Terra Nova (The Terra Nova Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Fox

  Chapter 13

  Sergeant Neal Ricks stopped at the back of an abandoned ATV and peered down the empty street. The city around him was eerily silent. It reminded him of the holo-vids of the first days of the Ember War when then Lieutenant Hale had gone into the ruins of Phoenix, the last standing city on the planet. He wondered if this was what the ancient settlers would’ve felt like when they found Roanoke.

  The Terra Nova Militia, 1st Company, had spent the majority of their first day on the surface securing the spaceport just outside the colony limits, repairing fencing and walls around the perimeter. Guard towers had been set up to watch for the altered doughboys, but none had been encountered yet. Aside from the corpses Chief Carson’s team had left behind, they’d found no sign of the alien occupation.

  His squad had spent the morning clearing out one building after another and were nearing the end of the patrol route. The day had started out fairly rough as none of the members to 1st Platoon, 1st Company, Terra Nova Militia, had ever worked together. The ratio of former Strike Marines and Terran Navy was almost even, though Ricks would have preferred more Marines. For Ricks, even after being out of the service for two years, jumping back into tactical operations was like riding a bike. The same couldn’t be said for the sailors, who probably hadn’t handled a rifle since basic.

  “You think we’re going to find anything?” Corporal Conner Eaton asked. The former Strike Marine stopped next to Ricks, keeping an eye on the street.

  “God, I hope not,” Ricks said, adjusting his hold on his carbine. The weapon had still been wrapped in plastic when they’d issued it to him. They’d all been allotted a few hundred rounds for familiarization before deploying to the surface, but the weapon still felt strange in his hands. Not to mention, that compared to anything he’d fired during his time in the Strike Marines, this thing was like handling a pea-shooter.

  “What’s wrong, Sergeant?” Eaton asked. “You don’t have faith in this shiny new equipment?”

  Ricks ran a hand over his protective vest. “You mean the armor they just printed as fast as they could without any real thought to the capabilities of the enemy? We might as well be wearing paper hats and togas.”

  “It’s better than nothing.”

  Ricks laughed. “You say that now.”

  The handheld IR in a pouch on Ricks’ vest chirped.

  “Nova One to all units, fall back to Command Post! Repeat, Nova One to all units, fall back to Command Post.”

  “What the hell?” Eaton said. “Captain Handley sounds scared as shit.”

  “Knight One to Command, what’s going on back there?”

  A single gunshot echoed in the distance. Ricks ducked, eyes snapping around, trying to decide where the shot had come from. “Who’s shooting?”

  More gunshots sounded.

  Another soldier came over the comms, his voice panicked. “Command Post, Knight 3, we have contact! Multiple doughies advancing on our position.”

  Ricks’ mind raced, trying to visualize where Knight 3 had been assigned. They were north of his team, clearing one of the residential blocks.

  “Knight 3, Command Post, break contact and fall back to the CP.”

  “That's easier said than done, Command. They cut off our retreat and are pushing us west away from the spaceport.”

  Corporal Eaton put a hand on Ricks’ shoulder. “They’re only a few blocks away.”

  “Come on.”

  Ricks led his team through several back alleys to the north as the sound of gunfire intensified. They stopped at the end of an alley and saw the militia platoon pinned down before several parked vehicles on the side of one of the apartment buildings. Rocks zipped through the air and hit the building wall with the force of gauss rounds, cracking the façade and knocking loose chunks with each strike.

  “Holy shit,” Eaton said, taking a knee beside the sergeant.

  Several of the warped doughboys advanced on the platoon from the left, appearing from one of the apartment’s entry ways. One of soldiers tripped over a curb and landed hard on his back. One of the aliens launched itself into the air with a spine-tingling screech. It landed next to the fallen solider, knocking his carbine out of his grip. Long, skeletal fingers took hold of the soldier’s helmet and pulled it free of his head, then tossed it aside. It seemed to consider the man’s face for a moment, then snapped his neck with a twist.

  “Son of a bitch!” Ricks yelled, squeezing his carbine’s trigger as the doughboy looked up from the corpse and hissed at him.

  A barrage of gauss fire slammed into the alien as more members of his team opened fire, ripping through the creature and sending it into a bloody heap.

  More doughboys emerged from the dark entryway, all heading toward the militia’s location up the street. Ricks brought his rifle up and fired. Two soldiers knelt down beside him, joining his fire. Doughboys dropped immediately and the wall behind them crumbled as hundreds of rounds slammed into it. The remaining enemy scattered, spreading out across the street or retreating back into the building.

  Ricks watched as several doughboys ducked behind abandoned vehicles on the far side of the road. They moved extremely fast for their size, at least twice the speed of any human, even in powered armor. A group flipped over a large truck, creating an impromptu fighting position.

  The characteristic snap of a gauss bullet zipped past his helmet and smacked into the wall behind him.

  “They’re armed?” Ricks looked at the divot in the wall. “They’re armed!”

  Another group of doughboys appeared at the end of an alley across the street, letting out a bestial cry, and charged. One stood up behind a car and fired a gauss carbine from the hip.

  “Shoot the smart one.” Ricks slapped Eaton on the back of the shoulder.

  “I’m shooting the ones coming right for us!” Eaton opened up with his carbine. The first rounds hit; a gauss round burst out the back of one doughboy and smacked into the one behind. The enemy in the second rank grabbed the one in front before it could fall dead and used the body of its fellow as a bullet shield.

  “Legs, hit the legs!” Ricks switched his carbine to full auto and gripped the barrel tight. He opened up and swept the weapon to the right, emptying his entire magazine in one pass. Bullets ripped through the doughboys, severing legs at the knee and slapping into their thighs. The forward ranks fell, tripping up the mob.

  Ricks backpedaled and dropped the empty magazine from his carbine. There was a snap in the air and his carbine bucked out of his hands, spinning through the air in two broken pieces. A gauss round hit him in the side and his armor saved him from being ripped open. The bullet still hit like a jackhammer and he heard ribs crack.

  He bounced against a car and spun to the ground, groaning. Pain radiated from his flank with each breath. He looked down and was amazed to see his armor damaged, but no blood anywhere.

  He felt Eaton grab him by the carry handle on his upper back and drag him away. There was a crack of a grenade and a wave of overpressure slapped his helmet.

  “Not…so close!” Ricks reached up to grab Eaton by the wrist, but his battle buddy jumped in the street. Ricks rolled onto his back and saw Eaton firing wildly. A shadow passed overhead and Eaton vanished.

  Big hands slammed against Ricks’ chest and jerked him up.

  A doughboy, face mangled by shrapnel and bleeding from cuts, looked at him, red eyes alive with fury.

  “Shannon.” The doughboy slapped its palm against Rick’s visor and yanked at the glass. Ricks thought the beast would pop his head clean from his shoulders when a doughboy carrying a gauss rifle pushed the other off of him.

  The armed doughboy poked a cracked fingernail into the emergency release on the side of his helmet and Ricks’ visor popped off.

  “Shannon?” came from the small mob of doughboys around Ricks. He fought back panic as the leader looked his face over. Eaton crashed to the ground next to Ricks, thrown by the doughboys.

  “Wrong.” The one with the ca
rbine shoved Ricks back down, cracking the back of his helmet against the road. It removed Eaton’s visor and snarled.

  “Wrong! Wrong!” It ripped Ricks’ ammo belt off his armor and stomped a foot against his chest, which sent a new wave of pain through his body.

  “Kill? Eat?” came from the doughboys.

  “Kill. Find Shannon.” The leader stepped away, slapping a fresh magazine into his carbine with practiced ease.

  Ricks felt a wave of panic as a doughboy reached for his throat.

  There was a whine of engines and a brrt of rapid fire from a machine gun and blood splashed across Ricks’ face. He rolled over and pressed himself to the ground, willing himself into the road as bullets snapped through the air overhead and struck the doughboy with meaty thumps.

  The fire died away as fast as it began, and Ricks wiped the blood from his face, ignoring the copper tang in his mouth. Doughboys lay around him, some still moving. A team of militia made their way through the bodies, ending doughboys with single shots to the head.

  “Eaton?” Ricks reached out and shook the other man by the shoulder.

  His friend looked up, face ghastly pale.

  “I want to go home,” Eaton said. “That recruiter was bullshit!”

  “You OK?” Captain Handley nudged Ricks in side with his foot, and Ricks yelped in pain. “Not OK. Medic!”

  “Shannon,” Eaton said. “They wanted someone named Shannon, sir.”

  “I don’t know who that is,” the captain said, “but doughies in other sectors have tried to capture female militia. Sure wouldn’t want to be her, whoever she is.”

  Ricks rolled onto his back and saw Mules drift overhead, double-barreled turrets on their bottoms letting off short controlled bursts into other parts of the city.

  “We’ve got the upper hand now,” Handley said to Ricks. “They’ve got the numbers, but we’ve got the firepower. City will be ours in a couple hours. Have the docs patch you up, get a new weapon, and you get your ass back in this fight. Understood?”

  “Just save—goddamn, I forgot how much broken ribs hurt—save some for me,” Ricks said as Eaton helped him to his feet.

  Chapter 14

  Chaos had erupted inside the bowels of the Enduring Spirit. Hale navigated several corridors, moving against the flow of frightened children and confused parents. Panicked shouts echoed around him; his people, confused, angry, and scared.

  “Another one just landed, Ken,” Marie’s voice told him through his IR. “That’s four enemy ships and counting, all cutting through at Cargo Bay 1.”

  Shots rang out around a corner ahead. Seconds later, crew and families flooded around the bend, panicked, pushing and shoving to get ahead.

  Hale waved a hand, using his helmet’s amplified voice emitter. “Come on, go forward! Head for the crew quarters near the bridge; that’s the safest place you can be right now.”

  A barrage of shots seemed to punctuate his words and the throng of people pressed past him. Hale keyed his IR as he moved around the corner. “Marie, we’ve got a lot of frightened people heading to the forward decks.”

  “I’ll get a few squads to ride herd.”

  “This is Hammond,” a voice reported on the open battle channel. “We’re under fire in Corridor C.”

  “Five boarders moving through Corridor D,” another said.

  “This is Hale. Hold your sectors as best you can. Reinforcements are coming. Use any means necessary to force these bastards off our ship.”

  Halfway down the corridor, four militia soldiers huddled behind a makeshift fighting position, chairs and metal cabinets ripped from the bulkhead. Their armor was so new there hadn’t been time to paint the dull-grey ceramic plates, much less stencil the names of the wearers on their back and breast plates.

  He crouched down beside one, putting a hand on the fighter’s shoulder. “Where’s Captain Lewis?”

  More shots echoed ahead, followed by an inhuman, mechanical wail. The four soldiers flinched, cowering behind the pile of furniture.

  The man motioned with his rifle. “Up there, sir. We were… about to go help, but we thought protecting the civilians was important. Really, sir. We were.”

  “It’s okay,” Hale told him. “They’re safe now. We need to go help the others. What are your names?”

  “I’m Henderson, sir,” the first one said.

  “Stefano, sir.” The second jabbed a finger at the third. “That’s my brother. You can call me Jorge if you’d prefer, sir. You know, just to tell us apart.”

  “Two? Okay, I’ll do that. And you?”

  The fourth looked away, almost as if he was embarrassed.

  “Soldier?” Hale repeated, stepping closer to him.

  Hale reached up and tapped the visor release. He bit back a curse as the reflective visor retracted. His son gave Hale a sheepish look.

  “Jerry? What the hell are you doing down here?”

  His son shrugged. “Command put out a call for militia and I—”

  “You’re only sixteen!”

  “So what? You were the one who taught me to fight for what I believed in. You put a gun in my hand and taught me to shoot when I was five years old.”

  “I didn’t bring you out here to die. Get your ass to the shelter. I’ll deal with you later.”

  Jerry pulled away. “No, Dad—I mean, sir. I’m a part of this mission, I’m a part of this ship. I’m not going to stand back and hide in a closet somewhere while others are fighting.”

  “This isn’t a game, Jerry,” Hale said.

  “You don’t think I know that? I’m not a kid anymore, Dad. I’m not scared.”

  Hale stared into his son’s eyes, surprised to see determination and resolve, but there was a hint of fear there as well. “You are scared, son. I can see it.” Jerry opened his mouth to argue, but Hale raised a hand, stopping him. “That’s not bad. Fear is a good thing, especially in battle.”

  A rapid staccato of gunfire reverberated up the corridor, followed by men and women shouting orders. The IR buzzed, warnings of alien reinforcements pushing into the cargo bay from additional teams cutting through the hull.

  Jerry looked toward the sound of the gunfire, then turned back to his father. “Dad, people are dying.”

  Hale clenched his jaw, considering his son’s words. Finally, he said, “Your mother’s going to kill me.”

  A wary smile crept across Jerry’s face.

  Hale lifted a finger. “Don’t think she won’t come after you when she’s done with me. Keep your head down and follow me. Don’t try to be a hero.”

  Hale led the soldiers down the corridor, around another corner, to another hastily makeshift barricade. A team of defenders were exchanging gunfire with a group of enemy boarders at the far end of the corridor. Hale and his reinforcements came up behind the soldiers, crouching low.

  Hale moved up behind the soldier with LEWIS emblazoned on the back of his helmet and slapped him on the shoulder. “What’s your status, soldier?”

  Lewis fired off a burst from his rifle, then ducked down behind the barricade. He flipped his visor up, taking harried breaths between his words. “Overran us, sir. Ugly sons of bitches took the bay almost immediately. They had the local systems shut cut off within seconds. They started ripping through the computer terminals almost before they engaged us.”

  “They’re searching for the plans for the Crucible,” Hale said. “They get into those files and they’ll figure out everything they need.”

  “Got reports they’re cutting through the deck near sector seven. They could’ve pushed us back even further, sir. But soon as they got the computer banks under control, they stopped dead cold. They’ve been taking pot shots at us ever since.”

  Hale pictured the Spirit’s layout in his mind, grinding his teeth. “They’re going for the omnium in the secure storage bay just forward of this one.”

  Bullets sliced through a piece of the barricade, sending metal splinters spraying over the defenders. One round caught a S
tefano brother in the shoulder, spinning him into the bulkhead. Jerry let off a yelp and moved himself away from the carnage and wiped away blood splattered on his visor.

  Jorge screamed as his brother crashed to the deck, dropping his rifle and moving to help the bleeding man. “Oh god, no, Silas! No! Medic!”

  Hale knelt down, helping Jorge remove his brother’s chest armor. The bullet had pierced the armor, cutting through Silas’s outer shoulder. “The bullet went clean through,” Hale pulled a pouch off of Silas’ belt and tore out a wad of spongy foam. He slapped it against the wound and held it there as blood seeped through his fingers. “The clot patch will stop the bleeding. Get your brother to medical, then you find another group of soldiers to fight beside. You get me?”

  Stefano nodded quickly and helped his brother down the corridor. Hale shook blood off his hand and looked at Jerry. His son was breathing fast inside his helmet, almost on the verge of hyperventilating. Hale motioned down the hallway, but Jerry shook his head. Bullets snapped overhead and thumped into the bulkhead.

  “Lewis,” Hale shouted over the cacophony. “I need you to hold this position. We’re going to go secure the omnium containers.” Hale pointed to his son and Henderson.

  “Roger that, sir,” Lewis said. “But I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to hold.”

  “You’ll hold as long as you have to,” Hale told him. He waved this team, such as it was, back down the way they’d come. “Let’s go!”

  They reached one of the many vertical service shafts connecting the upper and lower decks of the ship and pulled open the hatch.

  Hale opened a channel to his wife. “Marie, you need shut down the core!”

  “The core? Ken, what are you talking about, what’s going on?”

  “They’re here for the Crucible gate technology, Marie. They’ve cut off the main bay from the rest of the ship and are slicing through the deck to the vaults.”

  Hale ducked through the hatch. He grabbed the ladder, pressed his boots again the outside rails, and began to slide down the tube. Jerry followed right behind, Henderson bringing up the rear.