“Bernie, you’re up.”
Bernie, like Telly, a veteran space miner, easily lugged the torch and back harness of gas bottles to the right distance from the ‘X’. Bracing his stance, he lifted the torch, pressed the igniter and watched as the end heated until it glowed with a fiery red.
“Keep it small, Bernie. Only big enough for a snake camera and sensor.”
“Got it, Boss.”
Bernie burned the hole. Small, as required. Stepping back, he shut off the gases and powered down the torch.
“That way, Boss?”
“Looks good, Bernie. Lanzo?”
“Gotta let it cool, Telly. Give me five. I can run some tests on the escaping gasses while we wait.”
Lanzo pulled a sensor from a pocket and connected it to his tablet. Holding the sensor near the hole, he studied the readings.
“Looks normal, Mr. Keller. Straight up atmo. A little high on carbon dioxide. But, in all, ok.”
“Does that thing read contaminates? Bacteria? Viruses?”
“No. just chemical. I should have brought a medical scanner too. My fault.”
“That’s ok. It just means we stay in our suits. Ready Lanzo?”
“Yes, sir. It should be cool enough.”
Lanzo dug out a three-foot flexible fiber-optic cable that sported a lens and light at one end then plugged the other end into his tablet. Sticking the camera end through the small, newly burned hole, he tapped some icons and turned on the light and camera application.
Everyone huddled around Lanzo, craning to get a view.
“Holy shit! What is that?”
“Telly, language.”
“Sorry, Mr. Keller. It’s just that, I’ve never seen any equipment like that.”
“I don’t think anyone ever has, Telly.”
“We need Hank.”
“I agree, Mz. Gregor. This stuff looks alien. Way over our heads.”
“Do you think it belongs to the bugs?”
“No. looks way too sophisticated from what we saw on the vids. Someone else.”
“What next?”
“Lanzo. Lots of vid. Sensor readings the works. Then, Telly, you seal it back up.”
“And we all keep this quiet. Don’t let it out.”
“You got that right, Mz. Gregor.”
“And we all make sure we keep our mouths shut. This gets out, my father will be very displeased.”
“We all know who Mr. Gregor is. There’ll be no flapping lips here, Mz. Gregor.”
“You agree, Randy?’
“Except for one point, Harriet. My father. He should know. He knows how to keep a secret.”
“No one else.”
“Except for Doctor McCauley.”
“Of course, Evert.”
“All recorded, Mr. Keller.”
“Good. Bernie, seal it up. Permanent. No one gets in until Doctor McCauley gives the ‘OK’.”
“On it, Boss.”
A very thoughtful, very secretive, eight people returned to the surface and continued their daily lives. No more cavern searching occurred. No one sought out any more secrets.
Sasania Mountain Cave
Boredom. The great killer of armies. Seven months since the invasion. Seven months since the slaughtering and enslaving of the Sasanian people began. Commander Toma’s order to remain hidden, to not take action, continuously eroded his small army’s moral and spirit. Just short of five hundred men dragged around in the partial darkness of the cave, just getting from one useless day to the next.
Lieutenant Ashid lethargically sat at his console, staring at his screens, watching nothing as he had for the last five months. Lieutenant Kassis spun his dials, searching frequencies, looking for any signal from anyone. All he found was the strange clicking and grunting language of the bug-like aliens.
Commander Toma and Captain Qureshi sat in the command tent, making fantasy plans about fictitious victories.
“Enough,” First Sergeant Boulos demanded from his squad, the First Recon Patrol. “On your feet.”
The six members of his team slouched out of their bunks or chairs and shuffled to a semblance of attention.
“Not good enough. By twos, one pair hits the river. Gets clean. Wash your clothes. Second pair, overwatch. Rotate. Everyone back here, one hour. We know the alien drone patterns. Work in between. Move, you lazy slugs!”
The Sergeant watched his team straggle off and waited for the return of his men. Less than an hour later, six newly scrubbed marines in newly scrubbed fatigues lined up with a little more snap and a little straighter line.
“Not good enough! Full weapons clean and check! Thirty minutes. Dismissed!”
When their sergeant went on one of his tears, his six subordinates knew they better dig in and work hard. And they, with their weapons had better stack up. Thirty minutes later, the First Recon Patrol stood straighter still. Sergeant Boulos stepped to the first in line, and held out his hands. Lance Corporal Latif, holding the weapon at display, released and pulled back the bolt, formally checked for the empty chamber and handed his sergeant the sniper’s long gun.
After ejecting the clip, inspecting the weapon and working its mechanics, Sergeant Boulos handed Latif’s weapon back. “Side arm!” the ritual between the Sergeant and the Corporal repeated. Without a word, the Sergeant moved to the next in line. Five more times, the inspection ritual repeated. Five more times his men passed muster.
The other, almost five hundred, marines uninterestedly looked on, relieved to have anything break their boredom.
“Locker your heavy weapons. Small arms, only.” Boulos waited as his squad followed orders and return.
“We are a recon patrol. We reconnoitre. That is what we do. So, now we will practice our craft. We will search every nook and cranny of this cave complex. We will validate every report collected about this cave system.”
“But, Sarge.”
“Question, Corporal Wadji?”
“It’s already been done. People have explored. Drones have searched and mapped the entire complex.”
“Not true, Corporal. Only a small portion have actually had boots on the ground. Drones miss things. We know that. Those bug drones miss us all of the time. They missed us this morning. We are going to do what we are trained to do. We are going to recon this cave system. Is That Clear?”
“Sir. Yes, Sir!” all six replied.
“Mahdi. Bring up the latest map. Y and Latif, design a search grid. Top to bottom. The rest, collect rations, water and lights. Move it, people!”
“This really sucks,” PFC Ajam complained as they headed to the stores area.
“Can it, Newbie. You know what Sarge is doing, right?”
“Yeah, Jabour. Acting all marine.”
“No. look around. Look at the men. We’re dying here. Sarge is giving us something to do. A goal.”
“Some goal.”
“What? You want to just sit on your ass? Mind rot with the rest of them? Be my guest. We don’t need you.”
“Hey, Wadji. I didn’t say that. Just bitching.”
“Well bitch in silence. Sarge gave us an order. We’ve got a job to do.”
The squad returned, geared up and ready to ship out.
“Mahdi, Latif. First cavern?”
A pattern evolved. For an entire day, Sergeant Boulos pushed his patrol to cover every inch of every tunnel and cave they entered. Mid-morning and mid-afternoon, a thirty minute break. Mid-day an hour. All bodily wastes and refuse policed and schlepped back to camp. Dinner, rest, repeat.
The rest of the Federacy Space Headquarters survivors, demoralized, despondent, watched this band of seven rise and prepare each day then tromp into the cave system. Each evening they’d watch the patrol return and go through their evening ritual.
For three days, the routine repeated, with the Recon Patrol’s effort the only result. On day four, that historically changed.
“Sarge, found something. Not on the map.”
Rushing across the hu
ge cavern floor, Sergeant Boulos leaned over Latif’s shoulder and stared where the sniper pointed.
“That tunnel isn’t on any of the maps which the drones charted.”
“It’s under an overhang. Anything four feet off of the floor wouldn’t see it.”
“Small. Only way in is to crab-walk.”
“Mahdi,” Boulos called. The com specialist hustled over.
“Sir!”
“Get a drone in there. See where it goes.”
Mahdi squatted, pulled off his pack and pulled out the drone box. After flipping the lid, he pulled out one of the fist-sized flyers and set it down. Pulling out the control tablet, he went through activating the drone, gave it a perfunctory test and guided it into the three-foot high tunnel. All six of his teammates huddled around, staring at what the drone saw.
“A chamber. We’ve got a chamber, Sarge.”
“How big?”
“It can hold us all. Standing up. Looks like some kind of weird office, or work room, or something. There’s a pedestal in the middle.
With a small, silver pyramid. Four sides. What’s that? In the corner? Against the wall?”
“Give me a sec, Sarge.” Mahdi worked the controls, repositioned the drone and set it to hover, straight on from Boulos’s discovery.
“Looks like some kind of bed, Sarge. With bones. Small. A child, maybe.”
“Well, team. We found something. Latif. Point. Jabour trail. Double body-lengths. Slow. Check every centimetre of every wall, ceiling and floor for traps or falls.”
Although sharper from three days of exploration and rigid discipline, First Sergeant Boulos’s team still reflected the fear and worry which permeated through the entire company of Sasanian survivors. The Recon Patrol moved extra cautiously, extra slowly. Seven helmet-mounted headlights covered and recovered every centimetre of wall, ceiling and tunnel floor. No one complained. No one so much as talked. Periodically some one would halt, stretch out a leg, work out a cramp.
An hour later, without incident, Latif crab-walked free of the tunnel and stood, handgun drawn, quartering the room. Moving to his right, he covered Jabour as the second marine crawled in and established a firing position on the left. The two found no threats. Just the pedestal, with its pyramid, the weird work area and the bed with the bones in the corner. The drone continued to hover in its last position, staring at the small, desiccated corpse. The other five crawled in, stood and looked around.
“Faheem. You’re corpsman. What’s the body tell you?”
Corporal Faheem, checking the floor as he walked, approached and squatted by the remains.
“Like you said. Small, child-like. But not a child. The head’s too big. Just looking, it seems that the arms are too long.” Faheem jerked his head back. “Only two fingers on each hand. And thumbs. Feet only have three toes.”
Everyone forgot what they were doing and rushed over. Except for Ajam. He stayed at the pyramid.
“I don’t think we are looking at a human, Sarge.”
“One of the aliens that dug the cave?”
“I don’t know. It’s pretty small. No claws or anything for digging.”
“Look at its skull, Sarge. The eye sockets are on the sides of the head. And big. Like a rabbit’s”
“You’re right, Wadji. We’ve got an alien.”
“What’s that in its chest cavity?”
“Looks like a medallion of some kind.”
Wadji started to reach.
“Don’t touch it! Leave it alone!”
“Sorry, Sergeant. Got curious.”
“Well, you know curiosity and cats. Don’t touch it. Don’t touch anything!”
Suddenly strange jabbering filled the cavern. Everyone exploded to defensive positions. Looking around they saw Ajam pulling back from the pedestal, hand up like he’d touched something hot.
More strange jabbering. Sergeant Boulos stomped over to Ajam as he kept an eye on the pyramid. “What did you do?”
“Nothing, Sarge! I swear!”
“You did something. What was it?”
More strange jabbering emanated from the pyramid.
“Nothing! Look! See those three indentations? Looked like finger tips. I just touched them!”
“I swear. If Wadji doesn’t shoot you, I will. Go stand at the tunnel. I don’t want to see anything except your butt. Now!”
Ajam raced to the tunnel, assumed a sentry position and held his pose.
“Can you understand me?” everyone heard the question from the pyramid
“Buster says you are speaking Farsi. He gave me the translation module. Is that right? You are speaking Farsi? Can you understand me?”
“Yes. We understand you. I am First Sergeant Boulos. Who are you?”
“I’m Igaklay.”
Oishi Scout Team
“Juro, headquarters issued orders.”
“Hai, Sousui,” Tanaka’s subordinate answered as he finished policing the kitchenware.
“There are only eight other Nightshade patrols left. Sixteen gone. Thirty-two brothers dead.” Taketa’s tone spoke of his heavy heart.
“May Hachiman watch over their souls.”
“Well said, Mappai. When the other eight arrive we are to organize scout missions. Find vulnerable targets. We will become the tip of the arrow that strikes back at these alien invaders.”
“We must rid our world of these defilers.”
“Yes, we must. And, to help our mission, we have combat androids.”
“Wou! Then we are looking for ground assault targets. Not just bombardments.”
“Yes. Patrols, transports, convoys.”
“Finally, Sousui!”
“We will unpack the androids, get them prepared.”
“Hai, Sousui. Now?”
“After you finish. Come to the far back. I will be opening the carriers.”
“Hai.”
After three hours of activating, extracting from the carriers and lining up four rows of combat androids, the two Nightshades stood in awe and intimidation, staring up at the monstrous humanoid war machines. Taketa and Juro studied the seventeen mechanical androids, each standing five meters tall and loaded with the tools of war, mechanical bringers of death and destruction.
“These will do some great damage, Sousui.”
“Yes, Mappai. But we must preserve them. There are no more. We must be smart, efficient.”
“Hai, Sousui. They are very large. Hard to conceal. The alien air patrols will destroy them as soon as they see them.”
“Not a problem, Juro. Each is equipped with Chameleon armor. When air patrols approach, we simply have the androids stop in place, become one with the surroundings. Same as us.”
“Ah.”
“Now we must begin our inspection of our equipment and vehicles. And plan for the best utilization of our brothers and the weapons we have on hand.”
“Hai.”
Chapter 02
Onboard Ravage Maker
War sat on his command stool, analysing the incoming data. Slurping on a dissolved piece of meat as he watched the videos displaying the assault on the soft skin root world, his mind wandered.
“Why such a small fleet? There must be more. Where?”
“Intelligence!”
Intelligence raced onto Ravage Maker’s command deck, all four feet clip-clopping in the magnetic boots.
Lowering his head comb and wings in a display of servitude, Intelligence asked, “War, how may I help you?’
“I don’t like that the soft skin fleet was so small.”
“I have sent out scouting ships, probing every remaining gate, My Lord.”
“And? What have you found?”
“Three of the gates lead to single systems. In each of those, there are no soft skin war ships or defenses. Easy to conquer. We have not been able to penetrate the fourth gate, what the soft skins call Corrinar. Any scout ship which we have sent never returns. Nor are any messages sent back.”
“Then that is wh
ere the rest of the soft skin fleet is hiding. That is where the soft skin dreadnaught that damaged Despoiler of Worlds is hiding. What have your interrogations of our prisoner told us about this system, this Corrinar?”
“There are three systems through that gate.”
“That is where the remainder of the soft skin civilization is hiding. What of this system, this Cencore?”
“As we surmised, this system is the center of the soft skin’s civilization. It is also the hub of its military.”
“Does that include ship building? Munitions? Supply?”
“Yes it does, My Lord. This is the only system we have found with massive shipyards, space-anchored production stations and military space bases.”
“What shape are they in?”
“Although the structures for the shipyards and production stations remain, all electronics, mechanics and printers have been destroyed.”
“That is not an issue. If the soft skins deemed this system as their best then we will do the same. This will become our military hub. Flight!”
Same as Intelligence, Flight raced into the command center and displayed subservience.
“My Lord.”
“Send a message drone to Nest One. Have all of the manufacturing barges and supply ships travel to here. Notify Minister that we are moving our military hub to here.”
“At your command.”
“Next. Send Fourth Fleet to the Corrinar gate.”
“Corrinar?”
“Intelligence knows what I mean. Use the standard attack pattern.”
“What if we encounter the same massive mine field as we did here? Intelligence asked. “We don’t have as many attack craft as we did.”
“We will send missiles through. Have them explode at increasing distances. Establish an access path.”
“Excellent thoughts, My Lord.”
“Do it. Do it now.”
“At your command, My Lord.”
“Flag Captain!”
As the two previous underlings did, the Ravage Maker’s captain rushed to his master’s call
“My Lord.”
Battle in the Stars (Marston Chronicles Book 4) Page 4