”
“Anyways, my question still stands,” said Thibideaux.
Darox said, “We tracked ADVENT cargo flights here.” He glanced over at the sprawling, floodlit construction site. “This scope is most disturbing.”
Thibideaux nodded. “Agreed,” he said. “My story is the same. You look like a recon unit. How many more of your people are up here?”
Darox hesitated. During his years with ADVENT, it was assumed that XCOM was dead, buried. But rumors of the legendary ag
ency’s resurrection had bounced around mountain communities for years, according to veteran Skirmishers he’d met. Alpha squad certainly looked legitimate. Their equipment was top-notch and well-maintained.
But still, he couldn’t just offer up intel to a stranger.
Thibideaux noted his hesitation.
“I gotcha, son,” he said. “Listen, I’ve got two more squads back on the ridge, Bravo and Charlie. We’re thirty soldiers total. Some of our best people. I’ve got Grenadiers with cannons and plenty of demolitions. We might be able to handle a base assault.” He pointed down at the cavern opening. “But this is bigger than we expected. Who knows what the hell they got inside there? I fear some elite alien bastards may be supervising this fancy dig.”
Darox paused. Then he said, “Captain, we have a sizeable force as well. Let me take you to my commander.”
Thibideaux turned to his team. “Maintain surveillance. Corporal Blunt, you come with me,” he said to the woman he’d called Eloise. “I want you watching my back.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “Can I bring my big gun?”
“I would say that’s up to our host,” he said.
Darox started traversing the outcropping to the rock ramp that led down to the canyon floor. He said, “We dodged several ADVENT patrols coming up this canyon. I admit I was wishing for a big gun.”
Blunt hefted her gleaming minigun.
“Your wish just came true, silver eyes,” she said.
* * *
An hour later, they sat in a Skirmisher command tent. Mox’s eyes glittered darkly.
“Are you suggesting some sort of quid pro quo, Captain?” he asked.
Darox tried to read Roy Thibideaux’s face in the bluish glow of the clover-shaped LED lantern that hung above the table where all three sat on camp stools. This tent was much larger than the field sleepers. But like all Skirmisher tents, it had a Mylar lining to block infrared signatures and dim the glow of interior lights.
“XCOM has intel you folks want, clearly,” replied Captain Thibideaux. “And it sounds like you know a few secrets too, commander.”
They’d been comparing notes on ADVENT and the alien hierarchy for more than an hour. Darox’s evaluation of the XCOM captain was still evolving. The man was refreshingly honest and good-humored, yet Darox sensed a caginess too. No doubt Mox did as well. XCOM had an agenda. But then, everybody fighting for survival in a conquered world had an agenda.
“Before we make a deal, tell me more about this Assassin,” said Thibideaux.
“We have seen only the aftermath of her foul work,” replied Mox. “She leaves no survivors. We have no eyewitnesses.”
“Sounds like a damned blood demon.”
“She has immense powers, clearly,” said Mox. “Only the rare Elders we have faced have been so lethal. Her stealth ability is terrifying. And she conveys a threat specifically to Skirmishers. She seems to see us as particularly odious traitors, no doubt because of our alien genetics and ADVENT training.”
Captain Thibideaux considered this information.
“Let me report this to my central officer,” he said. “Maybe we can help track the fine lady.” He smiled. “Well, commander, I think we’ve got some common objectives.”
“We both want this facility destroyed,” said Mox.
“Absolutely,” said Thibideaux.
“And yes, as a former ADVENT Elite captain, I do retain certain classified secrets I could share,” said Mox.
Thibideaux grinned. “Well, there’s just one secret we really want,” he said.
“I understand,” said Mox. “I might be able to steer you in the right direction.” He turned to Darox. “What do you think, brother?”
This caught Darox by surprise. But he sat up and said, “If we work together to cauterize the Yule Creek canyon, I expect it could establish the basis of a permanent partnership. We could share not just intelligence secrets, but also resources and tactical support.”
Captain Thibideaux gazed at Darox.
“Cauterize the canyon,” he repeated. “Damn, I like that.”
“I share DNA with the aliens,” said Darox. “But I have come to see their incursion as a systemic infection of this planet.”
Mox smiled darkly.
“Well said, brother,” he murmured. He looked at the XCOM captain. “Shall we make a plan?”
Thibideaux put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands thoughtfully.
“Yes, but before we start,” he said, leaning forward. “Are you boys sure you won’t try a slug of Blanton’s Single Barrel with me?” He patted his hip pouch. “I find that it helps lubricate the prefrontal cortex.”
Mox hesitated, then said, “Well, Captain, the offer is appreciated. But . . . in our ADVENT training seminars, it was often emphasized that alcohol is incompatible with alien blood chemistry.”
“Incompatible?” growled Thibideaux. “With Blanton’s Single Barrel? How could that be?”
Darox shrugged. “Apparently, hybrid blood oxidizes alcohol directly into formic acid.”
“What happens?”
“You go blind, then you die.”
Thibideaux frowned. “I don’t see how that’s any different from humans.”
AT SUNRISE the next morning, XCOM Grenadiers opened fire on the ADVENT troops and machinery clustered in the excavation site’s staging area. The carnage was swift and staggering. Perched on the ledge where Darox had first met Captain Thibideaux, XCOM squads Bravo and Charlie unleashed a fusillade from the canyon wall opposite the quarry entrance.
Meanwhile, the five Skirmisher squads swarmed the site’s perimeter defenses, blasting hissing Chryssalids into ribbons of seared flesh and butchering ADVENT Troopers crouched in unfinished perimeter bunkers. At the same time, XCOM Alpha squad quickly overwhelmed security checkpoints down the canyon and secured the entry road to the site.
As the battle raged below, Darox and his recon team worked laterally across the mountainside nearly one thousand feet above the quarry opening. Koros, in the lead, hopped over a narrow but deep crevasse. As the nimblest climber, he took point on most technical routes.
“I thought I was joking yesterday about finding a secret back door,” he said.
XCOM camera drones had marked activity in a darkened couloir cut into the back slope of Whitehouse Mountain. Intel analysis had suggested it was an alternate exit from the quarry cavern; the ravine was cleared of debris and graded, creating a smooth exit ramp.
Mahnk was deeply annoyed. “Do you hear that gunfire?” he grunted. “That is where we should be. Not up here, stumbling around like goats.”
“Goats do not stumble, idiot,” said Rika, giving him a push up a boulder pile.
Darox brought up the rear. Despite Mahnk’s complaints about the climb, it had been relatively easy going; Whitehouse was a moderate slope with natural switchback access routes. But the climb was the least of Darox’s worries.
He’d been assigned two objectives. The first task—to interdict the enemy’s emergency escape route—made sense for a small recon team. But his second directive was more complicated and fraught with risk.
Koros led the way up a tree-lined saddle to a promontory with a clear overview of the couloir.
“Exfiltration point below,” he said, pointing.
“Any movement?” asked Darox.
“Hard to see.”
The cleft was still in deep shadow; the sun hadn’t yet risen over the towering Maroon Bells to the east. Darox pulled out his ADVENT binoculars, wide-set for hybrid eyes, and handed them to Koros, who trained them down the ravine. Then Darox unclipped a small device from his utility belt. It was a fist-sized metal module with a handle and two short, needlelike prongs on top.
Rika stared at it. “Good god,” she said. “Is that it?”
Darox nodded.
“I’ve never seen one before,” she said.
Mahnk, hands on knees, refused to look. “Please do not let me see it,” he said. “I will disgorge my breakf
ast right down the mountain.”
Koros reached out. “Can I see?” he asked.
Darox handed the device to him. Koros held it reverently and examined it.
“Amazing,” he said. “The instrument of our liberation.” He turned to Mahnk. “Don’t you want to see why you’re a freethinker today?”
“No,” said Mahnk, staring in the opposite direction. “I do not.”
Koros handed the device back to Darox. “You have used it before?” he asked.
Darox looked slightly sheepish. “Yes, but not live,” he said.
Koros widened his eyes, amused. “What did you practice on? Melons?”
“Cadavers.”
Only a select few Skirmisher recruits were trained to wield the PRF electrode needles. The best stun-baton fighters—often former ADVENT officers like Darox, but not always—learned how to deploy the needles in the base of an unconscious ADVENT Trooper’s skull and trigger the ablation sequence that disabled the subject’s neurochip.
Unfortunately, the procedure didn’t always work. That added to the suspense of each “liberation event.”
Suddenly, they heard a series of large explosions from the battle in the Yule valley far below.
“That may be the main security bunker,” said Darox, clipping the PRF back onto his belt, then taking back his binoculars from Koros. “If so, we may get our first runners soon. Let’s set up.”
“This is a good overwatch position,” said Rika, gazing down into the fissure.
“Agreed,” said Darox. “You stay here.”
Koros pointed at the high, walled-off end of the darkened couloir. “See that gray square at the bottom of the headwall?” he said. “That is likely a garage exit.”
Darox nodded and slid an old ADVENT-issue stun baton from its loop on his belt.
“I will set up near that,” he said. “I want you and Mahnk in cover down here on this end.” He pointed to a jumble of boulders near the ravine’s open end not far below Rika’s position. “If a regiment bursts out of that door, for god’s sake stay down and let them pass. But if it’s a squad or smaller, suppress them, and I will try to liberate a few of our misguided brothers from behind.”
“Ha! This is more like it!” said Mahnk with relish.
