ARC Angel (ARC Angel Series Book 1)

by Toby Neighbors

  During the ARC testing she had learned that the aliens moved swiftly and in perfect synchronization. They could avoid bullets, flee bombs, and had no qualms about killing humans. She had asked herself a thousand times if she could charge into a throng of killer aliens. The researchers had videos of the swarm avoiding vehicles, and their supposition was that anything running straight for the aliens would be avoided, including humans in ARC suits. But there was only one way to test their theory, and Angel wasn’t ready to put her life on the line. The ARC suits were the most incredible things she had ever seen or experienced, but they weren’t worth dying over.

  The advice her peers had given to her echoed in her mind. If they come your way, run like hell… get your people as far away as possible. She didn’t know if she could run away from danger, but her fear was that she was a coward and would be unable to do anything if the swarm came scurrying toward her platoon. She thought it would be better to die than to be a coward, but she feared death. There were so many things she had never done, and joining the CSF had seemed so rational when Colonel Jakobson had recruited her. He had promised her a planetside appointment, but she hadn’t wanted to be left behind. Unfortunately, as she lay considering the frightening possibilities that lay ahead of her, she suddenly felt as if she had made a massive mistake.

  Angel managed to doze until her flex pad woke her. The countdown timer read three hours until the first drop ships would ferry the marine platoons down to the planet. She went to check on the ARC suits simply because there was nothing else for her to do. With only an hour before she was to report with her platoon to the hangar where they would wait on their own shuttle down to Neo Terra, Angel forced herself to go back to the officers’ mess. It was deserted except for Major Dixon, who sat at a table with a plate of eggs, toast, and hot coffee.

  Angel got a similar breakfast, but drank juice instead of coffee. When she turned away from the buffet line and into the small mess room with her tray she saw Dixon waving her over.

  “You look pale, Lieutenant,” Dixon said.

  “I’m anxious sir,” Angel said.

  “As you should be. Your first deployment into a combat zone is always dicey. You’re a marine, and every single one of us will be testing our mettle today.”

  “Sir, do you think the swarm will charge Colonel Hale’s men?” Angel asked.

  “Yes, I do. There’s no doubt about their instincts. The swarm are accustomed to taking out anything that gets in their way. The real question is what will they do when they realize we have too many men with guns pointed at them? We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “They may turn aside,” Angel said. “What are your orders if they come toward us?”

  “That won’t happen, Lieutenant,” he said confidently. There’s a small range of mountains between Port Gantry and your position. The colonel and I chose to remove you from any chance of engagement.”

  “I think we would make you proud,” Angel said, worry fighting with the offense she felt over being sidelined intentionally.

  “No one is worried about your will to fight,” Dixon said. “But your squad is too valuable to put at risk unnecessarily. I’m not sure what I think of the strategy of sending in troops in ARC suits to disrupt the queen’s hive mind, but I have no doubt we’ll find a use for those mechanized super suits. No one wants to throw away anything that might prove of use in this fight. The swarm usually avoid the mountains, so don’t worry Lieutenant. Just take care of your platoon.”

  And stay out of the way, she finished the thought for him. She had heard the major say the phrase to her so many times on their short trip, there was no doubt what he actually thought of her and her leadership abilities.

  “Thank you sir,” she said, getting to her feet.

  “You should eat,” he cautioned. “You may not get another chance for a while.”

  She nodded, but returned her mostly uneaten tray of food to the seamen who worked in the officers’ mess. Angel felt conflicting emotions as she made her way back down to the ready room. There was relief at the thought that she wouldn’t have to fight, and anger because no one believed she was ready. Of course she wasn’t ready to fight, but then again she knew that no one was ever ready to fight. They all simply did as they were trained and learned as they went along, at least those who survived did. Angel wanted to survive, but she didn’t want to be dismissed. If it came to it, she would fight, if for no other reason than to prove Major Dixon wrong.

  32

  Low Orbit, Neo Terra, Tau Ceti System

  The tension was palpable as Angel and the thirteen members of her special platoon waited for their shuttle to ferry them down to the planet. The hangar had been filled with people as a battalion of marines prepared to deploy. Officers shouted orders, and nervous marines checked their gear before climbing aboard drop ships that were lifted out of the hangar on large crane systems and dropped toward the planet.

  The round trip flight time was roughly an hour. Angel watched platoon after platoon board ships and disappear from the throng. Most of the special operations groups kept to themselves, and hers was no different. Their designation was ARC Angels, which she found particularly apt, and she did her best to wait patiently until they were called up.

  “You nervous,” Cash asked her.

  “Yes, you?”

  “Anxious I guess,” he replied. “Waiting for a drop is always hard on my nerves. I don’t like too much thinking time. Better to just drop into the hornet’s nest, than sit thinking about it all day.”

  Angel smiled, even though he couldn’t see her response because of the smart helmet they wore. It would be better to have some music to listen to, she thought, or even a book to read, if she could focus on reading. There was little doubt her smart helmet could accommodate both, but she would have to ask the techs about it when she got back to the ship. If she got back. The possibility that she would die on the mission was eating away at her calm. Gymnastics was a dangerous sport. Competitors tore muscles, broke bones, even suffered concussions while training or competing, yet no one she knew had ever died. But there were a dozen ways she could die on the mission. Their drop ship might blow up entering the planet’s atmosphere. It could crash trying to land, or they could be overrun by ravenous aliens.

  They weren’t going into a hot zone and no one expected her platoon to have to fight, but they were all carrying weapons. She had trained with an assault rifle in basic, but the new weapon her platoon would carry down to the colony world made the reality of her dangerous new profession all the more real. The Tragger P51s had been tethered to their ARC suits and small magnets sewn into the lining of the suit so they could snap the weapon into place across their abdomen. A weapons malfunction was always a possibility and could result in great bodily harm, even death, not to mention the threat from friendly fire.

  “The major says there’s almost no chance of the swarm approaching our position,” Angel said. “How come that doesn’t make me feel better?”

  “Because you’re smart enough to know that in combat, anything can happen,” Cash said.

  “I’ve never been in combat, Staff Sergeant. I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Combat is just like any other physical discipline,” he assured her. “It’s all about the training. Once the shit hits the fan, you’ll do what you’ve been trained to do and that’s what keeps us alive.”

  Angel didn’t mention that her basic training had been only a quarter of what most marines went through. Or that a month long officer’s training course had been squashed down to just three days. Angel knew her duty, but she didn’t feel confident in carrying it out. She realized just how much she had been rushed through the usual channels to be ready for Lieutenant Commander Sozu’s testing phase with the ARC suits. And while she had confidence in the technology, she had very little confidence in herself.

  “ARC Angels!” the deck officer shouted. “You’re up in shuttle 328.”

  “That’s us,” Angel said. “Let’s
get that gear on board and secured.”

  The drop ship was a combination hard vacuum and atmospheric vessel. The back hatch lowered to form a ramp that led up into the cargo bay. Long metal benches lined the airframe, with five-point quick-release harnesses for passengers. Normally, the drop ships were set up to carry sixty-member platoons, with a double row of bench seats in the center of the cargo bay, but theirs had been modified. The center benches had been removed to accommodate more gear. Angel had a six-man fire team, a naval petty officer, five senior airmen, and a chief warrant officer. The non-combatant members of her special platoon were there to help keep the ARC suits working as they were designed, and they carried more equipment than most of the other platoons.

  “Let’s get those recharge stations secured,” Angel ordered from the back hatch of the ship.

  The members of her platoon carried sturdy CSF crates, one between two men. Angel didn’t really know what was in the cargo containers, just that they were part of her platoon’s supplies. They didn’t wear combat vests, or carry heavy packs the way normal marines did, so their basic supplies had to be stowed in crates, along with extra ammunition, medical supplies, and the equipment needed to maintain the ARC suits.

  Angel moved to the officer’s position, which was just behind the fire wall separating the cargo bay from the cockpit. She sat down and strapped in, while the air chief pulled the lever to seal up the cargo bay.

  “We’re in and ready for liftoff,” the warrant officer sitting directly opposite of Angel said into a radio pinned to his collar.

  “Roger that,” the pilot replied. “Apollo actual, this is heavy 328 requesting permission to begin launch sequence, over.”

  Angel listened to the radio communication and tried not to think about the fact that she was about to be hurled from a space ship into the atmosphere of a planet almost twelve light years from the only home she had ever known. It felt wrong, and not just a mistake, but absurdity of the highest level. Why was she about to drop down onto an alien planet to fight creatures she had never heard of and knew next to nothing about? It made no sense.

  The drop ship was lifted up from the hangar floor. Angel felt the movement. First up, then sideways as the ship was moved into position for the drop, then a downward movement, through the air lock bays. It was slow, and frightening, but Angel kept her feelings to herself. She could hear the other members of her platoon talking. The voices of the airmen were muffled and quiet, but the chatter from the fire team was picked up by their smart helmets and transmitted to Angel with perfect clarity.

  “Damn, I hate these drops,” Hays said.

  “Just a little shake and bake man, no sweat,” Ruiz replied.

  “Staff Sergeant, are these suits pressurized?” Vancini asked.

  “I don’t think so, Van. Better pray the drop ship holds together,” Cash said.

  “Anybody ever been to Neo Terra?” Gunny Bolton asked. “It’s pretty earthlike from what I hear.”

  “It won’t be if we don’t stop the swarm,” Ruiz said. “Those damn bugs will eat everything till the whole planet is just one big dusty rock.”

  “ARC platoon,” the pilot said over a loudspeaker in the cargo hold, “prepare for drop in three, two, one.”

  “Hold on to something!” Ruiz shouted.

  “Contact,” the pilot announced.

  The ship moved away from the Apollo slipping out of the gravity well seamlessly. Angel felt her body go weightless and she couldn’t help but marvel at the feeling until they suddenly entered the gravity well of the planet and the entire ship began to shake.

  “Holy shit!” Hays declared.

  “Our father who art in heaven…” Corporal Billy Jones began to calmly recite the Lord’s Prayer, which oddly enough made Angel feel even more nervous.

  The shaking grew worse, and was accompanied by a roar just outside the air frame, which Angel felt was much too thin and frail. The air chief, a warrant officer in the Air Force who was in charge of managing the cargo section of the drop ship, sat with his hands crossed over his chest clutching the safety straps of his harness with his eyes shut tight.

  “Is this normal?” Angel asked.

  “Fast entry into an atmospheric world is rough,” Cash replied, “but normal.”

  “Hold together, baby,” Hays said. “Hold together.”

  “You’re the baby, you redneck bastard,” Ruiz said.

  “We’re clearing the chop,” the pilot said over the loudspeaker, and as if by magic the roar outside diminished and the shaking eased into a steady vibration. “ETA eight minutes to the drop zone.”

  Angel looked at the time display on her HUD. The ship had been in flight for nine minutes. It had taken them longer to get loaded and launched than it would take to fly down to the surface of the planet.

  “Any idea where we’re going, LT?” Bolton asked.

  “We’re being sent to guard McDuall station,” she replied, glad that she could focus on something other than the terrifying flight of the drop ship. “It’s a farming co-op at the head of a large prairie. Mountains to the north and east.”

  “Where is that in regard to the FOB?” Cash asked.

  “We’ll be fifty klicks southwest of Port Gantry,” she replied.

  “With the mountains between us and the FOB?” Bolton asked.

  “That’s right, Gunny.”

  “Shit, that means we’re out of the action,” Ruiz said.

  “I thought we were supposed to be a reserve unit?” Vancini said.

  “All the special ops groups are reserve units,” Angel said. “But we’ve also been tasked with guarding some of the larger farmsteads.”

  “Sounds more like we’ve been pushed out of the fight,” Bolton said.

  “We have our orders, like them or not,” Cash said. “Don’t push it, Gunny.”

  “I’m not pushing anything, I just suppose I thought we were in these highly advanced mech suits for a reason. But I guess we’re just a PR stunt.”

  “The ARC suits aren’t a stunt,” Angel said. “But we aren’t ready to do what the suits were designed for.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Ruiz snapped.

  “How the hell can you say that, Lieutenant?” Bolton demanded. “Just because we can’t do everything you can do doesn’t mean we aren’t ready for a fight.”

  “I just meant,” Angel tried to explain, “that we can’t risk damaging or losing the ARC suits by engaging the enemy before we’re ready.”

  “God forbid that anything should happen to the tech,” Hays grumbled.

  “Typical CSF bullshit,” Ruiz said. “The brass cares more for their fancy new suits than the people that wear them.”

  “That isn’t true,” Angel said. “Those suits are custom made for each of you. They can’t just be transferred to another marine if you get killed. This may not be the assignment you were hoping for, but it’s what we’ve been given. You want to be on the front lines then focus on your training.”

  The platoon fell silent, and Angel felt guilty for being harsh, but the ship landed and they had to unload the cargo. As the hatch lowered, Angel stepped to the opening and peered out onto an alien planet for the first time in her young life.

  33

  McDuall Station, Hoover District

  Neo Terra, Tau Ceti System

  As soon as they had their gear out of the shuttle, it lifted off again. Angel looked around. They were in the center of a group of buildings. Some were clearly prefab housing, with climate control units and large windows with automatic shutters in case of storms. There were also barns, cattle pens, utility sheds, and a large garage where most of the big farming equipment had been stored.

  “Looks deserted,” Cash said.

  “They must have evacuated when Springdale was overrun,” Angel said. “Alright, the first priority is to set up a communications center. Let’s check on the power situation in the big garage.”

  “You heard the lieutenant,” Chief Warrant Officer Beemus said. “Let’
s get these storage crates moved. On the double. I want a communication center up in five minutes. And let’s get a relay dish on top of the garage.”

  “Staff Sergeant,” Angel said, pulling Cashman aside. “As soon as we get the equipment into the garage, I want your fire team to spread out and check every building. If there are people here we need to know.”

  “Affirmative,” Cash said. “We’ll get right on it.”

  An hour later a temporary command post had been set up in the garage, which smelled of rubber, fossil fuels, and dirt. The garage had a concrete floor, but the building was little more than a metal shell, with no insulation or finish work inside. The electrical system was made up of solar batteries, and the airmen were able to access the power easily enough. The recharging units for the ARC suits also doubled as monitoring stations, with diagnostic readouts and even small video screens capable of mirroring the view from their smart helmets. Angel had the fire team remove their helmets, and tapped into the video feeds from the surveillance ships circling above Port Gantry.

  Voice communications with both the FOB and the Emergency Alert Station in orbit had already been established, which concluded Angel’s orders. All that was left to do was wait for more instructions.

  “We got a live one!” Ruiz said, escorting a portly man with gray stubble on his puffy, red cheeks, and a pronounced limp, into the garage.

  “He’s a local,” Bolton said. “Refused the evac order.”

  Angel, with her helmet removed along with the rest of the fire team, smelled the man as he approached. In some ways he reminded her of her father. She could see the glassy eyes, and the struggle to keep his balance, both signs of heavy drinking.

  “Name,” Angel asked.

  “They call me Lump, but my name is Octavius Lummprine,” the man said, slurring his words and speaking with a strange accent. “Been here for fifty years. Ain’t running now.”