MissionSRX: Deep Unknown

by Matthew D. White

  “Time to go!” Carter slapped Scott’s back as he dashed down the plank and followed the rest of his soldiers. As they exited, Scott could see the Cygnan shuttle across from them, heavily damaged and half embedded in the interior wall. “The first fire team is checking for survivors!” the lieutenant narrated. “At the edge of the plank, turn and drop to prone; we’ll cover them while they finish up.”

  Scott followed the officer’s instruction, reached the alien ship, turned and threw himself against the ground. He covered the corner leading aft into the rear of their battleship while the others fanned out around him. A few bursts of automatic gunfire erupted from above.

  “Pilot’s down!” one of the soldiers reported. “All clear, coming back!”

  “Team two, on your feet!” Carter commanded, hopping back up with the aid of his massive assisted suit. “We’ve got point! Move out down the bay, take first right into ship interior. Team one, follow at five meters!”

  Scott kept his footing stable and followed the rest of the team towards the far wall. Through shaking nerves, he heard Commander Grant’s first instruction clear in his head: “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.” Right, Scott thought, that’s easy enough to say.

  ***

  “Just keep us flying!” Fox’s voice echoed off the walls of the bridge as another hit registered and punched the floor hard to the side. He was alone with the pilot and a single systems officer, the minimum crew required to keep the battleship from crashing. Given their relative attire and current criticality of function, he was the only one in any position to take a defensive stance on their behalf.

  A flurry of shots rang out beyond the bridge door, followed by agonizing shouts and screams of their wounded defensive force as they succumbed to the attack. Fox looked down at the security feed and saw a team of at least six Cygnans striding calmly forward before violently executing the surviving soldiers. One tapped the door to the bridge while another took a single shot at the camera, turning the screen to static.

  “I’ve got us covered, stay at it!” the commander ordered and took a knee behind his console. He hoped he sounded surer than he felt as he stacked two extra magazines for his rifle on top of the control panel in front of him. Waiting for the door to buckle, Fox barely heard Wright’s voice break in through the radio behind him.

  “Sir, the fleet’s arrived!” he announced to no response. “Commander, are you there? What are your orders?”

  Fox hammered the transmit key beside him with his off hand, keeping the rifle trained on the door. “I’m about to have a problem here. You’ve got the stick. Take ‘em out.”

  “But…”

  “No buts. Do it!” Fox released the key and waited, straining to hear anything from the far side of the door. The dull rumble of the air handlers along with the breathing of his team, once background ambiance, were now deafening.

  His palms were growing damp and a bead of sweat drifted from his brow along the side of his face. All he could make out was a distant scratching from the far side. He couldn’t tell how close the source was to the door but didn’t want to take chances. He dropped the shield on his helmet and locked the seal in place.

  ***

  Lieutenant Commander Clark’s Patriot slammed through the gateway of the jump back into real space only a hundred meters in front of the Cygnan battle line. Darkness gave way to an alien cruiser that filled the forward screen on the bridge and Clark swore as the ship quickly ate up what remained of the empty space.

  “Shields! Brace for impact!” he managed before the Patriot blistered through the cruiser’s defenses, rupturing their energy shields and with the screech of a thousand tons of metal drove straight into its upper fuselage. The smaller ship buckled from the impact and did little to slow the gargantuan Lyran battleship’s advance.

  The shock knocked Clark’s sparse crew to the floor, but their Patriot stayed intact. Conversely the cruiser couldn’t withstand the stress and tore across its minor axis, sending two flaming chunks of metal burning and tumbling back along the battleship’s sides. The upper section spun fast and floated straight toward the bridge. While the leading edge was designed to take a solid blow, from Clark’s perspective, the raised bridge didn’t appear to be quite as durable.

  Clark’s eyes grew wide and he gripped the leading screen bezel before him, fearing the end. He gritted his teeth, unable to overcome and speak a word. To his surprise, instead of a major impact, he saw a flash outside and the debris instantly changed its vector. Another flash and it moved sideways, scraping the bridge’s roof harmlessly as it tumbled past.

  “Target clear,” one of the gunners reported in. Clark took a second to comprehend what had happened. Of course: he had guns on the top deck. One of them had the foresight to take the shot and push the wreck clear. He took a deep breath and made a mental note to recommend a citation for the station that pulled off the shot. Without a doubt, they had saved every life on the ship, including his own.

  “Clark!” Lieutenant Wright’s voice crackled through the radio.

  “Assess the damage!” Clark ordered the crew. “Tag and engage everything in range,” he added and keyed the microphone.

  “I’m here. Wright, is that you?”

  “Yes! Good to see you. We’re taking it thick right now!”

  “I see that. Where’s the commander?” Clark said as he tried to refocus after the brush with death. It was hardly a welcome sight to watch his scope fill with enemy targets.

  “He got boarded and left me in charge while he cleans up the mess.”

  “Copy. That must have been quite the boarding party.” Clark wiped his brow, forcing his pulse to quiet down. “What are your orders?”

  “Keep the battleships out of range and disrupt their firing line. If you find one of those assault frigates hiding in their fleet, let me know and we’ll take it out together.” Wright continued calling targets as the rest of the Patriots arrived.

  14

  “I’ve got movement ahead, eighty meters,” Lieutenant Carter reported to the rest of his team as they quickly but quietly slid forward along the wall of the upper hallway.

  The two fire teams had split up to cover both of the midlevel hallways which ran from the command section all the way along each side of the ship to the power station at the rear. After clearing the hangar and with no contrary evidence, Carter made the call to flank the bridge. The commander had already reported an assault and likely wouldn’t be able to hold out if the aliens made it through.

  Scott acted as the rear guard for the formation and followed close to the rest of the team while trying to follow the various protrusions and indentations in the wall beside him. Windows to their left gave a wide, spectacular view of deep space, populated by the tiny reflective signatures of the other distant ships. Closer in, other vehicles soared by silently and the cannons from the decks bellowed fire in an attempt to catch them.

  ***

  Fox heard a muted shuffling behind the door to the bridge. He held his rifle tighter as the disturbance erupted into a loud, guttural roar when the aliens shouted out in unison. While the cry still reverberated off the walls, the door exploded with the sharp crack from a shaped charge. The blast sent a wall of searing hot, shredded metal flying in all directions and peppering every surface across the deck.

  The commander saw the flash of a weapon behind the explosion and leaned into the trigger of his rifle in response. Bullets screamed from the barrel in quick succession while the first Cygnan invader jumped in the doorway, meeting them halfway.

  The tall alien dressed all in black only made it a step before catching a wave of lead and collapsing like a stone to the ground, its armor still releasing black smoke. More shots flashed in through the thick atmosphere outside and Fox raked another line of rounds across the doorway, blindly hoping to hit the unseen attackers.

  He saw movement in the shadows and ducked lower before opening fire again on a shifting black mass across from the burning hole in his wall. The dark fo
rm flew through the doorway at him and he realized too late what it was. The savagely mutilated corpse of a human soldier crumpled at his feet and Fox didn’t dare consider that he had been the one to deal the fatal shot.

  He heard a metallic scraping and saw a single active grenade roll from the soldier’s armor, less than a meter away. “Dammit… TAKE COVER!” he shouted to the pilot and wheeled forward from his barrier, delivering the ball of perforated iron. It sailed hard into the air, deflected off the ceiling and dropped back through the doorway. A clamor of activity erupted outside before the weapon detonated.

  The explosion sent shrapnel screeching outwards but most stayed safely in the hall. Though his ears rang hard as he fell back behind the wall, Fox could still hear movement and the snap-snarling of the enemy’s communication from beyond the smoke. Again bringing his rifle level, he keyed the radio to the all-call.

  “It’s getting thick up here and the bridge is pinned down. Is anyone nearby?”

  “Hold on, we’re right around the corner!” Carter’s voice came back.

  Another blast from the hall knocked Fox to his knees. He caged his view on the door but nothing attempted to enter. “They just detonated another breaching charge.”

  ***

  Carter had his back to the wall and quickly peeked around the corner. The entire passage was thick with fumes and smoke, but he could see the dim outlines of their targets.

  “Listen up,” he said in a forced whisper. “There’s a group at the door to the bridge. I can’t see how many but we’ve got a clear shot from here. Commander Fox is holding them off and we’re gonna catch them. When I say go, round the corner, open fire for three seconds and then get back. Once we’re clear, Fire Team Two will do the same from the other side. Effing meat grinder, Hooah!” The other soldiers nodded at the officer. He looked at Scott. “Ready?”

  Scott nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Ready. GO!” Carter shouted and slid into the open. Three soldiers ducked out on their knees while the rest stayed upright. They fired in unison towards the mass of alien activity, shattering any relative silence they had enjoyed. “FALL BACK!” he yelled again and hopped back out of the line of fire, dragging the soldier kneeling below him back to his feet.

  Together they collapsed in relative safety as the Cygnans blindly returned fire to the wall, perforating it with dozens of sharpened, spear-like projectiles. “Team Two! You’re up!” Carter commanded.

  The other team similarly opened fire into the hall, the noise from their rifles reverberated off their metallic surroundings. Carter checked the corner from the edge of his vision. Bodies littered the hallway but the aliens kept firing. “We’re clear! Cease fire!”

  “No! Contact Rear! Contact Rear!” the second fire team leader screamed through a static-laced radio channel.

  ***

  Fox chanced a look back at his console. While the camera in the hallway was nothing but an ant race, the rest were still operational. “They’re still alive! Eight of them just piled into the conference room across from us!”

  ***

  Carter shook his head and slapped four of his soldiers on the shoulder. “Stay here, protect this corner! Keep them pinned down. The rest of you, follow me!” he added and took off running. The engineer got to his feet without hesitation and bolted without a second thought.

  Scott found he was running faster than he ever remembered. His breathing barely increased, even though they were at a dead sprint all the way back down the port hallway until they made it to the first crossover. The team rounded the corner and kept their pace to reach the far side of the Flagstaff but Scott felt himself still increasing in speed.

  Whether it was the suit or the Lyran modifications, the engineer didn’t know or care. He surged forward, outpacing the rest of the squad, pushed on by a continual upwelling of energy and the echoing sounds of gunfire on all sides. He heard Carter yell a warning from behind as he rounded the last corner back towards the bridge. What was it Commander Grant had preached? Violence of Action? Fight like your life depended on it?

  In a flash he processed the scene while still sprinting forward. A dozen of the hulking aliens dressed in black were assembled in tight formation, firing down at the other human fire team. They had torn some scraps of metal from the walls to construct a makeshift barricade and were safe enough behind it while the humans were trapped in the open. The largest was standing and firing above the heads of the rest with a strange weapon that spit a dark red plume of fire. Scott was only a meter away.

  Without thinking, he launched himself into the Cygnan’s back and wrapped a thick, armored arm around its neck. The creature screeched, flailed and fired wildly while Scott’s brain caught up with what the hell he just did.

  He was too close for his rifle, holding on to the back of a crazed alien warrior. His rifle; it was swinging free by the carrying strap because he let go of it. He let go of his weapon. The worst, most egregious rookie mistake in combat. What else? Weight? The quarter ton of armor he was wearing wasn’t enough to knock his target off its feet. What else did he have? The creature spun about, desperately trying to wrench him off.

  Close enough for a knife.

  He heard the commander’s advice come from the corner of his mind. Still being swung about by the larger creature, he fumbled for the blade attached to his upper chest with his right hand, pulled it free and drove it down as hard as he could into the rear of the Cygnan’s neck. The armor split and let out a sharp hiss of gas but it wasn’t enough to penetrate skin. Still it shambled, screamed and flailed, trying to toss the human away.

  The other aliens began to take notice of the commotion and Scott knew he was out of time. Again he thrust the blade with all his might and felt a dull impact before slipping through the Cygnan’s leathery skin into its vertebrae. He felt a grinding sensation reverberate through his hand and like an android losing power, the alien crumpled lifelessly straight to the ground.

  The over-two-meter drop hurt as much as anything and Scott felt the air escape his lungs while the other creatures screeched out in reaction to the assault.

  “STAY DOWN!” he heard Lieutenant Carter’s order as the rest of the human team rounded the corner and opened fire on the rest of the Cygnan force. Before he could draw his rifle and put an eye on the remaining aliens, each one lay still. He turned back and only saw a wall of smoking muzzles.

  “CLEAR!” he shouted. “Team Two, starboard rear is clear! Converge on the briefing room!”

  Scott’s head still spun but Carter calmly extended a hand to help him to his feet. “Good show right there.”

  “Are you kidding? That was damn stupid.” Scott shook his head while the lieutenant leaned down and wrenched the knife out of the Cygnan’s neck.

  “Well that’s what it takes,” Carter remarked and pulled the last of the sharp blade of metal free. He held it up, drenched in thick blood from tip to pommel, and slapped it down into Scott’s free hand. “I’m proud; I knew you had it in you. Come on, we need to clear out the rest of these shitbags.”

  Carter switched gears and quickly walked between the corpses, putting an extra bullet into each head from a muzzle less than a decimeter away. Satisfied with their work, he hopped over the makeshift barrier and led the team on a quick jog towards the second fire team’s position.

  ***

  Clark maneuvered his Patriot out of line with the rest at Wright’s command and set himself nearly between the Flagstaff and the Cygnan fleet which was now beginning to fall into disarray. “In position.” he reported. “Standing by.”

  “Good. I count at least fifty shuttles still out there. Keep them off the commander’s back.”

  The shuttles and fighters continued to fly in tight formations, weaving between the larger alien ships before breaking into a run for the human battleship. Clark noted they had not attempted such brazen assaults on the Patriots. He first surmised they must have experienced a run-in with them before or at least had a passing knowledge of the Lyran
s’ capabilities.

  Curiosity got the better of him as often happened. “Mr. Harris!” he radioed down to the leader of his primary defensive team.

  Othello keyed his transmitter back without moving from his position atop an observation post overlooking the battleship’s main landing bay. “Sir! What can I do for you?”

  “Can you cover the main landing bay? I want to try something.”

  “Of course. Like what?”

  “I want to see why we’re not getting boarded,” Clark answered and touched a control on the panel in front of him. “Hold on. I’m going to drop the front shield but leave the airlock intact.”

  The energy shields installed on the Patriots were far more advanced than anything in the Space Corps arsenal but consumed the energy to prove it. An outer field of energy could absorb or deflect most high-speed ballistic threats with ease and was focused a few hundred meters away from the surface. Like the other Lyran ships they had seen, the Patriots also shared the system of creating hardened doors and panels within the hull. In the case of the landing bay, physical doors augmented a set produced by the shields.

  Clark’s first command opened the hangar doors while the second dropped the hazy, charged, virtual doors only a meter behind. Othello’s view changed from a slick, blank wall to the darkness of space. At this point, all that held the ship together was a thin tertiary wall of charged particles that kept the artificial atmosphere from leaking into the vacuum.

  “What are you doing up there?”

  “Trying to get their attention,” Clark replied and waited. The opening door would likely appear as a flash of light to the buzzing swarm of alien ships as their interior lamps flooded into space. “I want to see if I can coax some to try and board us.”