Battle Beyond Earth Box Set

by Nick S. Thomas

  He dropped down onto his back and fired a burst into the creature looming over him. Alita joined him. It was a large and robustly built bipedal creature, not unlike the Krys in size. It wore a mask over half of its dark red-skinned face and long locks of hair. Black body armour was adorned with garish jewels and animal hides. But he didn't have any more time to study it. It lifted a gun with its other arm to take aim, but the burst of gunfire riddled the creature with bullets until it collapsed down dead.

  Even before it had touched the surface, a call came in from Lushkov with a serious and hurried voice.

  "We've got incoming enemy craft!"

  "No shit," replied Jones as he had heard Taylor snap back so many times.

  As he got up, a dozen more of the red-skinned warriors were running up the embankment towards them. Even more poured out from the hull of the ship, and Alita lifted her rifle over the edge to take aim, but Jones grabbed her and hauled her back.

  "Run!"

  She didn't argue, and they rushed on down into the valley. The platoons below needed no orders. They had already taken up position ready to defend themselves. Jones and Alita kept running past the frontlines and made a break for their aircraft. When they were near enough, they jumped off the side of the old frigate and hit the ground running. They made it half way across the open plain when volleys of gunfire rang out from those behind them.

  Jones looked back for just a moment. Five of the barbaric looking enemy collapsed dead over the knife-edge of the canyon top. They carried on running and rushed into the cover of the thickly armour Stormers, and then looked back to survey the situation and gather their bearings.

  "Who the heck are they?" Alita asked.

  "Got to be Morohta forces."

  "How many?"

  "Enough that we can handle," he replied, lifting his rifle and laying down fire on those rushing to get over the edge. They were cut down before they could even bring their weapons to bear. Their body armour seemed to offer little protection against the powerful rifle rounds they were using. Jones was relieved for a moment to know they could hold, but even as he thought it, they heard the roar of the engines of several other craft fly overhead and swoop in to outflank them. Lushkov's voice came over the comms once again, and it was even shakier than before.

  "We have more ships on approach."

  "We've got our own troubles here. We need assistance."

  "We can't give it. We need you back here."

  "We've got problems," said Alita.

  Jones watched three enemy ships descend to ground level. They seemed to have no fixed weapons of any kind, but ramps dropped down. Enemy soldiers, just as they had seen before, came rushing out.

  "Lushkov, we're coming to you. Jones out."

  "Everyone back to the boats! Move, move, move!"

  He activated the shield on his arm. It flashed to life as a volley of fire smashed into the Stormer beside him. The enemy fire seemed poorly aimed but was thundering in at quite a rate. They opened up on full auto and rushed forward as if with no care for their lives. Jones looked back to see the two platoons advancing in good order, still keeping up their fire. He wanted nothing more than to jump aboard the Stormer and get out of there, but they were coming dangerously close to being swamped before they could all get aboard. Those who had reached the craft had to keep laying down cover.

  "Take them down!" Jones hollered.

  He slammed in a new magazine. A bullet struck his leg, and he slipped down onto one knee. His armour had glanced the round, but he felt the joint click, and pain shot through his leg. The horde was rushing towards him. They were cut down in great numbers, but still they came. He fought through the pain but stayed on one knee. He pushed his rifle out from around his shield and continued firing. Two of theirs were down, and more ships were coming in to land all around them.

  "We can't stay here!" Alita shouted.

  "Not like we can get aboard right now, either!"

  "If we don't go now, none of us will make it!"

  He looked around. Hundreds of the barbaric looking enemy were rushing at them. Gunfire was landing all around them. He felt a shot bounce off the side of his helmet, and his shield flashed with light as it brushed off yet more rounds.

  "Fall back. Everyone inside now, double time it!" he yelled through the comms.

  He ran to the door of their Stormer but stopped short of climbing inside so that he could cover the others as they made a break for it. Alita rushed in to fire up the engines as they began to pour in. They were half full when his magazine ran empty, and he reached down for a fresh one. As he lifted it, a burst of fire ripped through his rifle, and he felt one of the rounds penetrate the inside of his arm. He let out a cry of pain as the broken weapon dropped to his side. Antos stopped at the door beside him.

  "I'm okay," he insisted, "Get inside!"

  He grimaced at the pain and gritted his teeth, drew out his pistol, and took the next enemy in his sights. He fired three shots and dropped it. The gruesome looking foes seemed to be roaring and screaming all sorts of intimidating and primal war cries.

  I can't imagine what they might do if they get close enough.

  Watkins was the last of his platoon running towards him. He carried another of their wounded on his back. Blood seeped from a wound on Watkins' leg, and he was limping all the way, yet still managed a jogging pace.

  "Come on!" Jones shouted.

  Two of the enemy rushed at Watkins with gun and blade in hand. Jones fired two shots at each and dropped them quickly. They were still ten metres out when a burst of gunfire raked Watkins' back. He collapsed forward and slammed into the dirt. Even then, he kept a firm grasp of the wounded woman on his back. He fought to get back up, and Jones leapt forward to assist but was stopped dead by a firm grasp of his armour. Before he could see who it was, he was hauled back through the doorway. As the door slid shut, he saw Watkins shake from impacts smashing into his torso from multiple directions. His armour stopped many, but not all. The door sealed, and Jones turned furiously to find Antos behind him.

  "You'd only die with him," said the biggest man in the unit with a tear in his eye.

  Jones pushed past him and rushed to the cockpit to the view screens. As he reached Alita, the engines were roaring, and they were lifting off. Enemy soldiers obscured two display screens. They had leapt onto their craft like wild beasts. Then he spotted Watkins. He held his rifle in one hand and pistol in the other and was firing in all directions, as dozens of them rushed at him. More rounds pierced his armour, and yet still he went on until finally one of the enemies reached his back and delivered a brutal cut down into his collar. It pierced deeply and drove him down onto his knees. He vanished beneath the horde.

  Alita squeezed the trigger on a second joystick controlling Gatling guns fitted in the nose of the craft. They raked the enemy, but did little against their vast numbers. They watched as the two hangers-on fell as they ascended. They knew they were safe, for now. Alita looked to Jones, though they were both too shocked and horrified to speak of it. He turned back to his platoon. The veterans among them looked as stunned as the raw recruits. None of them had expected a battle, and seeing Watkins get cut down was an image they would never forget, but Jones could think of nothing to say. He looked down at the broken rifle hanging at his side, unclipped it, and threw it aside.

  "Weapons check!" he yelled, "The Navarin is under attack. We're gonna be going in hot. Don't think this is over yet. If we want to get out of this alive, then you will keep doing your job. Do what you were trained to do!"

  Chapter 2

  Lushkov’s voice rang out over the speakers. He was effectively narrating the entire progress of the battle for them as they rushed back to join the fight. There was a solemn silence aboard the Stormer as every one of them clung to his words.

  "We've got a second breach and fires across three decks. Batteries A and C are damaged. We can't take much more of this."

  Jones did not respond, knowing there was nothing of v
alue he could say. The other two platoons were aboard the ship, and he had every faith in them doing all that they could to repel borders.

  "Almost there!"

  As the words came out of Alita’s mouth, a heavy impact struck the ship that shook them violently. The interior lights flickered for a moment. The structure appeared to hold solid, but they were soon hit by a second and third impact. Alita tried to duck and weave, but the heavy assault craft wasn't agile enough to avert any of the fire coming at them. Another two impacts rocked them badly, and Alita looked back at Jones. They both knew they couldn't take many more.

  "Making final descent, thirty seconds!"

  A lot could happen in thirty seconds. Another impact caused a circuit above Jones to fizzle with sparks and splash over his helmet. Flames gushed out. The auto extinguishers quickly kicked in to their relief. Another impact rocked them, and the lighting went down to low emergency only.

  "We've lost flight controls!"

  Jones leaned in to see they were at least heading on a direct path for the landing bay. They just had to hope nothing knocked them off course. She hit the landing thrusters to slow them down as they made their final descent, but another impact caused them to power down completely.

  "I've got nothing, nothing at all. We're flying blind," Alita screamed.

  There were no viewing ports on the Stormers at all. They could see nothing of the outside world, but the thick hull had kept them alive so far.

  "Brace for impact!"

  They activated the restraints. It was an awful gut wrenching feeling for all of them. They didn't know if they were on course or if they would miss entirely. Worse still, they might crash and burn into the Navarin herself. Nobody said a word as they each prayed and hoped to make it out alive.

  After what seemed an eternity, the bow smashed violently into the Navarin. They were sent into a spin as they crashed down onto the landing pad and rolled several times, smashing into a bulkhead and rocking to a halt. Jones looked around in amazement to see nobody was hurt, though he still didn't know for certain if they were aboard. He rushed to the door and hit the emergency release. It popped open slightly and jammed.

  He threw all his weight against the door. It buckled and swung out so that he crashed to the floor and rolled until he landed on one knee. He lifted his arm to tell Lushkov to jump, but he could already feel the jump sequence beginning. A flash of light lit up the bay. A pulse from an enemy ship was heading right for them as well as several missiles, just seconds from impact. They could do nothing but wait and hope. A bright white light flashed, and they felt the impact of the jump begin. It was the biggest relief they could have hoped for. Seconds later, they appeared in open space, and all was quiet.

  "We made it," said Alita incredulously.

  The other Stormer had crashed similarly on the other side of the docking bay a little further in. A fire was raging at a console beside the bow and already starting to engulf it.

  "Come on, give me a hand!" Jones shouted.

  He rushed towards the stricken craft, but before he had got more than a few paces, a burst of gunfire landed at his feet. One shot ricocheted off his shoulder armour. More than a dozen of the barbaric enemy soldiers rushed towards them in a frenzy and with guns blazing. He activated his shield and shouted out, "Hold position, Babacan with me!"

  The two of them rushed onwards with their shields at their sides to provide cover as the rest of the platoon laid down fire. They reached the burning craft. The door had been released slightly but was jammed.

  "Everyone okay in there?" he shouted.

  "We've got casualties, but we're all still breathing!" Bailey shouted through the narrow gap.

  "Give me a hand," he said to Babacan. He took hold of the edge of the door and tried to lever it open. He could feel his arm weaken slightly from the wound, but he tried to fight through. He put in everything he had, and Babacan did the same, but it wouldn't budge. The flames had spread another metre across the vessel. They didn't have long. The black smoke and fumes were spreading.

  He could taste them now. The crack in the glass of his visor had opened slightly. He was losing air from his suit and taking in foul fumes. He tried one last time to pull the door open, but he could see it was futile. He pressed his head up against the opening and shouted through.

  "Move back! We're going to have to blow this thing!"

  He didn't wait for a response, for he knew they didn't have time. He drew out a breaching charge and primed it, jamming it as far into the open doorway as possible. He ducked back away and watched as his platoon cut down the enemy with ruthless efficiency. And yet for as many as they killed, they did not stop coming. His people hadn't taken a casualty yet. The charge blew precisely and rocked the door just a little but did not open it.

  Once again the two of them got a hold on the rim of the door that was now full out to get a better grasp and heaved with all their strength. It lurched and swung halfway open before seizing to a halt. Bailey was first out with one of the wounded over her shoulder. Jones drew his pistol to cover them as they made a dash from the burning craft.

  "Where are the deck crews?" she asked as she went past.

  "Ship is under attack, they must have sealed off all access!"

  The rest were pouring out, and two others were carrying wounded team members. He took one last look inside. The flicker of flames in the interior was quickly spreading. He was content no one was left inside. He rushed on after the others but did not waste the ammunition in his pistol; his people were getting the job done well enough.

  As he reached them, the firing finally stopped as the last of the enemy dropped dead. It was a strange sight to see so much bloodshed, as Jones had gotten quite used to fighting the robotic warriors of the Morohta. A door rose beside them, and they all turned with rifles at the ready. A deck crew team rushed out with extinguishers and tools. They passed through the Immortals ranks to get to work without a word.

  "What the hell are those things?" Alita asked, "They’re not like anything we have seen before."

  "The war with the Morohta has barely begun. I am sure there is plenty we haven't seen yet. Just be thankful these things are more manageable than some of the creatures we have had to deal with."

  "Forgive me if I don't feel thankful."

  "Lieutenant Jones, are you still with us?" Lushkov asked over the comms.

  "Yeah, we're still here. A little battered and bloody, but most of us made it back."

  "Your work isn't done yet."

  Alita scowled at the words as she realised they weren't in the clear yet.

  "What do you need, Sir?" Jones asked.

  "We've got multiple breaches and enemy reported across several decks. Your people are already working to clear the upper decks, but there is only so much ground they can cover. We have sealed the bridge and all areas possible. We..."

  An explosion rang out. It rocked the vessel, and the lights went out for a few seconds before emergency lighting kicked in.

  "What the hell was that? Lushkov? Lushkov!"

  Nothing came back.

  "Must have knocked out power to the bridge."

  Jones looked over to the docking bay doors. They had sealed. He checked the readings on the console on his arm. He was almost out of air, but life support on the ship was still working. He raised his visor. It was much more comfortable having it away from his face. Their medic was already working on the wounded. All but one was still conscious.

  "All right, listen up," said Jones, "Ship's borders have been compromised. This is going to be a sweep and clear operation. We don't know the enemy strength or exact location. We are going to need all the hands we can get. Wilcox, you keep tending to the wounded."

  He looked over to the five casualties. They were relieved to stay put.

  "But we can't spare anyone to take care of you. You keep your weapons in hand and be ready to defend one another, you hear?"

  "Got it," said Wilcox.

  She didn't look bothered at
all by the prospect and lifted one of the wounded women's rifles into her hands.

  "Okay. We have a lot of ground to cover, so we do this in five-man fireteams. You know what to do, and Babacan, you're with me. Spread out, sweep and clear."

  They were vague orders, but he couldn't be any clearer. He had no idea where the enemy really was. He rushed to the main access door and punched in the code, half expecting to find the enemy standing there, but the bodies of three crewmembers slumped out from where they had been cornered.

  "Poor souls," he said as blood seeped out across the deck and encased his boots. Seeing the enemy’s blood made him uncomfortable, but this turned his stomach.

  "Let's get these bastards," he said to the others.

  He understood how Taylor could be so cold towards the enemy, all of his enemies. Seeing the carnage created by the enemy made his blood boil, just as it always had done for Taylor. He wanted blood now. He wanted revenge, and he didn't think any less of himself for doing so.

  "Whoever sent us there really screwed up, didn't they?" Antos asked.

  Jones shook his head.

  "I'm not sure anyone could have predicted we would find any enemy resistance, let alone this kind of trouble."

  His mind was already trying to calculate how and why they were able to strike there, but the puzzle was starting to hurt his head, and many of the possible answers were terrifying.

  "Let's just deal with what's in front of us, and go from there."

  They carried on and reached an elevator. Two crew, one an officer from the bridge lay dead inside, and the power was out. One of the enemy was slumped dead beside them. He wanted to stop and study the fallen enemy at his feet, but he did not have time, and his blood lust was not yet fulfilled.

  He rushed on without another word and soon heard screams from crewmembers fleeing towards their position. Jones took a fork and then another bend. Three of the crew were running towards him in a panic. They were unarmed. One was cradling a wounded arm, and another was covered in someone else’s blood.

  “Move, move, move!” he bellowed at them, but he needn’t have.