Sigma (War for New Terra, Book 1)

by T W M Ashford

  Trees. Lots and lots of trees. Dense foliage – ivy creepers, damp moss and lichen, the sorts of forest plant life familiar to Earth during its heyday. Ginger had to admit the Ministerium had done well – New Terra would make a good home for humanity, if they ever managed to colonise it.

  She found nothing that told her where she was, though. The only available light came down in bands and streaks from gaps in the forest canopies. The tree-line was too thick; she couldn’t tell if she was a hundred metres into the woodland or a hundred miles. And there were no more drop ships to follow in the sky above. The air was unnervingly silent… or almost silent, which was somehow even worse. Every now and then she heard the distant rattle of gunfire… and then nothing.

  She patted her pockets and satchels, searching for the compass every UEC marine was issued with. Like the parachutes it was archaic, not to mention half-useless without a map. But presuming that north and south on New Terra were akin to the poles back on Earth, she could at least start heading in the right direction of the rally point.

  Ginger froze with her hand stuffed halfway inside her ammo pouch. She could have sworn she heard the snap of a twig or the crunch of dry leaves. She was sure of it.

  Slowly and moving nothing else, she reached down to her hip and pulled her semi-automatic handgun from its holster.

  There it was again. Something was moving about twenty-five or thirty metres away, over in a spot where two trees had fallen against another and become entangled with vines. Ginger grasped her handgun with both hands to steady her aim, then rose up from the bracken inch by inch to get a better look.

  Movement. Impossible to identify from that distance in the moonlight. But no question that something was out there.

  The planet’s intelligent life may have been wiped out by the bugs, but did Command know if the planet still had natural wildlife? It could be a bird, or New Terra’s equivalent of a horse or deer. Or what if it was another marine just as lost as she was? She didn’t dare risk calling out to them.

  The silhouette stood upright. Not an animal, then. It was big. Could have been Duke, even… but from her experience, Duke didn’t tend to sniff around on all fours. Not even after a gallon of cheap whiskey.

  Whatever it was, Ginger suddenly realised it was looking right at her. Ice crystals formed in her veins. She didn’t move. She didn’t even dare breathe.

  Not even when it started to charge towards her.

  It was quick – deadly quick. Its thick legs bent backwards like those of a race horse and pounded the earth just as hard. As the creature passed through slits of moonlight, Ginger caught brief flashes of multi-jointed arms sprouting from a narrow, carapace-shelled thorax. They clawed through the dirt as it ran. Strong, stubby, inward-curving mandibles flared out from its ugly, misshapen head.

  No question.

  Bug.

  Ginger shook herself free from her horrified stupor and fired her handgun at the approaching threat. One round pierced the roach’s exoskeleton. Another disabled one of its freakish, backward-bending arms. But the monster didn’t seem to even notice.

  She got one final shot in before the bug crashed into her, knocking the sidearm out of her hands.

  Ginger hit the dirt and winced as the full weight of the overgrown insect thrashed on top of her. Its vile breath smelled of copper, flesh and faeces. Its serrated mandibles snapped open and shut only inches from her face while three sets of claws scratched and tore at her padded vest.

  With her right hand, she reached up and grabbed the bug’s scrawny neck. It barely made any difference, but she just about succeeded in keeping its ant-like head from biting off her own while she stared into its black, bulbous eyes.

  Her left hand scrambled for the knife on her left hip. She wrestled it out of its sheath and plunged it into the bug’s thorax. Something hot and sticky poured over her hand, but her attack only made the creature thrash harder. She jabbed the knife up through the narrow gaps in its carapace over and over again, all the while screaming through gritted teeth.

  The bug kept biting, so Ginger kept stabbing.

  Eventually its mandibles slowed and then stopped moving altogether. Its arms lay limp, its body heavy and inert. She rolled its body off her and gasped for breath. The whole front of her uniform was covered in the creature’s sticky purple blood.

  Ginger stood up and gave the corpse a kick. She’d met an alien insectoid once before, back on New Eden. Went by the name of Klik. She was a vicious piece of work, too… but at least her heart was in the right place. The bug lying dead at her feet had neither heart or brains. It was a mindless beast bred to infest and kill – nothing more.

  She bent down and picked up her handgun. The clip was half empty, so she swapped it out for a fresh one. Who knew how many other bugs there were between her and Rally Point Bravo.

  After checking that the bug hadn’t knocked anything else important from her person, Ginger slowly made her way over to the spot where she’d first heard it scuttling about. Her heart was still pumping a hundred and twenty beats per minute, and her hands couldn’t keep her sidearm steady.

  What had caught the bug’s attention in the first place, she wondered? Hopefully not the half-eaten corpse of a fellow squad member. But if it was, she hoped it was Private Jackson.

  She approached the ivy-wrapped logs, took a deep breath, and then darted out with her gun raised.

  Ginger relaxed. It was just her battle rifle, the lens of its detachable scope glinting in the moonlight like a bloody lighthouse beacon. At least it hadn’t fallen far, even if it did almost get her killed. She stowed her sidearm, pocketed the scope and flung the strap of her rifle over her shoulder.

  Finally, she got the chance to check her compass. The needle spun. There was no way to know for sure which way she should go… but, if she recalled the map from their briefing correctly, the rally point lay in a north-easterly direction from the forest. Even if she was wrong and she’d overshot the rally point in her parachute drop somehow, she’d still be headed closer to the overall mission objective.

  She got moving. If there was one thing she knew about bugs, it was that they rarely strayed far from their nest.

  Eighteen minutes later and Ginger still wasn’t out of the forest.

  Neither had she come across any other survivors from the botched invasion. She couldn’t be the only one. At least some of the drop ships must have made it to the LZ, and she’d seen dozens if not hundreds of marines parachuting down after the attack started.

  She checked her compass again and wondered if maybe the planet’s magnetism was all wrong. What if she was headed in the opposite direction?

  Then so is everyone else, she realised. That wouldn’t explain why you haven’t found anyone.

  Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, at least. It wasn’t as if she could afford to whip out her flashlight and advertise her location to any other bugs that might be patrolling the area. Thank God for the fires still crackling amongst the treetops.

  Patrolling. Huh. As if any of the bugs down on New Terra were smart enough for that.

  She hoped.

  The fires from crashed drop ships weren’t doing much to keep Ginger warm, however. Heat rises and, below the swirling embers, the forest floor felt like the meat lockers back on the Invincible. Ginger shivered and watched the steam from her breath flutter up like the ghost of a butterfly. It must have rained recently, because her trousers were damp all the way up her shins from pushing through the ferns.

  God, it almost made her wish she was back on semi-tropical New Eden again.

  Almost.

  She heard a sharp snap about eight or nine metres away, relative two o’clock from her position. It could have been a twig cracking underfoot; it could have been the buckle of a parachute being unclipped. Didn’t matter. Ginger dropped down into a kneeling position amongst the dark foliage and lined up her rifle’s sights.

  Please don’t be a bug. Please don’t be a bug.

  How many of those insec
t freaks could a single marine hope to kill before their head got bitten off? Her gut told her the average was less than one. She was pushing her luck already.

  No movement. Her heart beat so hard it hurt. And her hand almost slipped off the rifle’s guard, her palms were so slick with sweat.

  Had it just been a falling branch? The crackle of embers? She glared at the shadows with eyes like dinner plates. There was a countersign for these sorts of situations, but like hell was she about to start yelling it out.

  “Flash,” came a quavering, barely-audible voice from the other side of the trees.

  Ginger felt her whole body deflate with relief. Another human, thank Christ. She went to stand up from the undergrowth, then stopped rigid as if frozen by the cold.

  Wait. What was the password again?

  “Saviour of the universe?” she whispered.

  A terrifying silence followed. She guessed her reply wasn’t as funny as she thought.

  “Flash,” the timid voice repeated.

  “Oh come on,” she replied, wincing at the way her voice cut through the quiet forest. “Do I sound like a bug to you? Don’t shoot. I’m standing up now.”

  Slowly, holding her rifle upright to one side of her, Ginger rose from the ferns. The other marine did the same a second later.

  Ginger struggled to keep from groaning. It was Private Bradley, of all people. He looked one loud noise away from fainting.

  “Great. It’s you.” She strode through the wet ferns towards him. “What the hell was all that about? No matter what somebody replies with, they’re on our side. We’re fighting bugs. The password is kind of irrelevant.”

  “Well, you could have been anyone. You might not have spoken English.”

  “What, and you would have shot me if I’d replied in Mandarin? Jesus wept. I suppose you haven’t seen anyone else yet?”

  Private Bradley shook his head. He was shivering too. From fear as much as the cold, most likely.

  “Just you. I thought I saw a few parachutes come down not far from here, though.”

  He shot an obvious glance at Ginger’s torn and bloody uniform but said nothing. She looked up at the stars through the gaps in the trees as if searching for more airdropped troops, then nodded.

  “Good. Hopefully more of the squad made it than just the two of us. You injured?”

  Bradley shook his head.

  “No thanks to you,” he added brusquely. “You pushed me out of a bloody drop ship!”

  “You’re welcome.” Ginger checked her compass again. “If you’d stayed inside, you’d probably be dead now.”

  “Or maybe I’d already be at the landing zone,” he replied.

  “Well in that case, my most sincere apologies for trying to keep you alive a little while longer. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  She pointed north-east with her rifle.

  “Let’s hustle. Who knows how much further we’ve got to go.”

  They started walking.

  They didn’t get very far.

  “Flash,” came a sharp whisper from the bushes to their right.

  “Thunder,” Bradley replied, throwing himself behind a tree like a startled squirrel.

  Ginger rolled her eyes, though she could practically feel her heart bumping up against her tonsils. She only managed to swallow it back down a second later when she recognised the two figures emerging from the bracken.

  “Ghost. Duke.” She broke into a grin. “Trust you two to land so close together.”

  God, she could have given them both a hug. She didn’t, though. That wouldn’t have been very professional.

  “Christ, Ginger.” Duke pointed at her shredded fatigues. “What the hell happened to you? Rough landing?”

  “You could say that, yeah. I went up against one of those bugs Baker briefed us about.”

  “No way,” said Private Bradley, his mouth hanging open. “You actually saw one? What are they like?”

  “Really friendly, actually. I’m going round for dinner with his family next weekend.” She shook her head. “Nah. Ugly. Real ugly. And goddamn vicious, too. Came close to ripping my guts out. I know this planet is our last chance and all, but…”

  “But what, Ginger?” asked Ghost.

  But I think humanity has bitten off more than it can chew, was what she wanted to say. But she couldn’t – not as fireteam leader, at least. Demoralising her fellow marines was hardly the best strategy for keeping them alive.

  “But nothing,” said Ginger. “We’d better not let our guard down, that’s all. There’s four of us now – we can handle whatever bugs this planet throws at us so long as we stick together. Right, enough chatter. Hand signals from here on out unless absolutely necessary. Let’s get…”

  This was embarrassing. No matter which direction Ginger turned, everything in the forest looked the same.

  “Oh, goddammit.” She went to fish out her compass for what felt like the thousandth time. “Which way are we supposed to be headed?”

  Duke laid a massive hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, Ginger.” He flashed his big, toothy smile at her. “I’ll take point from here.”

  Chapter Four

  Dawn dripped through the forest like tree sap – gold and slow.

  “Nasty way to go,” said Private Jackson. “Did we know him?”

  Ginger squinted up at the body hanging from the branches above their heads. It was hard to tell. Whoever it was had accidentally hanged himself with his own parachute cords. His face was swollen and purple.

  “I think he’s from Fireteam Lima,” said Sergeant Parkins. She shook her head disappointedly as she passed by. “Never even got his feet on the ground. What a waste.”

  Everybody moved on. Private Bradley hurried alongside Ginger.

  “Shouldn’t we cut him down or something?” he asked.

  “And do what with him?” Ginger shook her head. “There’s no time. Command will order a sweep for bodies once the forest is clear. Until then, we know our orders.”

  “Doesn’t seem very dignified, that’s all.”

  “As opposed to having his sorry ass dragged through the forest by you, you mean? We don’t even have anywhere to bury the dead yet, Private. Trust me, he doesn’t mind.”

  Bradley fell silent and then dropped back a few paces.

  An hour and six minutes had passed since Ginger regrouped with the rest of Fireteam Sigma. Their mood was only marginally improved by the impending sunrise. Whilst it had still been just the four of them, nobody spoke much.

  Fireteam Tau ambushed Sigma about half an hour later while they were crossing a stretch of forest dominated by fallen trees. There were deep pits in the earth where their roots had torn free. The four of them – Sergeant Parkins and Privates Jackson, Moore and Hitch – had sprung up from a few of these pits with their rifles raised, and might well have fired had the light been any worse. Ginger had to hand it to them – it was a good manoeuvre. Her nerves must have been shot to hell, because Tau had never got the drop on them like that back in training.

  They made the rest of the trek to Rally Point Bravo together. Apart from her, nobody had encountered any bugs… yet. People were starting to ease up.

  “This sucks so hard,” grumbled Private Hitch, a couple of metres ahead. “We should have already taken that bridge by now.”

  Private Moore strolled beside him. Everyone called her Jessie because… well, that was her name. Jessie Moore. Not everyone got a nickname, and Ginger got the impression Jessie was perfectly glad not to be on the receiving end of one.

  “Are you in a hurry to be somewhere, Knot?” She budged him with her shoulder. “Sorry to burst your bubble, buddy, but getting this planet ready for colonisation was never going to be a weekend job. If you can’t handle grunt work, then maybe you shouldn’t have signed up to be one.”

  In fairness, this was a bit of a dumb comment. Knot hadn’t wanted to sign up. When you really got down to it, none of them had. If you weren’t lucky (or
essential, or rich) enough to get a ticket aboard one of the Arks, you had two choices: enlist in the UEC marine corp or get left behind to roast to death in the oven-planet that was Earth. Even Knot wasn’t dumb enough to get that multiple choice question wrong.

  But the man was an idiot if he thought the invasion of New Terra would end after liberating a single bridge, or even after taking the city. Realistically, the full colonisation was expected to take years. A contract with the UEC lasted in perpetuity, at least until some semblance of normality was restored. Or until the marine in question died. Whichever came first.

  Well, wasn’t that an uplifting thought.

  “How are you holding up?”

  Ghost had moved up from the rear to walk beside her. Her scoped rifle was slung over her back. It wasn’t much use inside a forest, unsurprisingly. She carried her submachine gun instead in case of a close-quarters attack.

  Ginger glanced down at the slashes in her uniform. She was lucky that the roach’s claws hadn’t cut any deeper than her vest-top beneath. Yes, she was a bit chilly, but at least she wouldn’t be left with any scars. Or with her guts steaming outside her stomach, for that matter.

  “A little shaken, to be honest.” She continually scanned the surrounding forest for movement. “Otherwise fine. I never want to be that close to another bug ever again, though.”

  “Noted. I’ll try and keep them on the other end of my scope,” said Ghost, nodding to her rifle over her shoulder. “That’s not what I meant, though.”

  Ah. Ginger should have guessed. Ghost had been trying to bring up that conversation every chance she could since they got back from New Eden. But there was nothing to talk about – at least, not as far as she was concerned.

  It was everyone else who wanted to talk about it. About him.

  Jack Bishop. The first man successfully transported via wormhole – via the same wormhole tech, in fact, which had later brought humanity’s Arks across the galaxy. Everyone presumed him dead. His wife never got over the loss. And now suddenly he was back, alive and barely a day older than when he left almost thirty years earlier, with a spaceship full of robots and aliens no less.