by JE Gurley
Gate shook his head. “I don’t think –”
Walker grinned at Gate’s nervousness. “You’ll do fine. Just don’t shoot anyone we know. It’s for emergencies. We’ll keep an eye on you.”
Gate pointed to bags other members of the team carried in addition to the HKs. “What about those?”
“Two are Maxwell-Atchisson 12-gauge automatic shotguns with 32-round drum magazines. The others are 9mm H&K MP5Ks. The heated and insulated bags keep the moving parts from freezing solid. We’re carrying them in case we find an atmosphere. Otherwise, we use the HKL200s.”
Two of the weapons lockers required the use of two keys. Costas produced his and inserted it into the lock. Walker did the same. The loud click when they turned both keys simultaneously made several of the team jump. Inside, two silver cylinders lay cradled in shock webbing.
“These, gentlemen, are the nuclear payloads from two B61 bombs. Each one is set for a 340-kiloton yield. Together, they should be sufficient to get the job done. Each weighs about eighty pounds, but in the low gravity, that should not present a problem. When activated, we have thirty minutes to get clear. They are electronically synced, so arming one arms both.”
When all seven of them were suited up and equipped, Walker cycled the airlock and opened the outer hatch. The Javelin’s recovered aft module sat at the rear of the Assegai attached by quick-release brackets. Walker had ordered cables strung between the two modules. Walker made sure everyone properly secured their tethers to the cables, and then pushed off. He pulled himself along with his hands, feeling like a pro until he forgot to reduce his speed before he reached the other end. He grabbed the cable with both hands, but his inertia wrenched the cable from his hands. He slammed into the module much harder than intended. His face pressed against his visor, bruising his nose. Unable to reach his nose through his helmet, he twitched it to make certain he hadn’t broken it. He recovered and warned the others.
“Watch your inertia, or you’ll bloody your nose.”
Once the others arrived, he opened the outer hatch.
“Leave your suits on and grab something to hold to. We’ll be leaving shortly.”
Four minutes later, Sakiri’s voice blared over this suit radio. “I’m attaching cables now.”
Metallic clangs signaled the brackets releasing. The module jerked. Walker gripped the floor tighter. In zero gravity, he felt no sensation of movement.
“I’m deploying my Lances above each opening,” Sakiri said. “We’ll cover your landing, and then pull back.”
The journey to Haumea took fifteen minutes. He tensed his body waiting for a Nazir response to their encroachment, but none came. The lack of a response only intensified his trepidation. Were the aliens waiting until the last minute for deadly accuracy? His weight increased slightly as they neared the surface. The module slammed onto the hard rock like a free-fall elevator from the second floor. The impact threatened to wrench Walker’s shoulder from the socket as he held on. One soldier lost his grip, tumbled across the floor, and slammed into the wall. He sat up groaning, but was otherwise uninjured. Walker ran a quick diagnostics of the man’s suit to be certain it had not suffered damage, and then slapped him on the back.
“Be careful.” He turned to the only woman on his team. “Cantrell, you carry the nuke. The rest of you keep a tight formation on the ground.”
On low gravity Haumea, the eighty-pound nuke weighed only a few pounds, making Cantrell’s job easier. He had no doubt she could have handled the nuke in full gravity. At 5’10” and heavily muscled from constant workouts, she was as strong or stronger than any man on the team except Costas, and Walker wouldn’t have wanted to witness a knock-down drag-out fight between them, though Costas might have enjoyed the prospect. She grabbed the case by the handle, set it on her shoulder, and wriggled her ass. She grinned and asked, “Does this make my ass look big?” Her comment elicited a few laughs, relieving the tension.
Walker opened the outer door, revealing the dismal, stark landscape of Haumea. Rocks, their edges razor sharp for lack of erosion, protruded through drifts of a dirty snow of frozen gases. No surface buildings were visible, but a plume of vapor rose from a deep pit a hundred yards from their position. He craned his head to search the dark sky above them, but could not see the Kaiju pods circling overhead.
By whatever method and for whatever reason the aliens conjured the light flooding Haumea’s surface, Walker was grateful. He didn’t like fighting in the dark. The ambient light was the equivalent of a full moon, making it easy find their way to their target. On the negative side, they became highly visible targets for any alien gunners.
Despite the heaters, the deep cold penetrated Walker’s body armor, chilling his flesh wherever the suit fit snuggest. The sensation reminded him of a package of outdated chicken with freezer burn. Even the air he inhaled seemed unnaturally cold and damp. He fought a panicky moment of claustrophobia by focusing on his destination.
“Don’t bunch up,” he told his men. “Spread out fifteen yards apart. Not you, Gate,” he told Gate as he began edging away. “You stick close to me.”
They didn’t run as much as bounded. It was an efficient means of covering ground quickly, but the sharp rocks posed a problem with each landing. They could easily rip a suit and expose flesh to vacuum. He twisted slightly in midair to adjust his landing spot to avoid one stony knife thrusting up from the sandy surface.
The pit was wider than it first appeared, almost eighty feet across. Condensate from the vapor lined the sides and settled around the rim like salt on a giant margarita glass. The sides were smooth, sheer, and vertical with no means of access. His suit radar indicated a bottom sixty feet below, too far to jump even in low gravity. They would have to rappel. He rued they had no drone to survey the pit, but with no atmosphere, one would not fly.
Instead, he tossed a slow flash grenade down into the pit. When activated, the grenade produced a bright light by mixing two low-temperature reaction chemicals. The transparent casing magnified the light. The grenade flared seconds after leaving his hand. He leaned over the side and watched it descend. The sides of the pit were as smooth and featureless as the rim, except for a ledge thirty feet below the surface. The bottom was flat with an opening along one edge, but even with the light, he could not see into the tunnel because of the angle.
Two men drove metal rods into the edge of the pit with percussion hammers, silently due to the lack of atmosphere. After belaying three thin, flexible steel hawsers – ropes would have crumbled to dust from the extreme cold – Walker clipped onto the cable and stepped off the side of the hole. He checked his descent with his gloved hands, using the cable as a safety line. After landing on the ten-foot-wide ledge, he peered over the edge. The light from the slow flash grenade faded as the extreme cold froze the chemicals inside, but it revealed a wide, uninviting dark tunnel that extended deep into the surface. Walker saw no aliens or alien machinery, but he smelled a trap. A smaller opening in the wall by the ledge looked more promising. It was from there the vapor originated.
Cantrell lowered the nuke first; then, slide down and took a guarding position while Walker helped Gate land and unhooked him. The others descended and grouped around him. He looked into their faces. They all showed concern but no fear. They had all faced Kaiju and survived. He was confident they were capable of meeting any challenge the Nazir threw at them.
His suit light revealed a cylindrical tunnel eight feet in diameter at one end of the ledge. A slight wind pushed a cloud of vapor along the tunnel. White crystals formed on the ceiling. Gate reached up and stuck his finger in the condensation. It crystallized on his glove.
“I think this is liquid oxygen condensate. Oxygen changes from a gas to a liquid at minus 218.4 degrees Celsius or 54.8 Kelvin, the mean temperature of Haumea.”
“Why would they vent pure oxygen?” Walker asked.
“I have no idea. It might be a waste by-product of some process. That would indicate the Nazir are not oxyg
en breathers. Blivens was right.”
“I’m sure he’ll be delighted.” Walker turned to the others. “Through here,” he said.
Walker noted the ripples in the stone floor of the tunnel and did not think they were a natural occurrence, but rather the results of high heat, as if a laser had bored the tunnel. That the Nazir had lasers concerned him. Any tool could become a weapon. A large laser would have been required to bore the tunnel, making it formidable weapon. As they continued down the sloping tunnel, Walker detected a vibration through his boots that grew steadily stronger the farther they went. The tunnel continued for two hundred yards before ending in a large chamber. Walker activated another flash grenade and rolled it across the floor, revealing a hemispherical cavern two hundred feet across. The chamber walls were smooth and perfectly formed, not a natural geological feature.
Two large machines sat in the middle of the space, or he assumed they were machines, though they were unlike any machinery he had seen. Parts of them billowed and contracted as if breathing, but metal pipes and ducts entered the bulk of the machines from holes in the walls of the cavern. A chute exited one end and entered an opening in the floor. Walker could not see what was in the chute because of the sides, but steam rose from it, as if whatever product the machines manufactured was warm.
He approached the closest structure and examined it. It towered over his head and was as big around as a California sequoia tree. He laid his hand on its uneven, pebble-textured surface and detected movement, a grinding inside.
“It’s warm. It doesn’t feel like metal. I think it’s some kind of alien cyborg.”
He and Gate approached the front of the machine to get a glimpse of the product it produced. Ten-foot-wide sheets of ebony armor slid down the chute and disappeared into the floor.
“Kaiju armor,” he exclaimed. “This is an armory.”
Gate reached out and caressed a piece of armor as it slid by. “The Nazir take whatever raw material required and feed it to this … half-machine/half-animal, which forms it into armor material. They must have a means to adhere the smaller sections together to form solid Kaiju shells. Amazing.”
“Destroying these should slow them down,” Walker suggested. He began removing explosives from his pack.
“They must have more,” Gate cautioned him. “Judging by the output, it would take these two machines a year to produce sufficient material for the Kaiju armada circling the planet, much less the ones on Earth.”
He decided Gate was probably right. Destroying the machines would serve little purpose other than alerting the enemy to their presence. “Okay. Then we go deeper into the heart of their operation.”
Gate continued to examine the machine. “I’d like to study this more. Maybe we can learn how to produce our own Kaiju armor instead of salvaging it from downed Kaiju.”
“We don’t have time.”
“But –”
“We don’t have time,” Walker repeated. He understood Gate’s desire to learn all he could about the Kaiju, but destroying their manufacturing capacity was vital and took precedence over intel. Seeing the bitter look of disappointment on Gate’s face, he relented. “Okay, two minutes while I contact Costas. Take photographs.”
He set his suit radio for Costas’ frequency. “Alpha Team One to Alpha Team Two. Come in Costas.”
Costas replied a few seconds later, huffing and puffing, his normally deep voice high-pitched over the radio. “Team Two here. We’ve breached the surface, and we’re following a tunnel. Nothing to report yet except that these suits weren’t made for climbing.”
“We located a small manufacturing area. We’re going deeper underground to continue our search.”
“We haven’t encountered anything, but we’ve seen lots of tracks on the ground, so we’re not alone down here. I can’t wait to see what this bitch throws at us.”
“Watch your ass, Costas. Report anything you find. Remember, don’t wait on us. If you run into real trouble, set your nuke and leave. Team One out.”
Walker turned to Gate. “You ready?”
Gate took one last photograph. When he looked at Walker, his face was pale, as if he had guessed what Walker’s off-line conversation with Costas was about. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Walker fought to keep from chuckling. “I wouldn’t advise it in a space suit.”
“It all just kind of hit me all at once. Did you ever feel this way before a mission?”
Walker smiled at his friend. “Every damn time.”
Gate shook his head. “That should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.” He took a deep breath. “As to whether I’m ready or not, how do you prepare yourself for first contact with an alien species, a hostile one at that?”
Walker understood what Gate meant. Although Gate had endured things most humans had not, he had been on Earth facing the aliens’ invading creatures. Now, he was the invader.
“If you see a Nazir, don’t stop to shake hands or take photos. Kill the bastard and move on. Don’t forget, twenty Kaiju pods are hitting Earth today. We have to win this war quickly.”
Gate swallowed and nodded. “For Earth.”
23
August 22, Malta –
For four days, the authorities at Malta refused to allow the passengers of the Doria to disembark. Though given permission, Johan had refused leave his fellow passengers for fear they would be refused entry onto the island. He hoped his weight and authority as Pope would sway them to do their Christian duty to those in need. It was easy to dismiss others’ fears and trials when concerned with one’s own misfortune. The mark of a true Christian was compassion during adversity.
Neat rows of stark white tents erected by the U.N. Higher Commission for Refugees adjacent to the docks housed hundreds of refugees. In stark contrast to the controlled UNHCR endeavor, beyond the docks clusters of ramshackle tents sprouting up haphazardly in any open area attested to the overcrowding of the island. Malta faced a crisis, and he hoped he had the determination to guide them through it on the moral high road.
He stood on the deck with O’Bannon drinking coffee, wondering if it might be his last cup. With its overpopulation, Malta needed every cubic meter of cargo space for essentials. Coffee and other so-called luxury items would be difficult to find and undoubtedly would become more so after the new wave of Kaiju landed. He savored the Italian Lavazza brand coffee. He preferred it without cream or sugar. Unlike most of his fellow Italians, he had never developed a taste for latte or cappuccino. He drank coffee for the caffeine.
“At some point, Your Holiness,” O’Bannon said, “you must leave the boat. Your duty calls you to your new diocese.”
He balked at the delay, but remained firm in his conviction. “And what of these people, Peter? If they cannot enter Malta and must leave with the Doria, the captain might drop them off on some foreign shore with no resources and without hope. It would be a death sentence. I must show the Prime Minister and the legislature that their fate concerns me.”
O’Bannon shrugged. “As you will. I share your concern, but also understand the government’s position. At what point will Malta’s generosity break the country’s back?”
“God will provide.”
A bright light high in the sky moving east to west caught his attention. “What is that, an aircraft?” The object’s speed was considerable. It covered several degrees of sky in seconds. Its size was difficult to estimate, but it looked too large for an aircraft and moved too fast. As he watched, it seemed to aim directly at the small boat, upon which he stood. He experienced a moment of panic.
O’Bannon shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed at the object with a frown on his lips. “I believe it is a Kaiju. The radio reported twenty more pods were due to strike Earth today.”
In his discomfort aboard the ship and administering comfort to his fellow refugees, Johan had forgotten. He flinched as the pod passed directly overhead at less than five miles altitude. The roar of its passing shook the ship. Ma
ny of the children, and a few of the women, began to cry. He did not blame them. His bowels had turned to jelly as the Kaiju pod had blotted out the sun.
“We are safe,” O’Bannon said. “It looks as if it will land in the deserts of Libya.”
Johan made the sign of the cross. “We must pray for them. We must pray for everyone. Then, we must pray for the crews of the Javelin and the Assegai. Our future may depend on them.”
“If they succeed in destroying the aliens, we might pray that they have a home to return to.”
Two officials approached the dock. They stopped to stare at the Kaiju pod as he had, and then continued on their way across the dock. Their bearing and gait lent an air of importance to their mission. Johan knew their destination was the Doria. He hoped it was good news.
“Perhaps God has moved the government to allow us all to leave this boat,” he said.
“That would be lovely indeed,” Peter replied.
Johan and the captain met the two men dockside. The oldest, a tall, slim man with weathered hands and wrinkled face glanced at the ubiquitous clipboard he held in one hand.
“Your Holiness, the Prime Minister bids me to inform you that the legislature has agreed to allow all the passengers of the Doria onto Maltese soil with the stipulation that the Church agrees to help with their resettlement and welfare.”
It was the news for which he had prayed. Now he could get on with his real task – serving the Church from its new home. “The Church will make funds available for as many refugees and residents as it can. Our coffers are not limitless, but what we have is yours.”
Both men bowed. “Thank you, Your Holiness,” the younger one said. “If you will follow me, we will deliver you to St. Peters.”
Johan’s first steps on dry land were a bit shaky. He did not know if it was from his sea legs or nervousness. Now, the entire weight of the Catholic world lay on his shoulders. He prayed he was man enough for the daunting task.