by Sean Allen
The colonel was looking at blank stares and scowled at the confused lot of them. “What the hell don’t you understand?”
“The part where you draw away enemy fire without cover!” Otto responded vehemently. “I mean, I can understand Graale—he’s…well…look at him!” Graale rumbled a small chuckle and slid the firing mechanism back on his cannon with the edge of his hand. “But you—Colonel, you’ll be killed in an instant!”
Abalias shot Otto a cocky grin and the mischievous glint was back in his blue eyes. “Trust me,” he said, smirking, and then gave Otto a wink. “Now, there may be Durax out there. Has everyone had the Serum?” Everyone nodded in agreement that they had and Abalias paused for a moment, a small trace of concern flitting across his face, before issuing the final instructions of his escape plan. “Okay, stick together and make for the first ship available, got that?”
KABOOM!
Before anyone in the room could reply, an explosion ripped through the shipyard and the concussion came barreling down the corridor. This time there was nothing to absorb the energy as it rushed past the spaces where the viewing panes and the large door once were, hitting them full force.
Once the shockwave passed, Graale and Bertie were the only ones still standing upright. Blink and Otto, being the smallest, were thrown the farthest and mercilessly greeted by the rear wall of the room. They rose at almost the same time, coughing and sputtering in the haze stirred up by the explosion. Malo had only been moved a few feet from where he had been originally standing, and he got up snorting, due to anger more than the blanket of dust that hung in the air. Abalias pulled himself to his feet and picked up his gun again. “Everyone okay?”
An assortment of muffled groans, coughs and a snort were all the confirmation that Abalias needed. “All right, now I’m PISSED—let’s move!”
Bertie led the way into the long passage leading up to the shipyard, his four arms each wielding a gun and poised for the battle sure to come in just a few hundred yards. Dr. Blink rode in the channel between Bertie’s flanks, pushed close against the back side of Bertie’s elevated table, with Otto directly behind him on one knee, carefully aiming the barrel of his gun over one side of Bertie’s treads and then the other. The rest were forced by the narrow confines of the cavern into a single file line in Bertie’s wake. Malo was first, crouching low as ordered. Next came Graale, whose noisy footsteps were barely detectable over the echoes of gunfire and small blasts that ricocheted down the tunnel. Abalias, with his service revolver at the ready, brought up the rear.
To say that the shipyard was huge was a conservative description. It had once been the main pit of the large Banzium mine whose tunnels and rooms the Dissension was using as its base of operations. The ceiling lay somewhere in the shadows above, so high it could not be seen. Banzium deposits flowed like glittering swirls of light that had been poured into the surrounding black rock from a giant, cosmic goblet suspended in the darkness overhead. The roughhewn walls undulated with overlapping ridges of stone, a result of the gigantic circular cutting blades that had carved huge slabs of the precious deposits from their resting places long ago. The enormity of the chamber made the perfect landing site for an arsenal of Dissension battle ships and freighters, and the east wall of the great cavern had been demolished and a large alloy door, painstakingly disguised with remnants of the rock it had displaced, had been fitted in place to allow the vessels to enter and leave the port.
The heavy portal to the shipyard had been blown apart, and Abalias and the others squinted as the first rays of dawn crept over the eastern horizon and into the large hollow; the brilliant hues of orange and red stealing silently across the dark floor, then throwing themselves in coalescent madness onto the conflagrated heaps of wreckage that lay ablaze on the deck. The acrid sting of scorched flesh and hair stabbed at their eyes and stuck to their lungs in webs of burning foulness. The decibel onslaught waged on their ears by the alarm lessened as they spilled from the narrow artery into the open cavern, only to be replaced by the screams of injured soldiers and the deafening cracks of gunfire.
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!
As soon as Bertie rolled across the threshold, a hail of bullets rained on his flat front from somewhere in the smoky haze. Each projectile left a distinct star-shaped pattern of spent powder as it bounced harmlessly off Bertie and careened into the unknown. All four of his heavily armed hands tensed forward as he leveled his guns and returned fire in a blistering display of mechanical accuracy. Instead of return fire, gurgling shrieks and the sound of crumpling bodies on the hard floor were evidence that every one of Bertie’s bullets had found its mark through the thick curtain of smog that hung in front of them.
As planned, Colonel Abalias broke to Bertie’s right and Graale headed to the left. Malo was crouching as ordered, galloping behind Bertie’s right tread and searching for a target with his gun. Otto was pinning Dr. Blink to the back side of Bertie’s elevated, bullet-proof table, his left arm making certain Blink’s head remained down, while he wielded his pistol in his right.
“Bertie!” the colonel yelled above another random barrage of enemy gunfire. “Find a ship that’s intact and head for it—defend it with everything you’ve got!”
The choking fog bank in front of Bertie didn’t last long as he charged ahead—it broke around his flat front like dark fabric slowly torn apart and swirls of smoke eddied around his sides and into the channel carrying Otto and Dr. Blink. Wisps of hazy tendrils clutched at his lengths of metal tubing and gusseted cogs like eerie fingers from the grave trying desperately to pull him back into the deathly black abyss.
A fresh breeze from the cool valley outside blew through the opening that had once housed the enormous shipyard door, and it rushed passed the squalor of smoke and death, pushing it to the far side of the yard. The sudden wind laid the battlefield bare and Abalias could see that Bertie was storming down a lane flanked with the burning carcasses of his fleet and strewn with the bloodied, bullet-ridden bodies of his army. Abalias saw a small brigade of the enemy taking aim at Bertie from behind as another contingent fired on him from the front, and he realized that they had entered the fight in the middle of a two-pronged attack.
Plateau entrance three was one hundred yards to the left of the infirmary corridor on the west wall, and it was overrun with the enemy. A contingent had positioned themselves near the western entrance to provide covering fire while an endless line of their gruesome brethren filed from the main ranks and oozed like a plague between the rows of flying machines, spreading fire and destruction as they consumed the shipyard in their ravenous lust for carnage. While the Dissension soldiers were busy defending the west end of the cavern, the enemy had blown open the port door at the east end and was streaming in by the hundreds. They were blowing up Dissension ships from both ends and had almost obliterated their way into the middle. One last Hellion class fighter remained intact and Bertie was headed full speed toward its outstretched plank.
Through the shifting haze, Abalias focused on the line of the enemy to his left, and he cursed out loud as he saw them for what they were. He saw their dead, black eyes. He saw some with sallow and purple skin. He saw some with greasy, matted fur. He smelled their sickening reek of death and he knew his enemy. They were the broken, captured slaves of the Durax, driven insane through mind torture and brainwashed into absolute conviction that they would not have been subjected to such suffering if all creatures would simply bow to the sick cravings of their oppressors. They were unleashed to crush the will of all who stood against their heartless masters—set loose as soulless shells now maniacally loyal to the very creatures that ripped their lives apart and twisted their minds and bodies. Abalias knew his enemy—he heard their horrific cries and animal howls; he saw the dried, black blood on their gnarling maws and smeared on their chins; he saw them level their weapons at Bertie’s back side and he snarled in disgust.
“Goddam BERZERKERS!” he roared as he pulled on the trigger of his gun. But b
efore his barrel could blaze to life, a tremendous boom shook the shipyard and the front line of Berzerkers was parted like a putrid, black wave on a jetty of solid rock.
Abalias allowed himself a smirk of satisfaction as he saw Sergeant Graale’s ferocious grimace and heard the rhythmic sound of the quad-revolving chambers on his cannon. The barrels flashed fire and mowed down Berzerkers like withered weeds in a savage garden. The slide clicked, the cannon roared, the large casings ejected in a beautiful arc of cascading gold and fell empty to the floor in a merry, mad jingle. Abalias watched the macabre opera and its deranged accompanying symphony as if time had slowed to a crawl. He savored the sight of fallen Berzerkers and the cacophony of their savior. He knew death was the most merciful thing for them. He knew it was the only thing that could save them from the Durax. “May they rest in peace.”
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!
Time sped up again and Abalias could feel the immense pressure of bullets pound his right arm. As he turned and raised his gun to open fire he caught a glimpse of Bertie speeding toward the Hellion. He continued in his arc and brought his revolver to bear on the line of Berzerkers moving in from the north. His muzzle coughed pyric fumes as the big octagonal cylinder rotated in its cradle and spit forth its fury eight times over. An equal number of Berzerkers fell but Abalias was repaid in kind. Six bullets struck him in the torso, sending him reeling. As he recovered his balance, he could see confusion on the gaunt faces staring back at him as the webbed fractures beneath his shredded uniform shrank and slowly disappeared into a shimmering smoothness. Comprehension registered on the Berzerkers’ faces and they raised their barrels, but they were too late. As they contemplated his apparent immunity to bullets, Abalias expanded the thick layer of icy armor covering his chest to the rest of his body. His blue eyes beamed from inches below the surface of a frozen hood and burned into the mesmerized Berzerkers as three bullets glanced off of his head. He glimpsed in the direction of the Hellion and Bertie before continuing his assault on the stunned creatures; but his concern for his friends made his gaze linger just a fraction of a second too long and it proved to be their undoing.
Abalias cursed himself as the Berzerker leader redirected his troops’ fire at Bertie. The colonel charged the line, hoping to break their bloodlust and scatter them. He leveled his eight-shot revolver and opened fire. His plan worked brilliantly. The Berzerker line turned to face him again with frightened, wide eyes. Abalias dropped six more Berzerkers dead and wounded two others. He spun the cylinder open at a dead run and reloaded with lightning speed as return fire thudded harmlessly into his torso and legs, sending millions of gelid slivers splintering through the air. With one slap of the chamber, the hammer was pounding out steady death as his icy index finger squeezed until the gun clicked empty again. Bertie was firing all four of his guns at scattered groups of Berzerkers dispersed in the labyrinth of scrapped ships and fallen Dissension soldiers, and Abalias could still hear the thunder of Graale’s cannon cleaning up the rear. He smiled beneath his arctic shield as Bertie moved to within fifty yards of the Hellion. “We’re winning!” he thought for a split second, and at that moment the tide turned.
Wuuuuuuurrrrrrrr –KABOOM!
Abalias had been covering Bertie, Otto, Blink and Malo. He had been kicking Berzerker ass and taking names; but somehow, he was now head over heels in the air. Time had slowed again. One second he was charging a swarm of Berzerkers and he had them scared out of their wits—this icy creature that didn’t die when he was shot, this unbelievable thing that kept on coming no matter how many bullets hit him. But now he was spinning out of control with his gun hand still outstretched. The line of Berzerkers passed him once; they looked frightened, their gnarled mouths twisted in fear. The ground passed him once; it was smooth with a brilliant, shimmering line of Banzium that snaked through the floor just a few feet below his head. The Berzerker line passed him again; they were cheering, their gnarled mouths rent in howls of triumph and bloodlust, their smoking gun barrels raised in cheers of victory over the tumbling ice king. The ground passed him again; the beautiful, sparkling vein of Banzium wound its way northward and disappeared under the mangled piles of what had once been the Dissension fleet of ships.
Abalias met the floor with a thwack and time came rushing back again. He could hear the jeers of the Berzerkers in front of him as he lay on his back and stared up into the dark void of the shipyard. He curled his lips back underneath his glacial hood as his bare leg sent torrents of white-hot pain surging up his thigh, through the side of his body, and searing into his brain. Stars exploded at the corners of his vision as he diverted his energy to internally encasing his shattered leg bone in ice and covering the outside before it was shot off. He let out a muffled scream as the pieces of his leg were slowly compressed back into place. The slicing edge of the pain dulled as he let the cold numb his entire body. “What in the hell was that?” he thought to himself as he slowly sat up.
Wuuuuuuuuurrrrr—KABOOM!
The frigid casing around Abalias’ torso shattered and sprayed into the sticky, hot air of the war-torn shipyard. His arms flailed helplessly outward; wrenched back by the sheer force of the impact to his chest as he was flattened to the ground and sent sliding across the floor. “Oh, yeah—they have a cannon too,” he thought before his beaming blue eyes flickered out.
Chapter 10: Sad Occasion
Graale broke away from Bertie as ordered and sprinted to his left. He squinted his eyes against the rising heat of countless fires crackling somewhere in the murk, and the barrel of his cannon was rock-steady in front of him as he thudded across the floor and through the haze toward the roar of beating feet. A row of Dissension ships lay burning to his right and thick billows of black smoke curled from the ruins and hung in the air, limiting his visibility. A sudden draft cleared his line of sight and Graale raised his gun as a surge of Berzerkers broke from the ranks pouring through the plateau entrance and headed straight for him. The ravenous beasts bared their teeth and screeched as they lifted their guns and opened fire.
Bullets glanced from Graale’s shoulders with sharp pinging sounds as small whiffs of rocky dust leapt from his body. The projectiles that crashed into his chest and stomach were stopped cold, flattened into little metal discs before clanking to the ground at his feet. A savage growl erupted from his cracked and ragged lips as his cannon sent shell after shell flying through the Berzerker horde, clearing huge swaths of the shipyard as they ripped through flesh and bone. The sergeant’s blitz of cannon fire had decimated all Berzerkers in his immediate area and temporarily stemmed the flow of the enemy through the opening. He was about to crack a satisfied grin when he saw something through the shifting smoke.
To his right, Graale could make out the figure of someone just past the silhouette of a destroyed space freighter. Whoever he was, he was kneeling on the ground, his back curled forward and his arms stretched out in front of him as if struggling to get to his feet.
“Hey, buddy! You okay?” Graale shouted, leaning his head and shoulders to the side to get a better look.
The stranger’s back straightened and then stopped like he was having trouble lifting his head. A strangled scream cried out from under him, followed by popping and tearing sounds as he jerked upright and then turned on Graale. It was a Berzerker. He was a putrid green color with a large, flat fin of bone sticking out from a thick skull and ending in a dangerous-looking point, and he fixed Graale with vacuous black eyes. His snout was long and jagged strips of soft tissue and skin dangled from rows of teeth in his big jaws. Fresh blood glistened around his mouth and dribbled down his chin as he growled at the sergeant for interrupting his meal of Dissension soldier tartare. Two more Berzerkers, hidden by the wreckage, had been feasting on the upper torso of the same soldier and they stalked into sight to flank their comrade. All three vile beasts snarled at Graale with blood-smeared mouths as they tensed for an attack.
“You disgusting MONSTERS!” Graale raged, and all three devils charged.
The Berzerker with the bone plate in his head dropped on all fours and led the onslaught. The creature streaked across the distance between Graale and the ravaged pile of entrails behind him, lowering his head on his thick neck and shoulders to impale his enemy.
Graale decided that a shell from his gun would be wasted on so few, but even if he’d had unlimited rounds for the cannon, it wouldn’t have mattered: he was going to kill these bastards with his bare hands. The Berzerker roared as it launched itself through the air and soared straight for his abdomen. Graale swung his gun around to his back then clapped his palms in front of himself with violent force, catching the beast in mid-air with hardly enough space for the haze around them to pass between his stomach and the bone-blade. The Berzerker’s reinforced skull crushed like brittle glass in Graale’s grip, and its brains squirted through the sergeant’s fingers like rotten, soft fruit on a hot summer’s day.
No sooner had the nearly headless body crumpled to the floor than the next creature pounced from Graale’s right. He snatched the Berzerker around its throat and its feral growls and snapping jaws instantly gave way to a last, sickly whimper as the sergeant easily crushed the bones in its neck to dust.
The last of the three monsters opened fire at almost point-blank range as Graale dropped his second attacker. The Berzerker didn’t wait to see if his bullets had drawn blood as he jabbed the large, serrated bayonet at the end of his gun at Graale’s head. Graale could smell the tang of spent gunpowder from the still-smoking barrel as the point of the blade hit his chin with a dull chook and its sharpened edge ground along his cheek with a gritty scrape! The demon lunged in again and Graale reached down to his belt and whipped a curious-looking dagger from its sheath at his hip. The petrous weapon was as solid as Graale himself. Its handle and hilt were made of lumpy rock, but the blade now spiking toward the ground in his hand was a jeweled shard of red. Graale dodged his head to the side, and the bayonet sailed past his face and paused for a microsecond over his shoulder before the Berzerker could make his next move.