“I’d be delighted to help,” Drake said as he gave a command for the infantry to shift their fire toward the line of savages protecting Cronus. It was like watching a scythe cut through wheat as the devils fell. “You know me. I’m always up for a good bloodbath. And as for the mess I made—at least I did something useful in this battle instead of resting on my laurels and strutting around like some sort of celebrity.” Drake sighed over the comm unit. “Just shut up and do your job. I’ll do mine.”
“Copy that,” Rai said. “Blake and Clyde, let’s hit it.”
Blake and Clyde used their thrusters to make a long jump that kept them in the air long enough to unload a volley of rockets into the face of Cronus, and the effect was immediate. Explosions sent shockwaves blasting through the air around the monstrosity as the mouth that was already mangled and broken was shattered and damaged even more. Teeth and shards of sharp bone flew outward like projectiles of glass, impaling some of the savages. The creature opened its maw in agony, and Rai saw her chance.
“This is it,” Rai said. “Let’s give this thing a stomach ache.”
“Too much of Carter is enough to make anybody sick,” Wolfie said over the comm.
“Says the grown man who calls himself Wolfie,” Carter shot back.
Blake and Clyde continued to unload on Cronus, blasting it in the face with everything they had. All you could hear along the line of Drake’s infantry was the endless chattering of belt-fed gunfire. The ground beneath them was littered with mountains of spent casings. Cronus, however, wasn’t content to just lie down and die. On the contrary, it kept pushing forward until it reached the infantry again, having fallen back under the CASPers’ barrage. With a swipe of one massive tentacle, it swept an entire line of soldiers away, knocking them down, killing or mangling almost all of them. It was enough to give the savages on the ground an opportunity, and they seized it, rushing forward.
Colonel Robert and the small detail of mercs he was personally commanding rushed into the fray, blasting the savages and doing their best to avoid any of the whip-like appendages lashing out at them. “Make it quick, Rai,” he growled into his comm unit. “We don’t have all day here. Just got confirmation that the dropship is en route for a rescue mission. It won’t stand a chance of landing if we don’t take Cronus out. Call me crazy, but this isn’t where I want to die.”
“Roger that,” Rai said. “About to enter the belly of the beast.”
Three CASPers leapt forward, using their thrusters to propel them toward Cronus and its open, shattered mouth. Blake and Clyde continued to blast away at the abomination. They did their job well; the opening was large enough, and the shattered, jagged teeth weren’t nearly as much of a threat as they had been. That didn’t mean that Cronus himself was no longer a threat. One of the hundreds of eyes that hadn’t been blinded by gunfire saw the source of its misery and reacted. One moment Blake and Clyde were flying, the next they were both caught up in the creature’s tentacles, unable to shake free because of the barbs that hooked into their suits. They flailed and fought against the monstrosity, but Cronus was too strong. They fired their weapons into the tentacles, but for every one they destroyed, two more took its place, until eventually their arms were bound to their bodies. Enraged, Cronus bashed the two men against each other until their suits were fractured and leaked blood, before tossing the broken CASPers away.
Everyone saw what happened, but there was no way to help them. Rai, Carter, and Wolfie cut their thrusters and dropped into the open mouth of the creature, like they were falling into a deep, dark pit.
Time seemed to stand still as the three CASPers disappeared. Cronus froze, unsure of what had happened, its flagella no longer writhing and whirling about with the same frenzy they had a moment before. Then, realizing what had happened and what was now inside of it, the monstrosity began to flail and convulse and to lash out with a rage that had only been previously hinted at.
* * *
Rai was jarred about inside her suit as it bounced along Cronus’s throat, tumbling against the other CASPers with loud clangs as they were pushed toward the god’s stomach. She heard a garbled cry from Carter’s CASPer as the tactical icon representing his suit on her display screen went out.
After the hellish descent through the throat of the creature, Rai and Wolfie’s CASPers splashed into the acid in its stomach. Alarms went off all over her display screen as the acid ate away at her suit. A few more seconds and it would eat through the suit’s armor.
“Let’s blow this bastard!” Rai screamed.
“Roger that!” Wolfie answered.
Both of their suits were carrying loads of firegel attached to their backs. They both ejected the packs. Though the canisters were made of even tougher stuff than their suits to keep them from going off like grenades in a firefight from a random bullet, the acid wasn’t going to take long to eat into them either.
Rai punched her CASPer’s jumpjets once her canister was a safe distance from her, and she leaped toward the opening of the monster’s throat leading out of its stomach. Wolfie followed her. The two CASPers squirmed, pushed, and pulled their way upward through it. Both of them knew they wouldn’t be able to escape without a miracle, but it would get them out of the blast when the acid ate through the canisters and the firegel hit the god’s stomach acid. It didn’t take long. The explosion below them was massive. Even at the monster’s throat, with its muscles clamping down behind them, they felt the blast. A fraction of a second later, a wave of flames was vomited up the creature’s throat, they came with it.
* * *
The tentacled monster exploded like a detonating nuke. Its body blew apart, sending chunks flying everywhere. The shockwave flattened everything on the field of battle. Those closest to the monster died instantly; those farther away were either knocked off their feet, set ablaze, or both. Some of the firegel splashed onto Drake’s combat armor, and his breastplate smoked as the fire burnt into it with an unnatural fury. Drake shrugged it off with a sneer and threw it away, thankful to still be alive. Many others weren’t.
Stumbling to his feet, Drake tapped his helmet comm. “Lieutenant Rai?”
“Still alive,” Rai answered. “If just barely. My suit is held together by a prayer, but that was good enough to keep me from getting French-fried.”
Colonel Robert cut into the channel. “Good work, Rai. I’ll have to admit there might be more to your Hellhounds than I thought.”
“What’s the status of the battle?” she asked wearily.
“Looking good from what I can see,” Robert said.
The spot where Cronus had been looked like the site of a meteorite crash. The crater was huge, and filled with the charred, crispy bodies of hundreds of dead savages. Only the two blackened CASPers were moving inside the crater, and they weren’t moving fast.
The battle was over…at least for the moment. The death of their god had sent the natives running for the trees.
Drake spotted Rai’s CASPer amid a pile of burning goop flung out from the god’s exploding body and ran toward it. Rai stood up, flames dancing and raging over her outer armor as she staggered forward to meet him. Drake could feel the heat of the firegel and raised his arms against it.
Rai popped her suit’s canopy and hurled herself out of the CASPer. It stood behind her, burning, as she flopped onto the ground. Drake was at her side in an instant, helping her up.
“Let’s go! We have to get away before it blows!” He yanked her to her feet and dragged her to safety, tossing her to the dirt once they were a safe distance away. The CASPer and its remaining ordnance went up in a massive explosion.
“Thanks,” Rai muttered, trying to catch her breath. She shook her head to clear it and got to her feet. “That was too close for comfort.”
“Anytime, Lieutenant,” Drake shot her a wry grin.
“I guess that makes us even,” Rai said. “You wrecked our initial mission, but you made up for it.”
“I’ll sleep so much ea
sier tonight knowing that you’re not mad at me,” Drake said with a chuckle.
Rai sighed, too exhausted to engage in any more banter.
* * *
Peterson looked over at Burroughs’ corpse. It stank like Hell, and what passed for flies on Zala IV swarmed over it. There was nothing little about them; the insectoids were twice the size of Earth horseflies. The spear that jutted upward from Burroughs’ back, impaling him, was covered in the things. They had already started burrowing into the man’s dead flesh, laying their eggs. Peterson covered his mouth and looked away.
Counting himself, there were less than a dozen of his men alive. They had spent the day pinned down and surrounded by the savages. The rocks they’d taken shelter in had kept them alive. The mass of boulders prevented the natives from coming at them in force. Peterson knew they couldn’t hold out much longer though. Their ammo was almost gone, and the last of their grenades and K-bombs had been used hours ago. The only saving grace was that the savages didn’t know that. Otherwise, they’d have rushed the rocks and overtaken them within minutes.
“Franks!” Peterson yelled at his new second-in-command. The young trooper’s head snapped around at the sound of his name.
“Yes, sir!” Franks answered with the eagerness of a newbie.
“Are we clear to the north?” Peterson asked.
Franks nodded frantically as he answered, “Clear, sir!”
Peterson let out a sigh of relief. The last big push from the savages had come from the north, and he figured that was where most of their force was. It had been half an hour since the last attack. The next one, Peterson knew, would be coming soon.
It was both a blessing and a curse that the north was clear. The fact that it was clear meant that they were safe for the time being. It also meant they had no idea which direction the savages would attack from next. Peterson didn’t dare hope they’d give up and go back to their hovels, caves, holes in the ground, or whatever they lived in. They wouldn’t stop until every last member of Peterson’s force was dead.
“Sir, I’m down to my last mag,” Franks told him.
“Me too, son,” Peterson answered, not taking his gaze away from the trees below the rock he leaned against. “Anybody got more than just the mag in your rifle?”
Hawk and Turpin reported they did—Hawk still had an extra mag, and Turpin had three. Peterson ordered Turpin to pass him one of his extras. Turpin clearly wasn’t happy about it, but an order was an order, so he complied. Peterson pocketed the mag as he spotted movement in the trees.
“Everybody get ready!” Peterson called out. “Looks like they’re on the move again!”
“I’ve got movement over here too, sir!” Hawk shouted.
“Make your shots count people!” Peterson warned the others.
Clark sat in the center of the cluster of boulders, still trying to raise someone over the unit’s comm gear. Each of them had helmet comms, but Clark carried a larger, more powerful version. It was their only hope of salvation. If Clark could just reach someone, anyone, they might be able to get help and actually walk away from the fight, but Peterson could see Clark wasn’t having any luck.
“Stop messing with that, Clark,” Peterson ordered him. “We’re going to need every weapon we’ve got for what’s coming.”
Reluctantly, Clark carefully tucked the comm unit under a protruding rock, picked up his rifle, and stood up to join the others. As he stood, a tomahawk came soaring in between the rocks at him. It spun end over end as it traveled through the air to thud into Clark’s chest. The weapon’s black blade pierced his chest armor and blood flowed around it as Clark collapsed.
“Return fire!” Peterson shouted, hefting his rifle and firing a three-round burst in the direction from which the tomahawk had been thrown. He couldn’t tell whether he’d hit anything or not, but it opened up the flood gates of Hell. The savages surged forward from the trees beneath his position and charged up the hill. Peterson resisted the urge to hose the mass of savages with a stream of fully automatic fire, forcing himself to aim each round. With careful skill and precision, he put a bullet into the forehead of a large savage, splattering its brains out the back of its skull.
Realizing quickly that they were only attacking from his side of the cluster of rocks, Peterson yelled for the remainder of his men to move into positions defending it. His instincts told him that the savages would only be hitting his side this go round, in another massive push.
Franks apparently wasn’t able to control his panic and let loose on the advancing savages on full auto, emptying his magazine. He dropped half a dozen of them for his effort. As Franks’ rifle clicked empty, Peterson saw the fear in his eyes. Franks tossed the now useless weapon aside and drew his sidearm.
The other men were firing, too, trying to stem the tide of monsters coming up the hill at them. Savages fell one after another, but there were always more to replace them. The raging thunder and chatter of weapons fire began to sputter and grow quieter as Peterson’s men ran out of ammo. Pistols were drawn and fired as the savages reached the rocks.
Peterson saw that this time there’d be no stopping them from getting in among their ranks, and there was nowhere to fall back to. If he and his men left the cover of the rocks, they would be on open ground, and the savages would overrun them all the same.
A savage came leaping through the air to land next to Jones. It plunged the blade of its knife under the edge of his chest armor and into his guts. The creature twisted the blade inside Jones as the man tried to shove it away from him. Blood bubbled up from his lips as the creature slammed him against a rock and held him there. Another soldier, Baker, rushed to his aid, but never made it. As he emerged from the rock he’d been behind, a spear struck him in the back. Its tip burst through the plating of his chest armor in a spray of red. Baker fell face first to the dirt and stayed there.
More of the creatures were inside the cluster of rocks, and they engaged those left alive in melee combat. The battle became a massacre; Peterson’s men were no match for alien savages that could take on CASPers with their bare hands. In a matter of moments only he and Franks were left alive.
Peterson felt as if he needed to say something to Franks, some final words, but nothing came to mind. He didn’t have the time anyway. Two of the savages came at him, one hefting a spear, and the other clutching a wickedly curved knife in each of its large, hairy hands. The one with the spear threw it. Peterson ducked the weapon, and it thunked into a boulder behind him, its shaft vibrating from the force of the impact. Peterson dropped the empty mag from his rifle and shoved the one he had taken from Turpin into it. Turpin was dead. Peterson could see his corpse from where he stood. The top of Turpin’s head had been split open by an axe, and chunks of brain matter wet the soil around his body.
The magazine snapped home, and Peterson raised his rifle and mowed down the two creatures that were nearly on top of him. Their bodies jerked as his bullets ripped through them. He heard Franks scream to his right, and whipped his head about to check on him. A creature had run him through with a spear, and held his twitching body several feet above the ground as it swung him about like a plaything. Peterson knew Franks was dead, but he wasn’t about to let the kid go unavenged. He fired a three-round burst into the monster waving Franks about. The bullets punctured the creature’s side, and it staggered as Peterson finished it with a second burst that reduced its face to a mass of mangled meat.
The creatures came at Peterson from every direction. It was just him against them now. He fired at one coming in from the right, blowing apart its ribcage, and then jerked his rifle around to take a shot at one on the left. He missed. The rounds he’d fired sparked against a rock near the creature as it roared its anger at him. Peterson turned fully to engage the creatures coming at him from his rear, only to find they’d already reached him.
Sharp claws tore his rifle from his hands as others pounded his shoulders, crushing the bones. With a grunt, Peterson slumped to his knees, u
nable to move his arms, and utterly helpless before the fury of the horde. More claws raked his flesh as creatures ripped at him, tugging parts of his body in different directions. His arms and legs were pulled from him, and he screamed and screamed until darkness overtook him, and he lost consciousness.
* * *
What was left of Robert’s Guard and the Hellhounds did the only thing they could; they waited for the dropships to arrive. The annihilation of Cronus had killed hundreds of savages and frightened away the rest. It was a good thing, too. Ammo was in short supply, as were soldiers to shoot it. They’d landed on the planet with a veritable army, and they’d be leaving with a small force of beaten, battered soldiers who were battle worn and pushed to the breaking point.
Rai, smelling of smoke and the charred flesh of a dead god, approached the chief again, eager to tell him the news. His legs hung at strange angles—the byproduct of having his kneecaps shattered—and his torso was covered in blood from the knife wound. Still, his eyes were full of vicious fire and hatred. The glee and mirth he had shown before were gone, replaced by something much darker and deadlier. No doubt, he had underestimated the humans.
“I see you live,” he said in a low voice.
“The same can’t be said for Cronus,” Rai told him. “We turned him into hamburger.”
“I don’t understand what that means, but I felt it when his life force was snuffed. It was a violent, painful death.”
“Poor thing,” Rai said. “I could almost shed a tear…if I cared.”
“You come to gloat,” the chief said.
“A little,” Rai admitted.
“Then you do not truly understand the way we think,” the chief said.
CASPer Alamo (The Revelations Cycle Book 9) Page 21
