Hell on Earth- the Complete Series Box Set

by Iain Rob Wright

  His marines also. The old man had lost his cap, revealing a thick crop of white hair, and his dress uniform was now stained entirely crimson—but he was alive. He still held his weighty pistol, and the thing still fired like a bucking mule. The four marines with him placed their shots with lethal accuracy, but were clearly exhausted. They moved sluggishly, brought their aims around a little slower every time. Eventually, the creatures would close in on them.

  “Help the admiral,” Hernandez shouted, hoping he would be heard. “Hangar 2.”

  Peering back through his scope, Hernandez watched the added fire support take immediate effect. Burnt men fell one after the other. The four marines moved with renewed enthusiasm. Kirsch looked around for who to thank and soon spotted the Augusta. He raised a hand and saluted them, then went back to popping off shots with his massive pistol.

  Hernandez’s rifle clicked dry. He ejected the mag and jammed in another. Picking shots was easy because the enemy were everywhere. Had they all come out of a single gate?

  Was there one nearby?

  Contemplating the odds only made his heart beat faster, so Hernandez concentrated only on what he could see through his scope, and on pulling the trigger. Tat-tat-tat. His skull rang with the constant onslaught of noise. Nausea overwhelmed him.

  “Fire on the big bastard,” Johnson yelled.

  Hernandez pulled away from his scope and realised the giant had made it over to the hangars and was decimating the remaining Naval forces. Kirsch and his marines scattered around their huge foe and opened up with their rifles.

  The giant roared, its long blond hair whipping around its shoulders—a statue come to life. A god of destruction. It reached down and snatched up one of the marines, holding the screaming man for a moment and grinning. Then he lofted the tiny body forty feet into the air and watched it thud against the concrete with a sickening splat.

  Kirsch circled around in front of the giant and stood his ground defiantly. He waved a hand at his remaining three marines and ordered them to run. They refused. The four men stood together and unloaded the last of their ammunition into the massive enemy standing over them.

  The giant flinched, took a step back, and let out a devastating roar. It swatted away the small-arms fire like mosquitos on its skin, then swung a massive arm and clobbered a nearby communications tower. The metal scaffolding folded in on itself, and the mass of electronic equipment held atop it came loose and fell to the ground. Kirsch had been standing right underneath.

  Hernandez looked away and cursed as the old man and his three marines disappeared beneath a huge pile of twisted metal. Those still alive and fighting nearby faltered. Their admiral had been killed. Their leader was dead.

  Ensign Tyke stood beside Hernandez and shook his head in despair. “What the hell is happening, Lieutenant? I don’t understand.”

  Hernandez took a breath and pulled a face when he smelt blood. “It will be okay, Tyke. We’ll get ahead of this thing and—”

  Tyke’s head disappeared from his shoulders. One minute he’d been anxiously staring at Hernandez, then he was a pair of empty shoulders with a stump of gristle and bone for a neck. His body slumped over the railing and into the water.

  Gunfire peppered the deck. More of the Augusta’s crew fell.

  Hernandez squinted through his scope, urgently scanning the battlefield. What he saw drained the blood from his veins.

  The burnt men were picking up the rifles of dead sailors and using them to return fire at the various ships. The safety of being on board evaporated.

  An almighty blast came from a ship’s main gun somewhere. The noise of the battlefield was like living inside a swarm of bees. Disorientation. No way to tell what was happening anymore. Chaos.

  “Sail out!” ordered Johnson. “Norfolk is lost. We need to get to sea. Engines full power. Go! Go! Go!”

  The decks rumbled. The Augusta leaned starboard. Crewmen ducked behind the rails, taking cover while bullets whizzed over their heads like hornets. A junior Lieutenant fell onto his back when he was too slow to get down, and he lay there screaming like a child. No one went to help him. Not yet.

  Hernandez crawled over to Johnson who had taken a knee behind one of the ship’s two MH-60R Seahawk helicopters. One of them leaked from a pierced fuel line.

  “Captain, should I call Command?”

  “Already tried,” said Johnson. “Nothing but noise right now. We have to relocate.”

  “Relocate where?”

  “I don’t know, Hernandez! Right now, I just want to get my ship and crew out of harm’s way. You’re standing here doing nothing.”

  Hernandez was taken aback by the sudden venom in his commander’s voice, but when he considered the stress of the situation, he understood. “What would you have me do, sir?”

  “Check on the wounded.” Johnson turned away and got on the radio. Clearly any conversation with Hernandez was over.

  So Hernandez went to carry out his orders. The Augusta moved half-a-kilometre out from Norfolk’s piers, almost out of danger, but the horror still flared back on land. Even now, rifles clacked and larger guns boomed. The giant had disappeared, but the burnt men still swarmed, mopping up whatever remained.

  Hernandez just witnessed Pearl Harbour.

  And survived it.

  The Augusta’s crew stood mostly intact. Hernandez estimated the death toll at no more than twenty. Not bad considering the fates of ships such as the New Hampshire.

  Seaman Patrick briefed Hernandez about the ship’s damage, and that too was within the realms of ‘lucky’. Nothing powerful enough to pierce the hull had come their way, and the only severe damage was to the backup comms dish. It wasn’t a problem, so long as the main dish remained operational. The Seahawk’s burst fuel line could be easily repaired. They had gotten out of there with their butts intact, but what came next, no one knew.

  Hernandez headed to his quarters and grabbed his cell phone—wasn’t surprised when the call didn’t connect. If the world was at war, the networks would be overloaded with panicked callers. He would keep trying though.

  “What are you doing, Hernandez?”

  Hernandez looked up to see Lieutenant Danza. “Trying to call home. My ma lives in Austin, and there was one of those stones there, I think.”

  “And my sister lives in Columbus where there’s one too. Think I don’t want to take a minute and make some personal calls? I’m sure everyone does, but we have to focus on our duties right now.”

  “It’s just one call.”

  “And what if one of the crew sees you make it? You’ll have three hundred sailors all demanding to drop tools and call their mothers. Once they get a hold of someone they love there’ll be no getting them back, especially if they get bad news.”

  Hernandez saw Danza’s point, but he wasn’t about to take a dressing down by a fellow lieutenant—especially one beneath him by time served. Hernandez’s rank and seniority placed him below only Captain Johnson. “What an officer does and what a crewman does are not the same thing. I don’t need you to tell me how to conduct myself.”

  Danza studied him for a moment, a slight smirk on his face. “If you think that screaming like a little girl is how an officer should conduct himself, then you have it all wrapped up.”

  “I’m sorry? Care to explain what you mean by that?”

  Danza shook his head and chuckled. “I mean that the entire crew saw you scream when that thing had you.”

  “I thought I was going to die!”

  “We’re US Navy. We’re trained to die. And when we do, we don’t scream like children.”

  “Fuck you, Danza. Go back to driving a taxi for Danny DeVito.”

  “Ouch, a Taxi joke. They never get old. Just watch yourself, Hernandez. You might be second in command, but everyone knows you don’t have any balls.”

  Danza walked away, leaving Hernandez to clench his fists and fume alone in his cabin.

  Who did that piece of shit think he was? Fellow officers were
supposed to respect one another. He was probably just another racist prick who begrudged a ‘spik’ being in a position to give orders. Hernandez had dealt with dicks like Danza during his entire nine-year career. Snarling bullies who cried ‘affirmative action’ every time Hernandez got a promotion over them. They failed to see that he had an unblemished record and perfect aptitude test scores.

  He tried to call his ma again but still got no connection.

  Growing up in Austin, the ocean had always fascinated Hernandez. He never got to see it until his thirteenth birthday when his school took a trip to the Kennedy Space Centre followed by a day at Daytona Beach. The vastness of the Atlantic had mesmerised him for hours and almost frightened him too much to go in—but once he had…

  Everyone in Austin loved water. In the heat of Texas, swimming pools were an everyday part of life, but the ocean was different. The sea was alive. And when Hernandez was around it, he felt alive too. That day at Daytona beach, he knew he wanted to spend his life sailing the oceans and seeing the world. He would not be another Latino who never left the city in which they grew up. His ma supported him, and his pops had died when he was young. He had no other family. He decided he would enter a new one: the United States Navy. While it had never been easy, it had also never been hard. While individuals within the Navy had their opinions, the institution itself was blind to everything except talent. Work hard enough, devote your entire life, and you could be admiral.

  Like Kirsch.

  Naively, Hernandez had only ever seen the benefits of the Navy. It wasn’t until now he realised he might actually have to die in service of his country. The Navy was not his family. It was his master.

  He headed back onto deck where things were now more or less back in order. The crew went about their duties. The injured were moved to the infirmary. Only bloodstains suggested they had ever been in a conflict.

  Commander Johnson approached Hernandez on the aft deck, motioned for him to follow. He didn’t say a word until they were out of earshot of everyone else. “I’ve had word from Jacksonville,” he said. “We had two-thirds of our east coast fleet at Norfolk. No word on survivors yet, but the USS New Hampshire was destroyed, along with several more of our larger ships. It hurt us bad.”

  “Jesus Christ,” muttered Hernandez.

  “That’s not even the worst part,” continued Johnson. “We had over four-hundred officers assembled during the attack, including three admirals. The Navy is rudderless. Fleet Admiral Simpson has taken over east coast operations from Jacksonville, but he’s just one man—and his best years are behind him.”

  “I heard he was retiring this year.”

  “You heard right. He’s pushing on eighty.”

  Hernandez sighed. “So what are our orders?”

  “To do what we can.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Johnson shrugged. “Hell if I know. Guess it means we try to help out wherever we can until we receive something more concrete. My current plan is to head north to New York, or south to Jacksonville. I’m waiting on Intel to see which area is most in need.”

  Hernandez nodded. “Okay. I’ll head up to the bridge and keep an eye on things.”

  “No, I want you to check our munitions. We expended a massive amount of ammo at Norfolk, and I need to make sure we can still defend ourselves if we head back ashore.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll have one of the—”

  “I want you to do it.”

  “Any officer can supervise a simple munitions check, sir.”

  Johnson glared at Hernandez. “Yes, but there is only one officer to whom I am giving the order.”

  Hernandez stood silent for a moment, trying to figure out why he was being treated like a green-eared recruit. He thought better than to argue further. Something about the expression on Johnson’s face seemed to challenge him to try.

  Hernandez saluted. “Right away, sir.”

  Johnson dismissed him curtly.

  Hernandez started away, and wasn’t sure why he stopped when the ship’s radio buzzed nearby. Perhaps habit made him pick it up. He cringed when Danza’s voice came from the other end. The other lieutenant requested to speak to the captain.

  “It’s for you,” Hernandez told Johnson, offering the handset.

  Johnson snatched it. “As I was expecting a call, that makes sense. I thought I gave you an order, Hernandez?” He sighed. “Stand there a moment.”

  Hernandez stood at attention.

  Johnson spoke with Danza across the radio for several minutes, saying little and listening lots. Eventually, he dismissed the other and replaced the handset. He glanced at Hernandez and rubbed at his chin. “There’s a cruise liner docked at Charleston in need of rescue.”

  “I agree we should help.”

  “You agree? I never even stated my opinion.”

  “Oh, I just assumed.”

  “Well don’t. Don’t you dare assume my orders. We will head south, yes, but the cruise liner is not our concern. Civilians are not an asset. We need to focus our energy towards launching a counter offensive on our enemy. If Command is moving to Jacksonville, that’s where we should be. A new fleet will be assembling. Our priority should be to join it. I’m sure my fellow commanders will arrive at the same conclusion.”

  “So, we’re going to leave the civilians to fend for themselves?”

  “I don’t like it,” Johnson snapped, “but I need to think about the big picture. If I need a morality lesson, you’d be the last person I’d ask.”

  Hernandez spluttered. “What does that mean? Sir, if you have a prob—”

  “What it means is that I saw you throw that young woman to her death back at Norfolk to save your own skin.”

  “I…” Hernandez closed his eyes as he recalled his own cowardly actions. “It just happened. I didn’t think about it.”

  “I knew her, Hernandez. She served with me on the USS Wickham before I took command of the Augusta. She was a good officer. Better than you. Her name was Gina Landis, in case you were wondering.”

  Hernandez couldn’t think of what to say. It was true, he had tossed the woman into the monster, but she would have been dead anyway. Nearly everyone at Norfolk was dead. He hadn’t changed anything except saving his own life. It was simple pragmatism.

  “Sir, I’m not sure what you want me to say. We were fighting for our lives back there. That girl—”

  “Gina!”

  Hernandez sighed and began again. “Gina isn’t dead because of me. She’s dead because monsters attacked us. The same ones now attacking a cruise liner in Charleston, which you have elected to ignore.”

  Johnson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to calm himself. “Perhaps you’re right, Lieutenant. Perhaps you’re not guilty of anything.”

  “Thank you for seeing that.”

  “We’ll leave it for a court martial to decide.”

  Hernandez blinked. “What?”

  “Soon as we get a handle on this thing, I’ll be discharging you and having you stand trial. You’re a coward, Hernandez, and you’ll answer for it. Now get out of my sight. You have munitions to count, and if I find you’ve missed a single bullet you’ll spend the night in the brig.”

  Hernandez walked away, shell-shocked.

  A court martial?

  So much for his unblemished record.

  Danza came to see him two hours in. By that time, Hernandez thought he would faint if he had to count another bullet. As much ammunition as they had spent back at Norfolk, they still had more than enough for another conflict—an amount painful to count.

  “Least the captain doesn’t have you cleaning the latrines,” said Danza, beaming.

  Too miserable to give a comeback, Hernandez carried on with his count, sorting the 5.56mm NATO rounds into boxes, ten by ten.

  “What did you do?”

  Hernandez considered the answer. Oh, you know, just killed a girl the captain probably used to screw. No biggie. “I have no idea,” was his
eventual reply. “Just leave me to it. I can’t count with you bothering me.”

  Danza picked up a clipboard and studied it. “You counted the .62 cal shells yet?”

  “No.”

  “All right.” Danza picked up a pen and started counting the heavy boxes of large shells for the MK 45 gun.

  Hernandez sighed. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you out. Actually, I came to tell you that we picked something up on the radars, something moving along the seabed. We think a ship went down recently. Now that I’m here, I’ll help you.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  Danza carried on counting. “I know, I know. You don’t need anybody’s help, Hernandez. You have that big, giant chip on your shoulder to carry you through.”

  “I can accept help. Just not from assholes like you.”

  Danza whistled. “Ouch. And I thought I was a nice guy. You still sore about what I said to you earlier? Maybe if you’d seen my point and admitted I was right, you wouldn’t be down here playing number monkey.”

  “What point?”

  “That you should think about what you’re doing, and how it will look to the crew. Did you get a hold of your ma?”

  “No.”

  “Then it was all for nothing. You acted in your own interests, and as an officer, that’s not acceptable. I told you what would have happened if you’d started open season on cell phones.”

  Hernandez clenched his fists and tried not to explode. Danza had been right—even at the time he had seen that—but why did the smug son-of-a-bitch have to make such a big issue out of it? “Yes, okay, Danza, you were right. It was a bad decision trying to call home. I’m worried about my ma, and I didn’t think.”

  Danza smiled, still smug. “See, that wasn’t so hard. I know you didn’t think about it, but right now you have a boatload of frightened men and women who need you to keep a calm head. The crew will be looking to us and Johnson to make the right calls.”

  Hernandez huffed. “Yeah, right. Tell that to Johnson. He just ignored a plea for help from a cruise liner full of civilians. You would know because you gave him the report.”

  Danza nodded. “Not our place to question the captain. He needs to consider the big picture.”