Zaxon B: The Final Struggle (Galaxies Collide Book 4)

by Andrew McGregor

  Next to him, the young Trevakian lay still, his helmet visor cracked and blood dripping from a deep chest wound, his arm twitching. Nearby, the large frames of two Morgon soldiers sat crumpled against the blood smeared outer wall of the station, one with blood pouring from a bullet wound to the throat across his camouflaged breastplate, the other black helmet twisted at an angle, the eyes still seeming to study him.

  Moaning and cries for help filled the murky wide corridor, the bodies of many Gurkha soldiers laying shattered over makeshift barricades and against the scorched and battered inner wall. Several of the Trevakian reservists lay amongst the other bodies, eyes staring upwards through broken and blood smeared resin helmet visors, a couple struggling to painfully move.

  Coughing further, he heaved his body upwards, reaching for a nearby assault rifle as he staggered to lean against some silver crates. Shaking his head to clear his stunned thoughts, he recalled the fight with the two powerful enemy soldiers, overcoming their resistance only with the assistance of three more of his men, their sheer strength terrifying him as one had broken the neck and back of a reservist as a final act of hatred, his own blade wedged underneath the Morgon’s helmet as the enemy soldier dropped to his knees.

  The hand to hand fighting had been merciless, flashing blades hacking at arms and legs as the two forces fought desperately, his own body thrown roughly and forcefully against the wall as he tackled the tall powerful adversaries. Then, inexplicably, the Morgons had retreated, dragging several of the Gurkha and Trevakian wounded with them through the smoke, his eyes straining as he considered the unfortunate victims’ brutal fate. The sounds of heavy muffled explosions filling their ears as the corridor shook, many of the defenders reluctant to chase their assailants after the experience they had just been through.

  He winced as he felt the pain surge through his chest, the cracked and broken ribs and dislocated shoulder now exceeding any safe level of anaesthetic seeping into his follicles from the suit he was wearing. Gasping as he glanced round, he stiffened upon glimpsing silhouettes through the swirling smoke, his heart pounding as the medics and their heavily armed escorts lunged into view, the soldiers retrieving the wounded with weapons pointed menacingly in the direction of the stairs ahead, wary of a possible further attack.

  Smoke grenades flew past, the clatter and clumps of the canisters on the deck preceding the dull flash and whoosh as more covering shrouds were released, the defenders keen to avoid any sniper fire or further casualties.

  Captain Gurung waved a medic away determinedly, indicating to one of the Gurkhas crawling nearby as he staggered back towards the defensive positions, his thoughts in confusion as to why the enemy had drawn back…they had been relatively well matched and there had been a good chance for the Morgons to win the heavy skirmish. He shook his head, dismissing such thoughts as he progressed, bodies being dragged past his stumbling figure, his eyes averted from the blood trails across the floor beneath.

  Then he stiffened, the muffled clanks and thuds coming from above…several floors above. His heart started to race again, a desperate shout coming from the defences ahead, ‘Get back quickly…the enemy transports are clamping against the outer hull…more Morgons are coming!’

  Chapter Fourteen: The Black Death lands

  Snow billowed across the heavy duty landing platforms, the steel constructions raised approximately thirty metres from the snow laden valley that stretched for several miles into the harsh mountains. With steep rock faces rising on either side, the six decks were under lit with powerful spotlights, the beams extending far upwards into the heavens as dishevelled grey uniform clad Silakians worked feverishly to unload supplies and ammunition.

  Around the sheer rock sides, dark grey prefabricated storage sheds and barrack blocks housed the considerable ordinance, supplies and food that awaited transport to the forward units. Heavy laser batteries lined both the rock faces at the entrance to the valley with several guns placed inside, their long barrels raised to face the heavens to provide additional protection from any possible air attack. Numerous black armoured Morgon soldiers patrolled the outer perimeter of the narrow valley, their helmets turning slowly to inspect each building and hollow in the rocks as red eyes glowed across the gloomy, natural light deprived area. Outside the mountain ranges, three lines of trenches and emplacements with heavy weaponry provided potent defensive positions.

  Running almost the length of the far darkened end of the valley, a high razor wire fenced stockade stood crossing the space between two drab and weathered corner buildings, previously part of a small hamlet that sheltered from the harsh elements amongst the sheer rock faces. The farthermost eastern village on the planet from Morasat, the group of ram shackled buildings had stood near a treacherous path into the mountains. The inhabitants often commented that the narrow track that led upwards across the rocks on narrow ledges would eventually prove to be a source of great revenue, initial rumours eventually becoming common folklore that the route would be the main thoroughfare through the impassable and inhospitable high terrain.

  Several of the residents had ventured short distances into the high rock landscape, discovering small mineral deposits to supplement their meagre farming lifestyle, the howls and shrieks of unknown animals deterring them from progressing further. To allay concerns, the local leader had ordered the construction of sturdy gates at the paths entrance to protect the village from any ravenous and ferocious predators that may reside in the snow bound mountains, permitting only a small number of prospectors to venture out in daylight only.

  The hamlet had thus survived for over half a century, excitement mounting some time ago as rumours had spread of an ambitious explorer that had departed the far side of the planet, his proclaimed goal to reach the village in three months. Preparations for a celebration on the arrival of such a daring individual had been planned, but when reports on progress failed to arrive, the villagers had slowly lost interest, the anticipated demise of such an adventurer emphasising the need for safety and exaggerating the dangers of the ravenous beasts that resided in such impassable terrain.

  With the arrival of fresh garrison troops and prospectors (refugees) of the Trevakian Empire, hopes had once again arisen of prosperity, but these had gradually faded as news of a deteriorating war had reached the valley, the residents becoming more and more alarmed as military patrols had dwindled and talk of defensive construction projects near the capital reached them. Eventually, the residents were offered accommodation closer to the main city in a village named Harg, being advised they could return once the garrison was stronger and the planet more developed. After some initial heated debate, most had decided to remain in their remote home, now confident any war would pass them by in such a desolate place.

  With most of the buildings now destroyed, the small population that had lived there for over sixty years had unfortunately resided on the chosen remote spot for the Morgon initial reconnaissance to Zaxon B, the inhabitants providing ample sustenance for the first grenadiers that landed and heavily fortified the valley. None had escaped westwards to raise the alarm, the invaders landing at the entrance to the valley and advancing back towards the rock faces and mountains. In the panic that ensued upon the landings, a small number of the younger and fitter residents had secretly fled through the gates and up the narrow ledges into the mountains, their parents and relatives providing what little food was available at short notice and tearfully wishing them luck, their own fates darkening.

  The remaining few buildings were now in need of extensive repair, the roofs half collapsed and external walls crumbling from the vibrations of construction and powerful swirling air pressure of the many ships landing and departing. At the deepest and darkest end of the valley, the two remaining structures that were lined with razor wire formed a makeshift prison, the few captives that were taken due to their rank or identified usefulness existing in the most miserable conditions whilst they awaited selection for transportation to the Black Star Space Statio
n above.

  Provided with little food other than scraps, they existed off the water they could boil from the snowflakes, the slurry fit to just sustain life. With the removal of most of the prisoners several days earlier, only seventeen remained. Two officers that had been considered too old for the trip to the Black Star and fifteen new arrivals, designated to be the second generation of new soldiers for the Black Death Battalion.

  The internees sat huddled together, their bodies shivering in the bleak conditions as snow billowed around them. Warmth had been easier to provide with the stockade full, the mass of bodies rotating to ensure no one was exposed to the elements for too long. With the prison virtually empty, there was no longer a shortage of water and the scraps were more plentiful for all, the fuel required to strengthen the flames taken from the two buildings on either side, the only shelter available against the elements. Therefore, although miserable and cold, the prisoners considered themselves fortunate in the short term, their concern rising for when more captives arrived and the winter temperatures became even more vicious.

  Lieutenant Malikkas of the Blue Leopards special operations unit sat with the only other survivor from his elite formation, their tattered uniforms smeared with dirt, the shoulder armour confiscated. Both soldiers were badly bruised with cuts and abrasions to their sullen faces. Around them sat three Alexion One personnel, an SAS soldier and the remnants of several Trevakian marine ground units, most captured in the Morgon breakthroughs that resulted in the advance towards the Morasat bluffs.

  Five of the soldiers were wounded, two not expected to survive more than a couple of days longer, the cold seeming to weakened them hourly as they bodies struggled against a deep stomach wound and the loss of a lower leg. Heavy bandaging on the field of battle had assisted their initial survival, but with no medical supplies and a poor diet, all five wounded were struggling against increasing pain, their suits anaesthetic capability long since exhausted.

  Malikkas’s sharp white hair was now caked in dirt, his darkened face smeared with grease and soot, a survival only ensured by the death of several of his men as they all attempted to form a makeshift defence around a stranded halftrack, the vehicle burning fiercely and outlining their silhouettes as the surrounding Morgon infantry closed in on the six doomed survivors of the desperate flight. As the Blue Leopards had fallen one by one, the two survivors had retreated to the burning vehicle, firing out until their ammunition was exhausted. Expecting the worst, they had drawn their ceremonial daggers as a final and futile gesture of resistance, their determined knowing glances at each other forming a common understanding of Herrakian duty and defiance, that they would take one last Morgon enemy with them into the afterlife.

  The Morgons had unexpectedly not moved in for the kill, stunning both the elite soldiers as a line of camouflaged enemy soldiers had formed and simply stood in silence staring at them, their rifles raised to prevent the Herrakians movement. With red eyes glowing, the enemy had dragged away the dead and wounded, sickening crunches and screams leaving little to the imagination as the chosen Morgons had returned, their black armour splattered in crimson as they held bloodied lifeless skulls aloft as gruesome souvenirs of the battle. Terrifying shrieks of victory had filled the air from the gathering mass of enemy troops behind the line of guards, their eight feet framed silhouettes seeming to dance in the reflection of the flames behind the grenadiers. The two Herrakians had bowed their heads in incomprehensible and bitter defeat, their glorious elite unit wiped from the Trevakian order of battle in less than one hour in a foolishly ambitious manoeuvre.

  A Morgon officer had eventually stepped into the light, nodding his approval at the blood stained and charred military vehicle, an armoured hand rising as the grenadiers marched forward, both Herrakians rising in final defiance and extending their daggers as they were overwhelmed and beaten unconscious. They had finally awoken three hours earlier in the pitiful stockade, the SAS soldier and two Alexion One staff briefing them on what little they knew of the area, none able to explain where they actually were on Zaxon B, although the suspicion of geographical location from the Space Station personnel would prove to be extremely accurate.

  Lieutenant Malikkas sighed, drawing the cold weak air into his lungs, his body and face aching and eyes straining as he watched the Morgon sentries stood on the other side of the electrified razor wire. He glanced round as the SAS soldier spoke softly, his eyes flicking from one soldier to the next, briefly stopping to stare at the female intelligence officer from Alexion One, ‘There are six sentries on our perimeter…the patrols pass every two minutes with three Morgons in each patrol.’ He leant forward as Malikkas turned to look at him with interest, ‘I have checked the wire around us and there is little hope of escaping there…’

  The Trevakian marine next to Malikkas shook his head dismissively, his voice hoarse with pain from broken ribs and emotional despondency, ‘There is no way out of here…they will kill us soon, or we will all slowly die whilst they watch!’

  The female Alexion One officer patted the man’s shoulder comfortingly as Malikkas gritted his teeth, ‘Let him finish…’

  The Special Air Service trooper continued, ‘There are some doors in the rock some twenty metres from the edge of the compound…if we can get to those and break through, there may be something beyond. I saw them through a hole in the hut wall…they seem barred from this side with no locks, seemingly to keep something out rather than us in…’

  The Herrakian officer nodded thoughtfully, life seeming to fill his frame and eyes once more, ‘Interesting…so how would we get to these doors, and what lies beyond?’

  The young blond SAS soldier shrugged, ‘Not sure, but there is light above these reinforced doors, it must be an entrance to something that leads away from here…it’s worth considering…’

  Movement near the wire distracted the group, a couple raising themselves from half-slumber to stare at the Morgon officer that emerged from one of the barrack blocks, soldiers running from other prefabricated buildings to each landing platform, their black armour glistening in the glows from the spotlights.

  Soldiers began to line each circular steel declining ramp from the landing bays, their silhouettes seeming to glow with the spotlights behind. Officers emerged from other barrack blocks, striding hastily in their camouflaged and ornate armoured uniforms towards the raised structures, the shrieks of commands resounding across the rock walls on either side. Silakian near the landing pads were pushed away roughly, a couple falling painfully, Malikkas grimacing in understanding as he realised the relationship between the grey clad loaders and their masters.

  Slowly the Herrakians and a couple of the others rose, stepping curiously and warily towards the electrified razor wire, their eyes staring out as the Morgon soldiers stiffened to attention, the officers walking the lines of their troops to ensure all were well presented.

  Lights flashed above, the prisoners glancing upwards as engines roared overhead, a powerful downwards draft sucking dust, snow and debris from the ground as it began to swirl and rise as the air pressure increased.

  Six angular dark grey craft swept in above the mountains, their landing lights flashing as numerous black Morgon fighters circled the outer jagged mountain rocks peaks, their pilots staring down as the co-pilots scrutinised the panels before them, checking for any possible infiltrators or Trevakian fighters.

  Hovering briefly, the six dark vessels lined up with the landing bays below, steam pouring from the cooling hulls as the many lights flashed almost blindingly downwards. More dust and snowflakes swept upwards, swirling in the air between the jagged dark rock faces and almost blinding the staring prisoners as they shielded their eyes.

  The light beams poured downwards into the billowing mass, the darkest corners of the valley becoming fully illuminated as the captured prisoner stared upwards in awe. All eyes in the valley stared at the dark shaped ships as they gradually descended, the downwards force from their engines forcing more dust and flakes in
to the air, the remaining ram shackled village buildings shaking and rattling from the pressure. The SAS soldier nudged Malikkas, the Herrakian turning as his eyes widened, his mind clearing as they lunged towards the creaking hut to the left, several of the tiles and loose wooden planks falling from the structure under the air pressure.

  The transport ships descended further, steel landing skis lowering and deploying beneath their hulls as they lowered through the mass of swirling debris, the Morgon soldiers raising their rifles in salute as the craft descended further towards the glowing landing platforms.

  Malikkas grasped a broken wooden plank on the internal wall of the hut, yanking it back as the slim sheet splintered, the gap widening as the blond SAS soldier tore at the side of the structure with his bare hands, several planks creaking as they both applied pressure, the opening becoming greater. The wooden and metal building was relatively small with only two rooms, a simple bedroom and living area with a small kitchen before the Morgons had landed, now the only shelter from the elements for the selected prisoners.

  Gasping, they stared out through the gap, the lights from the ships above illuminating the two barred doors a short distance away. Malikkas shook his head as he inspected the razor wire between them and the reinforced wooden and steel doors, glancing from side to side and glimpsing the power cells that powered the fence, his eyes narrowing in disappointment.

  The SAS soldier followed his stare, his breathing heavy with excitement, ‘So…can we get through?’

  The Herrakian shook his head, then hesitated, his thoughts considering all possibilities as he stared more intently at the power cells, reading the inscriptions on the sides in the flickering light, ‘Those are Trevakian…how long have you been here?’

  The blond soldier shrugged, ‘What does that matter…’ He drew breath as the taller man spun round, seeing his determined stare, ‘I dunno…a couple of days maybe…I was unconscious for a while when I arrived…’