REV- Rebirth

by T. R. Harris

  “Captain Drake, we’re picking up Lanic transmissions,” said a panicked voice. “Something’s happening at the outskirts of the system…wait one.”

  The three men on the bridge of the corvette focused all their attention on the conspicuous silence from the speakers. That was a bastard move, making a statement like that and then leaving them hanging in suspense. Fortunately, it didn’t last long.

  “They’re reporting ships on the perimeter. Wait one!”

  “Dammit, whoever this is!’ said Drake out of frustration. “Just give us a running report.”

  “Sorry, sir. It appears to be Human ships arriving. A squadron or a small fleet. The reports are jumbled, and the Antaere are also broadcasting, trying to calm everyone down.”

  A Human fleet! Kyle thought. He let out a sigh. A rescue, or at least a supply mission. There weren’t enough ships in the entire Human fleet to evacuate the population of the enclave, at least not at one time. That would require conquering the planet first, at which point there would be no need to evacuate.

  “I’m shutting down the engines,” Captain Drake announced. “It was dicey if they’d get us out of the system anyway.”

  Kyle and Donovan looked at the back of the officer’s head. “Now you tell us,” said Kyle.

  “There were already enough ifs in the mission. I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Sir!” said the voice on the comm. “It’s confirmed. A count of nineteen ships entering the system, including one battle-carrier! ETA six hours.” The excitement was evident in the man’s voice.

  “We’ll keep Larry in the corvette,” said Drake to the REVs. “Once the air is clear above us, we can fly him up to the carrier. They have better medical facilities than we do on the ground.”

  “Sounds like a plan, captain,” Donovan said, unbuckling his harness. “Let’s go watch the show from command. I love it when Antaere scurry away like roaches when the lights come on. The yellow-skinned bastards.”

  7

  Forty of the Eldorado’s sixty attack craft shot out from the launch bays. The destroyers and frigates joined in and formed a strong line in front of the battle-carrier. The Antaere strike craft were fast and well-armed. Their weakness came from their defenses. The Qwin were so arrogant in their belief that sheer numbers could overcome any deficiency that they never upgraded their shields to counter the ever-improving attack weapons of the Humans. Warriors from Earth never sat on their laurels. This was a lesson learned over long and bloody centuries of conflict against their own kind. You sit on your hands long enough, and even the weakest of your enemy will find a bigger rock to smash you over the head with.

  So forty ships against a hundred was pretty much an even matchup. But when the smaller capital ships were added to the mix, the Humans blew through the first line of defense with relative ease, only losing nine fighters in the process before the Antaere retreated.

  But the Antaere were learning. In the early days of the war—twenty years ago—the aliens would rush headlong into just about any battle and fight to the last ship. Now they were more frugal. Seventy-four ships left the field of battle and bolted in-system to form up with other forces to surround the planet. Even then, they knew it would be impossible to keep the Humans from affecting a landing somewhere on the surface. So they concentrated their land, air and space units…around the Unity Enclave.

  “They’ve taken the bait, colonel,” Major Roland Freed told his boss. “Every fighter is scrambling for Unity, leaving Bountiful essentially unguarded.”

  “Good,” said the Marine commander. “Time to orbit?”

  “Fifty-eight minutes. Fifty-nine to REV drop.”

  “Load the last of the landing craft, major. We go with the original timetable. Let everyone know along the line.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Throughout the mighty warship, both sailors and Marines prepared for battle. While the Marines were on the surface, the sailors would be defending their positions from both space and in the air. The Antaere would not let the battle-carrier leisurely hang in orbit. The ship would be under constant attack while the ground ops were underway. Once the surface was secure, the fighters could return to space to help with the defense. Eventually, the area would be secure, at which point the fleet would maintain station while waiting for more of the Lanic to ask for their help. Either that or they’d have to retreat as the Antaere brought in additional units. They had a lot more in the region than did the Humans. That was the variable nature of the operation. They could conceivably gain territory, just to turn around and surrender it a few days later.

  But the point was to show the natives that the Humans were willing to help, no matter what the cost. Either way, it would be a terrible price to pay to make a point.

  Bull Bullock came up to the ejection capsule and looked through the small view plate. All he could see was the expressionless face of the robot head and the glowing red eyes of the sensors. The head turned slightly in his direction.

  “What’s up, master sergeant?” Pete asked through the comm.

  “This sucks,” said Bull. “I can’t see your face.”

  “You miss me already? I didn’t know you cared.”

  “I don’t, asshole. I just want to make sure you don’t screw the pooch down there.”

  “That all depends on what the pooch looks like.”

  Bull snorted. “I’m glad you’re in good spirits, sergeant.” He took a step back. “Can you see this? This is some shit.”

  Pete could make out the thin metal frame of the exo-skeleton the master sergeant was wearing, the device designed to make him faster during the Run. It did look gangly and awkward.

  “Supposed to make me able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. It just makes me feel stupid.”

  “I’m glad you have it, master sergeant. We’re all in new territory on this one.”

  Bull nodded. Pete could see him clearly through the HUD, but Bull was having trouble figuring out where to focus his eyes. The glowing red sensors were the logical choice, but they made him uncomfortable. He’d never been that much into tech; that’s why he originally chose Force Recon instead of one of the technical fields. He had the test scores to qualify for any job in the Marines; hell, he even considered volunteering for the REV program at one time. Seeing now what they go through, he was glad he hadn’t—even assuming he would have made it. Better than most, he understood the terrible secret of the REVs. You didn’t choose to be a REV. You either were or you weren’t. Your body would make the determination. And it was often more-dangerous not to qualify for the program than it was to make it. Bull had seen some of the washouts. It wasn’t pretty.

  “Well, you take care, sergeant. I’ll see you on the other side.”

  “Thanks, Bull. You’re a good man. And don’t worry…I won’t tell anyone.”

  Bull Bullock almost smiled—almost. Then he turned and scurried away in his odd-looking exo-suit toward the RC shuttle.

  Drop was in seventeen minutes.

  Captain Lofton was seated at the main control station for the REV operation, overlooking the launch bays. He had three screens dedicated to him, and along the line, other men and women had screens of their own. There were the drone operators, who would provide the most-extensive overview of the battlefield than any Run before this one. There were the medical personnel and the armor and ammo techs. And then there were the operational monitors who would track the movement of all parties involved; the REV, the RC, the Marine assault force, the air cover and even the Antaere defenders. All these stations would be reporting to Lofton, who would have ultimate control over the REV and his Run.

  That was until General Jack Diamond entered the room.

  He called Lofton away from his station and they huddled toward the back of the room.

  “I’m taking over operational control of the mission,” he said bluntly to the shocked Marine captain.

  “But sir…what the hell?” said Lofton. “This is my job, and frankly, you’re not
qualified.”

  “You’ll remain in tactical control, still calling the shots. It’s just that I don’t want anyone questioning my authority if I choose to make a change somewhere along the Run.”

  “Like what change, sir?”

  “That I can’t say. Every op is fluid, and in light of the upgraded NT drug, I may have information you’re not privy to.”

  “Then why don’t you fill me in?” Lofton snapped. He was frustrated, knowing there was nothing he could do. If the general wanted operational control, he would get it.

  “Calm down, captain. Like I said, this is just in case I want to intervene. I’m not saying I will.”

  Lofton gnashed his teeth. “Then let me do my job. I’ll try not to fuck it up.”

  Without waiting to be dismissed, Lofton turned to the room.

  “Listen up,” he called out. “General Diamond is assuming operational control of the Run. I’m still in tactical control, so all reports still go through my station. Any questions?”

  There were none.

  “All right then,” Lofton said as he slipped back into his command chair. “We’re six minutes from drop. Final checks and go-no-go in three. Carry on.”

  Diamond leaned against the back bulkhead and crossed his arms. Captain Lofton did his best to ignore the burning sensation he was getting on the back of his neck, knowing the flag officer was staring at him, pissed. Fuck him, Lofton thought. This is my op and I’ll be damned if I’ll let him get in my way, general or not.

  He flicked the comm switch to the ejection capsule. “Pete, you okay in there?”

  “Snug as a bug,” was the REVs’ standard response.

  “FYI, General Diamond is overseeing the Run.”

  “I heard he was aboard.” Lofton was glad the REV didn’t say more; this was an open mic.

  “Drop in three…we’re green across the board.”

  “Good. It’s been a while, sir. Time to get some alien blood on my hands.”

  “Pre-meds at thirty seconds. Have a nice ride down.”

  The spiral opening in the bulkhead at the front of the pod cycled open and the oblong capsule slid inside. The door closed behind, leaving Pete in darkness, except for the glow of the monitors on his HUD. He wasn’t scared, nervous or apprehensive. But he was excited. The pre-meds would take some of the edge off and allow him to withstand most of the rigors of entry. That was until the NT-4 kicked in. Then he would be oblivious to everything except the internal rage.

  He had a moment to wonder how well the steering option would work, if the shocks they’d give him during the Run would actually do the trick? He also wondered if things got too harry if they’d turn him around for a quick exit and early Twilight? He’d seen videos of dozens of Runs were the REV got in over his head, and if there had been an early exit option, he could have been saved. Overall, most of the so-called improvements made to his equipment and the Run protocols made sense. They just took getting used to. He hoped he lived long enough for that to happen.

  A moment later, Pete Savage didn’t give a shit.

  The pinch of the pre-meds being injected through the command collar brought a sense of wellbeing and contentment. He was going for a ride, and it would be all peaches and cream.

  “Drop in ten…nine…eight,” came the soothing voice in his ear. It was so relaxing. But he was slightly confused what this drop thing was that the voice mentioned?

  A moment later, he found out.

  The EC was shot out of the side of the Eldorado by the effects of a magnetic launch. There was no subtle approach vector as the capsule dove for the surface. The Antaere would be tracking the pod, and within seconds of it entering the atmosphere, would have identified the potential target. Flax would be sent up, and after a few radical course changes, it would become apparent exactly where the REV was headed. The trick was not to give the defenders much time to prepare. From ejection to landing, six minutes would pass. Hopefully, that would be a short enough time to catch the aliens off guard.

  Captain Lofton monitored his REV. All lights were in the green, and a minute after the EC launched, the recovery team followed in their shuttle, protected by a screen of six fighters and supported by the shuttle with the two Marine squads. The main Marine force would follow three minutes later, once the breach was made at the main gate. It was Pete’s job to break through the defenders and soften the target. The follow-up Marines would do the rest, pushing the momentum created by the REV to it’s final conclusion. By then, Pete should be safely in the hands of the recovery crew and heading for the evac shuttle. Once the op commenced, there was no turning back.

  “Thirty seconds to activation,” Lofton announced to the room.

  This was when Pete would receive the injection of the Rev drug, NT-5—which he believed was still the old NT-4 formula. His vitals would soar and his body would change, becoming stronger and tougher down to a cellular level. The drug was designed to instantly make the biological transition and then hold him there at the threshold of cascading over the edge, at a point where his body would literally explode from the effects if he moved even slightly beyond. It was a precarious time for the REV and his team, and Pete would have to be Twilighted before he reached terminal cascading. Yet the process and routine had been done thousands of times before, so it was well understood and practiced. The crew in the command station weren’t overly nervous; they knew what they were doing. It’s what happened from the point of activation to Twilight that would determine if the mission was a success or not. And whether their REV lived or died.

  When the drug was injected, the entire room turned deathly silent, listening for something that never came.

  “What happened?” someone down the line asked.

  “Check his vitals!” Lofton ordered.

  “All indications are he activated,” said a female med-tech. “But no scream.”

  Lofton turned to look at General Diamond, who was still leaning nonchalantly against the wall. The flag officer shrugged.

  “Carry on,” Lofton said hurriedly. “It’s been a while since he had a combat dose. Maybe he tolerated the change better because of it.”

  Lofton knew that the primal scream was a trademark of all the REVs as they made the transition from normal to superhuman. He also knew Diamond’s secret formula probably had something to do with its absence. How this would affect Pete’s conversion and his abilities, that remained to be seen. Already the mission was off to an uncertain start.

  “On final,” a voice called out.

  On Lofton’s screen he could see the graphic of the approach line, and the sweeping change it was making. The Bountiful Enclave was located in a high valley between two towering mountain ranges. Because of this, the EC couldn’t come directly at the main gate and glide in over a number of miles. Instead, the pod actually dropped below the level of the settlement and then climbed up the valley to the enclave.

  There was only a space of two miles from the gate to the first abrupt rise of the mountains. This didn’t leave a lot of landing space for the pod. So at the last moment, the capsule took a forty-five degree turn to the left and lined up on the front gate. It pitched up, allowing the titanium blades to cut into the soil, and later, the pavement of multiple roads leading into the enclave. There were a number of Lanic buildings lining the roads and even within the so-called buffer zone outside the surrounding wall. Fortunately, none got in the way of the pod, although the road would have to be completely resurfaced afterwards.

  The EC was still moving at a decent clip when it impacted the wooden gates and shattered them in a rain of falling kindling. There was a sizeable contingent of Antaere nearby, many of which were crushed by the falling gates and debris. They’d been expecting a landing outside the walls and now ran in panic as the front canopy of the pod blew off and the REV inside was thrown into the air. It was not a full ejection, but enough to carry Pete fifty feet beyond the entrance.

  Pete’s incredible sense of balance kept him upright as he landed on the p
avement in full stride, his right-arm railgun already spitting out supersonic rounds with an ear-shattering roar. The flash weapon on his left arm was also popping out brilliant balls of white-hot plasma. The Antaere ran, but not too far before being cut down.

  Just then, two rockets flared from holders on Pete’s back. They arched into the sky on plumes of white exhaust, before angling back down, each targeting one of the flash cannon batteries on top of the walls to either side of the now-missing front gate. The emplacements had to be taken out before the Marines could enter the enclave. For the rockets, Pete was just a platform, with the launch controlled from the Eldorado.

  Pete was now on a wide roadway leading to the distant soccer stadium three-plus miles away. The arena was visible, and as the REV began his Run, a dozen tiny drones lifted from the now-open EC and took to the air. Each was controlled by a tech on the carrier, and they spread out to give a high-def view of the road, the surrounding city, and even a few providing an overall image from a quarter mile up.

  Scurrying Antaere were everywhere, with many in cars, racing down the main roadway toward the stadium. Pete locked on the movement and sent bursts of 32-caliber rounds into the vehicles, literally unzipping them along a centerline with the high-velocity slugs. At this point in the Run, Pete was experiencing some of the fiercest fighting he would encounter. The road was lined with standard Human-built commercial buildings with numerous cross streets and alleys. The Antaere had retreated inside the buildings and were sending gun and flash fire at him from hidden positions. The rounds ricocheted off his new armor while the flash bolts were absorbed, their energy captured to recharge the battery pack of Pete’s plasma weapon.

  The incoming ballistics, however, were so intense that Pete had to fight to stay balanced. The light weight of the armor didn’t give him the mass he had with his old suit, so each hit had an impact. Fortunately, the armor did what it was supposed to do and protected his body from major injury, but it did make it hard for him to achieve any lasting forward momentum.