MISSION VERITAS (Black Saber Novels Book 1)

by John Murphy

  “That doesn’t explain how we’re getting through,” Kerrington said.

  “The sedimentary rock had cracks throughout. When the water filtered through the cracks, the rock was eroded into caverns. The entire range is riddled with tunnels. That’s how we’re going through.”

  “How long until we reach water?” Kerrington asked.

  “We’ll probably encounter some streams of running water, but there won’t likely be any reliably safe water until we reach the caverns. Until then, we can only forage for fruits and berries.”

  “Damn it, Mitchell!” Kerrington barked. “I wish I’d known that before we started this morning.”

  Sowell put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, take it easy, man. We’re all thirsty. You don’t have to take it out on her.”

  Kerrington shook off Sowell’s hand. “She’s the navigator! If we had gotten a better time estimate, we might have done something different.”

  Even with their face shields down, Mitchell shrank visibly from his tirade.

  “Calm down, King Kerrington!” Vasquez said.

  “Yeah, back off. She almost died crossing that desert,” Tucker added.

  “Yeah,” Kerrington ranted, “and it would have been her own damn fault!”

  “Look,” Sowell said in a soothing tone, “it’s not exactly good leadership to blame subordinates.”

  “Yeah, man up, Kerrington!” Tucker said, snickering.

  Vasquez shoved him. “Don’t push it, man.”

  “I was forced into this course of action when Killian took off! The rest of you followed him before I could make a proper decision.”

  “Okay. I’ll take the blame.” Killian stepped forward. “Here we are, and we’re all thirsty. Let’s get on with solving the problem in front of us.”

  “Yeah,” Tucker agreed. “Don’t get your nuts in a twist.”

  Goreman snickered this time. Kerrington turned to her, eyes blazing, then glared at Tucker. “Shut the fuck up!”

  Tucker put his hands up and shook them as if in fright. Vasquez shoved him again.

  “Okay, everyone,” Sowell said. “Let’s cut the confrontation and figure this out. Now, Mitchell, how far are we from the caverns?”

  She consulted her nav tablet. “About two miles, but we have to climb a bit to reach the pass, maybe five hundred feet.”

  “Holy shit,” Spalding said.

  “All right,” Sowell said, ignoring him. “A couple miles ought to be easy to do in an hour. Now, is it straight up the cliff to the cavern?”

  “No, the route cuts a quarter mile across the base of the cliff as it goes up.”

  “Good, we can do that. Maybe two hours at the most. We can survive off fruits and berries until then, can’t we?”

  Vasquez nodded. “Yeah, we can do that. No problem.”

  Sowell turned to Kerrington. “Is that enough information for you to make a decision?”

  “Yes. Now stop acting like you’re in charge,” Kerrington said.

  “Not taking charge. We’re all under a lot of stress,” Sowell said.

  Killian backed up and put out his hand, yielding the way. “Do your thing.”

  Kerrington pushed past him and plunged into the thicket. “Let’s move out, ladies.”

  Tucker put his hands up and skipped, arms swaying merrily. “Pick a pretty berry and put it in your basket.”

  Vasquez shook his head and followed.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Mitchell said as they started to move. “Any water we encounter will attract animals.”

  “Oh, cool.” Spalding brandished his rifle. “Maybe we can blast them and drink their blood!”

  “You aren’t going to be shooting any animals, asshole,” Dohrn said.

  Sowell looked at Mitchell. “You sound concerned.”

  Mitchell shrugged. “Well, some will be prey, and others will be predators.”

  “Don’t worry,” Spalding said, “we can blast the shit out of them!”

  “Let’s avoid encounters with the indigenous species!” Kerrington called out. “Stick with fruits and berries, please.”

  27 Hours to Extraction

  “Wow! This is fantastic!” Sowell called out as sweet juice ran down his chin. He had cut into a leathery fruit about the size of an avocado, exposing its succulent blue innards. The group had come to a marshy area with leafy plants and a dense canopy overhead.

  “Are you sure this isn’t the jungle?” Kerrington asked.

  Mitchell examined the tablet again. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s clear that the jungle is on the other side of these cliffs.”

  The others also indulged in the blue fruit, savoring its sweet juice. Besides the birds in the trees, the only sound was the candidates’ slurping.

  Killian enjoyed the peace of the moment. Everyone was focused on replenishing rather than bickering. Now that the candidates were past the immediate danger of dehydration, maybe they would relax, especially Kerrington.

  Killian vowed to himself to not make any more brash decisions. He had had his fill of everyone’s ire. He hoped to coast for the rest of the journey.

  A sloppy fruit rind hit Vasquez in the helmet, splashing his face with blue goo.

  “Hey! What the hell?” Vasquez turned to see Tucker laughing and moving away. “Don’t worry, fatso. A little fruit ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

  Vasquez threw a sloppy rind at him, but it fell far short. Tucker laughed.

  “Knock it off, girls!” Kerrington warned.

  “He started it,” Vasquez said.

  “You know, I really resent you referring to them as girls,” Dohrn said. “It’s extremely demeaning.”

  Kerrington ignored her. “Mitchell, are we still off schedule?”

  “Two hours behind.”

  “Damn it. How are we gonna make up that time? What’s the terrain like on the other side of these cliffs?”

  “It looks like an evenly descending slope for about five miles. But it’s dense forest, so it might be slow going, or at least slower than crossing open terrain.”

  “We can blast our way through!” Spalding suggested.

  Killian thought the same thing, but was grateful someone else said it first.

  “We’re not going to destroy the environment for the sake of this stupid mission!” Dohrn retorted.

  “We’ll see when we get there, but I wouldn’t rule it out,” Kerrington said.

  “Hey!” Tucker shouted from a short distance away. “Check this out!”

  He held up a shiny red fruit about the size of an apple.

  “Don’t eat that!” Mitchell shouted.

  “Why not?” He bit into it. “This is awesome!”

  “It could be dangerous!” Mitchell said. “Let me check it out before you eat any more.”

  “I already ate one. It’s really good!”

  Mitchell hurried toward him. “It might be poisonous. Where’d you get it?”

  Tucker pointed to a lush, leafy plant that had several more of the fruits. Mitchell captured an image of it and waited for an analysis.

  “The good news is, it’s not poisonous. But it is a mild hallucinogen.”

  “Oh, great,” Kerrington moaned. “Is he gonna freak out like Benson?”

  “It’s a possibility. It says here he may experience altered vision and judgment.”

  “Oh, for sure!” Tucker waved his hands in front of his face. “It’s like slow motion. This is cool.”

  “How bad is this gonna be?” Sowell asked.

  “The nav doesn’t say,” Mitchell said.

  “Look at those birds! They’re friggin’ awesome!” Tucker said.

  The others gathered around Tucker. His eyes looked glassy.

  “He’s trippin’, all right,” Vasquez said.

  “Man, I bet Benson woul
d love this,” Tucker said.

  “How long is he going to be impaired?” Kerrington asked.

  “It doesn’t say,” Mitchell replied. “But it advises drinking lots of water and resting until the effects wear off.”

  “Shit! We’re already behind schedule.”

  “We have a six-hour planned rest period inside the caverns,” Mitchell said.

  Kerrington nodded. “Good. We can cut out a couple hours of that and get back on schedule.”

  “What if he’s not better by then?” Dohrn asked.

  “If he gets worse or can’t function anymore, we’ll go with Killian’s plan and leave him in the caves,” Kerrington said.

  “I didn’t suggest that!” Killian said. “I was going to say we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now he seems okay, just high.”

  “Look at those friggin’ animals!” Tucker shouted and pointed through the swamp. “Am I seeing things?”

  On the other side of the swamp were a dozen six-legged, gazelle-like creatures.

  “Well, the good news is, you’re not hallucinating,” Sowell said. “We can see them, too.”

  “Oooh!” Goreman cried.

  Spalding raised his rifle.

  Dohrn put her hand on the barrel. “Do not shoot at them, Spalding!”

  “No killing the Bambi freaks. Check!” Spalding said.

  “The hallucinogen might be sharpening his visual acuity,” Mitchell said. “Otherwise, he might be impaired the same way he would be with alcohol.”

  “That’s good,” Kerrington said.

  Tucker became agitated and pointed the other way. “Oh, shit. I think I saw a dog.”

  They looked where he was pointing and saw only dense underbrush.

  “Is he hallucinating?” Kerrington asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe,” Mitchell said. “I can’t imagine there would be dogs here.”

  “It wasn’t like a dog on Earth. I saw a face—and fangs.”

  “You’re trippin’, dude,” Vasquez said.

  Tucker pointed again. “Look! Look! There’s another!”

  “Don’t wig out on us, brother,” Sowell said.

  “And there! I swear! Look, look, look!”

  Goreman yelped and pointed. “I saw something moving in the bushes!”

  They all went on high alert, plasma rifles at the ready.

  Twigs snapped.

  Killian saw movement.

  A large doglike creature with a leathery hide came into view. It was menacing, more like a jackal than a domesticated dog, but bigger than a wolf.

  Spalding let out a blast from his plasma rifle. The dog fell over, stunned. “Gotcha, motherfucker!”

  “No shooting the indigenous species!” Dohrn shouted.

  “You almost hit me, idiot!” Vasquez said. “Make sure you’re not firing across any of us.”

  They waited quietly, staring into the thicket, hearing nothing but the buzzing of insects and screeches from birds. They each took the opportunity to put down their face shields.

  Several moments passed.

  “Lone wolf?” Sowell whispered.

  “How long does this stun thing last?” Spalding asked.

  The bushes erupted with jackals.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE CANDIDATES WHO weren’t knocked over by the beasts fell over in fright.

  They shot their plasma rifles, their aim erratic and uncontrolled. Two of the jackals were stunned, almost certainly by accident.

  Killian was knocked forward and lost his plasma rifle in the melee. The crushing weight of a jackal on his back ground his face shield into the mud. He could feel the jackal trying to get its jaws around his helmet, seeking out his neck. He spread his legs wide and twisted his torso. Through the muddy face shield, he could see fangs scraping to get at his face, leaving streaks of teeth marks. He reached to his left calf and withdrew his knife from its sheath.

  Killian tried to jab the animal in the side, but his knife couldn’t penetrate its leathery hide. He flipped the knife in his hand, reached in front of his face, and stabbed into the beast’s open mouth. He didn’t strike a deathblow, but dark brown, syrupy blood let him know he’d cut its mouth. The jackal yelped and ran off.

  Killian sprang up and wiped his face shield as best he could. He could see the jackals snapping at the other candidates, some clamping onto the candidates’ arms or legs, some clamping onto helmets. Everyone was screaming over comms, which filled his head with noise.

  To his immediate right, one of the beasts had a candidate by the helmet. Killian couldn’t tell who. The beast managed to open its maw wide enough to get a tentative grip, and attempted to shake its prey in order to snap its neck.

  Killian lunged at the jackal and reached around its neck with his knife. Assuming it had an artery in its neck, like mammals on Earth, he pulled back with all his might, but the knife still wouldn’t penetrate its tough skin.

  Riding the bucking animal, Killian thrust his knife repeatedly into the creature’s eyes. One plunge went deep. The animal shuddered, then went limp and fell over, its legs twitching. Killian looked down at the candidate and could see Goreman’s terrified eyes looking back up at him.

  Killian resheathed his knife and grabbed Goreman’s plasma rifle, flipping the switch to kill mode. He had to figure out how to hit the jackals without killing his fellow candidates. Each beast had singled out and was attempting to tear apart the other candidates. Two candidates had more than one jackal attacking.

  He switched the rifle to his right hand and withdrew his knife again.

  He ran to the smallest candidate, Dohrn. The beast was barely clenching her helmet. It stopped its side-to-side twisting to stare at him. It growled without letting go.

  Killian stabbed the animal’s eyes. It didn’t let go of Dohrn until a strike sank deep, penetrating its brain. It rolled over violently several times before it went limp.

  Killian swung the plasma rifle around and blasted the beast. The jackal’s twitching bulk exploded, sending bloody shreds everywhere.

  The other animals ceased their attacks and scurried backward. Separated from their intended prey, they were easy to shoot. Killian started picking them off, hitting three before the others raced off into the thicket. He kept firing after them, blowing holes in the dense brush.

  Three other candidates joined in the volley. They continued blasting until there was no indication of the animals returning.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!” Killian called out.

  They stopped and stared into the smoldering branches. Except for the subtle crackling of burning twigs, the only sounds were heavy breathing and nervous crying.

  “Everyone all right?” Sowell asked between exhausted breaths. He looked around. Most of the candidates were on their feet and covered with mud, animal flesh, and blood. Tucker was still on his back, squirming, swatting, and batting at the air in front of him.

  “Vasquez, check on Tucker,” Sowell said.

  “Hey, come on, buddy. It’s all over. Let’s get you up.” Vasquez helped Tucker to his feet, fending off his frightened swats. “Come on, it’s all over.”

  Killian approached a stunned jackal and blasted it, sending shreds of bloody meat flying.

  Spalding did the same. “Take that, bitch!”

  They shot the two other stunned animals.

  “That, ladies and gentlemen,” Killian said, pausing to catch his breath, “was an ambush.”

  “No shit!” Spalding said, breathless.

  It was as bad an ambush as Killian had ever experienced, more frightening because of the ferocity of the attack. He had only been attacked like that by crazed and sloppy anarchists. Usually, he and his band of rebels had been the ones doing the ambushing.

  Mitchell checked herself for wounds. “Thank God for the body armor.”
>
  Vasquez did the same. “Yeah,” he said, “otherwise we would have been torn to shreds!”

  Sowell looked around. “Kerrington? You all right?”

  “Yeah. I’m good,” Kerrington replied, a pronounced tremor in his voice.

  Still in fight mode, Killian said, “We should go. Get our gear and be quick about it before they come back.”

  * * *

  Within minutes, the candidates were climbing over rocks that had fallen from the green cliffs. They had to snap their plasma rifles onto their packs and use both hands as they climbed.

  Tucker kept pace with them but whimpered nervously like a frightened child. At Killian’s suggestion, they had snapped Tucker’s rifle onto Vasquez’s pack. Killian knew the humiliation of having a weapon taken, but Tucker was in no condition to wield one.

  After a few hundred feet, they found even footing on a steep incline. At that point, they chose to carry their plasmas.

  A few of the candidates complained of wrenched limbs and sore necks from the twisting and shaking by the beasts, but otherwise, they were okay.

  Killian thought the experience had been good for them. There was nothing like savage fear to wake someone up. He felt—or rather hoped—that his fellow candidates were starting to gain a more intimate understanding of violence. Still, they had a long way to go.

  They came to a ledge formed by a slice of mountain that had calved off, creating an upward slope away from the face. If it were to rain, they might stay dry against the cliff.

  “We ought to take a break. What do you say, Kerrington?” Sowell asked.

  “Yeah, a break. Good idea.” Kerrington had been uncharacteristically quiet during the ascent.

  The candidates scanned the cliff side for rock bugs and the skies for other threats. A few went to the edge of the upward-sloping shelf and peered down to the valley floor they’d escaped from. They were around 500 feet up from the bottom. They could see the scavengers swarming below, likely feasting on the carcasses of the animals the candidates had killed.

  Eight, Killian calculated, eight dead jackals. He didn’t think he’d include that number in his kill count. If he did, that would bring his total to forty-one. He dismissed it. Maybe he’d have to start a new category. He couldn’t imagine that anyone would be so dumb as to start a kill count for indigenous species, but counting kills after battles was an old habit. He pushed it out of his mind.