Terminus Gate (Survival Wars Book 5)

by Anthony James

  “Coil gun!” shouted Chan.

  “Hendrix, assist Rasmussen,” instructed Red-Gulos.

  “We need to get inside!” said Duggan.

  “It’s not good for falling back, sir,” said Ortiz.

  Duggan could see she was right. His troops were in good positions, from which they could keep the enemy at bay. If they moved, they would be exposed to gunfire, or weaken the position of the others.

  “Hold!” he said. He opened up a separate channel to the Crimson. “Commander McGlashan, this is Duggan. We need support. Get here now.”

  She answered at once, as though she’d been waiting to hear his voice. “Two minutes until we’re overhead. We’ll have to come in low and use the Bulwarks, unless you want to risk the Lambdas. Any more sign of anti-air defences?”

  “Negative. Don’t take it for granted, though. Hold off the Lambdas.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Duggan ended the conversation and shouted through the open channel to the troops. “Keep your heads down, we’ve got air support incoming. It’s not going to be pretty.”

  “I’m shot,” exclaimed Stanton.

  “On my way,” said Corporal Weiss.

  “Aw crap, save your legs,” said Stanton.

  With that, the man was gone, his suit reporting a loss of vital signs to the network. Duggan caught a glimpse of the body, or what remained of it. The wonder was how the man had lived long enough to say anything, let alone speak as calmly as he had.

  The chaos went on unabated, this man’s life washed away in the storm of metal. Duggan looked to the skies, before berating himself for thinking he’d be able to see their salvation even with assistance from the helmet sensor. He pressed his rifle to his shoulder and pulled the trigger until his finger ached, aiming along the passage to the east. The enemy were becoming bolder and he saw the ominous shape of another large-bore gauss gun. A plasma round shrieked towards it, exploding with a thump and scattering a dozen shapes away from the blast. When the flames receded, the gauss gun remained, vibrating with the recoil as it fired.

  “It’s looking busy down there,” said McGlashan.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Duggan replied.

  He armed one of his plasma grenades and threw it into the alley, trying to hit the coil gun. Another man nearby did the same and the grenades detonated simultaneously. The coil gun was tipped onto its side, though it continued to fire into the wall of an adjacent building.

  Duggan sensed something overhead. To his surprise, McGlashan had brought the Crimson in so low he felt as if he could touch it. The spaceship remained cloaked, but a positional feed from its AI told him it was there. It hung in the air level with the corner towers, like an ancient god come to bring wrath upon the enemies of its worshippers. The sound of Bulwark fire rose above everything, a cacophonous rumble of slugs colliding with the ground and the alloy buildings. The projectiles left white lines in the air, enough to show that McGlashan had opened fire with all four underside cannons. The traces danced through the darkness and whatever they touched was ripped to pieces, shattered and ruined. Duggan looked around him and saw a nearby structure torn into molten fragments. Shards of rock clattered and pinged, before rattling down to the earth. Duggan crouched as low as he could and waited for the tempest to end.

  “Shit,” said a voice across the open channel, the word almost drowned out by the noise. Laughter followed the voice, high-pitched and with the hysterical edge of a man lost to battle.

  The Bulwark fire stopped. Duggan checked the Crimson’s position and saw it was moving. A grumbling of stressed gravity engines shook the ground and the spaceship raced off, vanishing within moments, its hull already burning hot as it disappeared across the horizon.

  “Got an inbound enemy vessel sir. I’m drawing them away,” said McGlashan, breathless with excitement. “You’ve got about twenty seconds before the troops on the base realise we’ve gone.”

  There was no time to ask further questions. “Fall back! Get inside the building!” said Duggan.

  The soldiers didn’t need to be asked twice. With well-oiled precision, they came away from their positions and dashed for the opening in the wall of the communications building. Some remained to provide cover, throwing grenades and firing their rifles indiscriminately into the passages between the surrounding buildings. Once the first groups of soldiers were inside, Berg and Hendrix remained outside to launch plasma rockets at whatever they thought might be a threat. The remainder of the squad made it safely inside and Duggan climbed through the opening after them.

  He took stock of their situation. The plasma launcher strike against the wall of the target building had opened a hole in the outer wall and also through the side wall of the inner airlock. This provided access to the building’s interior and Duggan ducked through the opening to where the others waited. If there was any oxygen still to escape, it hardly registered as a breeze through the hole.

  There was a large room beyond, lit in pale blue – it had long walls, a high ceiling and was more than big enough to accommodate the four squads with space left over. A few pieces of curved metal furniture were scattered randomly about, and there was a fixed console in the far corner. Everything was bare, unpainted metal, including the floor. In addition, there were a couple of doorways. One was sealed by a door, whilst the second had closed halfway and been stopped by the body of one of the former occupants.

  “It’s dead, sir,” said Ortiz. “Suffocated when we burned our way through the wall.”

  Duggan had seen the effect a vacuum had on his friends and enemies alike – swollen tissues, hands raised to the throat and a look of terror on the faces of the victims. He didn’t need to see it again.

  “Squads Two and Four hold this entrance,” he said. “Watch out for explosives. We don’t know how many ways in there are, so watch your backs. Squad Three, you’re coming with me. We need to fix the beacon in place and then get out of here.” With a shock, Duggan realised he’d forgotten all about Chainer since they’d landed. “Lieutenant Chainer, where are you?”

  “I’m here, sir,” said Chainer.

  “Ready to see how our enemy work their comms?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s move. Quickly, people!”

  With that, Duggan jogged the ten metres to the half-open doorway. He looked through cautiously and saw another room, similarly-sized and with an array of screens in the wall. There were rolling lists of text, too small for him to make out from where he was standing.

  “Two more dead,” he said. “Killed because this door was jammed open.”

  It appeared as though the breach in the outer wall had activated the emergency lock-down on the internal doors. The three exits from this second room were all sealed. Just then, he heard the sound of gunfire, reminding him of the urgency to act without delay.

  “Braler, Rastol. These are your long-lost cousins. See if you can figure out how to open their doors,” he said.

  “These are not our cousins,” said Rastol, heading over the room towards one of the doors.

  Duggan ignored the rebuke. “Lieutenant Chainer, where do we need to be?”

  “Top floor is usually a good guess, sir. Even if their main receptor and transmitter is underground, there’s likely to be a conduit which carries the signal to the roof.”

  “I thought you might say that,” he said.

  A faint hiss made him look in time to see the far door slide open. There was no outrush of air and he wondered if much of the building had depressurized before they could lock it down. In the Space Corps, with its emphasis on safety, it seemed absurd that such a thing could happen. He remembered his suspicion about the Ghasts’ lax approach to such matters and guessed they still had much in common with the Dreamers.

  “Clear,” said Braler.

  “We need stairs,” said Duggan. “Or a lift.”

  The two squads went through the doorway into another room, near-identical to the previous one and with more sealed
doors. Duggan was struck by how similar it was to many of the working areas in a Space Corps building. Whatever the function of a place, the occupants still needed to sit and they still needed screens to work at.

  “Which way?” asked Ortiz. She kept her rifle pointed outwards and its barrel didn’t waver.

  There were more sounds of gunfire from outside and something else clattered against the building, sending reverberations through the walls.

  “They’ve got another coil tube,” muttered Camacho. Ground troops had a healthy respect for the stopping power of these guns.

  “Rastol, show us how to open these doors,” Duggan commanded, walking to the closest. He signalled the others to stay to the sides so they wouldn’t present a target to anything which might be waiting in the room beyond.

  There was a square indentation in the metal wall, shallow enough that it was easy to miss. Rastol reached out an alloy-clad hand and dragged the tips of his middle three fingers diagonally across. “Like this,” he said.

  The door opened and Duggan heard something ping away from the metal nearby. He crouched to the side of the door, but not before he’d seen the movement of several shapes the next room. Gauss rifles discharged and Duggan heard one of the enemy crash into something heavy.

  There was a further exchange of fire. Duggan and his squad weren’t exposed and they unleashed a volley of slugs though the opening. Two more of the enemy died and the gunfire ceased.

  “Camacho gets another.”

  “I got that one,” said Byers.

  “Shut up unless you want to hear me say Ortiz shoots two stupid bastards,” snarled Ortiz. “I need some damned discipline!”

  “Sorry Lieutenant.”

  “These aren’t organised,” said Duggan, taking a look into the room. There were three dead bodies, wearing the same suits as he’d seen on the others outside.

  “It’s a comms building, sir,” said Chainer. “You’d find the same sort of people at the Tillos base. They’re not likely to be trained for this.”

  “I’m not in the mood to feel sorry for them.”

  They entered the room, scanning the far corners for anyone who might be hiding. It was quiet and Duggan’s helmet sensor registered no movement, only the rapidly-dissipating heat from the aliens they’d just killed.

  “We are under great pressure,” said Red-Gulos on the squad leader channel.

  “Keep them back,” Duggan replied, trying to decide which exit to take.

  “We’ll have to retreat into the building soon.”

  With every passing moment, the situation become steadily more perilous for Duggan and his troops. Even if they managed to install the emergency beacon, they were still confronted with the knowledge that the Crimson was gone and an enemy warship was somewhere above.

  Pushing the worries from his mind, Duggan got on with business.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “This one is a lift,” said Braler.

  The Ghast stood adjacent to a doorway that looked like all the others – two metres wide and three tall.

  “Open it,” said Duggan.

  Braler made a different gesture to the one required to open the other doors. “This is something we have in common with our former brothers,” he said. “Our doors open in the same way.”

  The words concealed a thousand feelings and centuries of unspoken history. Duggan didn’t respond and waited for the lift door to open. The others of his squad were positioned around the room, several with their rifles aimed at the descending lift. It took a few moments to arrive and as he stood, shifting his weight impatiently from foot to foot, Duggan caught sight of one of the display screens mounted into a wall next to him. He had to do a double-take when he realised some of the words were familiar. Then it came to him – the Dreamers and Ghasts shared a language. There may have been several hundred years of divergence, but the language modules in his suit computer knew enough of the Ghast script to be able to offer him a rough interpretation. Haxun-TN to Control Room B, he read. It’s the same shit in a different language.

  The thought was comforting – the realisation that the enemy had motives he could understand. He might not know why they were so hostile to other races, but the fact they were trying to exterminate humanity was something he could look at and respond to appropriately.

  Had the lift pinged when it arrived, Duggan would have struggled to cope with the peculiarity of it all. However, the lift made no sound and the door opened. It was empty inside and there was room for only one of the two squads within.

  “Squad One and Lieutenant Chainer get in,” he said.

  There was a panel on the right-hand wall of the lift. “Where to?” asked Rastol.

  “Top floor.”

  The Ghast poked a finger at the top area of the panel. The door closed and there was the sensation of movement. The feeling of being within the enemy lift intensified the strangeness of the situation. Duggan had fought for years, but it was usually on inhospitable terrain. Occasionally he’d fought the Ghasts in mining outposts or research stations. On the Frades-2 base, he felt like he was involved in the first truly urban combat since he’d joined the Corps. The enemy weren’t civilians, but they weren’t exactly combat-ready.

  “This is crazy,” said Rasmussen, leaning against his plasma launcher.

  “There’s still zero atmosphere,” said Camacho. “I thought they’d have got the top floors locked down.”

  “Be grateful they haven’t,” Duggan replied.

  “Some of that Bulwark fire must have punctured the walls.”

  “Sucks for whoever wasn’t in a suit.”

  “It doesn’t suck for us, Cabrera. That’s the only thing I care about,” said Byers without emotion.

  The lift stopped moving. “Ready?” asked Rastol.

  “Open it,” said Duggan, crouching with the others.

  The Ghast pressed the panel and the door opened. The space beyond was in darkness, with no sound or movement. “Out, quick,” said Duggan, exiting the lift and pressing himself to the right-hand side of the aperture. He could hear the discharge of weapons from the area outside the comms building and when his sensor adjusted to the darkness, he could make out a series of jagged holes through the ceiling and into the floor. The punctures in the alloy were about two metres across and their edges were still cooling.

  “Looks like you were right about the Bulwarks, Camacho,” said Duggan. He had no idea if McGlashan had fired at the building accidentally or by design. Either way, it had likely saved numerous lives amongst the Crimson’s contingent of soldiers. “Lieutenant Ortiz, please reinforce the other squads on the ground floor. It looks like we can handle what’s up here.”

  “Roger.”

  “This way,” said Chainer, keeping his voice to an unnecessary whisper.

  Duggan gave a mental shrug at the man’s certainty and headed to a closed door in the far wall. The room was more than thirty metres across and he passed several holes, marvelling at the destructive ability of the Bulwark cannons when put to this unintended use. He peered into one of the two-metre holes through the floor – it went all the way to the bottom, cutting through the building at an angle.

  Chainer’s pace increased, as if he were desperate to see what technology the aliens possessed, or perhaps he simply wanted to be out of this place as soon as possible. He reached the door first.

  “Can I open it?” he asked.

  “Go ahead,” said Duggan, keeping himself flat against the wall on the opposite side of the door.

  Chainer copied the gesture he’d seen the Ghasts make and the door opened. There was a smaller room beyond – little more than three metres square. There was a single exit door – this one unmistakeably designed to repel casual attempts to get through. It was thickly banded with alloy and there was no panel to either side.

  “Bingo,” said Chainer.

  Duggan took one look at the door and got on the comms. “Reilly get up here,” he said.

  “Reilly’s dead,” said Re
d-Gulos.

  “Send Bonner.”

  “On my way, sir,” Bonner replied.

  “Rasmussen, leave your launcher. Go back and help her find her way.”

  “Sir,” he said. He propped the plasma tube against the wall. It slipped to one side and Rasmussen was only just quick enough to catch it. “Sorry,” he said. “It wouldn’t have gone off.”

  While they waited, Duggan took a look at the door. He thumped it with his fist – it could have been a metre thick for all he knew. “Any ideas how to get this open without explosives?” he asked, directing the question at the two Ghasts.

  “This would be internally controlled on one of our bases,” said Braler.

  “Let’s wait for Bonner to get here.”

  It didn’t take long. Bonner would have been easy to spot even without the HUD within the spacesuit helmets, since she carried the distinctive pack which any soldier would know contained explosives.

  “It’s getting hot back there,” she said.

  “I know,” Duggan replied. “Get this open and do it fast.”

  Bonner stepped past and into the small room. She repeated the procedure of hitting the door. Duggan was half-expecting a long show and he was pleased to find the soldier didn’t keep them waiting.

  “Get back to the far wall near the lift and hide behind something,” she said. “And so you know, anyone beyond this blast door is going to be incinerated.”

  “I only care about the comms kit,” said Duggan.

  “It should be okay, but I’m not offering any guarantees. If you want quick, those are the compromises.”

  “Do it,” said Duggan. “Make sure you don’t fall through any of these holes when you’re finished.” He waved the others away and hurried out of the small room as Bonner began removing grey bundles from her pack.

  “There’s room over here,” said Cabrera, waving from the far corner.

  Duggan changed direction and skirted around one of the holes in the floor. There was a wide console fixed to the floor, five feet high and with a chair before it. Two of the four screens were still operational and they displayed a list of status reports relating to something else on the base.