Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1)

by Joshua Boring

  Then the four-pronged meat tenderizer slammed into Jonathan.

  The impact sent the stealthist careening over the girl he'd just spared, crumpled over his shoulder several meters away as the Reaper retracted with a sharp crack. Nathen swore and reached for a grenade; something to at least distract the Warhead from finishing the job. He had none.

  Jonathan was shakily getting to his feet, stunned and bruised, when the Reaper cannonballed into his back and dug its X-shaped talons into his shoulders and sides. Jonathan was blasted clear off his feet, limbs whiplashing as he was train wrecked flat on his face, skidding five feet.

  The Warhead retracted its Reaper.

  Jonathan was snatched up like a fish on a line, flying backwards across the platform with a scream. Right into the Warhead's waiting ax. At the last second, the Reaper detached, pulling the stealthist right into the path of a full-fledged swing from the war ax.

  WHAM!

  Nathen felt his breath disappear as he watched his black-armored stealth expert fly bashing and ragdolling across the platform only to smash against the twisted remains of the destroyed antennae like a bag of broken bones. The ESC came to a sudden stop, half sitting up against the wreckage, head lolled lifelessly.

  For a second, everything fell silent.

  Then, with a strangled cry, Calico jumped up and ripped into the Warhead's injured back with her Casper. The Insectoid turned, clutching its Reaper with eager anticipation of its next victim.

  That's when Kyler stood up and shot it in the face with his shotgun.

  The Warhead shrieked as the buckshot sparked against its eye lenses, catching it in its mouth as it opened for just a second. The blue giant, cradling his left arm tenderly, cocked his Pitbull one handed and fired. The Warhead swung its ax out, blood spattering from its pierced gullet. Kyler simply swaggered back like he was on a boat in a swell, missed the ax, cocked and fired again. The hunter was noticeably silent, compared to his earlier taunting. Nathen clacked his rifle-mounted grenade launcher shut on his single bunker-breacher grenade. Doc threw down one of his Caspers to reload more quickly. Nathen stepped forward, took a shooter’s stance at the Insectoid's damaged back, and, at the last second, changed his aim downwards.

  The breaching grenade speared into the back of the monster's left leg and detonated. It was like dropping a crab into a blender. Meat and shell flew everywhere. Everyone flinched inwardly as the Warhead issued its first ear piercing scream of pain, sinking down on its ravaged leg. Nathen cracked his launcher open and dumped the hot shell, thinking he'd finally cut the thing down to size. To everyone's dismay, the Warhead shakily stood and continued to fight, even though the back of its leg was practically missing.

  As it stood, a fresh report sounded, and a burst of rounds slapped it in the side of the head, causing the Insectoid's hollow breath to snort and hack disagreeably. Trent strode slowly across the platform, extended Wolfhound pistol in one hand, visibly damaged Greylance sniper rifle in the other. The sniper moved with a noticeable limp in his left leg, scooting behind him between carefully aimed pistol bursts. Everyone joined in, and the sounds of Caspers, Wolfhounds, and a Pitbull hammered away. At long last, the constant assault began to show slight effect. The Warhead twitched as certain projectiles hit home, somehow getting past the armor and exoskeleton.

  The Warhead harpooned the body of a Golo, lifted it out of the sticky black blood, and turned toward Trent. Nathen moved closer, trying to distract the Warhead from the injured sniper when-

  Nathen felt the warning too late to evade the trap. Instead of attacking Trent, the Warhead suddenly spun and spiked its dead Golo straight at Nathen. The improvised projectile proved effective as Nathen tried, unsuccessfully, to jump over it as it rolled under him. A strap caught Nathen's boot and pulled him down onto his hands and knees, forcing him to drop his Coyote. Nathen regained his feet and reached out to reclaim his weapon. The war ax came down with a heavy slam, snapping the rifle in two and splitting the duracrete, just inches from Nathen's fingers.

  “Spit,” Nathen gasped, sliding back as the Warhead wrenched its ax out of the platform. He scrambled back, sliding his pistol out in a single, practiced motion, instantly popping his enemy in the chest five times. The Warhead bowed its head behind its ax and stomped toward him, left leg slurping and seeping as it went. It wasn't ready to stop yet. And Nathen had nowhere to run.

  The ax flashed out with a hellish scream, batting Nathen on his back like a swatted fly.

  “Spit!”

  Nathen grunted at the Warhead's love tap, then got onto his heels and elbows and scrambled back, trying to put some distance between himself and his foe. The ax came down again, barely missing his legs and sending shards of duracrete up in a shower. The Warhead bore over him, hissing like a steam pipe. Nathen could see the revenge in its gait as it stood over him, clicking its jaws. Someone screamed from behind the Warhead.

  “Knight! Knight! Get up!”

  “Roll, commander!”

  Nathen struck something behind him. He looked over his shoulder, right into the ram panel of a Yew tank. He was cornered. The Warhead knew it too, and took one last second to select its killing strike. Behind his helmet, Nathen grimaced. The Warhead lifted its ax with a shriek, already envisioning Nathen in halves.

  Then the Yew tank's ball socket blaster cannon dropped flush against the Warhead's abdomen, stopping it in place.

  The Insectoid looked up at the tank, ax poised overhead as it comprehended its mistake.

  Then the blaster cannon unloaded itself into the Warhead's chest with a decimating Zap-POW!

  The flash from the cannon faded into Nathen's visor, keeping him from being blinded. The tank jolted from the recoil of its cannon as the Warhead's chest lit up like a flower of fire. The next second there was a crackling sizzle like bacon on a red hot skillet. The Warhead issued one last, wet gurgle and fell backwards onto the platform with a heavy smash.

  Nathen shot to his feet and gained a few yards before turning to make sure it was down. The Warhead twitched erratically, a smoldering hole in its upper body. The war ax lay at its side, with flash-boiled bug guts on it. The Reaper twitched, cybernetics failing. The Warhead trembled, lifting its head amidst chokes of its own gore, trying to sit up. That wasn't going to happen.

  Helen rushed up with her Coyote and jumped unhesitatingly on the monster's chest, cocking her rifle and aiming down into its distorted face. The Warhead looked up with a mucus-y gasp and reached up with its unaltered ax hand. Helen pulled the trigger and filled its face with twenty armor piercing rifle rounds. Each shot pulled away a little more, sending pieces of the Insectoid's helmet, exoskeleton and face away in chunks. The Warhead trembled under Helen's wrath, miniature geysers pulping from its punctured head until the rounds stopped coming from her smoking barrel. By the time she was done, the Insectoid's helmet was merged with its face.

  The Warhead gurgled for one more second, trembled, and then, finally, died.

  Chapter 22

  The body of the massive Insectoid continued to twitch as Helen jumped down, exhaling heavily as the blood and guts she'd splattered all over her armor melted off the Zen alloy. Everyone was quiet for a moment, as if nobody believed the powerful foe was really dead. Then, from behind the purring blaster cannon, a hatch yawned open, and Phillip Norsehill stepped out of the tank in his gray armor.

  “Did I hit it?” he asked, slowly. “I couldn't tell. I wasn’t looking.”

  Nathen didn't respond. He was busy running to catch up with Doc, who was dashing to Jonathan's side, shedding his Casper and ammo bag to reach his medic's satchel faster.

  The black-armored stealthist hadn't moved an inch from where he had been brutally battered down. Doc was practically ripping his medic's satchel off his back as he dropped down next to his comrade.

  “I need help over here!” he yelled, flipping the satchel open and pulling out his tools. Nathen dropped down on the other side of the unmoving stealth expert as Trent limped up at a gait, pa
using just out of reach. Nathen took a few calming breaths as Doc tried to find a pulse through Jonathan's dermasuit. The stealthist looked far worse up close. The armor had started to heal and then, apparently, stopped. It was covered in battle scars. There was no mistaking the horrific ax mark marring the alloy.

  “Is he dead?” Nathen finally asked, fearing the answer. Doc swore through his teeth as he released the stealthist’s wrist.

  “Spit, I can't find a pulse,” he said, reaching for his neck next. A second later, the green armored medic reached into his bag. “I need to jolt his system.”

  “He's still in symbiosis,” Trent pointed out.

  Doc paused and touched Jonathan's neck, feeling the nano skin.

  “You're right,” he said, rifling through his bag again. “There's a heartbeat in there somewhere. I need to put him into stasis and freeze his condition. As long as he's unconscious, I won't know just how serious it is.”

  Doc pulled out an injector and plugged it into his meditech, powering the small surgical device on. He flicked the tool several times, cycling through microscalpel and stitchers like a swiss army knife until he found the nano knife. The special tool was designed to peel away the unique nano skin when in symbiosis. It was the only way Doc could administer any kind of medicine. The medic moved the nano knife toward Jonathan's neck, looking to remove a patch of nano skin. The edge bit into the alien suit and cut a small swath, breaking the symbiosis and allowing the nano skin to peel back.

  Suddenly, Jonathan issued a harsh gasp and lurched forward, violently knocking Doc back. Nathen reacted swiftly, moving in close and slamming his palm against the stealthist's shoulder, shoving him back. Jonathan cried out in shocked confusion and seized Nathen's hand, trying to pry it back. The stealth expert started spewing slurred obscenities as Doc dropped his tool and grabbed his other shoulder, helping Nathen hold the panicked stealthist back.

  “Fiend. Fiend! You need to relax!” Doc shouted. Jonathan didn't seem to hear him and fought to get free.

  “Let me go! Get off me!” Jonathan snapped like a wounded dog, breathing in ragged gasps.

  “Your body has suffered catastrophic injury!” Doc insisted, fighting to get his hands on him again. “If you move, you run the risk of-... Stop moving!”

  Jonathan, still in pain and in full panic mode, tried reaching for his pistol. Nathen slammed the stealth expert back hard and grabbed him by the head, moving in close so he had to look at his white visor.

  “That's enough!” Nathen snapped. Jonathan stopped struggling, breathing hard, labored breaths as he was forced to look at Nathen.

  “Let go of me...” he hissed.

  Nathen gave Jonathan a little shove, pinning him against the antenna wreckage with one hand on his chest.

  “Stay,” he ordered. He turned to his sniper. “Trent, if he moves again, shoot him in the head.”

  Trent stepped in, pulled a Wolfhound from its shoulder holster, racked the slide, and pressed the muzzle flush to Jonathan's helmet. That seemed to pull him under control. A single pistol round to the head when in armor wouldn't kill him, but it would stun him and make him think twice. Exhausted and already in enough pain, Jonathan slumped and let his arms fall to his sides. Doc dragged his meditech closer and started unwinding biosensors. He cut through the dermasuit and applied the bioscanners to Jonathan's body, taking swift readings. While he did, Nathen turned to call to Helen, but instead found himself face to face with Calico. The girl was holding her empty Casper at the length of one hand, watching as Doc and Trent performed first aid on Jonathan. Nathen stood, watching the young speaker's blank stature and silent reflection.

  “You alright?” he finally asked.

  Calico looked up suddenly, then nodded after a second and looked back to Jonathan's ravaged body.

  “He took the hit for me,” she said, quietly. “He went down so fast, I didn't have time to...” She swallowed and looked down at her Casper. “That could have been me.”

  Nathen glanced back at Jonathan, who was somewhere between passed out and half-awake. Then the commander bent down and picked up Doc's discarded ammo bag, practically tossing it into Calico's hands as he walked by.

  “You're on ammo duty,” he said, giving the speaker a thump on the shoulder to break her from her shock. “And secure that weapon, soldier.”

  Calico looked down at her empty Casper, then, as if shaking off the haze, reached into the ammo bag and pulled out a fresh typewriter clip for her submachine gun, then slung the bag and wandered off to share the wealth. Nathen jogged up to where Helen, Kyler and Phillip were standing around the seeping, smoldering body of the Warhead, as if guarding it to make sure it didn't wake up. Helen turned to Nathen as he drew close.

  “Will he live?” she asked, grimly. All Nathen could do was shrug.

  “Maybe,” he said, not glancing back. “I want to get him in the regenerator the second we get back to Haven Alpha.”

  “One toff snake,” Kyler said, pumping his left arm once or twice, experimentally. “Still got some venom en 'im yet, though, from the looks of et.”

  “Yeah,” Nathen said before motioning at the hunter's left side. “How's the arm?”

  Kyler shrugged, to sample his range of movement. “Et was dislocated. But I fixed et.”

  Nathen turned to Helen, noting he couldn't even find the damage the claws had done to her dermasuit when the Warhead had grabbed her. “You?”

  “Fine,” Helen said, dismissively.

  Nathen pointed past her. “I want visual on the War Hive trenches, ASAP. That Warhead might have been acting on its own accord, but I don't trust the rest of them not to get bolder.”

  Helen turned and dashed across the platform, skipping across ash and dirt and blood to start her climb up the South slope. Nathen let her go and turned, motioning to Phillip. The technician approached and let Nathen spin him around. He dropped to one knee, letting the commander pick up the mouthpiece for the tight beam transmitter. Phillip looked over his shoulder, worriedly.

  “Hey, we're not encrypted. If the enemy detects the signal-”

  “We'll have to take that chance,” Nathen said, powering the transmitter on and deploying the double antenna. “We'll never make it to the rendezvous point before the planet cycles. Not with Fiend the way he is.”

  Phillip glanced at the ground. “I don't know...”

  “Since we put this crater out of commission, the Yew communications grid should be in blackout in this sector,” Nathen said, lifting the mouthpiece. “Unless there's a starship directly overhead, we should be fine.”

  Nathen fired up the transmitter and waited while the beam searched for a connection. After a few seconds, Nathen clicked on the mouthpiece and held it up to his helmet.

  “Haven, Haven, this is Alpha One, requesting a hail. Come back, over.”

  Nathen released the switch, waited a few seconds while the transmitter searched, then tried again.

  “Ambassador, this is Knight. Give me a feed to let me know you're there, over.”

  A second later, there was a crackle in the attached earpiece.

  “Commander Knight,” came Gordon Bryor's strong but slightly distorted voice. “I was waiting to hear from you. I hope you have better news down there than I have from here.”

  Nathen frowned, pinching the commswitch. “What do you mean?”

  “Seems our little 'diversion' with the Sledgefast had a negative effect,” the Captain said. “After the initial bait, someone wised up and sent every ship straight to your hemisphere. The Yew destroyers are dragnetting your entry point with mines.”

  Nathen let go of the commswitch and spat a curse through his clenched teeth. There went their direct evac. He thought for a moment and flicked the commswitch again.

  “Alright,” he said, calmly. “So the sky is live. Our condition on the ground has changed. We can't make it to evac one.”

  “That's unfortunate, Commander. Neither can I.”

  “Griffins?”

  “I j
ust spoke to them,” Gordon said. “They're currently feinting and decoying Yew air patrols. If they come to pick you out of the crater now, their cover will be blown.”

  “Alright,” Nathen said, accepting this cripplingly bad news. “What's evac two?”

  There was a pause.

  “You're either going to love me or hate me for this,” Gordon said, in a tone that was just as humorous as serious. “But I assure you it’s your best option.”

  Nathen clicked the commswitch. “Hurt me.”

  “Several kilometers to the North of your current position, there is a spaceport. In that spaceport, sitting on the third landing platform, there is a Kastar combat corvette. That, Commander, is your best bet for breaking atmosphere.”

  Nathen frowned. “You must be joking. No, you wouldn't joke. Still. We've got wounded, we've got no time, no cover, and no ammo.”

  “And I look forward to hearing how you pull it off when you get back,” the Captain said.

  “Right,” Nathen said. “Stand by for contact within the hour. Knight out.”

  Nathen switched off the tight beam and dropped the mouthpiece into Phillip's hands. He sighed and placed his hands on his hips, looking about at the ruined platform, which was still burning in some areas. It had been hard enough to take the crater, and most of their ammunition was spent. Now their only salvation was inside an equally fortified base, several miles away. And any minute now, they were going to get a lot of angry, violent company. By any standards, a hopeless situation.