Beyond Earth- Civil War

by Nick S. Thomas

  BEYOND EARTH: CIVIL WAR

  By Nick S. Thomas

  Copyright © 2017 by Nick S. Thomas

  Published by Swordworks Books

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Prologue

  For Humanity, first contact with alien life led to a bitter battle to save Earth and all who lived there. More than four hundred years had passed since that first contact was made. But as Humanity reached for the stars, the death toll only increased.

  The Human-Krys wars raged on for years, and one champion rose above all else to become a symbol of the Human victory, finally bringing peace between the two races. That man was Mitch Taylor, an officer in the US Marine Corps. A new Alliance brought four races together in a peace that few considered possible. A peace that lasted centuries, until an ancient enemy was discovered – Bolormaa.

  Bolormaa was long forgotten by all but a few of the oldest of the Aranui. She cut a bitter swathe across the universe, destroying all in her way, so that she could defeat Earth’s champion and solidify her name in the history of the universe. Bolormaa called herself a God, but the Alliance held firm even in the face of complete and utter destruction.

  Eleven years have passed since Bolormaa was defeated. A war that seemed unwinnable finally came to an end, but at a wicked price. Billions killed and many worlds left completely uninhabitable. The Alliance lies in ruins. The Aranui were completely destroyed.

  But now the three remaining races, Humans, Krys, and Cholans, struggle to survive in the war-torn remains of their colonies. Earth is uninhabitable, except for environmentally sealed bunkers deep below the surface. Humanity’s greatest genius works tirelessly to find a way to reverse the horrific effects of Bolormaa’s attack on Earth. The Alliance still exists, but in name only. All of the races are depleted and short on resources. Victory over Bolormaa had seemed like a distant dream, but the dream had been to return home, and yet for most, there was no home to return to.

  The reconstruction era was underway, but the outlook was bleak. As resources begin to dwindle, friends and allies turn on one another, looking to any means to survive. Old foes and great heroic deeds go long forgotten as all thoughts turn to survival. Once heavily populated empires were scattered to the wind, leaving isolated pockets of people trying to get by in life. Many have accepted the harsh realities of life as they now know it, but some still dream of something more. Those men and women fight on in the hope that Earth may one day be returned to the paradise it once was.

  Chapter 1

  Planet M590

  “ETA five minutes!” Sergeant Menard called out. He had a deep scar running down one cheek and onto his neck. He had the appearance of a seasoned veteran, and they all knew that he was. It gave them some small measure of hope of getting through their first proper mission. The marines around him were in their early twenties, men and women who had been too young to fight in the war against Bolormaa.

  Opposite the Sergeant was the fresh-faced Corporal Leonard ‘Lee’ Newman, his stripes barely on a few days. Two ten-man squads sat opposite one another in the small transport craft, one led by Newman. This was not just his first combat mission, but also his first command. Each of them wore the power exo-skeleton armoured suits, the very same suits worn through the last war. A new coat of sand-coloured paint had been sprayed over them, but there was no hiding the wear and battle damage the equipment had been through with their previous owners.

  Opposite him was a woman of the same age as he was. Eva Olsen. She was of similar height as him and clearly of Scandinavian origin. She tried to force a smile as her eyes met with his, but it was stilted. She was scared. They were all scared. They didn’t know how else to feel. They’d been taught to do their job, but never been told how to feel and deal with the wave of emotion now hanging onto them like a ball and chain.

  “Trust in your training. Trust in each other!”

  The Sergeant’s words were of little comfort. They were all aware that he knew nothing more about their destination than they did.

  “Remember, this is a rescue mission. We find the target, recover any survivors, and we leave!”

  “Do you expect that we’ll find any, Sarge?” Olsen asked.

  “Someone set off the emergency beacon, didn’t they?” replied Newman.

  “I don’t presume to know what happened or what we’ll find. That’s not my job, and it isn’t yours either. We deal with what is before us. Just be ready for anything,” the Sergeant replied sternly.

  From the look on his face there was more to the story. He looked as scared as the rest of them.

  “What are you not telling us, Sarge?” Private Samuel Sykes asked.

  He was the tallest among them, skin so dark it was nearly the colour of his jet-black hair. Not only was he tall, but he was broader than any of them, too. The question only served to prove his point, as the Sergeant looked more on edge than before.

  “All we know is that the surface is hostile to life, and that there may be people down there needing our help.”

  “May? As in they might be managing, or may be no one left to help?” Newman asked.

  The Sergeant wasn’t forthcoming, and Newman grimaced as his imagination ran wild with what they might have to face. He’d never fought Bolormaa and her armies, but he had seen them with his own eyes. Horrors he wished he would never have to see again.

  “Going in blind, you think that’s a good idea?” Olsen asked.

  “That’s why a recon and research team went in first, to investigate what we are dealing with.”

  They felt the thrusters on the front of the ship kick in violently as they rapidly reduced in speed to make for what was clearly a combat landing. They had practiced it many times, but always knowing what they would find when they stepped outside. Not knowing made it feel so gut wrenching.

  “What are you worried about? It’s probably just another dead rock like the previous two worlds we put down on!”

  “But you don’t think so, do you, Sarge?” Newman asked.

  The landing gear touched down on one side first. They were shaken violently and finally bounced to an uneasy standstill. They were rocked about, but their restraints kept them firmly in their seats.

  “What the hell kind of flying is that?”

  Newman got no response. Instead the Sergeant leapt out of his seat to the door. The others followed suit, and he hit the door release. It dropped to form a ramp, but they were met by a blast of wind and sand that lashed them. The dust was so harsh it cut into the skin on their faces. The only skin they had exposed to the elements. Newman quickly clamped
his visor shut and took a breath of air from the supply in his suit. Like the rest of them, he hated the confines of the suit.

  It was stifling, but a whole lot better than having sand eat away at the flesh. He couldn’t get rid of the smell, though. A layer of dust had coated his face, and there was an acrid smell to it. Acidic and yet it somehow had the smell of death about it.

  “I thought this place was supposed to be habitable!” Olsen shouted over their comms.

  “Yeah, nobody said anything about any damn sand storms!” Newman added.

  “We didn’t come here for the fine weather. We have a job to do, let’s move out!” Menard ordered.

  He waited at the door for them to step outside, as if he didn’t trust them to follow him. Newman stepped up first, knowing he had to lead by example, now that he was a squad leader. He paced up to the doorway, and even though his suit protected him from the elements, he still felt the force of the wind against him as it bottlenecked at the doorway. He sighed before finally stepping through.

  He got down the ramp and went forward another metre, unable to see anything through the cloud of sand and dust, but it soon began to clear a little as he continued forward. Just as it cleared enough that he could make out the canyon stretching out before him, his right foot slipped, and he began to tumble over a cliff edge. He gasped; realising there was nothing to hold on to. He was about to plunge over the edge when something grasped his back and locked him solid. He was pulled back. Sykes had hauled him to safety.

  “Don’t end this fine career as a squad leader before you even get started,” he joked.

  Newman nodded appreciatively as he composed himself. He peered back over the edge. There was a three hundred-metre drop into the base of the canyon. It was full of jagged rock edges. He’d descended great heights with the boosters on his suit before, but he doubted they would have saved him had he taken that fall.

  The sand continued lashing the visors of their helmets. This was not a hospitable planet at all. In fact, they couldn’t wait to leave, for none of them wanted to be there.

  Menard was studying at the Mappad screen on his forearm, and he looked puzzled.

  More good news, Newman thought.

  “All right, we’re a little off course. Navigation is a goddamn nightmare out here. We can’t risk trying to land any closer, so we’re on foot from here.”

  “It’s a lovely day for a walk, Sarge.”

  “Less talking, more walking Private Olsen!” He pointed in the direction for her to lead the way along a near knife-edge ridge.

  “Why did I ever sign up for this?” She took her first few steps.

  “You didn’t, none of us did,” replied Neyman.

  “Keep moving!” Menard roared.

  Newman followed on after Olsen. He didn’t want to be seen as weak, but neither did he like heights much. They soon began to descend into the valley. It was two kilometres to the crash site, although the heavy winds and lashing of sand and debris made it feel ten times that distance. The canyon eventually narrowed and bottlenecked at a natural tunnel a few metres tall. It didn’t look inviting, but Olsen activated the torches on her helmet, and continued on into the darkness without a moment's pause. Newman didn't like it at all. He was naturally a suspicious man, and he couldn't tell if Olsen was reckless or simply fearless.

  Their powered suits made them feel invincible, and yet having fought through the sand storm it had been a battle, and they were all too aware of their history. Like the rest of them, Newman had grown up during the war with Bolormaa, but never had to fight it himself. He got to see first-hand the destruction that Bolormaa brought. The thousands and thousands of men and women who had come before him that must have thought they were invincible, too. Now they were dead and buried. It was an uncertain world they lived in. The threat of Bolormaa was gone, but the Alliance was weaker and spread more thinly than ever before. That meant a lot of responsibility lay on their shoulders.

  A single ship and two squads were conducting the work of two platoons and what should be a variety of support ships. They were on their own down there, putting them all on edge, all but Olsen. The tunnel began to open up, and that was a relief to Newman. He didn't like being in confined spaces, whether a tunnel, cave, or a cramped ship. It was getting darker. They'd planned to get the operation done before nightfall, but their hike through the harsh conditions had lost them a lot of time.

  "There she is!" Olsen shouted.

  Newman and Menard reached her position. Through the gusts of sand and dust they could just make out the ship, a research vessel thirty metres long and half as wide. It was a bulbous and ungainly ship that carried no weapons. Little more than a transport pressed into service for the work that everyone they knew now worked towards. The technology that could help repair Earth from the horrific damage Bolormaa had caused, or perhaps to find another similar world that could replace it.

  Bolormaa, through her spite and malice, had utterly destroyed and made uninhabitable nearly every planet the Alliance had inhabited over hundreds of years. Earth was no exception, the surface not one that any living creature could live on anymore. It was an apocalyptic wasteland that was toxic to life.

  "It's still intact?" Mac was amazed.

  Their platoon sniper was viewing the ship through the large digital telescopic sight on his rifle. The weapon was a modification of the standard weapon they all carried, though with a longer barrel and a different type of ammunition. Well suited to long-range work, but would lead to rapid overheating with sustained fire or bursts of any kind.

  Seeing the vessel intact was a shock to them all, even the Sergeant.

  "What's going on here, Sarge? This was supposed to be a crash site."

  "A rescue mission, nobody said anything about a crash, Corporal."

  "Implied though, wasn't it?" Sykes towered over their backs.

  "What are we looking at here?" Newman asked.

  "We won't know until we get there. For all we know this could be a mechanical failure, but be ready for anything."

  He led the way forward, and as they drew closer, they could get a better look at the ship. It had landed on a rock shelf little larger than the vessel itself. It must have taken skill to put it down there, unlike their landing. The ramp to the vessel was open, and that surprised them.

  "Where is everyone?" Menard asked.

  "What was the crew of this thing again, Sarge?" Sykes asked.

  "Thirty-six, crew and scientists combined."

  "And they had marines attached?" asked Newman.

  "Two."

  "Two? What the hell can two marines do?" complained Sykes.

  "Put me in line of sight of a target, and I'll show you."

  Sykes smiled at Mac, but they all knew it was a bizarre scenario.

  "The Alliance is spread thin," said Olsen.

  "But two marines, Sarge? That's pathetic," replied Newman.

  "You know how many of these research missions are going on at any one time? The Alliance doesn't have time to waste. Milo Rivers has made it quite clear that we must make advances and do it quickly."

  They were closing the distance rapidly and just twenty metres from the ship. They looked around for some sign of life, but none of them seemed particularly concerned.

  "I've got something!" Newman yelled.

  He was looking down at several boxes of research equipment. He didn't know what any of it was for, but it had to have come from the ship. One case was open showing a large screen almost the entire width of the box. It was covered in a thick layer of dust and sand, and he couldn't tell if it were working or not.

  "This is their gear, but where are they?" Sykes asked.

  Several of the others had gathered around, but nobody had any answers.

  "Why did they leave this kit out?" Giles was checking it over.

  "Yeah, it looks expensive," Prentice agreed.

  "Benik, Gillet, and Morrison, I want a perimeter, right now!" Menard ordered.

  None of them se
emed overly worried, but increasingly starting to think something strange was going on. It seemed to be getting darker every minute, and the sand storm was blocking much of the natural light anyway. Newman activated the torches on his helmet, and the others soon did the same. They were losing light fast, and that didn't make the prospect of their return journey all that appealing.

  He looked down at the dust-covered screen and wiped it with his hand. A thick layer of sand was scraped away and revealed that the device was still working. He could make out some numbers and information, but it made little sense to him. He wiped a little further, and something wet smeared across the screen as his hand slid across.

  "What the hell?"

  "What is it?" Menard asked.

  Newman rubbed his fingers together as he tried to work it out. It was a little sticky. He looked down at the screen once more so that the lights of his helmet illuminated the surface. There was a smear of what looked like blood across the screen.

  "What the...?"

  Menard was clearly thinking the same as a look of fear came over his face.

  "Consider this a hostile scenario. 1st Squad is to stay put, and keep your eyes open. 2nd, you are coming with me."

  He lifted his rifle to the shoulder and moved towards the ramp of the ship. 2nd Squad of the 1st Platoon of Charlie Company was Newman's. He wiped the blood off onto his armour, and it smeared across what was the newly applied paint. Even that had been eaten away in places by the gusts of sand. His heart was pounding in his chest, knowing they might be going into combat for the first time.

  He knew the day would come that he would have to fight, but had always expected to see it coming. To be briefed and prepared for it. This was supposed to be a simple rescue mission, but he had known there was more to it from the moment they set off. They hit the ramp at speed with the Sarge at the lead.

  "I want to know what the hell is going on here, and I want to know now!"

  "Sir, shouldn't we show a little more caution?"

  "We are marines, Corporal, and we are here to do a job. Mac, stay put on the ramp, and cover 1st Squad. The rest of you, on me."