by Tripp Ellis
Carcasses of dead bugs piled up around him. But more came and crawled over them. His arms felt like rubber. He was so exhausted he could barely swing anymore. But he kept fighting. He didn’t want these damn bugs to eat Bailey.
One of the creatures attacked him from behind. The pincer lashed out and clamped down on his shoulder. Venom filled his body. His grip went slack and he dropped the sword. His knees were weak and he collapsed to the ground. His body smacked the wet mud. Face down in a puddle, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t use his arms. He was going to drown in the puddle, if he wasn’t eaten first.
Bailey barked and tried to roll Walker over, but he was too heavy. Then Bailey bit down on Walker’s ear and pulled his face out of the water.
Walker gasped for air and filled his lungs. Bailey set Walker’s head back down, positioned so one nostril was out of the puddle. He ran in circles around Walker, trying to ward off the creatures. But they weren’t afraid of Bailey.
One of the creatures batted him away with the swipe of a claw. Bailey tumbled through the muck, got up, and charged back at the creature. Bailey wasn’t going to go down without a fight either.
45
SLADE
“You’re Captain Slade, aren’t you?” PFC Finnley asked.
Slade nodded. Saying I used to be just didn’t seem to sit well with her.
The squad ducked into an alley and crossed over several blocks.
“Where’s your CO?” Slade asked.
“You are now, sir,” Lance Corporal Brooks said.
“The LT, and half the platoon, got wasted. Just disintegrated into nothing,” the platoon sergeant yelled. “This was supposed to be a weekend of R&R. Who the hell are these bastards?”
“I don’t know,” Slade said. “Where are you headed?”
“To the extraction point,” the sergeant said. Then he rephrased his statement. “Anywhere you say, sir.” He saluted Slade. “Sergeant Brad McCormack, 1st Battalion, 10th Marines, 2nd Space Expeditionary Force. Stationed aboard the Ardent.”
“Have you been in communication with her?”
“No, sir. But we’ve got a drop ship waiting for us.”
“Where?”
“We’ve got a Raven waiting outside the city. This area’s too hot. As soon as we get to a safer LZ we can call her in. We were coming into the city when the shit hit the fan. We had to do something.”
The platoon took cover in a bombed out structure. There wasn’t much left—a little bit of the roof, a few walls. It was enough to conceal them somewhat while they regrouped. But it wasn’t going to hide them from thermal scans.
Small arms fire in the distance sounded like fire crackers.
“They’re rounding up the civilian survivors and taking them prisoner,” Sergeant McCormack said. “Anybody who resists gets vaporized. I sure wish we had ammo like that.”
“They’ll use the prisoners as slaves,” Slade said.
“Have you seen this species before?” McCormack asked.
Slade shook her head. “And I thought the Verge was the only thing out there we had to worry about.”
“Skylark, Bravo 2, do you copy?” Lance Corporal Duran was frantically trying to establish contact with the drop ship. “Skylark, Bravo 2, do you copy?”
A filtered voice cracked over the comm system. “Roger, Bravo 2.”
“It’s been fun, but we’re ready to get the hell out of here.”
“That’s a negative on the extraction.”
“What do you mean, a negative?”
“The enemy has established a solid perimeter. They’re dominating the skies. There’s no way we can make it in and out of the city.”
“Skylark, Bravo 2 actual. This is Captain Slade. Where is your present location?”
“We’re in a pasture, about 15 clicks outside the city.”
“In the rear with the gear. Must be nice. Fuckers.” McCormack grumbled under his breath.
“I’m sorry, Captain. But you’re gonna have to make it here on foot. As far as I can tell, we’re the last flight out. I can’t reach the Ardent, or anybody else.”
“Send us your coordinates, and stay put,” Slade commanded.
“Aye, sir.” The communication disconnected. A few minutes later the coordinates appeared on the encrypted PDUs of the platoon.
The military network in Europa City was still intact. It was virtually indestructible. The signal was carried by thousands of autonomous relay drones that populated the sky. They were invisible on radar and shielded from EMP blasts. You could incinerate them with a nuclear blast, but drones from other areas would spread out to take up the slack. The only way to effectively disable the network was to unleash a swarm of hunter-killer drones. But that tactic could take days to fully implement.
McCormack looked at his display. “They are roughly 25 clicks from our current position.”
Slade looked over the grim faces of the platoon.
Fighters roared overhead, patrolling the sky. Slade could hear troops and vehicles moving closer. She peered over a tattered windowsill—an enemy drone was hovering in the street. It was a black orb, with a weapon mounted on the end of each of its short wings. Muzzle flash erupted from the weapons. A stream of blue tracers streaked toward her.
Slade ducked under the windowsill. Bullets impacted the concrete wall. Other’s blazed through the window, screaming over her head. The opposite interior wall of the structure was gone, so the bullets passed through, impacting another building farther down the block.
The Marines took cover.
The drone’s onslaught was incessant. Round after round chipped away at the exterior concrete wall.
McCormack crawled along the floor to the south wall of the building. He motioned to Duran to take the north corner of the building. There was a gaping hole in the south wall. McCormack leaned around the corner, aiming his weapon at the drone. But it had already sensed his movement and was waiting for him. McCormick got off a few rounds at the drone before he was met with a flurry of oncoming fire. Bits of concrete and debris blasted inches away from him. He ducked back around the corner in the nick of time.
Duran took up the slack, blasting off several rounds.
The drone swiveled like a turret between the two ends of the building, playing wack-a-mole with the two Marines.
They took turns tag teaming the drone until it was a pile of metal on the ground. The firefight had eaten up most of their ammunition—and there would be more drones coming.
“Lets move out,” Slade commanded.
The platoon filed out of the demolished building. They crouched low as they scurried through the city, hugging walls and taking cover behind cars whenever they could.
Block after block looked the same. Every now and then, there was an intact street sign, or a recognizable building. Even Logan, who had been here many times before, had difficulty placing landmarks. The face of the city had changed in the blink of an eye.
Most of the cars on the street were bombed out. They were covered in dust and debris. Windows were shattered or blown out completely. As they rounded the corner on Milton Avenue, Logan spotted a delivery van. It was covered in dust and had one shattered window. But it looked in pretty good shape otherwise. He pointed it out to Slade.
The van was parked in front of what used to be the Federation Embassy. Each colonial planet had an ambassador that served as their direct connection to the Federation government. The colonies were free to establish the nuances of their own laws, as long as they were in compliance with overall federal regulation, much like states in the old American Republic. The job of protection fell to the Marine Security Force. But there weren’t any other Marines around. The embassy had been demolished.
“You want to go streaking through the city in that?” Slade asked.
“Got a better idea?”
“Do you ever watch the news?”
Logan shrugged. “I try to avoid it.”
“How many times have you seen footage from a combat aer
ial vehicle of a truck trying to escape down a lone highway?”
Logan shrugged again. “A few, I guess.”
“And what always happens to the truck?”
“It gets blown up.”
The Marines chuckled at Logan.
Logan scowled at them. “Ye of little faith.” He dashed toward the van.
Slade gnashed her teeth. “Goddamn it.”
“What the hell is he doing?” McCormack said.
“He’s going to get us all killed,” said Duran.
Slade scanned the sky—there weren’t any enemy vehicles in the immediate area. The main invasion force sounded like they were at least a click away. The aliens were meticulously working their way through the city, securing it grid by grid.
A few moments later, Logan was in the van and had it started.
“How’d he do that? It’s almost impossible to steal a car these days.” Duran asked.
“I believe Logan has a certain criminal expertise,” Slade said.
Logan pulled the hover-van alongside the platoon and rolled down a window. “Anybody need a lift?”
With all the dust covering the car, it was hard to see the underlying color. Slade could barely make out the MSC logo on the side of the van. She didn’t think much of it.
“This is a really bad idea,” McCormack said.
Slade grimaced, contemplating the decision. But she didn’t have to contemplate for long—a stream of blue plasma-like bullets streaked over her head. She snapped her gaze to their origin. A handful of enemy troops were approaching from several blocks away.
The troops were covered in full body armor. But Slade could see glimpses of their faces underneath their helmets. Brightly colored skin with black irregular spots. Some were orange, others were blue, some were yellow. The invaders were Decluvians. She had never seen this species before.
An enemy tank turned the corner. Its heavy gun took aim at the platoon.
46
SLADE
Slade hopped into the van and rode shotgun. The others piled into the back. There were boxes strewn about the cargo area. Brooks and Finnley sat on long slender crates. McCormack and Duran took a position at the back of the van, by the rear windows.
Logan mashed the accelerator, and the vehicle lurched forward.
KABOOM!
The tank fired.
The projectile whistled through the air, exploding next to the van. The blast sent the van sliding sideways. Debris pelted the side of the van and smashed one of the windows.
Logan got the vehicle under control and turned at the next intersection. He barreled through the city, dodging wrecked cars and other debris. Hovering over the ground allowed the van to glide over the impact craters with minimal disruption. Europa City definitely had a new pothole problem.
At full throttle, it was a white-knuckle ride. Slade buckled her safety belt and held on for dear life. Buildings blurred by as Logan weaved through the city. McCormack kept watch out the rear window.
A thick fog had rolled in over the city, decreasing visibility. At least that would give them a little cover. But it wasn’t long before an aerial vehicle emerged from the fog behind them.
“Shit. We’ve got company,” McCormack yelled.
Logan was already pushing the van to its limits.
The aerial vehicle opened fire. Blue streaks pierced through the air. A barrage of high caliber bullets rained down. They were the same incendiary rounds as the small arms fire. They tore up the roadway, blasting bits of concrete and debris, leaving behind flaming potholes.
Logan swerved down a side street.
McCormack hammered at the rear window with the stock of his rifle, punching out the glass. He swiped off the jagged fragments with the barrel, then he took aim. Duran followed suit.
The enemy aircraft angled around what was left of a building, chasing after the van.
McCormack and Duran opened fire. It was like shooting a pellet gun at a tank. The enemy aircraft was a close air support vehicle. It had high caliber machine guns and armor piercing rockets. It had a heavy, composite armor-plated underbelly. McCormack’s only hope was to put a round in the pilot’s skull.—if the damn thing had a pilot at all. It could have been an AI drone, or remotely piloted.
Spent shell casings ejected and clattered across the floor of the van. The deafening rattle of gunfire filled the vehicle. McCormack and Duran kept firing.
So did the enemy.
Blue tracer’s streaked toward them.
Logan zigged and zagged.
The bolt of McCormack’s weapon locked out. He pressed the magazine release. It dropped to the floor. He grabbed another from a pouch on his tactical vest. He slapped his last magazine into the well, pressed the bolt release, and kept firing.
It was a miracle the van hadn’t been obliterated yet. Logan was doing a good job of making the van a hard target to hit. But they had a long way to go.
It wasn’t long before McCormick was out of ammunition. “I’m out.”
“So am I,” Duran said.
“We’ve been dry since Fifth Avenue,” Finnley said, speaking for himself and Brooks.
The enemy was closing in on them.
Slade leaned over to Logan and mumbled. “This is that moment… you know, the one you always see on the news.”
Logan frowned and kept driving like a bat out of hell.
They were escaping the city in a van owned and operated by the MSC—Military Spacelift Command. It was a division of the UPDF that employed both military and civilian personnel. Their primary objective was to transport food, medical supplies, and munitions to the troops.
Finnley was the first one to notice it. The green crates that he and Brooks were sitting on had X79 Spitfire stenciled across them in white lettering.
“Sarge,” Finnley yelled. “Spitfires!”
“I’d give my left nut for one right about now,” McCormack said.
“There’s one right under my nuts.” Finnley got off his ass and opened the crate. Brooks realized he was sitting on one as well. The two Marines dug out the Spitfires. They were advanced, precision guided, armor piercing, rocket propelled grenade launchers.
Finnley tossed one to McCormack. He hoisted the weapon over his shoulder. The targeting screen activated, and McCormack took aim. After a few seconds, the device locked onto the enemy aircraft. But the enemy had already fired. Two rockets were inbound, screeching through the sky. Clouds of white propellant billowed from their thrusters.
“Incoming,” McCormack yelled.
Logan swerved.
The rockets narrowly missed the rear bumper. The explosion rocked the van, blasting its ass end into the air. The Marines tumbled about the cargo area.
Logan wrestled with the controls to keep the van from flipping over. It finally slammed down and bounced over the roadway. He wrangled it back under control, rounded a corner, and kept speeding away.
McCormack poked the nose of the launcher out the window and took aim again.
Brooks lunged out of the way of the exhaust port.
McCormack squeezed the trigger as soon as he heard the steady tone of missile lock.
The rocket blasted off. The van filled with propellant exhaust. Logan could hardly see anything through the haze. He squinted and rolled down the windows. Everyone coughed and hacked as the exhaust filled their lungs. The chemical taste coated the back of their throats.
The rocket streaked toward the enemy aircraft and exploded in a blinding flash. Chunks of metal and avionics rained down. The frame of the gunship plummeted down to the roadway in a twisted wreck.
The Marines cheered. There were hoots and hollers and high-fives. Logan looked over at Slade with a sly grin. “See, this wasn’t a bad idea after all.”
Slade pointed ahead to the bridge that spanned the lake that bordered Europa city. It was demolished.
“Shit,” Logan muttered.
He veered off the roadway onto the grass that led down to the shoreline.
Slade gripped the door handle. “What are you doing? These things aren’t designed for traversing water!”
By the time the words had slipped out of her lips, the van plowed over the water. The vertical thrusters carved into the surface, spraying water everywhere.
Slade wasn’t sure if there was going to be enough surface tension to keep the van high and dry. But it kept plowing across the lake, leaving a helluva wake.
Logan grinned. “This is faster anyway.”
They barreled across the waterway and picked up the highway on the other side. Soon, the smoldering ruins of Europa City were barely visible through the fog. Logan ran the van full throttle through the suburbs to the countryside, to the extraction point.
When they arrived, the Skylark was nestled under some trees in a lush green field. A herd of cattle milled about like it was any other day.
The Marines piled out of the van and jogged toward the Skylark.
Slade’s eyes met Logan’s. “Okay. So, maybe I owe you one.”
“We’re not out of this yet, Sugar. It’s only just beginning.” He hopped out of the van and headed toward the Skylark.
Slade shook her head and followed after him.
The Ardent was likely nothing more than a million pieces of orbiting space debris. The probability of getting shot down as they tried to escape the atmosphere was high. Even if they did manage to survive, there might not be anywhere left to go. All of the colonies could possibly be under attack. New Earth might not even exist anymore.
Slade knew one thing for certain—she was going to fight. Maybe not here. Maybe not today. But as long as she had breath left in her, she was going to defend the Federation. Even if this platoon of Marines was all that was left of the UPDF, she was going to lead them into battle.
47
WALKER
Out of the corner of his eye, Walker could see the creature hovering over him. It rolled Walker around, looking over its next meal. The creature had to defend his prize from other would-be thieves trying to steal his meal. The creature growled and snapped at the other predators. It bought Walker an extra few moments of life.
