MissionSRX: Ephemeral Solace

by Matthew D. White

  “I think so. Between Mason’s and yours’ forces, we should have enough to dislodge them.”

  “You need to rethink that. I’m not letting you take the Flagstaff’s reactionary teams. We’d be defenseless up here.”

  Grant wanted to fight back, but he realized it’d be a lost cause. “Understood. We’ll find another way. I’m thinking a quick drop on the south side of South Rig, as far away as we can get. We’ll have to move on foot to get to Central.”

  “I can fill at least three squads with the soldiers that I have with me,” Mason announced. “Do you want to ask the refugees again?” he asked, and gestured toward Othello and Scott.

  “Not speaking for everyone, but I’m willing,” Othello stated, “plus we haven’t stood down yet.”

  “Thank you.” Grant nodded toward the miner. “I’ll ask them when we go to arm up. This could give us six to nine full squads.”

  “Me, too,” Scott added while scrolling through a file on the table. “Here. The Earth Corps installation about nine hundred klicks west has a squadron of eighth-gen transport helicopters.

  “You’re willing to guess they’re tracking sub-light engines?” Fox asked.

  “I think so. You made some good points and it’d be a pretty radical change for them to adapt to.”

  “Good. I’ll give them a shout and get their birds warmed up. Check up on the colonists and see if they’re up to this,” Fox ordered Mason and Grant. “Stage on the upper deck. We’ve still got three shuttles up there we can use to get you to the surface. Any ideas on what you’ll do once you land?”

  “I’m thinking we can take out their nearest positions and at least get an avenue established to move the civilians south out of the kill box. If we hold them off, we can adapt from there. If the Flagstaff takes a position above us, you can take out anything that tries to run, right?”

  Fox nodded to Grant in return. “Ready? Break!”

  31

  “Staff Sergeant O’Hare,” Mason called out to the collection of soldiers seated against the walls in the landing bay, “where you at?”

  An unassuming member stood from among the crowd. “Right here, sir.”

  Mason waved the man over to where he was standing. “Sergeant, we’ve just received our next tasking. The fighter pilot made a deal with General Raley to liberate the Extortion oil complex.”

  “So we’re going to do it?”

  “Exactly. We’ll be taking two companies down, along with two more staffed with the civilians who insist on fighting. I’ll be leading one of our teams, and I’d like you to take the other.”

  “Sure thing,” O’Hare nodded.

  “I know you’ve led fire teams before, but I’ve got a suspicion this is going to be rough. I know I can count on you and so do the soldiers around you.”

  “Hell yeah, we’re ready. I won’t let you down.”

  ***

  Scott looked at his small pile of affects that he had left on his rack before leaving for the mission. He felt so disconnected from the tattered service uniform folded on the bed. It was as if he had left it and another life so far away. The scanner and computer were still useful, so he attached them to his armor beside the row of loaded magazines.

  “Here, take these.” Othello snuck up beside him and offered a handful of specialized clips.

  “Thanks.” Scott half jumped in surprise. “What are they?”

  “Twenty-millimeter rounds for the forward launcher on the ZiG. The guys in the armory just broke them out for us.”

  “That was nice of them,” Scott reflected while he clipped two of them to his armor and attached the last to the port beneath his weapon’s forward group.

  “They’re explosive and armor-piercing. Good for taking out vehicles or some poor shitbag hiding behind a school. Make sure you know what’s behind your target before you use them.”

  Scott chuckled. “Sure thing.”

  “You ready for this?”

  “Hell yeah. I mean, it’s sure to be a cluster, but at least I can see it coming this time.”

  “Good attitude. Just remember there are people worse off down there who are counting on us.”

  Truth be told, the fear hadn’t left Scott that much. A slightly upbeat attitude was all that stood between him functioning as a valued member of the team and crumbling under the weight of his own mortality. At least he was a little more rested, which helped make it easier to ignore the constant fear.

  He shouldered his rifle and followed Othello back out of the bay along with the rest of the volunteers. They shared Scott’s demeanor, halfway between determined and scared shitless, if he read them right.

  They congregated in the upper landing bay in the two working shuttles, which were settled beside an Aquillian version that had taken heavy damage during the previous engagement. The soldiers filled one while the civilians packed into the other. Fox and Grant were already there discussing the drop.

  Whatever plan they had going was hashed out quickly, and they launched only a few minutes after the last of the soldiers arrived. They got strapped into their jump seat harnesses and attached their helmets. Scott heard chatter from the deck through the radio but filtered most of it out. The Flagstaff was in position, so they lifted off and made a hasty descent through the thick atmosphere to the Earth Corps base.

  ***

  They hit the ground and disembarked five minutes later. Scott raised his visor as he stepped down the shuttle’s ramp and felt a real breeze hit his face for the first time in what felt like years. It was the price to be paid for living as they did.

  Four older dual-rotor helicopters were on the ramp about a hundred meters out from their hangars, and Scott instantly saw the contrasts abound. Far from the sleek ships that traveled to the stars, these were hammered and riveted aluminum and looked far past their useful lifespans – or at best, one step from the boneyard.

  Mason, Grant, and Othello parsed out the squads, and they lined up behind their assigned rides. Due to the weight of their suits, they could only take every other jump seat and had to be balanced perfectly on each side. They did another radio check, the engines strained in protest, and the four teams lifted off.

  Ten minutes into the trip, the lead navigator broke radio silence. “Gentlemen, we’ve got new intel from Extortion. Multiple additional signatures just popped up on the satellite scan. If we go for South, you’ll be landing under fire.”

  “Maintain your course,” Grant ordered. “We need the cover from the anti-air up north and the space around the south helipad. We’ll need to get unloaded as quickly as we can and break for the admin buildings next door. They’ll give us some cover to clear the rest of South.”

  “That’ll be a lot more dangerous, but I don’t think there’s a better way,” Mason replied. “Have Alpha and Bravo shuttles land first. I’ll provide cover from the air when you go in. When your shuttles evacuate, we’ll offload as well.”

  “Works here,” Grant confirmed. “Mr. Harris, Bravo on board?”

  Othello exchanged a thumbs-up with the four rows of citizen-soldiers seated around him. “Tracking. We’re with you.”

  “Good.” Grant checked his map again. “I’m seeing seven structures on South, four adjacent to the pad. We need to take them to have a chance at all. Once we get a foothold, we can take the other three and move on the bridge. ETA is three minutes. Get ready.”

  Scott heard a cacophony of shouts, cheers, and war cries through the radio. He gripped his rifle tighter in anticipation, but the pilot broke through before he could steady himself.

  “Strike force, we’ve got a problem. We’re already being tracked by SAMs. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get close enough without being shot down.”

  A dull murmur built over the comm channel, and Scott felt the tension rise. He looked to the far side at Private Grant, who searched to either side for any inspiration.

  “Hold on,” the engineer heard the soldier order, and unhook his harness.

  The m
an got up and pulled a large black case off the wall along the leading bulkhead. He opened the package and feverishly dug through some equipment before pulling out a large, black object.

  Scott noticed a standard yellow Emergency Use Only tag plastered to the back as Grant heaved it over his shoulder like a massive backpack. He turned back and Scott saw he had also added two massive belt-fed machine guns to his chest. He hadn’t noticed them before; had the soldier brought those guns on board with them?

  “Continue as planned. I’ll draw their fire,” Grant bluntly stated, and walked to the back of the plane. Punching the button to drop the loading ramp, he turned around against the sudden influx of air.

  Scott ducked in the gust at four hundred kilos per hour and watched as the pack on Grant’s back widened with the assistance of sets of unseen actuators, taking on the shape of a giant black stingray. Pods at the wingtips glowed and hummed, and the engineer instantly identified them as sub-light turbines, the little brothers to the engines used on the largest ships. Their leader had found a jetpack.

  Clicking the controller to start the engines, Grant let brief jets of fire explode from the exhaust ports. The system integrated with his helmet’s display and read green all across. “Loadmaster, get the door,” he stated and looked back at the men inside. “Deploying now. Get to the ground. I’ll meet you there.”

  With that, Grant stepped backward and tumbled off the edge of the ship, the air hitting him like a brick wall as the four transports continued unabated. He hit the gas on the rocket strapped to his back and the engines screamed to life, blasting him straight forward at a higher acceleration than he ever remembered from his fighter.

  Far below, the ocean glowed bright blue, mirroring the clouds and sky above. Only a second passed before he cleared his escort and watched Extortion come into view far out to his left. The western rig came first, followed by the spindly suspension bridge connecting it to South.

  He could see that the helipads at the target were clear, but Grant watched warnings pop up on his display. “I’ve got multiple missile launches from the south platform,” he reported back and hammered down on the engines. “Trying to outrun. Get on the ground NOW!” he shouted to the pilots behind him.

  Cutting north, Grant pulled back and orbited the south rig, keeping the helipad on his wingtip. More missiles streaked out from their positions below and joined the growing barrage behind him. The change in inertia sucked the blood from the pilot’s head, but Grant didn’t dare slow down.

  He rocked the wings and turned back toward Central when he crossed the next bridge. Another launch shot off from the central tower. Now what? He thought to himself, and swore out loud. He hadn’t expected to make it this far. Ditch in the ocean? It was an option. He pulled back around and set his sights on the next rig.

  Dropping down lower as he approached Central, another warning blared in his ear. Three aliens on the roof of a building halfway across put a shot straight at his skull. Only a hundred meters from the platform, Grant made his choice. “Eject!” he called out and pulled the release on his chest.

  He dropped like a rock and slammed through the side of a prefab building as the gaining rocket exploded millimeters from his ride into a fireball ten stories tall. Grant had too much force and the wall was too weak to stop him, so he found himself careening through a wide-open and unused office floor. A dozen more blasts echoed off the row of buildings behind him as the rest of his ballistic escorts gave up the chase.

  The floor shifted from the impacts while he skidded to a halt on the far side of the room. Grant fought pain in every bone and tried to get back up, but he couldn’t regain his footing under the extra load. He looked left and right but saw no immediate dangers. The inner windows were only another twenty meters away.

  32

  “EVERYBODY MOVE!” Sergeant Allen, Mars Colony Alpha security supervisor and (as of one minute prior) the impromptu Alpha Squad leader, shouted as their bird touched the ground. Scott took a deep breath and sprinted down the ramp in line with the rest of the column. The buildings only a hundred meters away were already smoking, and he heard the sounds of gunfire from every direction at once. The squad spread out to make a harder target as they ran.

  A bullet struck the ground only a meter before his feet, knocking the engineer to his knees. His heart surged, and he fought back his fear, scrambled back up, and kept moving. Move and live. Stop and die, he said to himself over and over again.

  He saw shadows move in the building ahead. Aliens were everywhere. How could they survive a suicide run like this? Scott didn’t like the chances until a deafening roar dropped from above.

  The two remaining helicopters swung in above them with four soldiers on each ramp manning mounted heavy weapons. They opened fire, blanketing the buildings with hundreds of rounds a second and covering the other two squads’ approaches. Scott ran straight at the nearest wall, not daring to look back. He jumped and tumbled through the nearest broken window frame alongside multiple other members of his group.

  “Clear! Bring them down!” Mason shouted from the ramp of his bird. The first two were already on their way out, and he didn’t want to hang around to catch any more fire. The pilots heard and followed the command, dropping straight to the ground only meters from the nearest building walls.

  “Everyone out!” Mason ordered, lifting the minigun off its track and dashing down the ramp to find some sort of cover. Two of the colonists had already taken fatal hits, hardly double-digit steps from their landing. Better than he’d expected, but not remarkable enough to draw his attention.

  Behind him, the last of his squad piled out of their ride as it lifted off. The pilots yelled to each other over the radio about something Mason couldn’t make out. Across the rig, a red flash slid out from a darkened building’s roof.

  The nearest plane spit flares in every direction but couldn’t break the missile’s lock. It slammed into the starboard rotor, sending twisted metal bits in every direction. With a sudden change in force, the fuselage dropped to the pad as it was drug in a wide eclipse by the one remaining engine. Fire spread across the body as it flipped and continued to be consumed by the burning fuel.

  Mason crashed through the door to the rightmost administrator’s building and burned a line of shells through his rifle, tearing into the handful of stunned aliens there taking refuge. The force of the rounds severed limbs and sent parts in every direction as the sergeant raked the line of fire back and forth and his squad leapt through the adjoining windows.

  He dropped the dry weapon and swung up his ZiG rifle. “Charlie’s clear! Everyone, secure your buildings to the rear wall. I want eyes on any enemy positions in the next row. Mark your targets and get those shitbags in the high-rise across from us!”

  Two prefab buildings to the left, Othello got back to his feet after diving through a pane of glass. He cautiously checked the room around him, a dark office with disheveled cubicles running along both side walls. Two of the mystery aliens were dead on the floor beside him, and a few of his soldiers scrambled up beside them. “Bravo Squad, on your feet,” he commanded, and moved toward the door to his left. Dull thuds from distant explosions echoed in the room, but other than that, silence.

  He checked the door and saw it led back to the rear of the structure. “I’ve got a hallway running down the left side. I see light on the far end. Looks clear,” he reported, and moved along the wall in shadow.

  ***

  If the buildings were identical, Scott couldn’t tell from Othello’s description. The building was one large room, mostly open storage, windows front and back. Sergeant Allen shouted orders the second he got through the door.

  The security officer jumped in with his weapon raised and shot a burst through the remaining alien attempting to limp to safety. “Get up! Up the stairs to the roof!”

  Scott took a deep breath and got to his feet, running right behind their new leader. He bolted up the stairs and froze at the top. “Flash out!” he yelled and pi
tched a black grenade into the space. The blast made his ears ring, and the engineer followed in Allen’s footsteps, moving out from the stairs to keep from drawing fire.

  They were on another enclosed floor with more windows and aliens against the south wall. With teams at both staircases, the aliens were caught in the crossfire and didn’t have time to react. Scott only took one target before they were done. “Clear! Move on the next level!” Allen ordered and turned back to continue up the winding metal steps.

  A heavy door blocked their way at the top. “We’re at the roof. Watch yourself,” he whispered and slowly rotated the door open with his rifle at the frame. He got it to 90 degrees before he called out, “All Clear!”

  The rest of Bravo Squad filtered out to the roof and saw no sign of additional aliens. “Get to the back wall!” Scott heard Allen yell, and he took cover along the low wall overlooking the next row of buildings. “They’ve got heavier teams stationed in the tall one to the right and God knows where else. Hold here and provide cover fire for the others to advance,” he commanded.

  ***With no better options, Mason slammed through the next pane of glass and sprinted across the corner to the tall building ahead with the rest of Charlie in tow. He checked windows as best he could on the run, but he couldn’t make out any of the defenders. Shots rang out above his head and glancing over his shoulder, he spotted a line of humans dotting the roofline behind him.

  Relieved to have some cover fire, Mason raced the last few meters, feeling shots pepper the ground around him as he slid to minimal safety at the base of the structure. He checked the adjacent building while lying sideways and prone but saw no movement. With any luck, Delta was on the perpendicular wall to his right.

  Wiping a layer of dirt away from his visor, Mason kept watch on the rest of his soldiers making the dash. With the last man in place, he changed focus to their next move.