Travesty (SolarSide Book 1)

by Austin Aragon

  “We did it,” says Vance.

  “I guess so,” says Julian with a sigh.

  “Stay frosty men,” alerts Blake, “There can still be some out there.”

  Jericho, with its once huge metal slick skyscrapers and architecture, now bows forward with its twisted support beams and collapsed walls. They enter the outskirts and are welcomed by thick ash and smoke that congest the air. Some of the men place gasmasks over their faces to breathe freely. “Look,” coughs Isaac. To their side lies a Herculean against other dead of its own species, limp and maimed by rifle fire. Its blood pours out into the scorched earth, red like a human’s notices Peter. They too have hemoglobin that bleeds red—but it changes nothing of their despicable nature.

  It wears snow hued armor similar to a Greek phalanx of old, over a dark gray baggy exosuit that puffs out between the armor plates. On its face is a respirator and full head shield—bulky and awkward, suggesting that their heads are of strange proportions too. On the sides of the helmet—where a human’s cheeks would be—the armor extends out slightly where on these small bumps on either side are foreign symbols and shapes, and large sealed holes where maybe tubes would connect into. These Herculeans are fully encased in their armor and an exoskeleton that hides their actual appearance, protecting them from this alien environment that would threaten their autonomy. But they have four limbs and a distinguishable head, even though they have three short tails protruding from the rear of their enclosed helmets in decorated sockets of wild colors that look like rings, and their hands end into a pronged shape, almost like two large thumbs.

  Peter pauses by another dead Herculean near his feet, the creature’s body crushed under debris. He stares at bits of puke colored exposed flesh through the cracked helmet, the face is slightly humanoid. It lacks lips and a nose though. Mammals apparently, are only special to Earth.

  “Gaze at their hideous bodies!” says Herus, tailing at the end of the advance. Similar sentiments are repeated by other Commissars throughout the assault. “This is the face of the monsters that tried to kill you, our brothers we are liberating!”

  Farther down, soldiers and marines gather around the growing scene of dead Herculeans. Some discharge side arms into the corpses. Others pick up pieces of their armor or gear to examine them, or add them to their knapsacks. One man cuts the head off of a Herculean with his combat knife, and dangles it about by its short tails for everyone to see as another takes pictures. A different group of soldiers, close to Peter, forms around a Herculean corpse and begin pissing on it while jeering. The chants of defeating the Herculeans repeat among them as they desecrate their bodies.

  Goliaths rumble pass them and they are ordered off the streets to take cover until further notice. The metal beasts plow over the land, shrinking collapsed buildings and corpse alike into a flat paste as they move along. Tarnus holds the radio anxiously to his chest as more injured are carried the opposite direction. Tarnus’ radio comes alive, “All units. All units. This is Command. Form up at designated rally for next phase. Command out.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” says a marine from Foxtrot.

  “Let’s go see!” says Tarnus, excited.

  Love moves out with the swarm of humans, and soon reaches a crowded area of more marines sitting and bracing any cover they have. Others line up into rows behind positioned Goliaths at differing intervals in cleared away areas of rubble. Before the Goliaths are a multi-meter high earth wall made of rubble and jagged metal support beams. Most areas are unassailable, and where one could scale the wall reveal dead smoldering bodies sunk into the top parapets where they tried. Marines and weapon crews fire and lob explosives over the earth wall. Occasionally, a bright orb flies over from the other side where soldiers and marines yell to hit the dirt before it explodes. After each Herculean counter grenade, a quick succession of random plasma bursts rip out from over their top of the parapets at the prone men, where they are quickly replied back with human fire.

  Injured warriors from the exchange roll about attempting to stomp out their burning wounds. Medics rush to them and hold their limbs away as others cut away their vests and clothing. Gauze pads are plastered over them till they look like stuffed target dummies, and are carried away as IV’s of water and blood are inserted into them. One injured marine lies back as medics call for a stretcher. The injured man’s pants and underwear are completely ripped off, and the medics work quickly to bandage a gauze diaper around his crotch.

  What’s it like?” grimaces the marine. “Is it there?”

  A medic lifts the diaper to the side and pats it down tightly. “Girls won’t have to worry about birth control anymore.”

  Tarnus’ radio blurts and he places his head against the receiver to hear through all the noise. After the mumbled voice finishes he faces Love. “Herc’s on the other side. We’re breaking through the wall. We will be using the Goliaths to tunnel through. After this, recon declares it will only be a mop up.”

  “GET SOME!” The marine’s scream is echoed with similar jubilance throughout the crowds, but instantly out noised by a bone shaking explosion that sends earth flying into the sky before each positioned Goliath.

  “The walls are cleared!” says an officer.

  “Into the breach!” scream the Commissars.

  Love queues up behind the closet Goliath, fidgety and eager. Nearby, an engineer places a thumper grenade launcher onto the ground. It fires a small circular disk that flies out into the sky and hovers over the other side of the earth wall. Peter’s visor fills up with targeted Herculeans before he has even seen them. They run over the rear ramp and through the interior of the Goliath—a mess of earth and dark blood—towards the front lowered ramp. The marines roar their batteries as they exit the forward ramp of the Goliath into the contested city on the Herculean side of the wall. But the few remaining targets on Peter’s visor disappear as he makes it through to the other side. Soldiers and marines kneel before him in a firing line, lighting up the city blocks and streets before them. Along the patch of destroyed city and road ahead of them lie dead Herculeans who attempted to flee—filthy cowards. The battle already over before he could partake.

  Freshly injured men are placed up against the newly conquered earth wall, and the line of warriors continues to fire onto the cityscape at nothing in particular. Their rifles rip apart the plaster and walls off the buildings causing big grayish white clouds to descend onto the streets, while simultaneously, skipping bullets kick up asphalt and dirt adding their shade to the scheme. Here and there, a Herculean body is singled out and puffs of red shoot up into the air from direct hits adding vibrancy to the monotone landscape.

  A Commissar quiets the firing line so that pathfinders can move up to scout and lead the way. General Jack speaks through Tarnus’ radio, “Advance and clear any remaining enemy positions.” Tarnus gives the go-ahead, and Love is off deeper into the city, or what is left of it.

  XI

  The scene is the same for a while as they walk down streets of rubble and half standing buildings. Human and Herculean bodies litter the way mixed with the rampant trash. Love eventually takes a left at the request of another platoon that goes right. Approaching an intersection they pause, resting against the wall of a blown out store, its merchandise scattered about the street.

  Tarnus calls out to Bravo unit, “Sergeant! Cross over and secure the opposite corner.” The Sergeant raises his hand in beckoning, and Bravo follows into the intersection—instantly Herculean fire strikes down a few of them while the rest scramble back to safety.

  “Contact!” says a marine.

  “It’s coming from down the street!” informs one of the men that made it back to cover.

  Bravo Sergeant in the meantime wails in pain out in the intersection. He cradles his torso and crawls behind a dead marine for cover. Herculean fire rips apart the flesh shield as he screams for them to do something.

  Tarnus looks over at Blake. “Sergeant, identify
their location.”

  Blake advances cautiously to the edge of the building corner. Once at the edge, he produces a camera scope from his belt and aims it around the corner, revealing the Herculean locations. “Their taking cover down the street in an oval roofed building, where the lanes split.”

  Tarnus taps his fingers on his radio for a few moments, while Bravo Sergeant exposed in the street curses more, asking why they haven’t gone out and retrieved him.

  “Any ideas, sir?” says Blake.

  “Hold on,” says Tarnus, “Okay, got it.” He turns to the rest of Love. “What’s left of Bravo, combine with Golf. When I drop smoke in the street you’ll cross over and lay down fire while Easy paints a target.” Tarnus lowers his head to his radio on the side, the long antenna probing meters into the air. “Command, Command, this is Love Company, requesting support fire on soon to be painted targets.”

  The radio bleeps back, “Love, Love, we copy, fire ready and awaiting target. Command out.”

  Tarnus hurls a smoke canister near the injured Sergeant. The white smoke fumes out aggressively, and soon the entire intersection is a lofty cloud. Plasma streaks rip through the veil inaccurately. “Now!” says Tarnus.

  Golf and remaining Bravo unit cross the intersection to the other side. Their LMG squad mate opens fire from their corner.

  “Move!” says Blake.

  Easy is off into the smoke.

  They lie prone among the dead for cover. The Sergeant begins flavoring his insults with new obscenities at them for taking so long as Tommy lifts him back to safety. Peter braces his XM by laying it over the neck of a dead man for stability, and shoots blindly out of the smoke. On top of Blake’s helmet is an integrated infrared scope in reserve. He lowers this second bulkier visor over his first one that detects heat in search for Herculean positions. After what seems forever, Blake flips it up. “I got ‘em! Move back!” Easy escapes the open intersection back to cover.

  Tarnus calls on his radio, “Command, Command, we have the target painted!”

  “Roger that Love, support inbound, Command out.” The smoke begins to clear and the screeching engine of an A-10 pierces their ears. The metal body of the aircraft becomes visible for a moment as it soars over the caved in rooftops. Its rapid nose cannon and rockets shake the earth as it pounds the painted targets. The Herculean fire stops, they cheer. All of them wiped out in one go—amazing!

  Tarnus confirms overkill with glee to Command. Bravo Sergeant lies against the blown out shop wall, holding a red damp bandage against his side. They learn that his wound was hardly but a glorified scratch. Love jabs insults at him for being such a dramatist about it. Isaac asks if he replaced his Buzz dose with bitch juice.

  “On me!” says Tarnus. “Move down the street and clear the area!” He disappears around the corner and Easy follows behind. Bravo and Golf dart around their corner, paralleling Easy down their side of the street. The building Blake had targeted at the end of the road lies demolished with smoke rising from within.

  “Stay frosty,” says Blake. They move at a slow pace down the sidewalk, sidestepping debris and scanning the numerous buildings and outlets. The other unit mimics in a similar fashion across the street. They are on full alert, restless towards any provocation. They come closer to the blast area. Smoldering piles of rubble cover the once contested intersection.

  BANG!

  Everyone drops for cover, aiming weapons at imaginable targets.

  “Where!” says Blake.

  “No contact!” says Vick, “I, I accidentally pulled my trigger.”

  “Christ sakes,” says Isaac.

  Blake gives the OK signal to Tarnus and the unit across the street. “Misfire!” They all move onwards once more, laughing at the expense of Vick.

  Unintelligible gurgles break the fresh silence from a collapsed building on the other side of the street. Bravo and Golf pause. Golf’s Corporal raises his hand in a fist. Everyone halts and crouches, aiming riles at the torn down wall where the noises are coming from. The Corporal tip-toes close to the building and peeks in. “Everyone check this out!”

  “Private Tommy, Vick, wait here and keep alert,” says Blake. The rest of Easy hurries across the street to see the discovery.

  “It’s an injured Herc,” says the Corporal. In the blown out building, lies a Herculean slumped against rubble, the creature’s cries of pain screeching the air. It tries to cover the exposed tear on its exo-suit with its pronged hands, alternating to slapping it hellishly.

  “What do we do?” says Alex.

  “We were told to ignore Herculean injured, and just report them to Command,” says Blake.

  “Fuck that, these Herc’s shot Phillip back there,” says the Corporal, “let’s pop it and move on.”

  “It looks gone to me,” says Tarnus in agreement, a grin forming on his lips. The Herculean’s torso wound is fried and gored, and its blood stained rags lie to the side where the exo-suit had undone itself.

  “Grab its weapon and try it out on him,” says someone from Bravo. One of the men steps into the building, and picks up the elegant alien weapon from the rubble. It is smooth borne and some parts appear chrome.

  “It’s got a trigger like ours, and really light guys,” reports the marine. He lifts it up for everyone to view, and poses with the weapon like a war hero poster boy. The marines laugh in response. Next, he aims it at the Herculean, where the dying creature raises its arms in protest.

  “Wait,” says Julian. Love looks at him in surprise. He continues, “It has no armor like the others. Isn’t that kind of weird?”

  “You’re right,” says Tarnus pointing at a dead Herculean nearby. The other one is fully cloaked in heavy looking armor, while the injured one only has its exo-suit. “But I don’t know what difference that makes here. It’s probably a less important one, like an equipment carrier maybe.”

  “So are we going to finish it off or not?” says the marine impatiently with the alien weapon.

  “Yeah, see what its own shit does against its self,” says Tarnus. The marine looks at the Herculean with bloodlust pulling the trigger—the weapon explodes in his grasp. He falls backwards with both of his hands blown off up to the forearms. The rest of Love is hit by shrapnel, and they hit the dirt.

  “What the fuck!” says Golf Corporeal.

  “Christ, get him out of there!” says Tarnus. Some marines grab the injured man under his armpits and lift him to the street. His forearm bones protrude where the flesh has been burnt back a few inches towards the elbows.

  “We need an evac!” says Blake.

  Tarnus turns to his radio, “Requesting medevac on my location! Smoke is up, green. Man in chronic state, repeat, needs immediate dustoff!”

  “Copy, medevac on the move, Command out,” says the radio. Tarnus turns to Golf Corporal to drop smoke, and a green canister is tossed into the street.

  The injured man lies against the wall, pale as winter. Marines cover his stumps in gauze and they inject him with a syringe gun of morphine. They’re all restless. In their Buzz rage they just want something to fight—like those deceiving Herculeans that booby-trap their weapons instead of accepting defeat.

  “We killed them all!” says Tommy. “They shouldn’t have been able to get back at us!” He slumps against the sidewalk. Alex joins him and pulls out a handful of jerky, sharing it with him.

  One of the marines walks into the building raising his rifle to the hip, and switches to full auto ripping apart the squealing Herculean. He loads another magazine and starts up again. “Hold fire!” says Blake. The man shoots away. “Get your unit under control!” says Blake to Golf Corporal.

  Instead, Tarnus walks in grabbing his rifle, and fires the last of the rounds into the Herculean himself. He hands the exhausted rifle back to the marine, talking through the rising exhaust wisp of the barrel. “Shut the fuck up with this noise and watch the streets! We’ll get revenge later.”

  “What do
we do?” says Julian anxiously, more marines gather around their injured brother.

  “Just wait for the evac,” says Blake sitting down on the sidewalk curve, his head in his hands.

  The green smoke fills the street.

  Soon a Pave helicopter hums overhead; making a circular swoop that clears the smoke and then hovers above the street. Two nylon ropes roll off the sides of the Pave, and there is a whine as two Pararescue commandos zip down the ropes with buckled harnesses.

  “What’s his condition?” says one of the commandos, while releasing his buckles to receive the injured marine. He grabs the causality and secures him with the harness against the other commando’s chest.

  “Fucking Herc trap of some sort,” says Tarnus “took his hands right off!”

  An IV and backup forearm pad are dropped down the rope. The commandos inject the IV, and fasten the forearm pad around his bicep while connecting its cord to his chemsack. The commando holding him checks his vitals from the pad, shaking his head to the other.

  One of the marines from Golf picks up the clue, “What do you mean! Is he going to make it?”

  “I don’t know,” says the lead commando reattaching his harness to the second rope. “I’ll do everything I can.” He pulls on his rope and they lift away to the sky.

  The Pave ascends upwards and disappears over the destroyed buildings and smoke. The marine that asked the question sits down on the sidewalk edge, shaking his arms about in front of him as if trying to shrug something off. Peter watches as others move around the man, some began to hit their vapsticks, all of them quiet and solemn. Another from Golf grabs the left behind helmet of the injured marine, and carries it over to a Herculean corpse smacking the body with it.

  The shaking marine jumps up and tries to take the helmet away from him, but he pushes him off and draws a knife threatening to kill him. More join in, and a fight breaks out among them.