Alien Storm

by Ken Bebelle

In his melodic accent, Stan began lecturing. “The main problem you’ve been having is the strength of the rails. In this smaller form, we can’t build the usual bulk into them to allow for the kind of continual use you require. Thus, after ten to twelve discharges, the rails have deformed beyond the tolerances needed to ensure--”

  “So when I shoot my gun too much it breaks,” Sasha interrupted. She made the universal ‘and then?’ gesture with her hands.

  Stan fidgeted with his hands through the interruption. She knew he hated being cut off, but she was eager for him to get to the point. While she waited he disassembled the upper receiver and he brought in the new holographic components and lined them up.

  “The essence of the problem is then the geometry of the rails. We needed to find a structure that would satisfy your needs for both portability and combat efficacy, with minimal deformation.”

  “And.” She drew the question out. “did we find that geometry?”

  He finally turned to look at her, his dark eyes gleaming in triumph. “Yes, I did. This rail configuration passed 10,000 cycles in modeled testing conditions. Even for you that should be sufficient. When the parts are finished printing, assemble them to match the hologram and it will be ready to test fire.”

  “Also, it runs out of juice fast,” Sasha pointed out.

  He nodded, “Yes, yes. That is why I have the many charge packs on a strap for you.” Like an armory Santa, Stan waved one of his talented hands over a sensor and a panel opened to reveal rows of compact, high-speed charge packs conveniently laid out.

  Sasha’s eyes rounded in amazement and then narrowed with greed. “Gimme!”

  A soft ding interrupted them and the lab’s AI announced, “Printing complete, Dr. Abbé.”

  As Stan went to gather the parts, Sasha sprayed a protective coating on her hands before beginning assembly of the new and improved Betsy. Keeping one eye on the scanner and both hands on Betsy, Sasha worked in tandem with Stan to finish the assembly.

  Steadily they worked, the clink of Betsy’s parts interrupting the hum of the equipment, and the sound of Abbé’s soft mumbling. It got really late, or really early depending on how one looked at it.

  As the third shift was began heading out, Ace popped his head in the door and looked around. Spotting Sasha, he dashed to her workstation, his movements agitated. “Tiny, I went to see Dr. Patel because I was having a follow up for my you know...” Ace gestured to his forehead vaguely. Sasha nodded. He didn’t like to talk about the tumor.

  “Anyway, I ran into Mack on my way out.”

  Sasha stopped and put down the partially assembled railgun. “They’re back?”

  Ace shook his head, his face grim. “No. Only Mack.”

  Shit. Sasha struggled to move past the thought that Alvarez and Jonesy hadn’t made it back. She’d gotten soft out here. Forgotten how brutal war time could be. She forced herself to refocus.

  “Did the Colonel launch missiles?”

  Ace shook his head again. They shared a mutual look of confusion.

  Sasha didn’t know what to make of it. “Damn. I bet a week of KP duty that they found Ringheads!”

  “That’s a sucker bet. But why wouldn’t Colonel Phillips blow that place to hell and gone if there’s a beachhead?” Ace rubbed a hand over his face, looking tired. He frowned. “Anyway, Mack was on his way out so I tried to ask what happened.”

  Here Ace paused for a moment. “He’s a fucking mess. Looked like he had taken a stim. He mumbled about Alvarez, Jonesy, O’Neill, and Garcia, taken out by the bang. And, about Cho being killed by an Icer.”

  Sasha tilted her head, brow furrowed. “Icer?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t get anymore out of him. So I just followed him down to the weapons locker, watched him gear up again, and then slapped a beacon on him as he turned to leave.”

  Ace handed Sasha a small scanner, Mack’s signal coming in loud and clear. “You’re welcome.”

  Sasha’s face lit up in a wide beaming smile. “You’re officially my favorite.”

  Under normal circumstances, this would have been an ideal flow state for Sasha, but she found that checking Mack’s location every few minutes made it unbearable to be here at the lab. She watched his beacon moving through the base, stopping at the vehicle depot and moving quickly off base. He had at least an hour’s head start on her, but she was not about to rush perfection, and Betsy was looking to be a work of art between Sasha’s initial design and Stan’s careful modifications.

  After the hours hunched over the workbench, Sasha’s neck hurt. She straightened up and rolled her neck, getting a satisfying pop on each side. Because she just couldn’t take it anymore, she pulled up another screen and started studying the topo for the road into Segovia. Rappel down the cliffs? Could be fun. Sasha ruled it out as too time consuming. She could shortcut all of that because she didn’t need to bring the bus to accommodate survivors.

  “Hey Doc, do you still need me for this last part?” Sasha’s mind was already at the weapons locker, listing the supplies needed for her anticipated pre-dawn activities. She figured she needed about an hour to get to Segovia, less if she took one of the V-bikes.

  Impatient and rumpled, Stan shooed her away. “Go. I’ll bring it to you when I am finished.”

  “You’re the best!” Sasha took a step away from the workstation, eager to gear up.

  “I know,” Stan didn’t even look up from Betsy.

  She beat feet out of the lab to get to her locker and then the weapons staging area. Despite the late hours, the base was staffed round the clock and Sasha was careful to slow her stride when encountering someone. As it was, Ace was already her co-conspirator and she didn’t want anyone getting in trouble. She checked Mack’s location again, getting antsy as she estimated how much time she needed to get to Segovia.

  Technically, Phillips hadn’t ordered her not to go, he’d simply denied her request to go with Alvarez earlier. As ordered, she’d finished her patrol duties and was now off duty. She might not even encounter a Ringhead since no one had confirmed the Ringhead attack officially. Regardless, Sasha knew she would be in for a major ass chewing if she got caught near Segovia.

  Sasha pulled out her dark gray tactical suit with its contoured internal ballistic foam. Next came the fun stuff as she laid out a plasma knife, her pistols, ammo, the coveted charge packs for Betsy, and two experimental Thermo-bombs she’d been working on with Stan. The blast wave from the thermobaric special was sure to fry the hides off the Ringhead bastards. Definitely last resort though since she didn’t want to get cooked herself.

  She packed it all into her ruck and slung it over her shoulder. Grabbing her helmet, she debated her throat mic and other sensors. Rather than disabling them or leaving them behind, Sasha gambled on the fact that she was off duty and no one had any reason to check on her location. While she gave her weapons stash one last glance, Stan rushed in lugging an enormous black case. Thank god he’d put Betsy in a case or that would have raised a shit ton of questions before he ever made it to the weapons locker.

  “Sasha! You tell me if you test it, no?” Stan handed her the heavy case, breathing with exertion.

  “No. I mean, sure.” Sasha shook her head. She’d have to figure out some way to tell him without getting the Colonel sideways with him over it.

  His mind apparently already having moved on, Abbé waved at her quickly and dashed out.

  Sasha pulled her rucksack straps on and used Ripper to lift Betsy’s case. Hopefully the depot grunts wouldn’t look at her too closely. Who am I kidding, they always look.

  She strove to look casual, like a soldier headed off base for a little R&R. It was several degrees cooler here in the depot, and Sasha liked it. They didn’t bother to heat the depot so the desert chill rapidly settled in here. Once the heat of the day started up, the fans would start running and the noise would be intense. For now, the depot was peaceful, with all the bots shut down--a museum of modern warfare machinery. Sasha drew in the metallic and
grease scent of the depot, and looked around. In the corner she spotted exactly what she was looking for, the gorgeous black matte-finished hover bikes. Perfect.

  She just needed to sign one out and get the fuck over to Segovia.

  “Evening, Lieutenant Kennedy.” The young corporal greeted her politely as her ID flashed on his screen. Not that Ripper wasn’t good enough as ID.

  “Reeves,” Sasha was not in the mood for chit chat.

  “Headed into town, Lieutenant?” Reeves gestured to the screen and Sasha obliged with a thumb scan.

  “Yeah, I’ll take one of the V-bikes.” Sasha jerked her head indicating the bikes.

  “Noted. Have a nice time, Lieutenant,” Reeves confirmed the sign out and the massive depot gate began to slide open.

  Pulling on her helmet, Sasha hopped onto the closest V-bike. She tucked the scanner into the small dash, securing the velcro. Mack’s beacon showed him moving at a slower pace. That meant he was now on foot, probably on the cliff overlooking the town. He would be there in less than ten minutes. She was going to take just over half an hour to get there. Damn. She hoped he saved some fun for her.

  The bike was a beaut, with its sleek contours and innovative design. No wheels, just a figure eight shaped base that the propulsion system used. Sasha started it up and reveled in the sensation of the vertical lift, her tummy doing that little flip just like when she was on a helo.

  Just like that, she was jetting off the base, on her way to kick some Ringhead ass.

  Eight

  A Man, a Plan, and Three Blast Canons

  130445UFEB10

  Mack jerked awake in the dark, his heart thumping in his neck, the cries of his fallen teammates ringing in his ears. A film of clammy sweat cooled on his neck and face. He was sitting against one of the massive tires of the APC he had liberated from the vehicle depot. It was night, but the barest beginnings of dawn were stirring on the horizon. His ass was sore from sitting on the rocky ground, and his left leg was numb. He got up gingerly, trying to stay quiet and stretch his abused back and hips. Dammit, must have been more tired than I thought.

  He limped over to his pack, got out a canteen and splashed his face to wake himself up. Checking his gauntlet verified that he’d managed to fall asleep for an hour. Stupid, but lucky. He still had enough darkness left to get into town and finish his mission.

  Mack scanned the gutted resort again. Night vision revealed no movement but experience had taught them all to expect the Ringheads to move in groups of six. Somewhere in the village there were more aliens laying in wait. He also had to watch out for the stations near the pool. That armor changed things dramatically.

  Mack couldn’t get the image out of his head, Cho’s body dangling from the Ringhead’s grasp, his feet kicking uselessly in midair. Cho’s family deserved to bury him properly. Mack felt a wave of anger pulse through him, pushing him forward. He tongued another stim tab, feeling the synthetic adrenaline wash over him like warm bath. His sharp pains from earlier tonight dulled around the edges even as his surroundings sharpened.

  He heard the telltale crackle of his comms and switched it off. Couldn’t disobey an order he didn’t receive, right? And damned if he was going back to base without the bodies of his teammates. Mack clenched his fists slowly and then relaxed them. He had found tags for O’Neill, Burke and Garcia. He’d scrabbled in the dirt and debris like a pig to find them. They were tucked into his left breast pocket of his vest, just over his heart.

  He’d nearly lost his mind when he couldn’t find LT’s or Jonesy’s tags. He’d counted and recounted the bodies in the dirt. He kept coming up two short. He was going to have to find a way to talk to Phillips about it, the only other person with access to the Jeeve’s readings.

  He pinged the retrieval beacons with his tablet. The signal was still holding near the cabana. I’m coming, guys.

  A high pitched whine rang out across the village. Here we go. He was counting on his preparations to be enough. As before, the sound seemed to come from everywhere. This time, from his vantage point above the village, he saw the telltale glow of the mini-Needles coming from three separate locations. The damn thing in the kitchen should’ve been blown to hell and gone after Garcia set the charges.

  The third point was on the far side of the village from his position, where the town ran up on an artificial beach and manmade lake. Looking at them lit up in their eerie blue light, Mack shivered. They looked like smaller versions of the giant monoliths embedded by the Ringheads into Antarctica and Greenland. What the press called the “Needle” and the “Greedle”.

  Mack switched on thermal imaging and scanned the village. False colors painted the stone remains of the central building a pale orange. The rest of the village lurked in dusky shades of blue. The areas around the alien tech were pitch black, tendrils of cold air creeping outwards like black vines.

  From these areas, large black figures emerged and began pacing through the village. Three emerged from the pool where the bodies of his comrades lay. Scanning the west side of the village, towards the lake, he saw three more approaching the village center.

  Six Ringheads, a complete jump team. Where had the first three come from? Or were there three more he couldn’t see? Switching off thermal he saw dawn was rapidly approaching. Without Jeeves he had no intel to rely on. If he was wrong, he was going to be dead wrong. He had spent the last few hours making preparations. He had to act now.

  He ran back to the APC and opened the back. He powered up the two retrieval drones and dropped a homing beacon into the back of the truck. One for each of them. It would have to be enough.

  Mack headed back into the village where he had lost his team, descending the cliff at breakneck speed. He landed in the scrub and bolted to the near side of the inn, where he paused and listened. Over the sound of his breathing he could hear the alien voices muttering quietly on the other side. It was impossible to know how many of them were speaking. If he had to guess from the tones, they were arguing about something. He chanced a look around the back of the building and spotted two with their backs to him, about 100 feet away. The other four were out of sight.

  Now or never.

  He his tablet to wake up the three blast cannons he had assembled on the north edge of the village. Mack had scouted for a spot with a fair view of the northern entrance. Eventually, he managed to find reasonably rocky terrain to shield them all. Through their cameras he now saw the six Ringheads clustered in the square before the inn. Panning west he spotted the third site, set into the beach. He punched in the first targeting solution. This would be easier with Jeeves.

  The first volley screamed through the dawn and crashed into the cylinders on the beach. The resulting explosion shook the stone of the building he was hiding behind. A plume of white gas billowed up as sand rained down on the village.

  The Ringheads took off to the north, headed for the cannons. Through the gun cameras, Mack watched as three of them peeled off for the pool area, and then emerged encased in armor. The biggest one emerged with a large weapon strapped across his torso.

  Shit, what’s this?

  Mack began to edge around the south side of the Inn, edging himself closer to the pool, keeping an eye on the Ringheads approaching his cannon placements. Through the gun cameras he selected firing targets for his cannons and let them loose as the aliens began to ascend the hill.

  The first Ringhead caught the brunt of all three cannons locking on to the same target. The resulting intersection of fire obliterated its head in a spray of green goo. The next two took cover. Mack kept up the pressure, letting the cannons pound their cover and keep them pinned.

  With all the Ringheads headed north, Mack ran across the village square and stopped again just short of the pool. The pool had a clear view of the hill north of the village, leaving him totally exposed if they decided to look back.

  He checked his tablet again. The three armored Hunters were advancing at a relentless pace up the hill through the swirling
clouds of dust. Each one was advancing on a separate cannon, forcing him to split his firepower. He switched targeting to these three. Round after round was drilled into their armor but the Hunters ate up the distance with their strides, barely affected by the pulses. He was running out of time.

  Mack ran to the cabana, and found his fallen mates, Cho and Nell, still enshrouded in heat blankets. He pulled their tags, then moved them out into the open and activated the drone beacons he had brought with him, affixing one to each blanket. The retrieval drones would secure each of them and return to the humvee.

  The steady thump of the blast cannons changed tempo. Looking at his deck he saw that while the cannons had been occupied with hammering the armored Hunters, the other two aliens had flanked around, and were about to yank down the center gun. Mack quickly tapped out the detonate code and his center gun went up in a cloud of fire and fury, taking another two Ringheads with it. Take that, motherfuckers!

  The explosion rocked the village again, and knocked him to the ground. He tried to get up, and the floor swam beneath him. The steady thump of the cannons was suddenly muted by a high, keening tone in his ears. Looking up, he saw the drones inbound to retrieve his family. Just a little more.

  He swung the remaining two guns around to focus on the center alien, it’s ice armor shattered by the explosion. A second of staccato cannon fire reduced it to a pile of gelatinous meat.

  The cannons turned to target the alpha Ringhead. It ignored the cannons, turning south to look back into the village and lock eyes with Mack. Even as the cannons fired on it, the alien began striding back towards town, calmly unslinging its weapon. The smaller alien leapt onto the nearest cannon and began tearing it apart by hand. The camera feed died as Mack licked his lips and looked back and forth between the video feed and the Ringhead advancing on him. What the hell was it doing?

  As the smaller Ringhead ran to the last cannon Mack detonated the gun and greased it. He felt, but did not hear the cannon explosion. He struggled to his knees and pulled his rifle off his back and sighted on the approaching alien. His focus narrowed and he noted that this Hunter had an unusual dark crest on his forehead. The alien seemed to be shouting as it advanced on him, waving its weapon defiantly above its head in a primal show of power. A bead of moisture ran down from his left ear, probably blood. His mouth tasted of ash and copper. The stim was wearing off. He probably had a concussion. Dawn was breaking, yet the day seemed to be getting darker as the alien approached through a tunnel of hazy light.