by Lee Stephen
Boom!
The floor trembled, and the operatives’ eyes flew open.
Boom!
Galina screamed and shot up from her bunk. “This is real!”
His heart pounding, Scott shot a glance at Galina, then to the wall. Shouts rang out from the neighboring room.
Baranov leapt to his feet. “Everyone up! This is not a drill!” The room burst to life as the operatives dove out of bed and scrambled to their closets.
Within seconds, Clarke’s voice crackled over Room 14’s loudspeaker. “Ivan, please get everyone up! We’ve got something serious!”
“Everyone is up!” Baranov answered. The operatives threw on their combat armor. Assault rifles and handguns were ripped from the weapons locker. Another explosion shook the earth.
Clarke burst into the room just as everyone was loading their weapons. “Ears, everyone!” They turned to face him. “Communications are haywire! All we know is that Bakma have landed on the airstrip! Numbers are not verified, though we have confirmed that Noboats are on the ground!”
Scott and David exchanged nervous looks as Clarke continued.
“The entire base is under attack! We have to defend this facility! Come please, time is critical!”
It took no second order. The Fourteenth rushed from the safety of Room 14 into the hallways.
Operatives from other units bumped past Scott as a throng of EDEN soldiers flooded from the barracks.
Noboats. On the ground. If they had landed undetected, there was no telling how many were there. As Scott was jostled toward the exit, his mind raced to speculate what the situation was.
When he and the others emerged outside, it became clear. Far from the barracks—in the direction of the airstrip—plasma fire lit the sky. Orange plumes exploded against the hangars as the sounds of total warfare ripped apart the night. Units and individual operatives stampeded ahead.
“This is not good,” Travis said as he reached for his handgun. “This is not good!”
Before anyone else could comment, a platoon of Bakma emerged west of the barracks. As soon as the first wave of plasma seared by, Clarke swiveled around and dropped to a knee. “About!” The rest of the Fourteenth obeyed, and they returned fire.
“My God,” Becan said, “they’re this far in already?”
Fractured chatter burst through Clarke’s comm, and he ducked out of the fight. Baranov and Dostoevsky took his place at the lead.
Scott fired a shot, and a Bakma fell. Two more alien platoons emerged from beyond the cafeteria. Another explosion rocked the hangar. Human screams filled the air.
As Scott trained down his E-35, he swung to Fox. “How many you think there are?”
“I don’t know!” Fox answered. “And I don’t like not knowing!”
Clarke returned to the unit. “Attention, everyone! Here is the situation! Approximately thirty Noboats have materialized on the airstrip! Four additional Bakma Carriers are en route!”
Four Carriers? Scott couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t an attack. This was an invasion.
Clarke continued. “We’re to dispatch an away team to Confinement! They believe that the Bakma will attempt to free some of the prisoners!”
“We have some of their officers,” Baranov said.
Clarke faced Dostoevsky. “Yuri, you shall lead the defense effort there! Take Travis and Becan! Two other teams are en route to that location as well, but right now we’re the closest!”
Dostoevsky motioned to Becan and Travis. The three men pulled out of the fight.
“Jurgen!” Clarke said to David, “you and Boris make your way to the infirmary! They’re attempting an evacuation! You’re all I can spare!”
David looked at Boris, and the two men left immediately.
“Everyone else, avert to the airstrip!”
Bakma surged down the airstrip like a plague. As eden forces merged to intercept them, floods of plasma crashed their way. Grizzly apcs burned in their dens. Vindicator fighters were blasted to death before they could leave the ground. Charred pieces of armor and flesh fell amid the concrete.
Far in the night sky, the lights of four Bakma Carriers grew larger among the stars.
Alien Confinement was at the center of the Research Center, which was in the center of Novosibirsk. Becan had never seen Confinement before. Standard operatives weren’t supposed to.
Dostoevsky yelled back to Becan and Travis, urging them to keep up. “Run faster!”
Bakma emerged as they ran, though the stronghold of EDEN operatives was enough to hold them at bay. The Research Center loomed ahead. As soon as they reached it, Dostoevsky propelled himself up the outer stairs of the building, where he jerked the door open. “Inside, go!”
“Where’s Confinement?” Becan asked, dashing up the stairs.
Dostoevsky pointed down the hall as he passed through the door. “This way, follow!” Sirens pulsed throughout the Research Center, as clusters of scientists elbowed their way to the exit. The doors to Confinement were midway between the hall and the far corner.
Dostoevsky pointed. “Ahead! Watch for—”
Two Bakma emerged from the end of the hall. Dostoevsky flipped out his handgun and launched four shots—two for each chest. The Bakma were thrust against the wall and scraped to the floor.
“…for resistance.”
They reached the doors a moment later. Becan and Travis prepped themselves at Dostoevsky’s side. “Open on three,” Dostoevsky said, positioning his handgun. Becan angled against the doors as Travis hung back. “One, two, three.”
The doors whisked open, and Dostoevsky darted inside. Four scientists—two men and two women—were huddled behind a workstation. “Down,” Dostoevsky said. The scientists ducked out of view.
Becan followed Dostoevsky into the room, gaping at what he saw there. Five cells ran along the back wall, and a cell was on each side. Transparent impact-glass covered them. Everything was stark white.
Four of the cells were inhabited. In the first was a Ceratopian warrior—the first Becan had ever seen. It was as large as rumor claimed, as it towered in the cell. Its golden, scale-covered skin led to its prehistoric head. A bone-plated frill, lined with spikes, crested over its skull and arched up. Twin horns protruded from its forehead as a third, smaller horn jetted from its nose. Its brown, penetrating eyes narrowed, and it bellowed.
“Bloody God…”
In the next cell, two Ithini were pressed against the shielding, their opaque eyes watchful of the new action.
Next, there crouched a necrilid. Though the creature was motionless, the glass was ravaged with claw marks.
Two cells down stood the three Bakma officers.
The Ceratopian rammed its horned frill into the glass and growled.
Dostoevsky took position outside the double doors. “Confinement isolated,” he said through the comm.
Clarke heard the transmission as soon as he reached the airstrip. “Brilliant,” he answered as he took position behind a dismantled Grizzly apc. “The other teams should be reaching you shortly!”
Scott followed behind Clarke, and the Noboat fleet came into view. The airstrip was an enemy fortress. Plasma bolts and plasma missiles soared from the invaders, as EDEN soldiers flooded the area around the hangar. The hangar itself was engulfed in fire. Bodies spilled across the ground. On the other end of the airstrip, behind the Noboats, the Bakma Carriers descended.
Scott stared in awestruck amazement. How had this happened? How could a whole fleet appear out of nowhere? Were the invaders really that superior? There was no time to think about answers, and less time to think about questions. Scott dropped to a knee at the corner of the Grizzly, propped up his assault rifle and opened fire.
Clarke swung around to Galina and Varvara. “Tend to the wounded!” Then to Fox and Jayden. “Find height and engage!”
The four Carriers touched down, and he looked at Scott.
“When those transports open, this is going to get considerably more diffi
cult.”
“You mean this isn’t difficult?” said Scott sarcastically.
David and Boris arrived at the infirmary just as the attack began. A squad of EDEN soldiers held off the Bakma forces that threatened, though they were outnumbered threefold.
The evacuation of the infirmary was in progress, as surgeons and nurses dodged past David and Boris, wheeling the bedded patients in their care. Some unattended patients crawled from their beds and hobbled away from the fight themselves. Explosions boomed behind the building, and the earth shook.
Grabbing the nearest surgeon, a heavyset man with a patient in a cart, David asked, “What do you need?”
The surgeon pointed to the patient. “I could use one more person for this one!” He motioned to the center of the infirmary. “But they need more help than I do!”
David said to Boris, “I’ll help in the infirmary. You help him, then come back to me.”
Boris nodded and grabbed the cart.
David weaved through the mass of nurses and patients until he found two aides. They struggled to lift an unconscious man into a wheelchair. David brushed past them, locked his arms around the man and lifted him into the chair.
One of the aides said, “Spasibo balshoye!”
“What else can I do?” David asked.
The aide’s mouth hung open for a moment. “Here,” she enunciated as she pointed to several more bedridden patients. “Help?”
“Absolutely,” David answered, as he joined her in the effort.
Bakma attackers grunted down the halls of the Research Center. Dostoevsky readied his position in the hallway. “They’re coming,” he said to Becan and Travis.
Inside Confinement, the Ceratopian bashed its fists against the glass.
Becan took to Dostoevsky’s side and propped himself into a ready position. “Travis,” he said, “watch our backs.”
Kneeling behind them, the pilot aimed his assault rifle at the Research Center’s entrance.
The four scientists brandished handguns and took a defensive formation inside Confinement.
The Bakma grew louder down the hallway, as their footsteps clotted against the floor. Dostoevsky’s glare focused on the corner. “Get ready.”
A Bakma attacker burst into view. Dostoevsky triggered his handgun, and the alien fell. Two more Bakma leaned their plasma rifles around the corner and opened fire. Dostoevsky flinched as the shots careened against the walls.
“We got backup!” Travis yelled.
Becan looked back, where four EDEN soldiers charged into the Research Center.
The Bakma fired around the corner again. Dostoevsky, Becan, and Travis ducked in avoidance, then dashed into Confinement. The EDEN soldiers returned fire in the hallway, then followed inside behind them.
“What unit are you in?” Dostoevsky asked as he hung halfway out the door and engaged the aliens. Becan mirrored him from behind.
“The Twenty-first, commander.”
A plasma bolt whizzed past Dostoevsky’s head. He singled off a shot with his handgun and cut the attacker down. “How many more are coming?”
“We are it.”
A team of Bakma broke through the Research Center’s main entrance. “Other side!” Becan said. He and Dostoevsky ducked into Confinement to avoid the crossfire.
“We cannot hold the doorway!” Dostoevsky said as he leaned out and returned fire. “They will press here soon!”
Behind them, the necrilid came to life. Its claws and fangs collided into the glass shield as it lurched forward with primal aggression.
Dostoevsky sunk back into Confinement to reload. A scientist replaced him in the doorway. One of the EDEN soldiers fell dead. Dostoevsky panned to the computer console inside the room. He slid behind it, and his fingers worked the controls. “Hold them off a little longer!”
Baranov growled as a plasma bolt ripped through his shoulder. He took cover behind a chunk of debris and reloaded his assault rifle. His shoulder bled through the twist in his armor, though he moved unhindered.
Across the airstrip, the Bakma Carriers opened their doors.
Slamming a new clip into his assault rifle, Scott called out, “Here they come!”
Bakma poured from the Carriers.
“Now it’s going to get difficult!” Clarke said.
The Bakma charged forth like hell-sent marauders. Flashes of orange and yellow reflected in their eyes, as their alien war cries filled the air. As they stormed the airstrip, the barrels of their plasma guns flared with fire.
Jayden and Fox were situated atop a guard tower, where they rained precision fire onto the impending throng. The tower was two stories tall, and the height of the rim around it provided them with duck-behind cover.
Jayden’s eyes narrowed as he pulled the trigger. A Bakma dropped to the ground.
Fox slid his scope over the Carriers, where several canrassis lumbered down the ramps. Atop them, riders manned their mounted plasma cannons. “Canrassis,” Fox said as he took aim for one of the riders’ heads. He snapped off a shot, and the Bakma toppled to the ground. “I’ve got these, keep track below.”
“I’m on ‘em,” Jayden answered.
From the cover of the dismantled Grizzly, Scott fired with abandon. He, Clarke, and Kevin unloaded their ammunition on the battlefield, though it made not a dent. There were too many Bakma. When one fell, two others took its place.
As Scott reached down to grab a fresh clip, a loud whiz reached his ears. He knew the sound immediately. A plasma missile. Before he could whip up his head to find it, the nose of the Grizzly exploded. It lurched upward. The three men scattered as it crashed upside down against the earth. Clarke and Scott dashed behind a barricade, while Kevin retreated toward the engulfed hangars.
Scott dove for cover, knelt down, and turned to the hangar. Kevin ran full speed toward it. There were flashes of white. Scott flinched. A barrage of plasma struck Kevin in his side. He fell to his knees. Scott jumped to his feet, but it was too late. A plasma bolt tore through Kevin’s helmet, and his body flopped to the ground.
Scott stared in silence as Clarke reloaded behind him. “He’s dead,” Clarke said. “There’s nothing we can do.”
The infirmary was chaos. David assisted the aide as best he could, though with the constant flow of doctors, nurses, and patients, it was just as hard to keep up with her as it was to evacuate her patients.
In the midst of the bustle, David’s eyes caught sight of a familiar face. Max. The newly christened lieutenant struggled to wrench free from a nurse, as he tried to push himself up from a wheelchair.
“Do not get up!” the nurse said. “You are not in right condition!”
“I are not stay!” Max snapped back in intentionally broken English. “I go to fighting! You go to hell!”
David abandoned the aide and rushed to Max’s side. “Axen, what are you doing?”
Max gave him a withering look. “Not being a gutless wonder!” He shoved to his feet against the nurse’s demands. He swept his hand to David’s belt, where he snatched David’s handgun from its holster. “I need armor. And you. We’re about to kill some purple monkeys.”
David smirked. “Yes sir.” He looked around until his eyes came to rest on a nearby soldier. “There. He looks about your size.”
Max nodded. “Don’t wait for me—you can go faster by yourself. I’ll meet you at the entrance!” David turned to go as Max snagged the indicated soldier. “Hey, what size are you?”
The soldier hesitated. “But sir, I’m—”
“And I’m a lieutenant, half-wit, now get out of that armor!”
The canrassis’ mounted plasma cannons exploded with white, as the bear-sized war beasts tromped ahead. Their spider eyes darted around the battlefield as the Bakma atop them imprisoned their will.
The forces of EDEN wallowed in chaos. Platoons were split in half. Officers were separated from their squads. Pilots fell back from the hangar.
It was an onslaught.
The battle ra
ged in the halls of the Research Center. Becan and Travis continually unloaded clips, as the EDEN soldiers and scientists fired around them. Dostoevsky remained inside behind the computers.
As a bolt struck the wall next to him, Travis recoiled. “We can’t hold them back much longer!”
Dostoevsky shot up from the console. “Everyone clear the door, now! Come inside!” The operatives did as ordered. The doors to Confinement slid shut. Within seconds, Bakma stormed the hall outside.
Becan propped his hands against his knees. “A lot o’ bloody good this does! Now we’re trapped!”
Dostoevsky remained behind the console, and two of the empty cells whooshed open. He pointed to the scientists. “You four, get in that cell!” They complied and rushed into the nearest one. “Everyone else get in the other!” Dostoevsky worked the controls, and the scientists were sealed behind the glass barrier. Dostoevsky said to Becan, Travis, and the soldiers from EDEN, “Stay in the open cell! I will remain here behind the controls! I will open the door to Confinement and let the Bakma in. Then I will release the necrilid!”
Becan’s eyes almost popped out. “You’re goin’ to do what?”
“That is why you will stay in your cell!” Dostoevsky answered. “Your cell will stay open, but you will be out of the necrilid’s path!”
One of the soldiers stepped forward. “Commander, you will be right in the middle of it.”
“Yes,” Dostoevsky answered, “but the Bakma will be the ones moving. I feel lucky.” Becan and the soldier looked doubtful. They back-stepped into the open cell, and soon Dostoevsky was alone by the console. “Is everyone ready?” Inside its cell, the necrilid rasped at the glass. “Opening the doors now!”
The doors slid open, first the main doors then the necrilid’s. The Bakma charged inside. Dostoevsky ducked.
It took a half-second for the first Bakma to die. The necrilid leapt from its cell into the Bakma’s chest, and the warrior’s face was shredded off. The creature swerved to the next Bakma, and it pounced atop him. Its claws dug into the Bakma’s chest as it screamed.