by J. A. Scorch
Teve shook his head. He shouldn't have been too surprised to hear any of this.
"Now, keeping secret experiments under wraps wasn't our only objective. We also needed a way to fight back against the new army the Zeal began creating to rid us from Earth. These experiments are unlike anything we have ever encountered. It’s as if the Zeal took every positive from both species and combined them into the perfect soldier. That was when they started to flood the cities with the virus."
"The goo?" Teve asked.
"Yes. Think of it as a nanobiotic substance filled with little aliens attempting to rebuild your body into a miracle of potential. Some subjects didn't quite take to the stuff so well. In fact, it is estimated that only a third of the infected survive the infiltration into their system."
"One-third?" Teve asked sitting straight up. "You need to tell me something right now: is Mish going to be okay?"
"She's past the deadliest stage and has shown positive signs toward survival. Although, she didn't take to the virus the way you did."
For some reason, he believed Aron. He wasn't sure if it was her calm demeanor or if he was through distrusting every person he met.
"Did Mish get the virus from me?"
Aron smiled. "Not directly. We suspect she came into contact with the virus when she pulled you from the Zeal base. The rest of your fire team were okay. Private Moreno and Specialist Harris have both been cleared of the virus and will be sent back into service soon."
"Good," Teve said, despite his guilty thoughts only sticking to Mish.
"They were lucky. Having gone so close to a Zeal base without infection is a rare thing." Aron stared off into the distance as if she remembered an incident.
"Moving on. I suppose you are wondering how we can weaponize infected individuals such as yourself."
"I think I've worked that part out already. Let me guess. Distance is key, isn't it?"
"Yes. Proximity to the Zeal base influences your system to become one of them. Your mind turns to mush, and all you can think about is—"
"The Orb," Teve said. "Don't ask me what the hell that thing is, but I know it controls the Zeal."
"That is the assumption. The farther you are away from that thing, the more human you become. The virus still runs through your veins, turning you into a valuable killing machine without loss of control. Our only problem is trying to send you back deep into the city to fight."
"Is that why Hoang gave me that bullshit deadline?"
Another nod came from Aron. "Yes. He also sent you to the edge of the city nowhere near the base."
Teve lowered his head as a million thoughts hit him at once. Aron had just dumped a world of crap on his lap.
"So what happens now?"
Aron leaned forward and grabbed his attention. "You train."
Chapter Twenty-Three
The fight was over. Porter stood above one of the twisted Stiltz, studying the intricate detail of its armor. Tunney came over to Porter and slapped him on the shoulder.
"That was a crazy idea. How did you know that would work, sir?"
"Got lucky, I guess. Lucky and desperate."
"But a fire extinguisher? That's insane. Someone is looking out for you." The Corporal strolled away, happy to be alive, no doubt.
Porter stared at the mess of white chemicals burning the Zeal through their armored layers into whatever it was they called skin. He spotted a few fire extinguishers across the way when the fight got desperate. With the Zeal all focused on his team, Tunney and his fellow privates managed to utilize the odd weapon. Porter would do what he could to make sure Command learned about the weakness.
The group spent the next fifteen minutes patching up the wounded engineers as they assessed the damage.
"Garcia says the ship is clear by all reports," Cannon said as she came over. "Guess we survived whatever this was."
Porter nodded and couldn't think of much to say. "I can only assume the Zeal anticipated we were about to attack them. This was an attempt to delay our next move."
"Well, I'd say it was pretty damn successful. Garcia also said that we have lost half of the goddamn fleet."
Porter swung around to face her. "You're kidding me? Half?"
She nodded slowly. Both of her eyes were red. "Yeah. These pricks got to critical sections of those ships and caused a chain reaction to explode each carrier. Some MAF personnel got out in the escape pods, but most died trying to fight back."
"Such bullshit," Porter said as he kicked a piece of Zeal armor. "What happened to the Marines Command had for the big assault? Were they taking a fricking nap or something?"
"In a way, yes. The attack caught everyone by surprise. Plus, we were too close to the Cyclone. It sent out transport ships we've never seen before. Damn things overwhelmed our defenses and penetrated each ship to infest it with Stiltz."
Stabbing his fingers into his face, Porter couldn't help but screw up his eyes at the thought the Zeal had outsmarted them again. The Cyclone was in their sights, ready for destruction, but instead, Command wanted the treasure within the enemy's ship. Porter stormed off.
"Where are you going?" Cannon shouted after him.
"To speak to Garcia. She seems to know everything there is about this. I'm willing to bet she knows even more."
"I'm coming with."
"Me too," Briggs added, possibly sensing the anger in Porter's voice.
Porter glanced back to see them following behind, Smith too. He shouted back to Tunney. "Clean this mess up. There could be more to come. We need to be ready for the next shitstorm to hit the ship."
"Yes, sir," Tunney said.
Porter continued to hurry at a fast pace up the steps and past the autocannon. By the time he got to Garcia, everyone had caught up to him.
As a determined group of four, they headed straight over to Garcia in her control room attached to Deck C.
"What is this?" she asked.
"We want to know everything, ma'am," Porter started. "The attack, how much you knew, and what's happening next."
"One question at a time, Captain. And don't think you can barge in here and demand the world, either. Just because we got our asses handed to us doesn't mean you can break protocol."
Porter threw up his hands. His frustration was too obvious. "I'm sorry, Commodore. This is why we should have hit them while we had the chance. Look at us now. We're back to the start, half-broken."
"Not exactly. Your little piece of luck with the fire extinguisher is spreading across the ship. Command already has plans to implement the idea into some sort of weapon to hit back at the Zeal."
"Hit back? How? We just lost half of our attack force and more. Why else would the fleet have pulled back from the Cyclone?"
Garcia gave him a look he dreaded the most, the one that always landed him in a cell. "That wasn't the entire fleet, Captain."
Porter felt his fists tighten up. She had dropped this kind of information on him in the past, so he tried to retain his rage as he imagined punching the commodore square in the face. "Continue, ma'am. Tell me all about the MAF's brilliant thinking this time."
"A much better reaction than you had last time, Porter. See, we're growing as a team." Garcia did little to conceal her sarcasm.
Porter ignored the remark and moved the conversation forward. "So, have we got something good in our back pocket?"
"Well, that depends on your definition of good. From an assault point of view, we will be getting three destroyers loaded with Marines ready to board the Cyclone." She paused.
"And the bad?" Cannon asked.
"No more pilots or fighters. We'll need to attack the ship with what we have. Command is still going ahead with the assault as soon as the Marines arrive tomorrow."
A collective rage began to boil within the room. Porter took charge. "What kind of bullshit is this? We've lost half of our carriers. We'll be taking on thousands of Tritons with only a small number of Stalkers."
Garcia waved him off as she grabbed h
er tablet and studied some numbers on the screen.
"You just need to get the transports inside the ship. From there the crews will sweep the decks of the Zeal carrier clean."
"Good luck to them," Smith said, one hand rubbing his chest, the bolt damage still fresh. "Those things take a pounding. Why don't they wait for the MAF to weaponize the fire extinguisher idea first? The Stiltz would drop like that."
"Once again, it all boils down to time," Garcia said. "Weaponizing those chemicals will take weeks, if not longer. Command wants a fast turnaround after the embarrassment faced today. There's nothing we can do but fight."
The four pilots stared at the commodore, each one shaking their head or lowering their brows. She was right, after all. Command would get what they wanted. During a time of war, especially when alien invaders were involved, the leaders had all kinds of power over their people. Garcia could execute anyone on board the Andromeda without fear of prosecution.
"So," Briggs said. "Anyone got any bright ideas on how we can fly a crapload of transporters inside the Cyclone without killing ourselves?"
The room filled with silence as only the sound of defeat hung in the air. Porter looked to each of them and realized he had nothing. In one day, they would be loaded into Stalkers and shot at the enemy carrier without a solid plan in mind. There was no way anyone was getting any sleep that night.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Teve was given new fatigues to wear after being stripped of his old ones. His sergeant insignia was gone, taken away without a second word. He couldn't help but care about the title. Ultimately it meant nothing when humanity was on the brink of destruction, but there was something so noble about having the rank that caused him to sink lower into the ground once it was gone.
After Prescott had forced Teve to disrobe, he rewarded the new private's compliance by shaving his head with an electric razor. Teve was then instructed to shower in a stall that only issued ice-cold water via blades of liquid from a rusted faucet. He splashed his head under the water as quickly as he could.
"Hurry your ass up, Private," Prescott yelled. His shock stick blazed away, baring its blue teeth.
"I'm coming, asshole," Teve muttered under his breath. The baton got buried into his stomach a moment later.
"You think I can't hear you through this mask? Now get down and give me twenty. Under the shower, too."
Prescott cranked up the pressure to full blast and placed a boot on Teve's back. "All the way down, maggot." He tried to force Teve down to the wet ground, but he resisted, pressing back up to show the guard who had control. Prescott lit up Teve's back with the shock stick, sending him back down in a heap. "Start over."
Teve let out a groan and started over, fighting through Prescott's zealous approach. The guard was just doing his job, attempting to break down the new guy using age-old tactics, but that didn't stop Teve from wanting to drive his fist into the man's skull.
The pressure and overreactions carried on until Prescott escorted Teve a few levels down through the facility. He found himself out in an open space deeper inside Pendle. The ceiling above had been cleared away to allow at least five levels of volume for what appeared to be a training course. A few other privates stood to attention at the base of a tall wall. A lieutenant without a gas mask on lurked in front of the group.
Prescott shoved Teve along to the others, forcing him into the line of men and women about to run some sort of obstacle course sent from hell.
His eyes ran up the fifty-foot wall, wondering how long it was going to take him to climb the long rope dangling from above. The thin top led to a steep drop, and the only way down appeared to be a bunch of small horizontal pipes, scattered randomly in the downward direction of the next section.
Before he had time to soak in the rest of the course, a man wearing aviator sunglasses while pacing the line of soldiers starting barking out loud.
"Listen up, maggots. My name is Lieutenant James Ward. You five have been brought before me because someone up top thinks you’re special. Someone out there thinks you are above the rest, greater than any other dirt-grubbing soldier of the UEF. But down here, you're in my house, and you are nothing but pieces of shit stuck on the end of my boot."
Teve felt his head jolt backward with sarcasm. He'd been through this all before in basic. Why they decided to reduce him back down to this level and start over was beyond reason. The CO noticed this tiny flinch of disrespect and pounced like a tiger.
"What is your name, Private?" Ward asked, looking up, only inches from Teve's face, his spit spraying.
"Sir, Sergeant—ah, I mean Private Teve Porter, sir."
"Have you got some kind of learning problem, Private? Or is it just too damn hard to hear me up there, Tower? Do not stutter in front of me again."
"Sir, yes, sir."
The man paced away, glaring the whole time. Teve realized he had just been given a nickname, something the UEF refused to do in basic.
The lieutenant moved back to the opposite end of the line and stared down at a small girl no taller than five foot.
"Private Wen Lei, sir," she said.
"Well, Private, you have got to be the tiniest sack of crap I've ever seen wear the uniform. Why don't you just do us all a favor and get the fuck out of here, now."
"Sir, I'm here to kick Zeal ass," she screamed, her voice high.
"You think you're some little ass kicker, do you? You're so small you'd fit into my pocket, Private. Now, you see this obstacle course in front of you, Private Pocket?" The lieutenant dropped down to her level and spoke to her like a child, pointing up to the first part of the course. "This whole thing is designed to kill you. You understand?"
"Sir, yes, sir," Pocket shouted.
"Now get your tiny ass up there. You've got four minutes to complete it. Go."
Pocket let out a loud roar, bigger than Teve expected, as she charged for the rope. To his surprise, she jumped up from a half squat, leaping several meters into the air and landed part way up the fifty-foot wall. She yanked hard on the rope, only using one arm at a time to climb the rest of the way with ease.
Teve's mouth dropped open. He knew himself that he was capable of things he shouldn't have been, but Pocket's abilities were still a shock. Before he had time to come to terms with it, she leaped on to the next section of the course, dropping down through sections of pipe.
"You," Ward yelled to the next private. He went through the whole insulting routine again. Teve proceeded to learn the remaining three peoples’ names and nicknames Ward gave them. There was another little soldier only half a head taller than Pocket named Private Oliver "Bean" Hartley. The nickname Bean came out because the CO swore he smelled beans on his breath. After that came a slim blonde named Private Juliette "Romeo" Brousse, nicknamed Romeo for obvious reasons. Then finally, a hulking slab of Russian anger named Private Peter "Red" Mironov. Ward took delight in riling up the man.
One by one, they charged up the wall, some of their abilities not so apparent off the bat. Teve studied each of them, trying to determine why they had been selected for this training. From what he could tell, they were all incredibly fast, could jump high, and showed incredible strength and stamina.
The time came for Teve to take on the course. Every private before him had leaped into the air and charged up the wall with ease. He had never jumped up like that nor had he tried to. He got the shock of his life when his legs sent him up even higher than ever before, his height adding to the ability.
Teve reached the top and gazed down the long drop at the series of thin bars that separated him from a deadly fall to something he couldn't have seen on the other side of the wall: spikes. The course was covered in them. Long sharpened nails were driven into the ground at key locations to kill anyone who failed a section.
"Move your ass, Tower," Ward shouted. "Don't make me come up there."
Teve shoved on, dropping down to the first pole. Picking up speed, he realized each post was only accessible by letting go o
f the last one to drop down with perfect balance. The slightest slip with his large combat boots and he would plunge to a quick death. He worked his way down to a narrow platform and stopped for a second to examine what came next.
A bridge spanning out over a section above more spikes held his gaze. The pathway seemed to be missing a lot of its panels, forcing Teve to leap from one panel to the next until he reached the end and had no choice but to hop across a gap several meters wide. One of his feet slipped, sending him scuttling down the side of the bridge. If it weren't for the edge he managed to catch with his free hand he would have landed face first on a tall spike, glimmering in the light.
Climbing back up, Teve received more abuse from Ward. The man obviously had access to hidden cameras as he could see through the course to each private’s progress. He didn't let up for a second, yelling one insult after the other. The man didn't allow the slightest slip-up to pass, shouting at a private for taking half a moment to think about the right course of action to take before leaping over an array of spikes.
Teve fought his way through swinging chains, a balance beam hosed with water, and a rock wall that had a section beyond horizontal at one point. The climber was forced to reach the next area by jumping up into the air to grab a tiny foothold.
After what seemed like a lifetime, Teve came to the final part of the course—a quick dash across spinning poles as a stream of water blasted in from each direction. The spikes below all sat in the perfect location to kill him if he fell, their tips reflecting off the shimmering spray. He took a deep breath and ran across. There was no way taking it slow would work, so he dashed out without thinking and focused on what was on the other side: the finish.
The other four privates all stared at him over the way, each of them not bent over trying to catch their breaths, but standing with arms crossed to witness the last guy in their group try and pass the deadly course.