The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  ‘We’re ready,’ Samson said, after a quick glance at Price, who was making a good effort of looking like he had been ready for a while and was starting to get bored. GSOC was Army, the equivalent of the Navy’s Special Warfare Group. As Price was a regular Marine—albeit an excellent one—that would have put them a rung above him when they were still in the military. It was obvious to Samson that this didn’t sit well with him, and he was making sure to put his best foot forward.

  Smith’s men led them out of the hatch. That they were former military was obvious by the way they moved. Price blended in seamlessly, while Samson felt a little like a square wheel as he tried to do likewise. As always, Samson was struck by the bright light when he stepped out onto the dry, gravelly planet surface. While Price’s helmet visor automatically adjusted its tint according to the brightness, Samson was wearing a Navy suit, primarily intended for use on ships with questionable environmental circumstances, and in the finest tradition of cost efficiency, his visor lacked the tint feature.

  He shielded his eyes with his hand, and tried to get his bearings. There was always something disorienting about a new planet—the sun never seemed to be in quite the right place. You got used to it pretty quickly, setting yourself up for the same experience on the next planet you visited, but for the moment, he felt oddly adrift.

  Smith walked out of the ship behind him, wearing the same type of GSOC-issue suit that his men wore. Samson didn’t bother asking where he’d got it, merely hoping no one had died in the acquisition. He seemed very comfortable with an assault rifle cradled in his arms. Smith made the switch between an appearance of refinement and one of violence far more smoothly than Samson would have thought possible.

  Samson scanned the landscape, trying to make a strategic analysis. Ground-based combat operations really weren’t his forte, with the usual procedure being to acquiesce to the Marines. Still, he didn’t want to come across as a clueless inconvenience when the time came, so he was looking for a sense of the terrain before any shooting started.

  With nothing in the way of vegetation, the only cover the planet afforded was gentle rolling hills and craggy outcrops of rock. He could see the crash site—a black streak gouged into the otherwise beige landscape with a horseshoe-shaped structure at its tip. He couldn’t see the newly-arrived alien ship, but the undulating landscape and crags could easily have hidden it, and Samson knew it wasn’t far away.

  He followed Smith’s men toward the crash site. Price prowled like a predator stalking prey, his visor constantly moving as he surveyed the landscape.

  Samson wondered what had brought the aliens to this planet, and if there might be more ancient remains of the other civilisation here. The thought was intriguing and the implications were huge. This entire sector of space might once have been part of an ancient alien empire. What else would have brought the alien ship here? There was nothing else in the system—this was the only planet with an atmosphere, and it fell into the category that Samson would describe as being dead. Despite the barely breathable atmosphere, it was too dry for humans to exist there without substantial terraforming. Perhaps that was the way the aliens liked it? Perhaps they had to drop out of the Nexus Current for a break and to recharge their agitator, assuming they were constrained by the same limitations as human ships.

  There was still no sign of the aliens from the scout ship by the time they reached the crashed vessel. Samson had kept his eyes peeled every step of the way, doing his best not to become engrossed in the ship. Smith conducted a scan with a handheld device that looked like it put the naval issue units to shame in terms of sophistication.

  He pointed off to their left. ‘Something giving off a power signature out that way,’ he said. ‘Bert, you know what to do. Trevor, go with him.’

  One of them nodded. Samson could see the sandy hair through the visor, and finally fixed a name to a face. Bert, it seemed. He and Trevor headed off at a trot, looping out away from where Smith had pointed to get around behind the scout ship.

  ‘Do you think they know we’re here?’ Samson said.

  ‘We know they’re here,’ Smith said, ‘so I reckon they know we are too. Won’t make any difference, though.’

  Samson walked forward and stood at the leading edge of the crater the crashed ship sat in. He had seen its larger sibling when it was giving chase and there were a great many similarities. This one was quite a bit smaller, though still larger than the Bounty. It looked perfectly smooth. Samson couldn’t even see any weld or join lines where individual panels met. The metal, or whatever it was made out of, was dark grey, with a matte finish that was unreflective. The ends of the horseshoe—although up close it looked more like a cylinder that had been bent into a little more than a semi-circle—had thruster exhausts, but that was the only feature of conventional human ship design that he could recognise.

  ‘How did you get in?’ Samson said.

  ‘There’s a hull breach over on the starboard side,’ Smith said. ‘The bank isn’t as steep on that side. We can work our way down to the opening from there.’

  Samson’s earpiece crackled—something in the wreckage must have been interfering with their radio system—and then Bert’s voice came through.

  ‘Hostiles moving toward your position, boss. Five minutes. Three of them on foot.’

  ‘Copy that. Thanks, Bert.’

  The blend of military formality and the casual was jarring, but considering how long Smith had made his career in a very dangerous industry, it must have worked for him. Smith was very cool about the whole thing. Samson wondered two things—if Smith had spent any time in the military, perhaps under a different identity, and if he’d exchanged shots with these aliens before.

  ‘I’d suggest we get into cover around the ship so we can give these fellas a bad welcome,’ Smith said.

  Smith’s men didn’t wait for Samson’s agreement and immediately set to getting into useful ambush positions. It was obvious to everyone who was running the show, so Samson saw little point in arguing.

  ‘Where do you want us?’

  ‘Anywhere along there should do fine,’ Smith said, pointing to a ridge and ditch along the edge of the crash site. ‘You saw where Nige and Ali took cover, so try not to shoot them when this kicks off. Have a thought for Bert and Trev too. They might push up behind the aliens, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t shoot my lads.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Samson said.

  He and Price took cover where Smith had indicated, while Smith joined his own men on the other side of the ship.

  ‘What do you think?’ Samson said.

  ‘About taking orders from a pirate?’ Price said, his voice verging on a growl.

  ‘About any of this,’ Samson said. ‘There’s an insane amount of intel and tech to be gathered here,’ Samson said. ‘It’d be worth a fortune in the private sector. Do you think we can trust Smith?’

  ‘If we couldn’t, why’d he bring us out here? It’s not like he needs the manpower.’

  ‘Fair point,’ Samson said. ‘Do you really think he’s turning over a new leaf?’

  ‘People change. Maybe he has. Wouldn’t turn my back on him for too long, though. Old habits die hard.’

  Samson nodded and turned to look back out in the direction the aliens were expected from. There was another ship out there. A completely intact one. If it was smaller and more manageable… He shook his head. They already had a great prize here, but they hadn’t secured it yet. One fight at a time. He couldn’t discount the very real possibility the larger alien ship would turn up and pound the crashed ship—and them, if they were still there—into atoms. Sitting around waiting for the fleet to arrive might not be an option, but again… Carts and horses, Samson thought. Deal with the problems as they come.

  36

  Samson heard the tell-tale zip of rounds being fired before he saw anything. His heart started to race. He looked over to where Smith and his men were lying prone, ready with their rifles behind a bank of soil, bu
t not yet firing. He raised his rifle to return fire, feeling angry that Smith and his men were not shooting back, but Price put his hand on Samson’s gun and gently pushed it down.

  ‘No point letting them know we’re here until we have to,’ he said. ‘Wait until you’ve a decent shot. Let’s not show ourselves up in front of these fellas.’

  Samson nodded and pulled back, feeling foolish at having let his excitement get the better of him. Plumes of dirt shot up into the air with each impact, like tiny volcanic eruptions. He heard a distinctly different type of zip—one he was more familiar with—and saw dust devils spiral up from the ground around Smith’s position. Now they were shooting back.

  Samson glanced at Price, looking for his cue. He didn’t want to jump the gun again—literally. Price shuffled up to the top of the mound they were taking cover behind, and trained his carbine at something Samson still couldn’t see. He let off a single shot, which Samson took as a signal that it was time to go. He trained his rifle on the area he could see the others’ shots impacting on, then waited. One thing he liked to think of himself was that he didn’t need to be told the same thing twice.

  He loosed a few rounds, and the exchange of fire continued a little longer, but it was clear to Samson that they were at an impasse. The aliens were safely hunkered down behind a solid bank of soil, and Smith and his people were likewise. They could spend all day exchanging fire and achieve nothing. Everyone and everything seemed to realise that at the same time, as the rate of fire going in both directions slowed to little more than the occasional signal to let the other side know they were still there.

  ‘What happens now?’ Samson said. If they had a frigate in orbit, they’d have been able to order down a bombardment. As it was, Samson was way out of his comfort zone.

  ‘Manoeuvre,’ Price said. ‘Either them, or us, or both. Them, as it happens.’ He sighted down his rifle and fired off three rounds in quick succession.

  An alien was knocked back out of cover. Price must have spotted the smallest of targets, and had hit it at least once. Never one to be late to the party, Samson fired two short bursts at the alien Price had shot and knocked out into the open. At least one round hit, then Price put another burst in to finish it for sure.

  Another barrage of alien rounds zipped through the air, this time smattering the bank of soil Samson and Price were taking cover behind. Price returned fire to even the balance, but didn’t hit anything. Out of the corner of his eye, Samson saw two of Smith’s men break cover and advance, leap-frogging over one another and moving from cover to cover, firing all the while.

  ‘Now would be a good time, sir,’ Price said. ‘A little covering fire never hurt anyone.’

  Samson focused back on the enemy and continued firing shots at the top of the mound. They were having little effect other than kicking up a dust storm, but it gave Smith’s men the breathing room they needed to flank the aliens. There was no way to know how many other alien ships there might be in the region, and the longer this little firefight took, the more chance there was that alien reinforcements would arrive, forcing Samson and the others to retreat and making him fail his mission in the process. The only certainty he had was that his own reinforcements were still a very long way off.

  Smith’s men reached the last bit of worthwhile cover between them and the aliens’ position, and hunkered down. Samson knew rushing things would only get people killed, but he was impatient nonetheless. He didn’t want to be sitting there under suppressing fire when the big alien ship arrived.

  ‘Looks like Smith’s men have them pretty distracted,’ Samson said, noticing that from their position, they could flank the aliens while staying in cover pretty much the whole way. ‘Come on, Price. Let’s get this finished with.’

  Samson crouched low and ran up over the mound they were behind, dashing to the next as quickly as he could. He heard Price move behind him, and was relieved to reach his target before any fire was redirected from Smith’s men to them.

  ‘A little warning next time, sir,’ Price said, as he dived into the cover beside Samson.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Samson said. ‘Saw the opportunity and took it.’

  There was a rattle of rifle fire from Smith’s men, and Samson made his next move. Keeping as low as he could, he ran toward a hollow, which he dived into headfirst. He crawled up to the lip and took another look. He still had some way to go before he was able to get a sight of the aliens—but he hadn’t been shot at, which he took as a good sign. Over to his right, Smith’s men were laying down heavy cover fire. Samson picked the next berm of soil that would give him cover and ran to it. Still no one shooting at him, although he heard the zip and thud of the aliens’ guns a number of times. Smith’s men still seemed to be taking the brunt of it.

  Samson scanned the scene, and fought to catch his breath. His legs and lungs burned, and sweat beaded on his forehead even with the cooling system in his suit. He wasn’t at all sure this infantry life was for him. Still no view of the aliens, but he could see Price in the position he had just left. He caught Price’s eye, and got a disapproving shake of the head for his efforts before Price moved to follow.

  As soon as Price arrived, he got up and charged for the ridge, to the left of where he reckoned the aliens were hunkered down. Finally the aliens spotted the movement to their right, and they opened fire in that direction. Several plumes of dirt kicked up behind Price as he followed. His body twisted and Samson could see him grimace behind his visor, but he kept coming and dived headfirst alongside Samson.

  As soon as he was settled behind cover, he grasped his left upper arm, and Samson could see blood ooze out between his gloved fingers.

  ‘You all right?’ Samson said.

  ‘Just grazed me. Hurts like a bastard, though.’ He squeezed the wound, but the strained look on his face lightened. ‘Still, first man to be shot by an alien and live to tell the tale. That’s got to be worth something.’

  Samson shrugged. ‘You’re welcome to that one. They’ve realised we’re moving now. I doubt we’ll get a clear run to the next cover.’

  ‘No need,’ Price said. He pulled a grenade from his belt pouch, primed it, and lobbed it toward the aliens. Samson followed it with his gaze as it looped through a lazy arc up into the sky before dropping down right on top of them.

  Samson ducked down just in time. The concussion blast pounded Samson’s ears, and they were showered with dirt and grit. When he looked up over the berm, there was a thick cloud of dust hovering over the aliens’ position, and there was no more shooting. Dead or not, this was their chance.

  Samson broke cover and sprinted to the next concealment. He dived flat and brought his rifle to bear, but there was nothing left to shoot at. The aliens had been blasted to bits, leaving a gruesome scene of blood-soaked ground and body parts littered about.

  ‘All clear,’ Samson shouted, then stood and walked over to the carnage. The view was hideous, but he was curious to see what was there.

  Like their bodies, their weapons looked to be destroyed beyond use. Still, he was sure the Navy’s tech people could learn something from them, so they’d collect them before they left. The other thing Samson noticed was that the blood was red. That meant the aliens were broadly similar to humans, in terms of biological function. And, assuming he was correct, it also meant they’d be competing for worlds with similar atmospheres—which tended to be pretty rare. Another reason for conflict.

  Price came over to join him, followed moments later by Smith and his two men.

  Smith chuckled. ‘You made a right dog’s dinner outta that lot,’ he said.

  Samson felt his stomach turn over. Equating the scene with food of any type was off-putting.

  ‘How much will your lot want for study?’ Smith said.

  ‘Probably all of it, but if they want that mess they can come and collect it themselves. We’ll take the weapons and whatever we can from the ship, load it on to the Maggie, and sit tight. If that big alien ship turns up, I�
��m not hanging around.’

  ‘You’d be doing it on your own if you were,’ Smith said.

  ‘Any word of the others?’

  ‘Nah, that interference is still messing with the comms. I suppose we should go and check on them.’

  Samson nodded reluctantly. He was desperate to see the inside of that ship. They set off to where Smith had picked up the scout ship on his scanner. If the reading was correct, it was just behind the crest of the next rise. Samson didn’t like being out of contact with the other group, but reckoned they couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble so close. He pressed on hard, pulling ahead of the group. They hadn’t even started on his mission proper yet, and he was starting to grow impatient.

  He reached the crest, and was astonished to see two more aliens running toward him, only metres away. They spotted him and raised their weapons, but Samson already had his to his shoulder. He fired three times, having the initiative by only a few fractions of a second. His volley hit one of the aliens, splattering ragged holes tinged with red into the white clothing it was wearing.

  In its death throes, it spun around and fired off several rounds, forcing its comrade to dive for cover. The track of the fire was moving away from Samson, so he didn’t waste a second. As he dashed forward, crossing the distance between them, he noticed the aliens weren’t wearing helmets. The air was a bit thin for humans, but it seemed to be all right for them. The alien was up on its hands and knees by the time Samson was close enough. Presented with the opportunity, Samson kicked it in the head, sending it sprawling onto its back. He stopped and levelled his rifle at its head.

  ‘I have them,’ Samson said into his intercom before he remembered what Smith had said about the interference. He shrugged to himself as he laboured to catch his breath. He made an upward gesture with the barrel of his rifle and the alien seemed to understand what he was getting at. It slowly stood up, and laced its fingers on top of its smooth lavender head. Samson counted five digits, including an opposable thumb on each hand. It seemed some designs were the best no matter where you were in the galaxy, just like the red blood. He could hear Price and the others coming up behind him.