Extinction Fleet 1: Space Marine Ajax

by Sean Michael Argo

  Mahora, Boone, and another marine moved along the bottom of the trench while Ajax covered them from the top. They encountered a few ripper drones, most of them wounded, and one more gorehound before marines from the second parallel joined them in the hunt. Still nothing from the Watchman, noted Ajax as he and a marine on top of the other side of the trench combined their fire to slay a gorehound attempting to take aim at the marines advancing from below. It was then that Ajax heard a single shot ring out, a different report than that made by the pulse rifles or sickening Garm weapons. It was a kinetic weapon, large caliber, with lots of explosive power behind it.

  Hart.

  Ajax turned around and faced the darkness of no man’s land, opening his eyes as wide as he could to take in some details of the gloom. He tried to see past the wounded Garm, as if staring into the darkness would give him some scrap of intel.

  There.

  A second shot sounded and this time he saw the muzzle flash of what he knew had to be Hart’s special issue sniper rifle. Nobody but the scout snipers carried weapons that fired actual bullets, as they were too resource intensive for the protracted war against the alien invaders.

  Ajax turned around to look behind him and saw that the rest of the marines had moved on with securing the trench. He was alone on this side of the trench, with naught but corpses and wounded Garm as company.

  Somewhere out there in the darkness Hart was hunting something and as much as his instincts screamed at him not to go, Ajax began moving towards where he’d seen the muzzle flash.

  The marine gingerly picked his way across the corpse-littered ground, careful to stay well away from the few wounded Garm that thrashed in futility as he pressed into no man’s land. Soon the flares were in the distance and he could only see a few feet in front of him.

  A strange sound came from his left, something akin to what he imagined two wet bones scraping against each other might make, and he swept his rifle around to meet it. Nothing moved, only dead Garm laying still, and yet again he heard the sound.

  Ajax turned, his eyes catching a glimpse of a serpentine tail comprised of many sections of interlocking chitin, leading up to the thick torso of a creature that had to be equal to the size of a WarGarm. It was covered in spiny appendages and had strange frills jutting up from its back. Its face, however, shared the same reptilian and yet, insectoid features of the other Garm.

  “The forward observer,” whispered Ajax as he raised his weapon to his shoulder and placed his finger on the trigger.

  What kept him from firing wasn’t so much the creature’s wicked maw of tendrils and hinged pincers, but the dull reflection of the flares against its matte black eyes that memorized him.

  Ajax barely noticed when the meter-long blade of razor-sharp chitin slid into his abdomen and up through his heart.

  The entire galaxy had become those awful eyes.

  In the background of his fading consciousness Ajax was dimly aware of the sharp crack of a familiar sniper rifle and then all was darkness.

  THE CHOSEN SLAIN

  Lightning surged through the darkness.

  Synapses fired anew. Neurons awakened once more. Organs began to function again. The body of a man crackled with energy, and the mind of a marine achieved consciousness.

  Ajax opened his eyes and inhaled deeply.

  He was instantly aware of the torc around his neck, and no sooner had he noticed it than another bolt of lightning hammered through his body.

  The data recorded on the torc comprised the whole of his memories, mapped and coded by the miracles of science that had allowed humanity to thrive and survive in this harsh universe. Chemicals in the marine’s brain reacted to the coded instructions, and as the man’s awareness was engulfed by the electric tempest his memories were returned to him.

  Ajax roared in pain and exultation as he was simultaneously reborn and resurrected.

  In the storm, he found himself standing on a barren mountainside of scrabble stone and ash. In the burning yellow sky, great lumbering beasts drifted on the winds, held up by gargantuan gas bladders and dragging incredibly long tentacles behind them. The tentacles went all the way to the ground, and from there burst into many more smaller tendrils, effectively sweeping across the land. He could see tiny bits of vegetation and organic matter caught in the tendrils and pulled up the network into the beasts.

  In the distance, there was a city, its skyline somehow familiar to Ajax, though it had been so ruined by time and artillery that he could not place it. The air stank of organic discharge and static electricity, and the marine’s eyes teared up at the potency of it.

  The marine spun on his heels, his fists clenched for violence, and saw a beautiful woman not a few steps from him. He recognized her, impossibly, as his wife, Rowan, a woman long dead at the hands of the Garm invasion.

  He did not move as she gingerly stepped towards him, painfully aware of the swell of her bosom and the sway of her hips as she moved, dressed as she was in garb that made him think of the myths upon which the Einherjar military was based. As in the stories of old she tipped a stein of mead to his lips, and he drank deeply of the honeyed liquid as if his thirst was bottomless. His belly rumbled and the woman pressed a sizzling strip of meat in his mouth. It wasn’t the flavorless molded protein of the barracks mess hall, but actual flesh that tasted as if it had been roasted over an open fire. She pressed herself against him suggestively, as if she knew how terribly lonely a man could become on such an endless battlefield as his, and she smiled as she gently guided him to the ground.

  Surely, the Valkyrie were just part of a story, the myth from one of Earth’s ancient cultures, he thought to himself as her lips touched his and she guided his over her body as she moved on top of him. As they moved together he realized that his wounds were healed, his guts no longer torn and his heart absent the vile blade. Valhalla is just a story, he insisted to himself silently, before the woman lowered herself onto him, and then he thought of no more beyond the exertion of their embrace.

  Something moved behind Rowan and the sound of bone grating against bone sent adrenaline coursing through the marine’s body. He recognized the sound, and upon hearing it, the memories of his fight in the trench came flooding back to him. Ajax looked back at the woman just as a chitin blade sprouted from her chest, showering him in her bright blood as her body was yanked off him.

  Ajax wiped the blood from his face and scrambled to reach his feet. He could hear the beast slithering over the loose stones, though he could not see it. The marine looked about him for a weapon, but found little save a large sharp rock, which he decided would have to do. Ajax held his weapon aloft and moved in a slow circle, following the sound of the creature as it stalked him. He held his vigil, moving in circle after circle, until he began to question if he’d even seen it or heard it at all.

  Again, the lightning moved through him and his consciousness was shaken.

  THE BODY FORGE

  His eyes were sore, and he had a headache, but when he opened his eyes and looked around he saw that he was on a recovery table, presumably aboard the warship Bright Lance. Standing around the low surface were three physician engineers, one of them Ajax recognized as Idris, the chief attendant. He was still restrained on the table, which was a standard procedure after his unconscious form had been removed from the body forge.

  Ajax did not resist his bonds, as it was protocol to dock each marine for a short time once emerging from the forge. Not everyone came back peacefully, and sometimes it took a few minutes, sometimes even hours, for someone to sync with the torc. Ajax knew from personal experience that during those first few minutes of life after the forge, one’s sense of reality could be rather fluid. Considering the horrors of war that the Einherjar regularly witnessed, it was prudent to restrain them until normalcy could be achieved.

  “Welcome back, marine, you are safely aboard the Lance,” said Idris as he reached out to touch the marine’s shoulder with a reassuring hand. “Please remain at ease wh
ile we finish our diagnostic, we must ensure that your expiration was not so traumatic that the body manifests any residual injuries. Your file indicates that this is not likely, but we must be sure, mustn’t we?”

  “Marine at ease, sir,” said Ajax, keeping with protocol even though his mind raced with what he’d seen. Such a potent vision, or hallucination, or whatever it was had never been something he experienced after emerging from the forge. He found it disturbing, as it was known that resurrection dreams were often an early indicator of a marine’s eventual Blackout. Such dreams were not always milestones, as plenty of marines had the dreams but had yet to Blackout, though it was well known that everyone who achieved full Blackout suffered the most vivid such dreams.

  “All vitals are good, the torc upload is green, but you seemed to suffer a manner of seizure just after you came online,” said Idris as he finished his work and then set about gently releasing the restraints on the table.

  “While the resurrection dreams are acceptably commonplace, I’d like to schedule a follow up exam in a few weeks just to make sure we didn’t overlook something,” Idris continued as he offered a helping hand so that Ajax could return to his feet for the first time in this body, “Presuming of course that you survive that long.”

  “Copy, sir,” nodded Ajax as the other two attendants helped him into a standard issue body glove, the movement helping the marine to get his physical bearings and clear his head of cobwebs before he turned to ask, “Did we win?”

  “Victory against the Garm is always a relative affair is it not?” said Idris with a grim smile as he gestured to the bustling forge infirmary. “From a tactical perspective, we held the line against the swarm, Heorot remains unmolested, so you are to be congratulated on a job well done, even if it cost us many thousands of lives. With regards to how this setback affects the overall stratagems of the extinction fleet and the army of the All-Father? Who but Odin can know such things?”

  Ajax nodded and turned to leave the infirmary, knowing that he was expected to attend a company debriefing with Jarl Mahora.

  Each jarl was to gather intelligence from the accounts of their attending company and push the report up to the Watchman, a marine commander who was the master of Einherjar ground forces deployed from Bright Lance. From there he would judge the actions of each marine and their jarl, take what intelligence he could, and use it to add to the overall knowledge of the Garm, adapting any strategies or tactics needed to make the Einherjar a more effective fighting force. It had been considered an honor that Hydra Company was given the task of defending the gun battery that the Watchman had chosen to use as his Tower for that particular engagement.

  The marine knew his way from the forge to the hangar bay, knowing that troop shuttles would be making regular departures for the planet’s surface. With so many casualties there would be a constant flow of freshly forged marines making their way back to their units in Heorot.

  Ajax had made this journey from the body forge seventeen times since joining the ranks of the Einherjar. Most of the marines in his shuttle were members of other companies, though he did see Rama strapped in near the front of the shuttle. The men did not speak as they launched from the bay of the warship and made planetfall, each was busy getting reacquainted with his body and his mind. They had all done this many times, though even experienced clone soldiers had a certain amount of existential work to do before he was fully prepared to return to battle.

  HEOROT THE CURSED

  Once back on the surface, Ajax reported to his company’s basecamp, which had been set up in what appeared to be an equipment warehouse in Heorot that had been converted to suit military purposes. The Hydra Company debriefing went as Ajax expected, with a tally of shots fired, accuracy reports, casualty lists, tactical evaluations, and a respectful welcome for the resurrected.

  It had become routine, this dance of death, forging, debriefing, and the swift return to duty. However, his experiences on this most recent battlefield, his resulting death, and the vividly engaging resurrection dream that had been accompanied by a seizure, where not at all routine. Nor was the personal summons he received from Jarl Mahora after the debriefing, since most marines had been ordered either to rest and refit or return to Trench 16 for waste disposal and picket duty.

  Ajax entered through the sliding metal door that led to the former warehouse manager’s office and was taken aback by the sight that awaited him in the chamber. Jarl Mahora stood at attention with his back to the far wall of the small chamber, in the chair where the jarl usually sat was someone else entirely.

  A marine was perched on the edge of the chair, dressed in patchwork armor and camo netting that marked him as a skald, the recon and intelligence commandos from Taskforce Loki. Common grunts such as Ajax, rarely saw them, at least up close, as they were usually deployed on one sort of special mission or the other. Ajax wasn’t even aware that the warship Bright Lance had been assigned a skald. The man’s helmet was in place despite being in the well-protected fortress ship, but as Ajax took his seat, after a moment’s pause, the warrior removed it.

  “Marine Ajax, you have the honor of being in the presence of Skald Thatcher,” said Mahora with some consternation, giving Ajax the distinct impression that he was not pleased to have had his command somewhat usurped. “He and a cadre of operatives arrived during the nightcycle aboard the scout ship Crimson Shard, sent by the All-Father to assist us in the defense of Heorot.”

  “Anything we discuss here must be in the strictest confidence,” said Thatcher as he leaned forward to steeple his hands and set his armored elbows on the table. “I know how it is out there on the line, in the trenches. Men talk, they are overheard, and knowledge spreads. This we cannot have.”

  “Sirs, forgive me,” stumbled Ajax, their request throwing him into a state of confusion even as he struggled to maintain composure in the presence of such a legendary operative as Skald Thatcher, who had accounted for some of the most daring victories in the long war against the Garm. “The Einherjar have no secrets, so that no man can be above his brother, surely I cannot break that code.”

  “I told you he was staunch,” snorted Jarl Mahora, his eyes blazing with a fierce pride in the marine’s unwillingness to break with code, even when asked by such as the skald. “Seventeen trips to the forge and not a dent in the armor.”

  “That is a relief, I suppose, every warrior fights with the tools for which he is most suited, even if it does present us with a unique difficulty,” said Thatcher as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before looking across the table at Ajax, taking his time in the silence until finally saying, “Our strength is in our unflinching commitment to the cause, and yet we must find ways in which to be flexible in the execution of our duties. The enemy is rather cunning, Ajax, more so than any grunt can imagine. We skald live and breathe both stories and secrets, it is what we do.”

  “This game of predator/prey that you play with the enemy, we have no taste for,” said Mahora, who looked from Ajax to Thatcher, giving the freshly forged marine the impression that Mahora and the skald had been arguing the matter for some time before he entered the room, “We build walls, dig ditches, set barricades, and we defend them. We watch the gates.”

  “And yet the enemy games with you regardless,” snapped Thatcher, and Ajax found himself concerned for Jarl Mahora, who, while being the top man in Hydra Company, was but a jarl, while this skald had a direct line with Command. “If they can’t break your walls down, they will dig them out from under you, and unless you accept that this war has transformed, we will fail.”

  “Transformed?” asked Ajax, able to stay silent no longer, as he had guessed that he wasn’t the first marine this pair had debriefed, not to mention Jarl Mahora’s personal experience, so they likely knew about the differences in tactics displayed by the swarm encountered by Hydra Company.

  “Heorot has no symmetric tactical significance, little organic material to justify an invasion, and yet here we are knee-deep in corp
ses,” offered Thatcher as he returned his full attention to the marine. “It is my mission to determine why the Garm have come to devour this modest outpost, and why a new beast stalks us here, in this lonely place, and not on battlefields of greater merit.”

  “You’ve already debriefed Hart, then I take it,” surmised Ajax, as his blood turned cold at the thought of the serpentine creature he’d encountered both on the battlefield and in his resurrection dream. “You know about the forward observer.”

  “Indeed,” smiled Thatcher, a facial expression that Ajax thought terribly inappropriate for the situation. “Hart had more to tell us concerning the beast on the battlefield. I have been informed that you displayed not only the elevated brainwaves indicative of resurrection dreams, but you suffered a minor seizure in the process. Though Idirs insists there is no discernably lasting damage, I am curious to hear of the details.”

  “They’re just hallucinations, sir, caused by the trauma of so many memories being re-coded into a fresh brain,” countered Ajax, uncomfortable sharing the explicit intimacies of his dream, especially considering how much it seemed to confirm to the old Norse myths, which struck Ajax as awfully silly in this modern age. “Just the mind re-ordering itself.”

  “He knows the science, marine,” barked Mahora, “Spit it out.”

  “Start with the first flare and walk us through it,” commanded Thatcher as he activated the recorder on his wrist tablet. “I am especially concerned with moments during the engagement when you felt as if you were acting in a way that you found surprising, or if others were displaying inconsistent behaviors.”

  Ajax took a deep breath and began to speak. It was easy for him to recount his actions in the defense of Trench 16, as such things had become all too routine for the battle-hardened marine. His tone changed when it came time to discuss the creature that had slain him, and the resulting resurrection dreams he’d suffered afterwards.