“This is fun,” Hilde said. If she was trying to be reassuring, she wasn't doing a very good job of it. “Just you wait until we hit the atmosphere!”
Max checked his implants. Only a minute or two had gone by since they’d been launched from the ship, even though it felt like hours. He opened his eyes, then closed them again as he saw the planet looming up in front of him. It was so close he felt as if he could reach out and touch it ...
... The suit rocked, violently, as it struck the upper edge of the atmosphere. Max was aware, dimly aware, of the suit reconfiguring itself for a faster descent, even though his mind was screaming for the suit to slow down. He knew it made sense to descend as quickly as possible - the enemy only needed one hit to wipe him and his suit out of existence - and yet it was hard to convince himself that it was true. The suit rocked again and again, striking patches of turbulence in the atmosphere ... or, perhaps, dodging bursts of fire from the ground. Max kept his eyes tightly closed as the shaking grew worse. He didn't want to know.
“They’re taking pot-shots at us,” Hilde commented. “Don’t worry. They’re not very good shots.”
Max hated her in that moment, hated her for her casual dismissal of danger. But then, she would have gone though a thousand simulated combat drops before she’d ever been allowed to take a real suit down to the planet’s surface. He’d only ever had a handful of lessons. No one had seriously expected the Orbital Guard to have to make a combat drop, not when there were teleporters they could use to get down to Earth or Mars if necessary. But any Galactic world knew to use jammers to prevent people beaming up or down at will.
The suit rocked again, spinning madly through the air. Max opened his eyes and wished, immediately, that he hadn't. There was a city below, wrapped in smoke and fire, coming towards him at terrifying speed. Brilliant flashes of light - his implants identified them as plasma weapons - pulsed in all directions, some of them flashing up towards the marines. It was impossible to tell just what was going on, but it looked like the worst of Stalingrad, of Fallujah, of Paris during the Intifada. The suit’s sensors were drawing information from thousands of tactical support drones deployed by the marines, yet it was hard to tell who was on what side. Was there even a united front against the Druavroks or were there hundreds of small groups, fighting as best as they could?
“Prepare for landing,” Hilde said, calmly. “Your suit will go free the moment you touch down, Max. Get down and stay down unless you have to fight.”
Max nodded wordlessly, then braced himself as the ground came up and hit him, the suit’s antigravity compensators coming online bare seconds before he slammed into the surface and died. His head spun; he ducked down as quickly as he could, trying to gather himself as the marines snapped into action. Bolts of plasma fire flashed over his head as the Druavroks tried to muster a counterattack; clearly, they hadn’t expected to face a new threat from high overhead. But they had to know their ships and orbiting defences had been defeated, didn't they? Unless their high command believed the groundpounders shouldn't know more than the bare minimum at all times ...
He looked up, careful to stay low. The city was strange, a bizarre mixture of styles from a hundred different worlds. A soaring skyscraper, pockmarked with bullet holes, co-existed with a building that looked like an anthill; a blocky building, looking like something built out of brightly-coloured children’s bricks, sat next to a black conical building that pointed towards the sky. More and more icons flashed up in front of him as he looked from side to side, warning of everything from possible snipers to heavy weapons emplacements. The drones were building up a picture of the surrounding city, but they were being targeted by enemy countermeasures.
“The enemy are redeploying troops to face us,” Hilde told him. She sounded remarkably calm, even though marines were forbidden to use any form of calming software while they were on combat duty. “They’re sweeping the sector with drone-killing tech.”
Max swallowed. Drones - remote sensors so tiny the human eye couldn't hope to see them - had been the Solar Union’s ace in the hole since Steve Stuart had captured the very first Galactic starship. No Earth-based nation could oppose the Solar Union when its leaders, the men who would normally be safe from harm, could be hunted down and targeted by the drones; no secret could be kept when the drones were everywhere, drawing in so much intelligence that the analysts were overloaded. There was no such thing as the Fog of War when GalTech was involved. But the Galactics knew how to counter the drones ...
“The Fog of War is drawing in,” he mumbled.
“A nice turn of phrase,” Hilde said. Her voice was so flat that it was impossible to tell if she was being sarcastic. “I trust you’ll put that in the reports?”
“Something like that,” Max said. More alerts flickered up in front of him as the enemy formed up, just out of visual range. Smoke and fog was drifting across the battlefield, making it harder to see anything with the suit’s visual sensors. Thankfully, the other sensors could peer through the smog as though it wasn't there. “Do you want me to make you sound like Combat Marie or Combat Barbie?”
“That depends,” Hilde said. For the first time, she sounded a little irked. Baby-sitting duty wasn't what she'd signed up for. “Would you rather have your testicles cut off with a rusty knife or be force-fed to the ravenous beasts of Scott?”
“I’ll just make you sound like a marine,” Max said. He wondered, absently, what Hilde had done to be lumbered with the task of riding herd on him. “Will that be safe?”
“As long as you don’t make me look like Combat Barbie,” Hilde said. “Do you know how many idiots we had trying to pick fights with us after that movie came out?”
Max smirked in genuine amusement. Marie and Barbie had been a recruiting movie produced twenty years ago, following the adventures of two female marines: Marie and Barbie. Every marine he’d met had insisted, loudly, that it was either an unfunny comedy or a particularly obnoxious piece of enemy propaganda, intended to damage the reputation of the Solar Marines. They’d certainly made it clear that the movie bore as much resemblance to reality as statements from the governments on Earth. And yet, it still enjoyed a cult following.
Probably because both of them were genuine achievers, he thought. No one cared about beauty in the Solar Union - cosmetic surgery could turn an ugly man into a handsome stud or a fat girl into a goddess - but competence? That was a genuine turn-on. And they didn't take their roles too seriously either.
He paused as new alerts flashed through the implants, then looked up. The wind was picking up, blowing away the smoke ... and revealing a line of enemy soldiers on the far side of the square. They looked like miniature dinosaurs, he thought; their clawed hands gripped weapons as their dark insect-like eyes peered at the human soldiers. Most of them were green, but a handful were yellow or purple. It didn't look as though the colouring served any natural purpose, he thought; it certainly wouldn't be very effective camouflage.
Humans aren't naturally camouflaged either, he thought, morbidly. We had to invent our own camouflage.
“Stand at the ready,” a marine said. “Let them make the first move.”
Max crept forward, bringing the suit’s weapons online. It had been years since he’d worn a suit during exercises - he’d never gone to war - but he couldn't just do nothing. Hilde said nothing as he slipped up beside her; Max swallowed nervously as he stared at the aliens, watching the humans with expressionless scaly faces. But then, they were alien. For all he knew, they were working themselves up into a frenzy. His implants, for once, had no answers. There was almost nothing on the Druavroks within their files.
And there’s no way you can generalise with aliens, he reminded himself. Aliens were not human, something he’d been told time and time again. One race may fart in public as a sign of welcome, but another might take it as a declaration of war.
The aliens moved, suddenly; they lunged forward, firing as they came. It didn't look as though they were bothering
to target the humans, but they were firing so many bursts of plasma fire in the right general direction that they were bound to hit something. The Major barked a command and the marines opened fire in return, their plasma cannons tearing great gouts out of the alien formation. Max watched in horror as the alien line staggered, then kept charging forward even as dozens died to a single plasma bolt. How could anyone keep coming under such weight of fire? He recoiled, then lifted his own weapons and opened fire himself. And yet the aliens kept coming ...
A red icon flared up in front of him. “Horace is down,” Hilde said. “Mike is dead.”
Max shuddered. The aliens couldn’t win, could they? He had no idea how many Druavroks were already dead, but it looked as though thousands had impaled themselves on the human position. More icons flashed up in front of him, warning of incoming fire; his suit snapped off bursts of point defence automatically, even as KEWs slammed down from orbit, obliterating the heavy weapons before they could be repositioned. The Druavroks were piling up their bodies in front of the human position, some smouldering as if they were on the verge of catching fire. And yet they were still coming. How many of them were there?
He started as a Druavrok hurled himself over the pile of bodies and came right at him. The suit’s tactical programs switched to primary mode and lashed out with staggering power, hitting the alien so hard he literally disintegrated. Max felt sick as the marines began to fall back, launching tiny spreads of antipersonnel missiles and mines as they moved. And still the enemy kept coming. They were losing hundreds of lives to the minefield alone - they projected forcefields that cut through the enemy like monofilament knives - but they refused to stop.
“Stay low,” Hilde warned. “Incoming KEWs.”
The ground shook, as though it had been struck with the hammer of God. Max looked up, just in time to see the skyscraper topple and fall to the ground. He stared in horror - how many people had been in the building when it had fallen? A skyscraper could hold thousands of souls. Shockwaves ran through the city - he couldn't help thinking of earthquakes from the disaster movies he’d watched as a child, movies that had taught him how unpredictable life on Earth could be - and, for the first time, the alien charge seemed to falter. The marines held their line, shot down the final set of aliens and waited, grimly, as the fighting came to an end.
“They seem to have lost their momentum,” Hilde commented. “Follow me.”
Max nodded, not trusting himself to speak, as Hilde dropped to her hands and knees and crawled over to where one of the marines was lying, a nasty scorch-mark covering his chest. Another was lying nearby, his suit so badly damaged that survival seemed impossible; the plasma blast that had stuck him would have burned through the armour and turned the marine into charcoal before he had a chance to bail out. Max shuddered, feeling sick again, then turned to look as Hilde carefully opened the first marine’s suit and looked inside. The marine’s chest was a blackened ruin ...
“The nanites will keep it under control, I think,” Hilde said. Her voice was very composed, although she had to know it could have been her who’d taken the hit. “They’ve placed his brain in suspension, but he’ll need to have most of his body regrown. I think, for him, the war is over.”
“I’m sorry,” Max said, unsure what he should say. The marine had done his duty, jumping down into the maelstrom surrounding Amstar, and died doing it. His name would be remembered, but for what? “I’ll make sure he’s mentioned ...”
“See that you do,” Hilde said. She closed the suit and stood. “There’s a shuttle flight being readied now, Max. The reinforcements will set up a base camp here until we know who we can trust. You’ll stay here as we secure the perimeter.”
“I understand,” Max said. The marines wouldn't want a half-trained reporter accompanying them as they poked further out from the LZ. There was too great a danger of accidentally shooting someone on the same side. “What ... is this always what it’s like?”
“No,” Hilde admitted. “Normally, we’re boarding starships or carrying out defence duty on Earth. This” - she waved her hand at the piles of alien bodies - “is something new. The old sweats talked about drug-addled fanatics, but ... I never really believed them. What sort of idiot would do that to themselves?”
Max nodded. There was no shortage of drugs that could boost a person’s combat ability, but they tended to come with nasty downsides. They were addictive and, in the long run, degraded the user’s natural reactions. Eventually, they even caused brain damage.
“Maybe they were just desperate,” he said, after a moment. The Druavroks had been trying to commit genocide. They’d have to wonder if their former victims would try to return the favour. “They lost control of the high orbitals. Their commanders had to know they’d lose the war.”
“Maybe,” Hilde agreed. “Or maybe they’re just nasty bastards.”
Chapter Nine
Independent reports from Kurdistan confirm that the Kurdish People’s Militia has seized Sunni territory and has been carrying out a program of ethnic cleansing and genocide. All Sunni Muslims have been ordered to leave, taking only what they can carry on their backs, or face death. The KPM stated, in the wake of the engagement, that the Kurds would no longer allow the Sunnis to threaten their existence ...
-Solar News Network, Year 54
“They must be mad,” Griffin said.
“Not mad,” Doctor Carr said. “But very angry.”
Griffin looked down at the body on the examination table. Perhaps it was latent xenophobia, but he couldn't help feeling that the Druavrok didn't look very nice. It was impossible to believe they didn't eat meat - they had the sharp teeth of predators - and their claws suggested they were used to fighting hand-to-hand. Humanity hadn't evolved such natural weapons; indeed, even spears and clubs hadn’t always been enough to even the odds against tigers or lions. It had been the ability to think, and plan, and cooperate that had made humanity the dominant race on Earth.
The Druavrok was a head shorter than him, his mouth crammed with sharp teeth and his skin hard as leather. The dark insect-like eyes looked unpleasant, even in death; it was impossible to read the creature’s expression, but he had a feeling it regarded them all as prey. There were faint reddish markings, like tattoos, on its green skin. He had a nasty feeling the creature had used the blood of his victims to paint his scales.
“I’ve only done a basic scan, but several things are clear,” Shari said. “First, on average, the Druavroks are stronger and faster than the average unenhanced human - deadlier too, given that they have those claws. I’m not sure if they’re naturally as sharp as our friend’s claws” - she nodded to the body - “but they can slice though human skin as if it were made of paper, while their scales are tougher than human skin. However, like many other races with tough outer coatings, their ability to heal after their skin is cut seems limited. A small cut may mean a long period of healing.”
“Or they might bleed to death,” Griffin said.
“Maybe,” Shari said. “I think they’d understand the value of bandages, though.”
She shrugged. “Second, based on my scans, they do have a strong reaction when they’re frightened or angry,” she added. “Their brain releases a chemical into their bloodstream which supercharges their reactions, at - I suspect - the cost of some of their rationality. Human wave charges may be the only way they can function when their blood is up, although it’s impossible to be sure without studying a live one. My best guess is that the genocide is fuelled, at least in part, by an emotional reaction against other races. They may also be testing their freedom now the Tokomak are gone.”
“You make them sound like naughty children,” Griffin said.
“The principle is the same,” Shari said. “Children grow up under rules set by their parents, not ones they accepted for themselves. They tend to rebel against their parents, as they reach adulthood, or settle into an unhealthy dependency even into their middle-aged years. The Tokomak were the pa
rents, everyone else were the children ...”
She shrugged. “The pattern has been seen on Earth, time and time again, long before we knew about non-human life. Giving a state independence without the state having major teething problems afterwards was never easy.”
Griffin nodded. “Are they a rational race?”
“I would have said they are fairly compatible to us, on the intelligence scale,” Shari said, tapping the Druavrok’s head. “But then, most races reach a certain level and just stop. They don’t have any pressing need for more brainpower when they have tools they can use to boost their abilities. I can't tell you anything for certain about their social structure, but I would guess, based on what I’ve seen here, that they spend a lot of time struggling for dominance over one another. And then perhaps over everyone else.”
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