Miniscule sea life and phytoplankton aside, the journey went without interruption and quicker than the sergeant expected. Even under nearly a metric ton of load, the tiny motors pulled the team members along, and after a less-than-lengthy span of time the massive black supports of the north station emerged from the darkness. Stretching down into what looked like a bottomless expanse, O’Hare guided his way between struts and to the one he judged the northeast corner.
“Mason, we’re in position under the northeast support, maybe twenty meters below the surface. What’s our next move?” he asked through the radio.
36
“Jeff, did you get that?” Mason relayed to Grant.
“Yeah, I got it,” the soldier whispered as he moved methodically along the edge of the rig. Another meter went by, and he slipped onto the third sub-level, halfway around the corner from the bridge and hopefully far enough away to avoid detection. Ducking and pausing stone still, he responded back, “Delta, good to have you over here. I’m at the southwest corner.”
Rounding the platform, he slowly crept up the thin metal stairs to the next floor. As Grant suspected, a substantial entourage was barricaded across the bridge, waiting for someone to rush through. Dropping back, he continued, “There’s at least twenty to thirty in a defensive position at the edge of the lower bridge. I can’t take that many, but you can help.”
“Just tell me what you need.”
“Mason, when I tell you, I need about fifteen seconds of random fire, like you just got hit by those little bastards I cut off. Delta,” he continued, “I want three of your fire teams to move in on the upper deck and one on the second. Give them enough time to break cover topside, and take the position from behind. With any luck, you should be able to take out the defenders and trap the rest on the bridge. Mason can close from the far side.”
“Will do. What’s the last team doing?”
“I’m going to engage the second level from the west. They’ll regroup and advance and I’ll fall back. When they get there, your team needs to hit them from the east. Once they move again, take cover and I’ll hit them from the north.”
“I can handle that,” O’Hare reported as he pulled the last of his soldiers from the depths. “No sentries by the water.”
“Mace, you ready for this? It might get dicey out there.”
“We’ve been waiting for this,” the sergeant reported.
Grant smiled and rounded the corner of the service stairs on the western side of the station. Two meters away, an alien cautiously peered over the edge, so he opted for stealth and drew the knife from the sheath on his chest.
In a single sweeping motion, he plunged the blade down through the top of the creature’s shoulder, hoisted it up by a plate in its back, and dropped it over the side, removing the razor sharp instrument with a twist as it fell. That was too close, he thought and dropped back down, replacing the knife and resting the first machinegun on the ground at a significant distance from, but in full view of, the enemy force.
***
Only meters away on the north side, O’Hare and his fire team dispatched two more guards in a similar manner, deftly tossing their writhing bodies from the deck before they had a chance to react. “We’re in place on the top level, north side behind the large residential building. Got eyes on . . . ,” he paused and checked the corner, “about seventy aliens ready to move on the bridge.”
The rest of his men hit the wall behind him and awaited their orders. A second later, the team reported in from the edge of the second level on the east side. They had a straight shot to Grant’s position but couldn’t see around a winding wall of metal pipes. “We’re ready,” the corporal reported.
Grant took a deep breath. “Mason, open fire.”
The exchange was audible from the far side of the north rig. Shouts, automatic fire, and a grenade blast permeated the air along with random muzzle flashes.
“That did it,” O’Hare reported from the corner of the building. “Three-quarters of them just broke cover and are hauling ass toward you.”
“Delta, move up,” Grant ordered and waited momentarily. He guessed they were only a few meters away before any of the remaining creatures thought to look back. A flurry of shots rang out above as they started taking rounds from behind.
The volley stole the attention of the garrison on the second floor for a precious second, and Grant dropped his trigger to the grip, spewing a wall of fire and lead at the stunned aliens. Fire from the muzzle illuminated the floor in every direction. Victims and their components went flying. The quicker ones dove for cover on the far side of their defenses.
“I count ten—make that twelve—down,” Grant reported as the remaining creatures fired blindly over the barrier. He sunk his head lower to avoid the ricocheting specks of metal and kept firing, all the while keeping an ever watchful eye on his ammunition. The small display turned from yellow to red as he dug into the last thirty rounds, then flickered as he hit empty.
“Winchester!” he shouted, and left the empty weapon smoking where he dropped it and ducked down to the third level. “Moving out! Delta, get ready. Engage when you see ‘em they get close!” Grant ordered while he sprinted north to his next position, unslinging the next heavy weapon as he ran.
“Copy that. Waiting to get them in the open.” The voice of the fire team leader was focused, clear, and emotionless. “Engaging.” Grant heard the next wave of shots to the side, more alien screeches, and a retaliatory salvo.
Above, the aliens had adapted to the situation and reformed instantly under fire. Delta squad’s five men, spread along two wide sets of stairs, held fast and kept up the pressure.
The aliens’ leader emptied a magazine first and reloaded with his off-hand without a pause while running off the internal reserve. A bullet found its way through the floor and slammed into the fire team leader’s chest, knocking him onto his back. The pain was excruciating, as if half his body was on fire, but he forced himself back up and again returned fire. “Grant, any time you’re ready. They’ve got our number over here.”
“Almost there,” Grant updated from the lowest deck, bounding down the narrow passageway, “Give me ten seconds,” he added as he rounded the last turn and saw the service stairs waiting for him. Empty, the soldier approached and got into position. He cleared the edge with his weapon and sighted down the platform.
Not fifty meters away, straight down the hall, the aliens were formed up and approaching the remaining Delta soldiers. Smoke hung thick in the air, illuminated by yellow and red warning lights as much as the gunfire. Several of the aliens limped as if wounded, but they clearly were not taking mortal damage through their armor. Whatever variable that was present made them far more effective.
“In position. Engaging,” Grant reported, and let his second rifle roar to life. The heavier rounds were instantly effective, tearing through the creatures’ shields without pause. They stumbled, lost focus, and tumbled to the ground, trying to protect two sides while still on the move.
Over the howl of battle, Grant heard their snarling cut through and watched as the last five survivors broke contact with him and instead sprinted straight at the supporting fire team. “Watch out! They’re coming for you!” he screamed, and vaulted over the guardrail to the floor and bolted after them, shoving aside the danger and focusing on the men across from him.
He dove around the final corner, catching the trailing alien in a diving tackle. Adrenaline driving him to act without feeling, Grant grasped for its helmet and bashed it against the corrugated metal floor until it twisted off and the body went limp.
Only a meter ahead, the next creature chanced a look back as Grant went for his pistol. It drew down first but took a stray bullet which sent the shot wide. The spare second gave the downed soldier time to empty his magazine into his enemy. The recoil was jarring but the massive bolts of lead did their job, dropping the alien like a bag of concrete.
Grant went to reload as he watched the last surv
iving invader take a sustained ream of shots to the chest but only drop to its knees. The fire team leader approached the defiant creature, positioned the muzzle of his rifle before its face, and with a resounding crack, sent a massive slug clean through its head, across the station, and into the ocean twenty klicks to the west.
Life extinguished, the body crumpled to the ground. “Son of a bitch!” the team lead shouted, and turned back to his men.
“How is he?” The two other soldiers were at the bottom of the stairs, one kneeling over the other.
“Real bad,” the one on his knees reported, “he’s bleeding from the neck.”
“Shit shit shit shit,” the soldier cursed continuously, digging through the first aid kit already spread out for another bandage. “Olson, stay with me! We’re not done yet!”
Rolling back to his feet, Grant followed the corporal to his men, kicking the magazine out of his pistol before reloading and replacing it in its holster. He got to the edge, looked down, and saw the aftermath of the skirmish.
Corporal Olson had taken a round through the split between his chest plate and helmet and was now bleeding out from a massive bloody gash across his throat. Half of Grant’s mind instantly knew the near inevitability of the man’s coming demise, especially considering the conditions and battle still ongoing. The rest was struck with a tinge of respect for the other two soldiers who rushed without hesitation to his aid. The senior battlefield commander couldn’t help but join them.
Grant dropped beside the others and did what he could to try and stop the flow of blood. The last of the bandages were soaked and the wound showed no sign of clotting, so he dug into his own kit and offered the treated gauze meant for himself.
The corporal snatched the package away and added it to the top of the stack, and it was immediately soaked through. As he pressed, more of the bright red fluid flowed between his fingers. The leader screamed again at his soldier, refusing to give up, but Olson’s eyes went wide and dark in shock before growing dim.
The team lead cursed again and tried in vain to keep him alive, but his training quickly took over. His soldier was gone; they all knew it. Leaning back, he looked back up at Grant, “Now what?”
“We need to get up top. They’re still engaged and need our help.”
More shots echoed in the distance and the corporal nodded, closed Olson’s eyes, and tried to wipe the blood from his hands. “We need to kill every last one of them,” he grumbled, and picked up his rifle and helmet.
Grant nodded, “We will,” and noticed the scrapes and scratches dotting both the Delta soldiers’ armor. Collectively they looked to have absorbed at least thirty shots before the one round got lucky. He added, “We’ll get him when we leave. Let’s get upstairs.”
***
“Delta up!” O’Hare shouted from behind his protected position. Standing straighter, he shot into the mess of bodies, smoke, and debris that covered every square meter of the bridge. “Open fire!”
The rest of his squad joined in for the volley and he counted down the seconds. At twelve, he radioed again. “Delta Cease fire! Delta Cease fire! Take cover!”
Their panicked foes growled between each other and again attempted to return fire, but couldn’t coordinate their attack between Delta to the north behind them and the Alpha and Charlie soldiers moving up from the south.
“We’re up!” Sergeant Mason ordered from his position to the south, crouched behind a small steel guard post. In perfect unison, the fighters of Charlie Squad along with their volunteers from Alpha and Bravo broke from cover, opened fire in kind, and moved up another twenty meters before their enemy reacted. Once they adjusted, Mason ordered them to take cover while Delta again took their focus.
The combined attack had caught them completely off guard. Initially, the shooting from the south side caused them to break forward in a charge, but they were quickly stuck between the advancing column and the defenders who had snuck in from behind. Now trapped between the first quarter and the halfway point, they were losing ground and soldiers continuously but showed no signs of surrendering.
Mason moved up again and took cover beside the alien he had forcefully dissected a few minutes prior. It was draining from multiple holes and via quick inspection, had an empty weapon. They’re got to be getting desperate, the sergeant thought to himself as he carefully planned his next movement.
Their adversaries had dropped smoke grenades in every direction to cover their position, and in the dim twilight, they worked fairly well against the standard night vision systems built into the human suits.
“How many do they have left? We’re running out of room to maneuver,” Mason reported to O’Hare on the far side.
“At least twenty five. I’m still seeing a lot of movement, but I just heard from my remote team. They took out the entire force on the lower level. I’m having them get to high ground to get a better angle on the bridge.”
“Copy that. I’m holding here. When you get your intel let us know, but I don’t want to run out into no-man’s-land out there.”
“Understood,” O’Hare replied. “Grant, how much time do you need?”
Grant put another hand up on the service ladder. “Another two to three minutes. We’re about halfway up the support.”
Looking up high to the left, O’Hare could see three dim outlines scaling the support tower that anchored the bridge’s suspension cables. “Keep at it; Charlie’s about to run out of room.”
“Almost there,” Grant reported again, and pulled himself up onto the loft high above the battlefield. A dozen electrical boxes were mounted to the guardrail and a small walkway led down the suspension wire ahead.
Looking over the edge, he could see the occupied area covered with a layer of thick smoke, occasionally lit from within by gunshots. “Can you provide fire from here if I move up?” he asked the two soldiers.
“Of course.” The leader nodded and unslung a small assault pack as Grant slipped over the guard rail. “Do you want the rockets?”
“Hell yeah,” Grant replied, and took the bag from his outstretched hand. Heaving it over his shoulder, he braced his feet against the thin rails to each side of the steps and let himself slide down the wire, covering the next two hundred meters in a matter of seconds.
Adding pressure at his hands, Grant came to a stop above the huddled alien position. He dropped the pack and pulled out a handful of alien mortar rounds the size of soda bottles. It was only by chance they came across the remains of one of the mortar teams that the rest of Delta had caught unaware. He studied the strange, machined metal tube, looking for a way to activate the fuse.
On a hunch, he twisted the top third away from the rest. It slid a quarter turn, clicked into place, and illuminated a miniscule red light. Grant smiled. It was exactly like the humans’. Sometimes the Aquillians were too predictable, he thought, and heaved the round like a small, stabilized football over his head toward the enemy position below.
Over the shrill crack of gunshots, the mortar hit with a dull thud and rocked the bridge with its explosive blast. The survivors dove for cover, squabbling between each other, obviously thinking it was one of their own. Grant warmed up two more and pitched them in rapid succession.
Briefly ducking, he waited for the aliens to become further engaged by the deception before continuing. Grant retrieved another handful and armed the charges while he waited. Sliding back to his feet, he sent one off before a shot slammed straight into his chest, nearly knocking him off the edge.
The armor held, but in the shock, the last of the rounds went flying from his hand. Grant ducked and covered, trying to simultaneously gauge his injuries and protect himself from the incoming barrage.
“I need some cover NOW!” he shouted as more bullets slammed against the metal structure around him.
Mason and his overwatch responded instantly, opening fire from opposing directions.
Another round glanced across his helmet, and it felt as if he’d been struck with a
bat. “I’m not going to make it up here. Gotta get out,” Grant reported back, considering his options. He couldn’t run either way on the wire—that’d be suicide. Likewise was a jump to the deck. Even if he survived the fall, he’d have no advantage, unless . . .
Grant craned his neck behind the wire. The vertical cables were still intact all the way to the surface. He didn’t know if it’d work, but it’d be better than his current lot, he thought. He snapped his climbing line to the wire and dove from the wire toward the ocean beyond.
The flying leap turned into a tumble as gravity took back over and pulled him straight down to his demise. Grant felt the clip ride down the cable and hit the deck, which sent him over the edge. He missed the concrete by only a meter, but that was enough as the line break engaged, slowed him down, and smacked him into the underside of an oil pipe beneath the roadway.
Swinging for a moment between the twisting mass of steel above, the dark water below, and a sea of stars far beyond, Grant nearly felt as if he was suddenly flung deep into space. Sent careening through the blackness, his mind escaped to envision such freedom before hearing the continual barrages of rifle fire on the other side of the concrete slab.
Forcing himself to inhale, Grant ignored another cracked rib beneath his armor and let his climbing rig pull him back to the surface. He paused at the edge and planted both feet against the steel and went for his rifle.
“Mason, I’m at the edge on the east side and ready to engage. Watch your fire.”
“Copy that. Charlie, Delta, shift fire west,” Mason’s voice came back clear.
Bracing his weapon against his shoulder, he pushed up and rounded the deck. The first alien was only a few meters away, crouched behind a derelict piece of equipment, and Grant put a burst straight through the creature’s back before it had a chance to turn.
MissionSRX: Ephemeral Solace Page 23
