by PP Corcoran
“Now hold on a minute, Alastair. I’m not going to leave you here for the bloody Jivool to chop you up!” protested Tim vehemently.
“You, Captain Buchanan, will obey my orders. You will get that reactor and Doctor Wong back to the Glambring at all costs. You hear me? At all costs! I will remain here with Gonzalez and delay the main force of Jivool and Besquith from catching you before you lift off. When I hear that you are in the air, we will fall back to the second dropship and get the hell off this rock.”
“Sir, Alastair. Don’t make me do this,” pleaded Tim.
Alastair slapped Tim’s CASPer’s shoulder with his own armored hand. “You’ve got orders, Tim. See you aboard the Glambring for a drink.” Alastair changed channels, effectively ending any argument. “Gonzalez. We are going to make a blocking position here. Let’s dig some boulders out of this tunnel wall. Come on man, move!”
Gonzalez and his two remaining troopers jumped to obey Alastair’s orders while Tim scooped Anna up into his large metal arms and bounded off down the tunnel as fast as his CASPer would carry him, his small group of Scorpions following close behind.
* * *
The firing in the corridor outside the control room had slackened significantly. Okoro had nearly completed the task that he had set himself and the lines of code flashed past on his Tri-V display at a pace only someone equipped with pinplants and with the aid of his CASPer’s onboard computer could hope to sustain. The last security system had proved to be a complete bitch. Whoever had designed it had meant for it to slow the hacker down long enough for him to be caught and, if the rate of fire in the corridor was anything to go by, being caught was the least of Okoro’s worries.
The faint rumble of an explosion shook more plaster dust into the already filthy air, and in a side display the icon that had represented the trooper fighting in the remaining stairwell changed from amber to a solid red. Okoro’s lips thinned. That left only himself and Lieutenant Verley still in the fight, and unless he completed this hack, the sacrifices of the other Scorpions would be for naught.
“Okoro,” came the weak voice of Caroline Verley. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off you. The Jivool have managed to get past us and are headed down the stairwells to the lower levels; they’ll be right up the colonel’s ass in no time.”
“I’m nearly finished, just another few minutes.”
“Here they come again—see you on the other side, Okoro.”
Out in the corridor the fire picked up again. The sound of Caroline’s MAC died off as its ammunition hopper ran dry. Controlled, aimed bursts from the gun pod was answered by the fizz and whiz of massed laser rifle fire.
Okoro worked frantically. Inserting a piece of code here. Deleting a piece there. Until, all of a sudden, he was in. “I have you now!” cried Okoro. “Targeting data accessed. Fire lock removed. And—” Okoro entered the final command into the Besquith space-based missile defense system which controlled all of the orbital satellites. “Missiles away.”
Okoro was still smiling when the back plate of his CASPer was hit by a dozen Besquith armored piercing rounds and a handful of Jivool laser rifle rounds. The Scorpion died a happy man.
* * *
“Captain Po!” the HecSha staffing the Striking Talon’s missile detection system shouted.
“What is it now?” asked Po, more annoyed by the raised voice on his bridge than what the man had to tell him. That changed in a second.
“We are being painted by the orbital defense platforms.”
“Which one?” Po demanded.
“All of them.”
Po looked at him, and his mouth dropped open in disbelief. After a moment, he shook himself and acted, firing out orders as fast a machine gun. “Shields up! All anti-missile defenses are free to engage as they bear. Comms, warn the Devil’s Fang to move out of our engagement zone!”
“Missile launch!” shrieked the HecSha missile detection operator. “Multiple missiles incoming.”
“Be more precise, damn you!” Po chastised the man. “How many missiles do you have on your display?”
The technician turned and it looked like he had seen a ghost. “The entire complement of each orbital satellite, Captain. Over a hundred missiles.”
Po wanted to reach over and strike him down. What he was telling him was not possible, but one look at his repeater display told Po the truth of it. Po was looking death in the face, and he could not escape.
Travelling at thirty-six thousand miles per hour, the missiles from the orbital platforms leapt across the expanse of space separating them from the HecSha cruisers. Defense crews were still rushing to arm their weapons as the first missiles struck home. The HecSha cruisers were designed to survive and fight in space combat but not the onslaught of missiles they faced that day, all of which arrived within seconds of each other. Computer-controlled anti-missile laser clusters managed to get off a few shots and destroy a small number of the incoming swarm. The remainder doggedly bore down on their targets.
Corporal Okoro breathed his last as both cruisers were vaporized.
* * *
“What are they waiting for?” asked Jonsey, as he sent another burst at a Jivool who dared to raise his head high enough for Jonsey’s CASPer’s targeting system to get a shot off at it. The back of the Jivool’s head exploded in a spray of blood and brain matter, and the Jivool dropped face down like a limp rag.
“Who cares! As soon as the colonel gets back, we are aboard the dropship and out of here,” replied Kathy. She was about to give Jonsey some more sage advice when her suit’s audio receptors picked up the high-pitched whine of approaching turbine blades.
A shadow flew over her faster than she could react and her CASPer was picked up and tossed through the air like a rag doll by a series of explosions. Kathy ended up lying in the open, her suit instrumentation flickering on and off. She let out a soft groan as she tried to roll upright only to discover that where her right arm had been was a bloody mix of metal and shattered bone.
Another shadow blocked the sunlight and Kathy struggled to focus through the pain. A single, high-powered laser round at close range scorched through Kathy’s CASPer and put her out of her misery.
* * *
Squad Leader Wela gave the armored monster which had killed half his squad a final kick before walking over to the raging funeral pyre that was the remains of the two Scorpion dropships. “Well those lazy ass HecSha sure did a number on them.” Wela commentated to one of his surviving squad as he observed the effect of Dropship One Four’s cluster bomb attack.
At his waist his comms unit’s beeping demanded his attention.
“Squad Leader Wela,” he answered, still fascinated by the results of a single pass by Dropship One Four.
“Wela. This is Commander Gorak—” Wela automatically brought himself more upright.
“We have identified those who attacked the facility as Humans. They are escaping down the mining tunnels and may be headed in your direction.”
“Commander. I have already destroyed the dropships they arrived in and have killed many of their armored warriors,” Wela boasted, forgetting to mention it was actually the HecSha who had destroyed the Scorpions’ ships while he had his head buried in the rocky ground to stop it from being blown off.
“Excellent work, Wela. We are flushing them toward you, and I have dispatched another squad to join you. Between us we will make these Humans rue the day they took the field of battle against the Jivool.” Gorak cut the connection without further ado.
Wela set to work placing his surviving squad members along the rim of the bowl with an unobstructed view of the mine entrance. Confident his men, with the aid of Dropship One Four, had enough firepower to deal with any Humans who were stupid enough to poke their heads out into the daylight, they waited.
* * *
Squad Leader Horal sat strapped into his seat aboard the single remaining dropship attached to the underside of Striking Talon. His uncle, Commander Gor
ak, had put him in command of the replacement squad of Flatar. It was a stain on his honor that he wasn’t allowed to command the Jivool, all because of Ralla Station. Horal closed his eyes as he tried to block out the incessant chattering of the Flatar who seemed to be incapable of exhausting the list of things they wanted to moan about.
“Hey, Squad Leader,” called the nearest Flatar. Horal recognized him as the mouthpiece of the group.
“What?” asked Horal irritably.
“Is it true we got stuck with you because you’re on your uncle’s shit list?” The Flatar in the bay all burst into raucous laughter.
Horal bared his teeth and let out a deep growl as he unstrapped from his seat. “Enough!” Horal shouted angrily. “Time for you to learn some manners.” Horal was easily seven times the height of the Flatar, who realized too late that his attempt to look big in front of his companions had crossed the line, and now Horal was going to do him some serious damage.
A warning klaxon reverberated through the bay, and its occupants felt a sudden lurching motion. “Standby for immediate break away; the Striking Talon is under attack!”
The dropship was flung violently to one side. The Flatar who were all belted securely into their seats were bounced around a bit. Horal, however, had already released his straps and was subsequently flung about, crashing into a heavy metal stanchion which knocked him senseless. The ship made another radical change of direction, flinging the hapless Jivool skidding along the floor of the bay until the rear ramp stopped him with a bone-crushing jolt.
“Not so big now are we, Squad Leader?” said the mouthpiece sarcastically.
The pain in Horal’s back and neck had sent stars bouncing around in his vision; he was sure he had a concussion and perhaps that explained the words that came out of his mouth before he remember he was surrounded by armed Flatar. “I shall crush the life from you just like that other waste of atmosphere Deeral and his revolting pet Zeorta we sent to the great beyond. My uncle’s right. When General Peepo has finished with the Humans then you Flatar and your cursed Tortantula will be next.”
The wide-eyed stares of the Flatar rapidly contracted until they became narrow slits. Suspicion and loathing oozed from the Flatar, and all of them aimed their oversized pistols at Horal.
“Tell us more about what happened to our brethren, Deeral, and what your uncle knows of Peepo’s plans.”
Now it was Horal’s turn to feel fear.
* * *
“Sir! Captain Kothoo, sir,” exclaimed the Glambring’s tactical officer as he looked around wildly for the frigate’s captain.
What hand has fate dealt us now? wondered the elSha as he made his way across to the man.
“It’s the orbital satellites, sir,” the officer said, hurrying on when he saw the shadow of dismay pass over his captain’s face. “They have engaged and destroyed the HecSha cruisers.”
“What!” asked Kothoo as he stared at the man in disbelief.
“And that’s not all, sir. The ground-based radars have gone offline—all of them. If I’m interpreting the data correctly, the entire air defense system has gone into a maintenance cycle. We could park the ship right on their heads and there is not a thing they could do about it.”
Kothoo let out a very un-elSha whoop of joy and jumped back into his command chair. “Helm. Take us down to the pick-up point. We are getting our people back!”
* * *
Alastair did not need his external audio pick-ups to hear the sound of heavy feet pounding the floor of the mine’s tunnel toward him. Even so he filtered it through the CASPer’s computer which analyzed the sound, breaking it down into its component parts and flashed a number on his display. Thirty-six. There were thirty-six distinct pairs of feet racing up the tunnel toward him, Gonzalez Rivero, and the two remaining troopers of Support Platoon.
Alastair glanced at the names beside the icons representing the two troopers. Coleen Hann, Irish father, Chinese mother. Alastair had gone up against her in the Scorpions’ annual hand-to-hand combat competition shortly after she had joined the company. At five foot one against Alastair’s six foot four it looked like an easy win. The match was over in under twenty seconds. Alastair really should have done his research on his opponent that day, for Coleen Hann was a double black belt in Kung Fu, and she had put Alastair down before he even knew the fight had begun. Alastair smiled wryly at the memory.
The other trooper, Finn McNeilly, was the complete opposite to Coleen. Loud, brash, outspoken, and opinionated were some of the words used to describe the flame-red haired Scotsman from the small island of Islay. In lots of ways, Finn reminded Alastair of Oren Blair. Finn liked a drink, and, when he did, you could pretty much guarantee it would end in a fight. Alastair could not remember the number of times he or Tim Buchanan had to go down to the local police station and bail the man out. All that changed the day he met his future wife, Lorna Kennedy. Not only had she put a stop to his drinking and brawling, she had made him into a doting family man.
A wave of sadness ran over Alastair. Lorna and her newborn daughter had been aboard the assault flitter downed on its mad dash to The Lodge. Finn hadn’t spoken of it, even to his closest friends in his platoon, but Alastair knew the man had had his heart torn out.
The first Besquith came into view, an eerie sight in the shades of gray of the CASPer’s image intensifier. The Besquith’s mouth hung open, displaying its vicious fangs as it charged the Scorpions’ make-shift barricade. A volley of fire tore into it flinging it backward. As if that was some kind of signal, a tremendous amount of fire engulfed the Scorpions, and a mix of armor-piercing and laser rifle rounds filled the narrow confines of the tunnel. Alastair and his companions returned fire with the same viciousness.
In the corner of his eye, Alastair’s ammo counter crept steadily down. Two hundred rounds remaining. One hundred rounds remaining. Fifty rounds remaining. Rounds expended. Switch to 8-millimeter gun pod. His controlled bursts raked the waves of oncoming Jivool and Besquith and the bodies piled higher. So high in fact that the living were able to use the dead as a sandbag wall.
Gonzalez Rivero was the first to fall. A line of armor-piercing bullets stitched across his chest. The CASPer’s armor defeated most of the rounds but a single round managed to get through and took Gonzalez through the heart.
Coleen Hann was next. A group of Jivool used the combined fire from their laser rifles to burn a hole clean through the front and back of her suit. Thankfully her dying screams were cut off as the suit’s computer dosed her with pain killers. At least she would feel no more pain in her last minutes.
That left only Finn and Alastair to fend off the attacking horde. Finn’s MAC and then his gun pod ran out of ammunition. His own under arm laser had been damaged during the fight so it was useless. Rather than await the inevitable, Finn vaulted over the barricade and charged the enemy, his extended blade slashing and stabbing as he went. Finn’s war cry was one of the proudest moments of Alastair’s life. Charging the enemy, Finn screamed, “Non Quarta!”
Then Alastair was alone. Out of ammo and with his left leg badly mangled by laser-fire, he used his hands to pull himself hand over hand until he sat propped up, facing the mixed Besquith and Jivool force.
A lone Jivool approached out of the darkness until it stood looking down at the Scorpions’ commander. “I am Commander Gorak. I shall accept your surrender and will present you as my prisoner to General Peepo as my gift to her.”
Alastair popped the armored cover of his CASPer which opened until Alastair could see Gorak with his own eyes. A large toothy grin spread across Alastair’s face. “When you see that bitch of a rodent, Peepo, tell her I’ll see her in hell.” Alastair opened his left arm and a C6 grenade rolled out to rest at the feet of Gorak. Alastair laughed loudly as the Jivool stared wide-eyed at the grenade.
The ensuing explosion brought down the roof of the tunnel, burying Alastair, Gonzalez, Finn, and Coleen, along with all the Jivool and Besquith, living and dead, under tons
of rock.
* * *
Tim’s heart sank as he edged closer to the sunlight streaming in through the tunnel’s entrance. If his CASPer’s filters hadn’t scrubbed the outside air before allowing it to circulate within the suit, he knew that he would smell the stench of burning jet fuel and scorched metal. Both dropships lay in smoking ruins in the center of the sunken bowl. A myriad of craters pockmarked the base of the bowl. “Yeah, definitely an air strike,” said Ethan Croll from beside him. “Cluster bombs most likely, looking at the crater pattern,” Croll added.
Tim did not feel the need to voice his agreement with the first sergeant. Tim did not doubt that whatever had killed their ride was lurking out there, out of sight, waiting for them to pop their heads out so it could blow them off.
“Well we can’t stay here, that much is obvious,” said Tim, more to himself than Croll. “The colonel might have stopped the Besquith and Jivool from coming up behind us, but you can bet your last credit there are more where they came from, and the longer we wait here, the more likely they turn up, and then they can sit out there and wait for us to die from oxygen starvation.”
“Or old age,” commented Croll.
“What?” Not understanding the comment.
“Well, you are older than me, and I’m older than Jackson and Vega, so statistically you would be the first to pop their clogs if we had to stay in this damn tunnel,” Croll said lightly.
Tim shook his head inside his CASPer. “You know, First Sergeant, I don’t know what I was thinking when I recommended to the colonel you be allowed to join the Scorpions.”
“It was my boyish charm, sir,” quipped Croll.
Tim let out a soft chuckle. “You keep right on believing that; meanwhile, I’ll try to figure a way out of this mess we have got ourselves into.” Both men lapsed into silence as Tim surveyed the lip of the bowl above them. Tim replayed his last thought. The enemy were above them. What if I took that advantage away from them and instead made it ours?
