He thought of all the families the basilisks had murdered. And he hoped he hurt them bad.
He allowed himself that feeling for only a moment, then shoved it aside. He wasn't here for vengeance. He wasn't here to die in glory. He was here to perform a mission. To kill Xerka. And then to make it home alive.
Behind him, the other frigates were dropping their own rods. Thousands upon thousands cut through the mist and slammed into Sskarsses. They drove underground, carving thousands of tunnels, burning the surface of the planet.
Above the fleet, the Rattlers kept firing.
Two more corvettes exploded.
Then a frigate.
Thousands of humans—wiped out.
And Emet knew it was time.
"All ships—to the mountain!" he shouted. "With me, with me!"
The warships stormed forth. Behind them, from new wormholes, emerged the freighters and tankers.
They roared through fire. Every moment another ship exploded.
Below, Emet saw it. Krahsstss. A towering mountain, ten times the size of Everest. Black. Craggy. Rising from mist.
The great city of serpents. The home of Queen Xerka.
The tungsten rods had torn into the mountainsides, carving holes the size of airlocks. Even from here, Emet could see the innards of the mountain. A great city within. A network of tunnels and caves. Home to millions of basilisks. And to one cruel empress.
The last human ships, under a barrage of fire, came to fly above the mountain.
"All dropships—deploy!" Emet shouted. "All marines—deploy, deploy! For Earth!"
A corvette exploded.
A geode-ship shattered, scattering crystal shards.
From the surviving ships, the dropships deployed.
Hundreds of them.
Some were proper shuttles, able to rise back into space. Others were simpler, just crude boxes of metal with engines attached, able to fall to a planet and never rise again. Inside every dropship, they crowded.
The human marines.
Emet had left Earth with a hundred and fifty thousand soldiers. The full infantry of Earth.
He didn't know how many had survived this far. Half the force at most. Probably less.
So many thousands—fallen on the way here. Boys and girls. Most of them orphans. Refugees from the gulocks. So many gone. Their bodies frozen in space or burned in the fire.
From his bridge, Emet watched the survivors descend in their dropships. Tens of thousands of soldiers. Skinny. Small after years of hunger. Still haunted by the ghosts of the gulocks. Armed with crude rifles. Wearing ragged uniforms. The strongest, bravest warriors in the galaxy. They descended, most in ships that could only go down, never rise back up. They descended toward near-certain death. They deployed with courage that Emet knew would echo for generations. If humanity won today, these boys and girls would be remembered as heroes. If they all died today, the basilisks would forever tell tales of humanity's fall. Regardless of the outcome—they would never be forgotten. They deployed to save mankind.
They deployed from cargo ships. From warships. From the rocky geode-ships. Hundreds of dropships, hailing down toward the planet.
The invasion of Sskarsses began.
The enemy fire kept pounding the human fleet. Several warships exploded above. Blasts pounded the Byzantium.
"Shields at five percent, sir!" Tom cried.
Lasers were searing the Byzantium. A beam tore across the bridge, carving up deck platings and bulkheads. The control panels died.
"Everyone—it's time," Emet said.
The bridge crew ran.
They raced into the corridor as the bridge shattered behind them.
They ran from fire.
They ran as the corridor burned and twisted behind them. As lasers tore through the hull. As the air fled from the flagship.
They ran into the hangar. A single dropship remained, teetering over the open hatchway. The Byzantium's hundred other dropships were already descending, full of marines. Emet struggled forward, the wind whipping him. Through the open hatch, he saw the storming sky of Sskarsses. The other dropships vanished into the sea of mist and fire.
The wind roared across the hangar. Every step was a struggle. The wind knocked down Brooklyn and Rowan—both were so slender. Emet lifted Brooklyn. Bay lifted Rowan. They carried the young women across the hangar. Tom ran behind them, the fire licking his boots, leading the Byzantium's last soldiers.
They entered the dropship.
Emet fired up the engine.
They dived out from the hatch.
They plunged toward the alien sky as above them the Byzantium exploded.
The great frigate, the largest in the human fleet, shattered into millions of pieces. The Byzantium—the mightiest human warship since the Jerusalem. The warship that had led humanity through its war of independence. Her shards pummeled the dropship and scattered across the sky.
It's likely we can never return to Earth, Emet thought. It's likely we dive toward our deaths. May our deaths have meaning. May our sacrifice give life to others.
He clung to his seat, rattling madly, as the dropship plunged into the atmosphere with steam and fire.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Bay sat in the dropship, clutching his harness, as the metal box plunged through the sky of Sskarsses.
His harness rattled. His head slammed against the bulkhead again and again. Only his helmet kept his skull from cracking. His stomach rose into his mouth. He swallowed hard, struggling not to lose his breakfast. Beside him, a soldier vomited into his helmet. Two other soldiers passed out.
Through the porthole, Bay saw fire and fury. The dropship was ionizing the atmosphere, leaving a trail of fire. But the flames soon cleared, and they were plunging through gray sky. Hundreds of dropships were falling around them. Still they gained speed, falling faster than sound, slicing the thick air.
Bay tried to look at Rowan, who sat beside him. But he could barely move his head. He wanted to clasp her hand. But he dared not remove his grip from the harness. His spine rattled. His chin kept banging against his sternum. The shuttle hit an air pocket, and his head whipped from side to side, banging his ears inside his helmet. Wind and engines roared, deafeningly loud.
Light flared outside.
Bay looked out the porthole. He saw an explosion where a shuttle had been descending.
A laser beam flashed.
Another dropship exploded.
Then a third. A fourth.
Shards of metal flew. Severed limbs fell through the sky. The fire was rising from below and descending from above. More dropships burned. Inside the smaller ones—squads of fifteen. Inside the larger ones—entire platoons.
Bay sat here, helpless, watching them die.
Hundreds of his comrades.
Humanity—racing toward extinction.
Shards of metal rained around him, remnants of warships.
The Byzantium is gone, Bay thought. The PyeongChang. The Bangkok. Hundreds of our starships—destroyed. Our very species—we might end today.
They kept plunging down, reaching terminal velocity now, streaking toward the surface of the alien world. More shuttles exploded around them. The fire was everywhere.
I'm going to die, Bay thought. We're all going to die.
Straining his muscles, he managed to turn his head the slightest. To look at Rowan.
"I love you," he said, knowing she couldn't hear over the roar.
But she saw his lips move. She whispered silently. I love you too.
Fire blazed.
The floor of the shuttle tore open.
A laser flashed, ripping through three soldiers, carving one in two, slicing the arm off the other, opening the skull of the third. The dropship spun madly, and blood and fire filled the cabin.
Bay screamed, instinctively fighting against his harness, trying to shield Rowan with his body.
Tom was tugging on levers, shouting something, trying to steady the ship. Emet was
clutching his rifle, jaw tight. The dropship kept falling. The wind shrieked, spreading the fire, and Bay screamed again. His armor suit protected him for now. The next blast, he knew, would kill them all.
And then, through the porthole, he saw mountains. Dropships littered the slopes—some in one piece, many broken and burning.
"We're down to one thruster engine!" Tom shouted, pulling a lever. "This is going to get rough!"
Tom shoved down a throttle, and an engine roared, thrumming beneath Bay's feet. Fire blasted out. Wind blazed. Heat bathed the cabin. The shuttle careened, tilting to one side. Bay dangled from his harness, facing down, the straps tight against his chest. Another soldier vomited. They spiraled down, tilted on their side, their one engine roaring. Hanging in his harness, facing a porthole, Bay saw the ground racing toward them.
They plunged through mist and crashed onto hard stone.
The hull dented and sprayed sparks.
Tom killed the engine, but they kept skidding across the ground. The dropship bent and twisted. A soldier screamed as a shard ripped through his chest. They plowed across the mountainside, tearing the hull open, and another soldier cried out, clutching a bleeding arm. Hanging from the top bulkhead, Bay watched in horror as his friends below slammed into metal and stone.
The dropship hit a boulder, and they finally came to a stop.
Bay looked around him. Rowan and Brooklyn hung from their harnesses. Both had black eyes and looked rattled, but seemed otherwise unharmed. Tom suffered a gash on his arm. Emet was bleeding from his forehead, but already stepping out from his harness. Several soldiers had died in the crash, but ten had survived. Most seemed well enough to fight.
Emet walked toward the vertical deck and kicked. It tore out, revealing the smoldering mountainside. Emet raised his rifle, then looked back at the cabin.
"Let's go kill some snakes," he said.
They all let out battle cries.
They leaped from the shuttle onto the surface of Sskarsses.
For a heartbeat, Bay stared in horror.
The mountainside sloped around him. A jagged peak loomed to his right. Mist swirled in a shadowy valley to his left. The smoking remains of starships and shuttles covered the mountain. Corpses lay everywhere, burnt, mangled. Holes gaped open on the ground—the work of the tungsten rods—leading to shadows.
Several human platoons were emerging from dropships, forming ranks. Some soldiers were carrying wounded comrades. Many of the wounded lay on the ground, screaming, dying—some burnt, others missing limbs. Medics knelt over them, desperately trying to save their lives. One soldier was kissing a cross and mumbling prayers as his insides leaked out. One soldier was crawling, his legs gone. Dropships were still landing every moment. Others were still exploding in the sky, hailing down in pieces. A soldier fell from the sky and slammed onto the mountainside.
But all this death, this blood—this was not what flooded Bay's belly with horror.
It was the sound from inside the holes.
A rising susurration like an ocean of poison. A clattering of a billion scales.
And they emerged.
Thousands of them, slithering from the mountain like maggots from flesh.
The basilisks.
Bay shouted and fired his rifle.
His comrades pointed their weapons and fired too. Bullets pounded the enemy.
Several basilisks fell back into the hole. Thousands kept swarming.
Soldiers froze. A few took steps back, breaking formation. Bay sneered and loaded a fresh magazine into his rifle.
"Come on, you sons of bitches!" Bay shouted at his soldiers, surprised at his rage. "You survived this far, dammit. Did you think you'd live forever? Charge! For Earth!"
"For Earth!" rose the cry from the troops.
"For Earth!" Rowan cried.
"For Earth!" Brooklyn shouted, new strength in her eyes.
Bay ran toward the enemy, gun firing. The others ran only steps behind. They charged into the swarm of snakes, their bullets flying, their shouts shaking the world.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Rowan knew that she was going to die.
She had fought basilisks before. She had fought them in the pits below New York City. She had fought the hordes at Port Addison.
But she had never seen anything like this.
Millions of basilisks were emerging from underground and from the shadowy valleys. They were all swarming toward her.
Most were armored. Cannons were mounted on their backs, firing again and again. A shell pounded into the dropship behind Rowan, and shrapnel pattered against her armor. Another shell plowed through an infantry squad, scattering chunks of flesh. The booms were deafeningly loud. Shock waves pounded into Rowan, knocking her down whenever she rose. Holes tore through the mountainside.
"Kill them all!" a sergeant was shouting somewhere in the distance before a shell slammed into him, pulverizing him.
"Run, run for your lives!" shouted a lieutenant, fleeing, only for a snake to leap onto him, to constrict and devour him.
Another soldier—a mere boy, barely old enough to shave—lay by a burning dropship, desperately trying to scoop his entrails back into his body, crying for his mother.
Rowan stared in numb horror. Tom was shouting something at her side. She couldn't hear him. Bay was firing his rifle, running toward the snakes. Brooklyn was looking around, stunned, bleeding from a gash on her head. Another shell landed among a platoon, and mangled bodies flew into the air, and a severed leg landed beside Rowan, its boot blown off. Several men ran by her, screaming, burning alive.
Rowan stared ahead. Past the swarming snakes, she saw an opening into the mountain. One of the holes the tungsten rods had carved. It seemed so far away.
More dropships were trying to land. The basilisks pointed their cannons skyward. A shell hit a dropship, and it tore open, spilling men onto the mountainside. Mangled corpses slammed down around Rowan. Another shuttle managed to land, and the hatch opened, only for basilisk guns to pound the soldiers before they could even emerge. Bodies slid down the mountain.
"Where is the goddamn armor!" an officer was yelling. "Where are our tanks?"
"I want to go home, I want to go home," whispered a private, lying on the ground, his arms gone. "Please. I can't feel my arms. Mama, where are my arms?"
More voices rose from the inferno.
"Get our armor over here, dammit!"
"The tanks are gone, sir! The bastards blew up their dropship."
"Where the hell is the major?"
"The major is dead! Oh Ra, he's dead!"
"Form the lines, dammit! Form the lines!"
There were no more companies, battalions, platoons. Just bodies everywhere. Dead officers. Shattered dropships. Fires and constant shelling. A basilisk slithered across wounded soldiers, sucking them up, laughing. A sergeant stood atop a hill of bodies, firing a flamethrower, laughing manically, a man gone mad. He was still laughing as the basilisks bit off his legs and began devouring the rest.
It was hell. Hell risen into reality. An inferno of pure torment and terror.
"They're too many," Rowan whispered. "Too many basilisks. We can't win."
Fillister growled at her side. The robotic wolf bared his metal teeth. "I'm with you, Row. I won't let any of them aliens hurt you."
But Rowan barely heard her companion. She trembled. She couldn't breathe. Her head swam, and cold sweat filled her armored suit. She tried to load a new magazine into her gun, but her hands were shaking too badly. A young girl, barely fifteen, was crawling toward her, both her legs missing, begging for help. A basilisk lunged, grabbed the girl, and swallowed her.
Rowan watched, trying to whisper, to fire. Her hands couldn't stop shaking.
A shell landed among soldiers beside her.
The blast blew Rowan into the air. She landed hard, her armor cracking. Her teeth knocked together. She tasted blood.
"Row!" Fillister cried.
More shells whistled.
The wolf grabbed Rowan's vest with his teeth. He dragged her behind a fallen dropship, seeking shelter from the endless shelling. Rowan knelt, breathing heavily. She trembled. She trembled so violently she was almost convulsing. When she wiped her mouth, her fingers came back bloody.
"Soldiers, onward!" The cry rose from nearby—deep, booming, a great roar. "Fear no evil! Fear not death! Onward—for Earth!"
Rowan raised her head above the dropship's mangled hull.
And she saw the Old Lion.
The leader of Earth.
Emet was running toward the enemy, firing Thunder, his mighty double-barreled rifle.
The troops were rallying behind him. Hundreds of soldiers, charging at the snakes.
Bay and Tom ran behind him, leading their own companies.
The lions of Earth were roaring.
And I will roar with them, Rowan thought. I might not be a lioness. But I'm a tough little honey badger, and I've got a wolf at my side.
"Fillister, let's go!" Rowan said.
Her wolf tossed back his head and howled. "Let's kill them aliens!"
They leaped out from cover. Rowan raised Lullaby, a weapon that seemed so humble here. But she let out a great cry.
"For Earth!"
She ran.
She ran with her leader.
A basilisk leaped toward her, and Rowan fired, hitting its head, knocking it back. A shell landed beside her, and she leaped aside, dodging the explosion. She rose from a ditch, firing her gun, taking down another snake. Fillister fought at her side, jumping between the basilisks, ripping into their flesh with his metal fangs.
"Into the mountain!" Emet cried. "Forward, forward! Push them back!"
Rowan ran with the lions. She knew she was going to die. But she would die roaring. And she would die by those she loved.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Leona gripped the yoke with both hands, piloting the HDFS Porter, the largest starship in human history.
Aliens had built the Porter, of course. Earth purchased all her starships from other worlds. The Porter was an old cruise ship, once used to ferry alien vacationers among the stars. But she was painted with Earth's colors now. She flew for the Human Defense Force. For two years now, the Porter had been delivering human refugees from space to Earth.
The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 6) Page 21