The Colony

by Davis, John

  He knew that one of the ships was doomed, sensing an element of advancement when it came to the species of demons. He had thought them to be mindless-monsters, but now realized how wrong he'd been.

  Lieutenant Strong watched as one of them seemed to bark orders to the others, though he did so in a very strange dialect. One that wouldn't be possible to replicate with a human tongue.

  He realized how advanced the species was, in fact, noticing a special insignia imprinted onto the chest plate of their leader. They were weaponized and militarized, leading Jack Strong to sincerely believe there were hundreds more. If not thousands.

  His thoughts were quickly pulled from that of military assessment, however, and back to reality, as the weapon placement fired.

  It made the sound of a loud whisper, as if someone was standing over the group and had exhaled deeply. The cylinder tube ejected a single burst, though it looked as though it were made from two different materials. The first was a glowing blue, followed by the second side of the shot that seemed to burn with a crimson red.

  “Picking up some type of heat signature sir!” Sayers yelled, alerting everyone inside of the heavily-staffed chopper that was incoming.

  “What is it?” Bailey asked with concern.

  Before a reply could follow, however, their chopper was struck with the burst of double color. The glowing blue crashed into their spacecraft first, a full-blown EMP which essentially disabled every component of the ship. Then, a split-second later, the dark red burst struck their hull and damaged it greatly. Molten acid eating away everything in its path, including two fine soldiers in Wilson and Martin.

  An analog-style alarm began to blare throughout the ship, alerting them to trouble as if a free-fall wasn't warning enough.

  It's startling how a single moment can change a man. A world of military-trained calm turning into pure chaos as the inevitable becomes clear.

  “Going down!” Lincoln yelled, the small chopper taking on heavy rain through a large hole which had eaten its way through the hull.

  And though he pleaded with the flight stick, every speck of desperation inside of his arms pulling to gain control; there was simply no way around it.

  They were indeed going down. Dropping like a stone filled with praying souls, each of them asking God for the chance to see another day.

  “Try,” Bailey yelled, the spin of their chopper forcing harshly against his lungs. “Try to put us down somewhere decent.”

  “Can't do shit,” Lincoln yelled. “I got zero control.”

  Wesley had seen the shot from the pilot's chair of his own chopper. He'd been only yards away from the burst of fire and exploding steel.

  And though his prayers were with the crewmen aboard the chopper which fell without regard for those aboard it, Wesley thanked the Gods for allowing him safe escape. Not to mention the children who remained seated inside of the cabin. Each of them struck with complete fear.

  “Alright guys, pulling from the atmosphere now. We'll be aboard a ship within minutes and I'll have you all in a warm bed eating hot chow.” Wesley commented, though his words were meant to comfort himself as much as the children.

  “Shit!” Lieutenant Strong muttered, a bit under his breath but with great authority.

  “The children!” Julia cried out.

  “The children are fine,” the lieutenant replied, turning to the panic-stricken woman. “But the bastards shot down the rest of my crew,” he added. “Our supplies.”

  “What's our move LT?” Renaldo asked.

  Staring out into the heavy rain for a long moment, his eyes never flinching, Lieutenant Jack Strong finally replied.

  “Let's go be soldiers.”

  Fuck it. Two tears in a bucket.

  He thought back to the original crash, of course. To the feeling he had carried in the bottom of his stomach throughout his entire career. He'd cheated death.

  Being the single survivor of a skiff landing gone wrong had made Jack appreciate the things around him so much more. Yet, he had carried a sense of burden as well. Almost as if he felt a touch of guilt with him. Not guilt for the crash, which the authorities had investigated and cleared of any wrongdoing.

  He felt guilty for continuing his life while all of those around him had been cemented into a fiery death. Jack felt as though a part of each of their souls remained with him. Even to this day.

  Lieutenant Jack Strong had become just that. Strong. At least in terms of soldiering. Professionally speaking, there were none that were stronger. While on a personal level he remained distant to most.

  Fear of losing them, possibly, or fear of the other shoe finally catching up to him and dropping with swift judgment. Inflicting pain onto any and all who had become close to him.

  And so Jack remained a soldier's soldier, while keeping to himself outside of the uniform.

  “You cannot go out there. You just can't.” Julia said.

  “No choice.” Jack replied.

  He'd began to check his weaponry carefully. Knowing in his heart that is was minutes away from being broken in well.

  “If you go out there, those things will kill you. Both of you! And we'll be stuck here to die, just as we were before.” the frantic woman replied.

  “If we don't go out there our supplies are useless,” Jack replied, turning to the woman for a moment. “Assuming they are still intact.”

  “Something is,” Renaldo replied, using an electronic sensor that mounted to the side of his rifle in order to confirm it. “Some sort of beacon from what I can make of it.”

  “It means Bailey did things by the book. Even under pressure.” Lieutenant Strong said with renewed confidence.

  “The son of a bitch was known for it.” Renaldo responded.

  “He did his job, now let's hope Wesley does the same and gets some fucking help in here,” Jack replied. “While we go do our job.”

  “It'll work,” Lieutenant Strong commented, both men having edged themselves out into the rain. “Or at least it should.”

  “Let's hope so.” his sniper replied.

  Then, with a deep incline of his right arm, Jack hurled a live grenade nearly out of sight. It digital masterpiece of pain slicing through the hammer of rain and shaking the ground with a thunderous bang nearly a hundred-yards away.

  Without so much as a word, both soldiers began sprinting away from the makeshift safe-house and into the direction opposite of the explosion.

  They had ran nearly four-hundred yards when Jack motioned the sniper down into cover. Feeling as though they had made enough ground.

  “How are we looking on the beacon?” Jack asked.

  “As far as I can tell, we're still nearly a hundred-yards out. And I'm already seeing wreckage?” Renaldo replied.

  “You will,” Jack said, skimming his eyes onto the faint horizon filled with rain as his mind drifted back through his years of military service. “I've seen a few go down in my time. Brace yourself for the worst, because the odds of someone making it out of the crash alive,” he said with a pause. “They aren't good.”

  “Figured as much.” Renaldo said, skimming the horizon as well, though he did so with the aid of a sniper's scope.

  “Take the bait?” Jack asked.

  “Seem to have. I see nearly a dozen of the bastards in my scope. More than likely they will figure it out quick enough though, may have to shoot our way back in.” Renaldo said.

  “Be sure to get footage of whatever in the fuck it is we're dealing with.” Jack said.

  “On it.” Renaldo responded, clicking a sequence of two buttons which began to digitally record the findings of his scope into the gun's internal hard drive.

  -

  “I wouldn't worry too much dear. The lieutenant seems capable of doing a good job.” the general said, doing his best to comfort Julia as they both awaited a sign of hope.

  “I know,” she replied, trying to remain positive. “I just pray the children made it to safety.”

  “As do I.” th
e general replied, standing beside the besieged woman as he thought of a colony that once was.

  Colony twelve-seven. At least that was its official name, though its name became irrelevant as the dying began.

  A small group of miners had originally filed a report. A written account of strange writings they had discovered on the walls of a nearby cavern.

  They had been thought mad, or perhaps even victims of exhaustion. But when the group made a second trip, returning with photographs of the writing, their report became the top priority of the colony.

  Not that it mattered.

  After sending an investigative group to the site with no return, and then a second, the general knew they were in trouble. Though the souls around him refused to accept the severity of their condition, the general had triggered the distress beacon himself.

  And as the moments of their first encounter with the Succubus soldiers became a reality, the general had already began packing children away to safety. His quick thinking, along with the helping hands of Julia, had been the determining factor of the children's survival.

  And though, for hours, they were forced to listen to the pleading screams of colonists through the thickened-doors of their shelter, they remained positive. Julia knew of the general's military background. And the general knew of the swift action that his military would take in order to help them.

  He'd expected an entire Earth Defense carrier ship, though a part of him knew it was but wishful thinking. Their society had expanded far beyond the protection of such mighty ships. As predicted, they had sent a smaller ship filled with Earth Defense Marines. Investigate the beacon and report back to the fleet. It was protocol.

  He'd comforted Julia's fears many times with stories of Earth Defense soldiers by the hundreds, even thousands, landing to save them from such a dire enemy. But as a half-dozen soldiers of ill-manner and a look of aggravation showed up at their doorstep, the general felt as though his military had let him down.

  That is until Jack and Renaldo had volunteered to go out into the rain, the entire area covered with a new species of damned-killers, for the sake of bringing supplies back.

  Selflessness. The mark of a true soldier.

  -

  “Fuck man, I don't want to die. You do it!” Renaldo said with conviction, though he did so in a hushed voice.

  “I'm not asking, I'm telling.” Lieutenant Strong replied with a growl.

  A supply crate nearly twenty-feet away. Luminous blue flashing being emitted from its top as a light blinked on delay. The thick steel case was one of two, with the second having fallen into a ravine nearby. Its blue light giving away the position.

  “Remember back on Galveston Seven? Remember, you said that you owed me one,” Renaldo asked. “I took a hop for you and nearly died?”

  “Shit,” Jack replied, knowing he'd been bested. “That was years ago!”

  “There's no expiration date on that one. I got shot!”

  “Alright, damn,” Lieutenant Strong confessed. “But we do this my way.”

  “Let's hear it.” the sniper replied.

  “You make it up to that hill,” Jack said, pointing out the direction of a nearby elevation of rock. “You pan the entire area and clear me to go. Then you double-time to the crash site and figure things out. When you come back through, I'll have a pack filled and waiting in that spot,” the lieutenant said, adjusting his finger's aim to a spot near the first supply crate. “You grab it and haul ass right behind me. Gun at the ready, just in case.”

  “Got it.” Renaldo said with a nod.

  “And Renaldo,” Lieutenant Strong said, grabbing the rushed sniper by his arm. “After this shit we're even.”

  “You got it boss. Good luck.” the sniper replied, nodding once more and then breaking off into the direction of the hill. Though he did so with caution and silence.

  “Good luck?” Jack mumbled as he thought of their stumbling onto such a capable foe, a skiff filled with his soldiers crashing down and the prospect of having to load up satchels full of supplies. Doing so in the wide-open while praying none of the demons caught sight of him. “Now there goes a damn comedian right there.”

  -

  “I don't understand?” Chandra said, stunned by the news.

  “The whole damn chopper, I seen it with my own eyes,” Wesley replied, grabbing her above the elbows to enforce the truth. “They're gone.”

  She offered no reply. Just a heartfelt sobbing.

  “Cry for them later. Right now, you need to forget about that shit and worry about these kids I brought up. They're starving and scared. Alright?” Wesley said.

  Though she continued to cry, Chandra began to close her emotions down for the moment, nodding and doing her best to calm down.

  “If you can see them to the mess hall, it would be great. They won't cause you any worry, they're just scared shitless. I got to get on the com and send a wave to those who need to know.” he said.

  “And the lieutenant?” she asked.

  “He's good I guess, hell I don't know,” the soldier replied. “I'm sorry Chandra, I really don't. I just know if he is, he's starving his ass off and waiting for the cavalry to arrive. You good?” Wesley asked.

  “Yes,” the beautiful woman replied, drying her eyes a bit. “I'm fine. I'll get these kids some warm food.”

  “Not too much though. We are talking marine chow here. It's liable to land them in sickbay.” Wesley said with a grin. His attempt to lighten the mood a bit while making reference to the vomit-like food.

  And though Wesley rushed quickly to the small bridge area, he stopped for a few moments. Nimble hands activating the ship's two onboard mech units.

  “Find Officer Bailey and assist her in serving chow to our guests. Then take a moment to look the ship over for anything mechanical.” Wesley said, firming his words to the two mechanical bots.

  “Right away.” one of the masterwork machines replied in a throaty and digital voice.

  They weren't officially soldiers. They were placed two to a skiff, at least of this size, for the single purpose of maintenance. The maintenance units were a far cry from their soldiering cousins, which could dispatch death onto its foes with ease. But they looked mighty similar.

  Tall by human standards, an exoskeleton of steel and an abundance of raw strength. Nearly a year before, the crew had even bartered for a mechanic's shirt for each of the droids. One of them a solid blue, while the other was branded with the name Earl. Stitched with the finest bargain-bin thread.

  So they had been effectively dubbed Earl and Hey You. Or some other, less PG-13 names, depending on who was shouting into their direction.

  “Corporal Wesley, Earth Defense High Freedom. Please respond.” the soldier barked into the com system.

  And as he waited, listening to the sound of steel boots hitting the floor in the distance, the soldier calmly waited for a reply.

  “Corporal Wesley, Earth Defense high Freedom. Please respond.”

  This time, after a moment of zinging through the com system, the desperate soldier found his response.

  “You're on a secure Earth Defense channel corporal, go ahead.”

  It was a man's voice, soldier no doubt. And it seemed hindered by the disturbance of Wesley's transmission.

  “We have one chopper down and a second in bad shape. Majority of my crew possible K.I.A. Need immediate evacuation under heavy guard.” Wesley said, as though he were admitting defeat.

  “What's your location corporal, so I can estimate a time?” the man's voice asked.

  One of the worst things a soldier can feel, is forgotten. Which is how Wesley began to feel that very moment. Fighting for their lives on a military-ordered mission, only to have that same military seem bothered by a ship of its own soldiers.

  “Tanilia Moon Colony. We were ordered here to recon a beacon and ran into...” Wesley began to say with aggravation.

  “Please hold all traffic corporal.” the man's voice replied, cutting the soldier
off before he could bitch about his current situation.

  You little bastard. If I could, I would reach through this com and ring you by your damned little chicken-neck! Wesley thought.

  He could hear several children laughing in the background of his own ship, though faintly. A good sign that they were easing a bit and no longer fearing for their lives.

  “You're almost seventeen-clicks from the nearest safe zone corporal. We'll dispatch a ship for you as soon as one becomes available, but with that much legwork in front of it, you're looking to be there at least a couple more weeks.” the voice replied.

  WEEKS? The corporal thought, his mental bitching beginning to get the best of him.

  “We don't have weeks,” he said loudly, his voice now barking into the ship's com. “My entire crew is down. Either dead or injured and in serious need. We got a group of kids sheltered aboard our last remaining ship, but are low on supplies. We've found something here. Some type of alien life.” Wesley added.

  “Let me guess. Demonic in appearance, winged and heavily-armed?” the voice asked over the com system.

  “Um, yea,” the weary soldier asked, stunned by the question. “How the hell did you...”

  “Because corporal, we've been at war for nearly forty-hours now. They've taken four of our planets and sacked Laylan Base.” the voice admitted.

  Wesley knew the seriousness of that statement. Though the Sky Platform was the Earth Defense Marines strongest base, Laylan was on the short list. If it had indeed fallen, it meant they were not only at war, but getting their asses handed to them.

  “War?” the stunned soldier asked.

  “Affirmative. Looking over your logs it appears your unit was dispatched shortly before the Rynal began appearing across most of our colonies. Wasn't long after that they began hitting us with a lot of military force.”