MissionSRX: Ephemeral Solace

by Matthew D. White

  Grant moved with machinelike precision, taking aim and firing only once before moving on. He searched his barrel side to side, clearing out the immediate vicinity before going for the clasp holding him to the suspension wire with his off hand. The muzzle never dropped, and he continued on across the street.

  Mason saw the soldier move in from the right through the dissipating smoke and shifted his cover left, hitting any signs of movement only a meter in front of the man’s advance. “Break cover! Move in!” he roared over the din and rushed at the remains of the alien force.

  One stood and took aim, but Mason shot first, merely causing his target to stagger back from the impact. At minimal range, the sergeant dove for the creature and punched his knife straight through its side. He twisted, jerked it sideways, and tore it free before moving on.

  The rifle empty, he dropped it before switching to his sidearm and searching through the clouds for any remaining foes. His forces were quickly overwhelming the last of the aliens to both sides, and far to the right he watched as Grant hacked into a wounded one with an odd-looking tomahawk, dismembering it as it flailed and screeched in pain. He quickly finished and strode to the next profusely-bleeding creature that was crawling for a weapon.

  Grant slammed his boot down on the creature’s hand as it touched steel, and dropped the blade through its arm. Convulsing, it curled into a ball and Grant retracted his visor before ripping the alien’s free in kind. It stared up in silence, the pair frozen in time for what seemed an eternity, passing an unsaid world of knowledge between each other in the way only soldiers could.

  Grant spit on its face and slammed the crown of the axe down with all his might, crushing the alien’s skull into bits.

  ***

  Sergeant Mason checked the area from one side of the bridge to the other. With no movement in any direction, he let his rifle hang loose. “Clear on North Bridge! Cease fire!” he called to the rest of the team, who in turn dropped their guard in similar fashion.

  Clearly hearing the call and a resounding shout from the rest of the soldiers on their victory, Grant tore his eyes from the remains of his defeated enemy, wrenched his weapon free, and got back to his feet. Blood still surged, his hands still shook, and he allowed himself a short respite from the action.

  Standing up, he relaxed and took in the battlefield around him. The aliens had been ill-prepared for their counterattack, but they had adapted extremely well, moving the modular traffic dividers to provide themselves with modest protection. Bodies of their solders were splayed in the open, cowering behind the broken chunks of concrete and everywhere in between.

  “Make sure they’re dead,” Grant ordered, and checked a body beside his feet. Wrenching the helmet off, he watched as a dark, viscous fluid poured from every orifice in the creature’s head. It looked done for, but he dropped the blade of his hatchet into its throat to be sure.

  ***

  Farther south, Alpha’s civilians, along with the remnants of Bravo squad, relaxed at their posts. Although Bravo had taken significant losses, the survivors still showed steely resolve in their eyes. At least that was how Scott interpreted it.

  Curled up against the wall, he guarded the south set of windows of their building on the second story. Scott rubbed his eyes to retain focus, but it only made them sting more. He pushed aside thoughts of sleep. The others were still awake, many even fighting. He could do the same.

  The miner staggered up the center steps to Scott’s floor. The man’s footsteps echoed through the still space around them. Othello caught his gaze and nodded.

  “Did you hear they called North rig clear?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Scott began, “it was on the open channel. Does that mean we’re done here?”

  “Not quite. Remember, we’ve still got to clean out South. There can’t be many left, but keep your guard up. They’re sneaky bastards.”

  “No kidding. I can’t believe you’re up and walking.”

  Othello laughed lightly and winced in pain. “I got lucky this time. The armor did its job, and they can’t shoot for shit.” He paused and pushed a fist against his side. “Still, I think they cracked at least a rib or two. I’ll survive.”

  Scott glanced from the scrapes on the miner’s armor to the dents and cuts in his greaves. Othello knew where he was going.

  “They’re prosthetic,” he announced, lifting and flexing his right foot. “Lost ‘em in a mining accident. If I hadn’t, I think I’d have bled out today.”

  “Lucky, right. . .” Scott’s voice trailed off. “Must be pretty well built to still be working.”

  “Damn straight!” Othello laughed again. “Tertiary backup motors. Fairly good speed even now. I lost most of my feeling, but that’ll be an easy fix once we’re done with these freaks.” He paused again. “Good show out there today, with the launcher and science experiment,” he added, and gestured above his head.

  “Thanks,” Scott nodded.

  Othello tapped his radio. “Do you hear this?”

  The engineer adjusted the volume on the small panel grafted to his arm. “Just now. Did you hear what they want?”

  “Alpha Squad is moving out. It sounds like they need some more help securing the civilians.”

  A thin spike of fear slid through Scott’s brain, but his body got to its feet before his mind could protest. The transmission from Sergeant Mason repeated. “Can do. I’ll round up the rest of the guys downstairs.”

  Scott checked the ground around him and adjusted the fit of his armor by shifting his weight. He paused. “Did they call for Bravo too?”

  “Nope. I think we’re still guarding this side.”

  “You gonna be alright?”

  Othello laughed, taking a seat against the wall. “I know I’m a shot-up cripple, but I’m not dead yet!” He chuckled. “I’m fully loaded. Hell, if the shot from that medic ever kicks in, I’ll be good as new!”

  37

  At the edge of space, Commander Fox sunk back in his chair, feeling an uneasy peace flow over him. Hopefully the engagement on the bridge would be the last for the mission and they’d be able to wrap up the collection. “Bring us in to thirty klicks,” he ordered, now that the adversaries had been scattered, “and contract Earth Corps Navy. Tell them to close in with their relief. We’ve got them on the ropes.” The risk to the ship was dropping, just as the criticality of a quicker response was rising. The pilot and communications officer did as they were instructed. Gordon looked back at the camera feed taking up the entire front view screen. The entire Extortion complex was clearly visible, even from their range, but not quite well enough to see the soldiers on the ground. God, he hoped they were right.

  “Private Grant is calling from the surface,” the communications officer reported, turning toward Fox and away from her station.

  “Bring him up.” He paused. “This is Fox.”

  “Sir, it’s Grant. We’re moving on the dorms. I think that’s where we’ll find our missing personnel.”

  “You’ve got better eyes on it than I do. Good luck.”

  “Thanks. How’s my ship?”

  “She’s right where you left her,” Fox reported. “Actually, could be better. My maintenance crew has their hands full trying to get it fixed up. The superintendent called it a, and I quote, ‘Solid Charlie Foxtrot’.”

  Grant let out an exasperated exhale. “I figured as much. In that case, I’ve got one more request for you.”

  Fox wished he could jump through the line and break the other man’s face. “What do you need?” he managed to say through clenched teeth.

  “I need you to find Chief Mack Robins. He was the lead maintainer all the way back to development. Find him and his team; they can get it fixed up right.”

  Gordon closed his eyes and tried not to lose his composure. “Roger that. Chief Mack Robins. We’ll roll him up.”

  “Copy. We’re at the dorms. Grant out.”

  It wasn’t enough to stage a sanctioned mutiny. It wasn’t eno
ugh to drag the ship into combat. Their guest had quickly overstayed his welcome.

  “Sir, your orders?”

  Fox nodded. “Yes, find him. Prep a shuttle. We can get some locals and send a team to pick them up once Extortion is clear.” He didn’t like it, but it could be worse. He definitely didn’t need any more attention from the general.

  ***

  Mason regrouped with the rest of the ground forces at the north end of the bridge, spouting orders intermixed with words of encouragement. Above him, mostly cloaked in darkness, rose their objective, ever so slightly lit by the approaching dawn to the east.

  “Good job up here cleaning house! How are we for ammunition? Delta! I want two fire teams covering the bridge to the east. I don’t want any surprises!” Mason gestured with the blade of his right hand.

  “You’re telling me there’s been no movement from the building this whole time?” he continued, questioning the other soldiers.

  “That’s correct. We moved up from the far side, took cover behind it, let it get shot up. It’s been locked down,” Sergeant O’Hare radioed back as he took his team back to the eastern side of the bridge.

  “Private Grant, what’s the play?”

  Grant caught the sergeant’s gaze from the edge of the structure. “They could have anything waiting for us, but I’m doubtful,” he stated. “They’re probably locked up tight. I don’t think they have many guards left.”

  “Traps?”

  “Again, it’s possible, but we haven’t seen any yet. They didn’t even have that much on Mars. Do you really think we’ll find any alive?”

  “After Mars, who knows?” Mason responded. “All I’ve got left is hope. I’d hate to think we gave this much for no one at all.”

  Grant thought through it one more time, “If they’re taking prisoners, all we’ve seen them do is kill them. They could try to make them last . . .” He cocked his head. “Best case is they’re torturing them to death.”

  The thought sickened Mason as he got into position at the main entrance alongside the others. “I think I’d prefer death.”

  “So would they; that’s the idea.”

  Mason brushed the comment off and switched back to their objective. “Intelligence reports that we have a small entryway behind the first set of doors, then a straight hallway that stretches to the rear. Dorms are on both sides and stairwells are at each end. Once we breach and clear the entrance, I want a fire team on each floor. Clear the halls, but wait for my signal before you start checking rooms.”

  The sergeant first class checked the door. “Locked,” he stated, and placed a small charge on the latch. “Ready all. Move on three.”

  He counted the seconds and the round ignited, blasting a thirty-centimeter hole through the doors and sending them flying like a plywood screen. Mason led the way inside with sparks still flying.

  Three soldiers back, Grant waited his turn and stormed in on cue. The room was dark and still with the hint of death in the air. They paused against the wall, scanning for movement but saw nothing, save the lingering dust from the blast.

  “Lobby clear,” Mason reported. “Moving to hallway.”

  “Alpha, follow me to the second floor. Take the stairway to the left,” Grant ordered, and broke off from the rest of the team. With a single solid kick, he broke the thin frame and set it free.

  Checking the corner, he methodically worked his way around the landing and circled up the flight of steps, stopping at the edge of the second floor’s hallway. Grant paused for a second while the rest of the squad caught up.

  The entire thing was chilling. No guards, no traps, no civilians, not even a bullet casing. “Second fire team, take the third floor,” he commanded.

  “Ready,” Grant stated, and kicked the next door open. The hallway again was empty, adding to the eerie sense of doom. His team spread across the hallway and froze.

  They covered every angle but didn’t advance. They could plainly see all the way to the wall on the far end; again, it was completely empty.

  “Second floor is clear,” Grant reported.

  “I don’t like this. Where is everybody?”

  A floor above, Scott was the last member to pass the threshold to the hall. Just like what they had already heard, it was empty.

  “Three nothing,” their team leader radioed.

  Scott’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for a hint, a clue or scrap of information that could be of use and keep them alive. They settled on the ground.

  The visual augmentation system in his visor gave the fabricated floor an out-of-place glossy shine. “The floor looks wet,” he observed.

  A soldier to his right knelt to check for himself, stirring a standing pool with his finger. Holding it to his face, he keyed the radio: “There’s blood all over the floor up here.”

  “What?” Mason’s voice came back instantly.

  “I said there’s blood on the floor. Like some sick piece sloshed fifty liters of blood down the hallway!” He paused and kept looking. “I think I see alien footprints about five meters down.”

  ***

  “We’ve got the same thing on two,” Grant added, now taking notice of the layer of thick liquid on the ground. “Screw it,” he muttered. He’d had enough of waiting and kicked through the nearest dormitory door and shined a light into the darkness beyond.

  The scene could have been ripped from the pages of the Holocaust. A mangled pile of bodies filled the center of the small living space. Grant’s eyes locked on them for too long and noticed they were missing their heads.

  “I’ve got something here,” he announced, and stepped closer. Behind the pile, eight more people were secured against the wall. Their open eyes shone in the dark and Grant hoped they were still alive.

  They struggled to stand and maybe to scream, but made no more noise than raspy gurgles. From what he could see, they had been gagged with nothing more than plastic ties.

  “Human! Human!” Grant announced as he knelt before the nearest one, “it’ll be alright!” He tried to console him, but the man’s eyes were caged on the ground. Grant looked back and spied a row of the severed heads placed between them and the mountain of bodies. Leaning on the pile was what looked like a crude lumberjack’s saw, but with more exaggerated teeth, completely coated with bloody chunks of matter.

  “Don’t look!” he ordered, trying to break his own gaze, and cut the line holding the seated man back. He came to life like a caged animal, thrashing to get anywhere else.

  “Dammit!” Grant shouted, “I’m trying to help!” He held the civilian in a bear hug while he pulled him out of the room. He glanced back at the rest of the fire team. “Hurry and get these guys out of here!”

  He made it to the bottom of the stairwell before the man bolted from his grasp and through the door. The man only made it a few meters before collapsing on the concrete, overcome with fatigue and grief.

  “Who the shit was that!?” Mason questioned from the other side of the lobby.

  “One of the civilians!” Grant snapped. “They had them locked in the rooms. I think they were killing them in front of each other,” he surmised as his fire team carried the other workers from the first room to the door.

  “You breached a room!?”

  “Yes! And you need to get to it! Who knows how many are stuck in here like this!”

  Sergeant Mason didn’t like being ordered by someone technically his subordinate, but it wasn’t the time for a lecture. “You heard him, start checking rooms!” he shouted to the circle of soldiers waiting for his orders.

  The team assembled and kicked in the first two doors on the floor. “Jesus!”

  “What the . . .”

  “Gaddammit!”

  The resounding volley of exclamations and curses filled the radio channel as Grant made his way back to the second floor. They’d obviously encountered the same situation on the first floor that he had found above. “All dorm teams, start checking rooms,” Mason’s voice cut through. “
We’ve got multiple survivors, trauma and shock likely. Get them outside ASAP!”

  ***

  “Ready for this?” the security officer asked Scott rhetorically as he put one bullet through the lock on the nearest door and burst into the first room on the third floor. The engineer followed right behind.

  He saw the flash and another gunshot as the soldier beside him dropped. In the darkness beyond he saw a kneeling alien taking aim. Time seemed to slow as Scott pulled his rifle up and drove a handful of rounds into the creature’s obscured form. Bits flew and it fell like a rock.

  Smoke slowly wafted up in the stillness of the aftermath. Scott’s hands shook uncontrollably and his eyes darted from side to side, looking for more of the creatures lying in wait. He knelt and pushed against the fallen man’s head. It rotated lifelessly, so he moved up to look for survivors.

  Even in the dim light, Scott felt every sensor connected to his brain burning in overdrive. At some level, he was observing even the minutest details, cataloging and processing everything at the chance it’d be the difference between life and death.

  A small kitchen was on the right, with a low bar to separate it from a meager living area. A few simple pieces of furniture filled the next room, mostly tossed about from the commotion. It took him a second glance to process the headless corpses strewn across the floor.

  The sight made him freeze, and Scott felt his stomach try to escape through his mouth. For once, he couldn’t find the air to speak. Against the back wall, he picked out two survivors, nearly shot them in reflex, and forced himself to move to their aid.

  They were close to hysterics, as Grant had mentioned earlier, and bolted the moment Scott released them, shrieking in agony and trying to escape the private hell on Earth. The workers obviously didn’t know who he was or what was happening; they just had to get out.

  Scott’s command of his senses returned to the task at hand and blocked out the horrors around him while he cut the wires that bound the civilians. His mind went back again and again to the elephant in the room: it could just as easily have been him working here, getting kidnapped and watching as he and his companions were filleted alive and messily beheaded with . . . He looked at the gruesome metal blade on the ground next to him—lord only knew what to call it.