MissionSRX: Ephemeral Solace

by Matthew D. White

  Blood surging, Grant kicked the door open and moved out onto the asphalt parapet. A dozen antennas of various types were attached all around the edges. There was no alien presence, but the first thing he noticed was a large black cube mounted in the middle of the RF courtyard.

  In excess of two meters to a side, Grant’s mind made the connection. He had seen it before, somewhere far away.

  “What the hell is that thing?” one of the security guards on the team asked the group at large.

  “I’m not exactly sure, but I found some in Sol Charlie last year. Our best guess was that they were related to a communications network.”

  Before he could clarify, a muffled explosion shook the structure’s foundation far below. Mason’s frantic cursing and shouting followed on the radio.

  “Sergeant, what was that?”

  “We just triggered a mine in the elevator. I’ve got a man down—hold on!”

  ***

  With the rest of the team easing on their patrol, Scott moved up from his position at the very back of the squad to see the tower roof for himself. Like Grant and the others, the cube caught his eye before. The others were obviously entranced as well.

  “How close can we get?” he asked.

  “As close as you want, but I can’t tell you what it’ll do,” Grant warned.

  Scott didn’t let the words dissuade him and got beside it, studying the impressive lines of runes carved into every bit of the outer edges. There was no close comparison he could make in his experience. The closest he could get was likening it to a shattered mess of vinyl records or spread plaster.

  “Here,” Grant offered, and pointed to a prominent cut in the closest side, “Pull as hard as you can right here.”

  The engineer accepted, gripped the edge tightly, and pulled back on the surface, which quickly tore away. A liquid interior with the look and consistency of crude oil dumped out from the puncture, covering Scott from head to toe.

  Along in the noxious mixture tumbled a small alien no bigger than a human child. Scott caught the body without thinking before shock took over. “What the—” he sputtered as he processed the creature, dropped it, and slipped on the oily pool below his feet. The alien twitched and opened a tiny mouth, attempting to breathe.

  Scott’s concerns were waylaid when a shot from Grant’s sidearm broke the silence and carved away half its skull, splattering a silver-gray liquid in all directions. “Did . . . did you know that was going to happen?”

  Grant washed a look of amusement from his face. “I had a feeling,” he replied. “I’ve found these before and had the same thing happen to me. I think it’s got something to do with their communication network, but our guys haven’t made any headway on it yet.”

  “You thinking it’s some sort of biological interface?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” he started. “I found a bunker of them in Sol Charlie along with a few ships with similar radiation signatures. Communication system or beacon makes sense. This is the first time I’ve seen one tactically employed on the ground.”

  Scott thought for a moment. “So you didn’t see any on Mars yesterday?”

  The thin smile faded from Grant’s face. “Shit. No, I didn’t. I’d bet anything there’s one operating.” He thought a moment. “It seems to be the day for all sorts of new tricks.”

  An explosion a few stories below the roof cut the conversation short. Grant widened his stance and pulled his weapon up waiting for another hit. “Mason, did your guys trip something else?”

  ***

  Dust and bits of ceiling tile rained down around Sergeant Mason as he pulled the soldier beside him to his feet. “No, we’re just down the one. That one came from outside.”

  “Mason, Grant, it’s Allen. You just took a mortar round on the fourth floor. It came from the north.” The security guard watched as a half-dozen more shots slammed into both sides of the tower. “That was north and south. They’ve got teams on both facing stations!”

  “Can you see them?”

  35

  Grant pointed to the soldier standing guard by the stairs. “Check the north side. Do you see them on the other rig?” he asked in passing while he sprinted to the other edge of the roof. Smoke rose from a few dots interspersed on the top of the unfinished building to the south.

  “They’re all over,” he reported, dropping to the ground and swinging up his heavier weapon. The wide lens on his battle rifle’s scope instantly measured the environment and compensated for the range and atmosphere accompanied by a nearly inaudible hum from the internal servo. Grant’s eyes adjusted in turn as he rested the barrel on the platform’s corner. Another volley flickered off from the south side and a second later screeched in, impacting the walls below the soldier’s position.

  He drove three bursts of rounds back across the water and hit two of the aliens manning one of the makeshift launchers. The heavy bullets weren’t impeded by the aliens’ thin armor and knocked the pair straight onto the deck. Grant watched as their nearby companions stepped back in surprise before rushing up to take their places.

  Before they could rearm for another volley, Grant shifted his focus down to the case of mortar shells and took another shot, detonating them in a blast that enveloped the team in a ball of fire. He sneered wryly behind his visor as he watched the bodies fly and the shockwave rush to his position.

  Scanning the far rooftop, he saw no more movement. Whatever was left of their force had taken cover. “I’ve got it covered to the south. How are things on North?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder.

  “They’ve got four more stations, but I can’t get a shot on them,” the soldier reported while more rounds rained down above their heads. One landed square in the middle of the roof, vaporizing the cube and blowing a hole through the top three floors.

  “What did that hit?” Sergeant Allen asked. “Grant, the tower just shifted a meter to the side. If they keep hitting it, they’re gonna make it collapse.” The sergeant wiped a layer of dust from his scope and looked through the dimming light to the burning scars running up the tower walls. Although smoke poured out continually, he could see the occasional faint shadow of the other team egressing from the roof.

  “Copy. We’re on our way down.” Grant pulled back to his knees and then his feet, feeling the black asphalt crunch below him. “You heard the sergeant! Get out of this thing before it comes down with us inside it!” he ordered his team as he jogged around the gaping hole and back to the stairwell.

  “Mason, can you get clear of this thing?”

  “Grant I’ve already pulled most of my guys back to the auxiliary structures.”

  “Good. We’re going to need a plan to dislodge those freaks,” Grant reported as he leapt down a section of missing stairs beside a hole in the wall three meters across. “Mr. Ryan, where are you?”

  “First floor of the structure to the west.” The engineer was still breathing heavy from the run.

  “Agreed,” Mason replied. “We’ve got negative contact on the surface or the second level. They might still be trying to regroup after losing the team to the south. If we keep the pressure up, we might have the best luck.”

  ***

  On the southwest rig, the battle now seemed a distant memory far away. The relative silence and isolation provided a chilling contrast to the chatter on the radio and the burning buildings across the water. O’Hare observed from the edge of the bridge as the facing building burned.

  He had completed a thorough search of the ground level and was now standing watch while the rest of Delta scoured the other floors. So far, they had found nothing of use to the cause. Looking back, he watched the sun sink closer to the horizon and paint a vast spectrum of reds, blues, and purples across the sky. It’d be night before they were mobilized for another assault.

  “Sergeant, Fire Team One. We’re done with the first sub-level. There’s nothing but heavy equipment for drilling and about a hundred klicks of pipe.”

  “Got i
t. Move to the next.” O’Hare didn’t like the feeling of giving up on the others, but he was running out of options. “Team Two, anything?”

  “We finished the second building. All loft residences and maybe twenty-some corpses. It looks like the aliens herded them out during the landing and killed anyone who resisted.”

  “How much notice did they have? See any defenses?”

  “None. They had no warning. These things came in quick. A few were shot in their rooms; a couple were chopped up pretty bad in the halls.”

  “Examples.”

  “Yup. They probably used the gunships to drop them on the roof.”

  O’Hare shook his head. If his soldiers survived the current encounter, they’d have no shortage of lessons learned for the next. The whole thing was troubling. Whatever their current adversaries were, they weren’t Aquillians.

  “Sergeant O’Hare, it’s Team Three. We just got the local network up. Come check it out.”

  ***

  Grant shuffled over the acre of broken glass in the lobby and made his way back outside the door he had entered. He immediately saw Mason waving from the cover of the building to the south. Another mortar hit the tower and sent bits of concrete raining down around him as the soldier dodged as best he could. The twenty square meters of sod comprising a makeshift courtyard felt so fake and yet so quaint as Grant tore through.

  “C’mon!” Mason encouraged, “get out of sight quick before they start aiming back here.”

  Without hesitation, Grant cleared the ground and slid inside, surrounded by the rest of the waiting soldiers. Dropping to the ground, he caught his breath while Mason filled him in.

  “So, what’s the next move?” Mason unexpectedly finished with a question.

  “I was hoping you knew,” Grant replied. “It’s going to be difficult to get the drop on them.”

  “The best way is probably from below, but they’ve got to be guarding their end just like we are. There’s an access way along the top of the suspension cable support, but we’d be sitting ducks if we tried to run it.”

  Two soldiers standing to Mason’s right handed the machine guns back to Grant, who accepted both and reattached them to his armor. He shifted his weight to get used to the additional mass once more and considered their options. “There are at least four more levels below us, right? And only one has a walkway?”

  “That’s correct. Do you think you can find a way to sneak across?”

  “What I’m thinking,” Grant began, “is if I can get over there and disrupt their guard on the bridge, you can move in and we can catch them in the middle.”

  “Could work, but you’d be pretty far in front,” Mason assessed. “Once you’d engaged, it’d be several minutes until we’d reach you.”

  “That’s fine. I think I can handle myself. Let’s see what we’ve got to work with down there.”

  Sergeant Mason followed the soldier down a set of stairs at the rear of the building that led to the next level. One floor and the entire atmosphere changed. Gone were the asphalt streets, and in their place was a metal maze of diamond plate, stamped deck boards, and cast iron pipes.

  The air was hot, dense, and smelled of oil, chemical fumes, and powdered steel. LED hazard lights were attached to every support and cast yellowed lights and shadows in every direction. A short distance away, Grant could see the fire teams watching the bridge to the north, laying prone behind a semicircular line of equipment crates.

  At the edge, Grant grasped the heavy guard rail and peered over at the bundles of pipes that made up the underside of the passage. “I can’t see shit down there,” he announced, and dug a small climbing rig from a pouch on his armor. Clipping it on the edge, Mason watched as the other man disappeared into the darkness below.

  Standing inverted, he slowly stepped to the bridge junction. A mess of pipes was bundled together, taking up nearly all the space, along with several smaller ones as well. “I think I might have something,” Grant reported. “They’ve got some power lines down here I could probably climb across on.”

  He grabbed ahold of the nearest wire and shifted his weight to match. “Mason, can you release the cable? I’m about to need it down here.”

  “Sure thing,” Mason responded, detached the small carabineer, and dropped it down into the abyss.

  “Got it.” Grant pulled the wire in and attached it to the smallest cable he could find. It was fairly taut and didn’t have many supports to navigate around. “Alright, I’m moving out. I’ll let you know when I’m in position.”

  Climbing forward, Grant went as quickly as he could and tried to ignore the black water glistening in the starlight far below. With the wire holding most of his weight, the rifles on his chest, and his hands and feet guiding, the meters glided by as easily as walking. The first support stopped his advance, but with a brief pause, Grant supported himself and used a free hand to switch over to the next length of wire.

  After reaching what the soldier considered the halfway point, he continued in silence and in darkness to avoid any attention. It was a long shot that an alien would be looking in the right direction to spot him, but it was not the day to be underestimating his enemy.

  Unexpected, it was when Grant felt his head run straight into an obstruction with a definite crack. The shock stunned him for a moment and he chanced turning on the red task light beside his visor.

  Going south on the same line were five opposing alien soldiers, with the closest groaning and grabbing its skull. “Dammit all!” Grant roared and lunged at the nearest one, striking it again and wrenching it free from the cable. It appeared they had the same plan he did.

  The closer alien spun on its safety cable, striking the next one back while they let out a series of clicks and growls in some unknown language. Grant’s mind swirled around, trying to get ahead of basic survival instincts to a solution. Rifles were too big and useless. The sidearm would be loud, and he’d be stuck shooting five of them in a line.

  He swung and hit the creature in the front again, knocking it back farther into the midst of the others. The wire was the only thing left, Grant thought, and went for the hatchet held in the small of his back with his right hand while he reached for another pipe with the left. He ripped the weapon free and struck the cable with all his might.

  The impact was enough to instantly fray the cable and snap in two. Grant felt himself drop, and he held on tight to the secondary pipe with his opposite hand. His opponents had no such warning, and with a chorus of screeches, dropped into the ocean two hundred meters below.

  “What the hell was that?” Mason asked from the far side.

  “They sent a team of five at us on the same damn cable,” Grant reported, swaying in the breeze before he pulled himself back up and hooked his feet around the smaller conduit. “I just cut the line and dropped them in the water.”

  “So you’re stuck now?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” he continued, looking about. “The pipe might be a little slower, but I think I can make it.” He thought for a second. “This might work to our advantage. If these little shits didn’t report back, their guys might think they’re alive.”

  “Do you think you got them fast enough?”

  “I think so. It was over quick and they looked as surprised as I did. I nailed the one in the face,” Grant added and started crawling.

  “Nice. Let me know what you need when you get close.”

  ***

  A hundred and eighty meters down, O’Hare finished off the last handful of rungs on the service ladder leading to the water’s edge. A dozen gigantic pylons held the artificial island aloft and were equipped with docking mechanisms to offload the oil and its derivatives.

  Half of Delta Squad was already positioned on the floating deck when he arrived, with the rest pulled back to the lowest floor above. The sergeant surveyed the stock of vessels moored along the length and thought through their next move.

  A few patrol boats loaded with light weapons took most of
the spots, along with a few other small exploratory vehicles. If they wanted to remain out of sight, a ship like that would be the last thing they’d need, O’Hare surmised. The corporal waved him along. “This might be what we need!”

  The sergeant looked down into the murky water below to see a dozen coffin-sized pods barely floating on the surface. “What are they?”

  “Motors for exploratory and servicing divers,” the corporal explained. “They’re like directional jets.”

  O’Hare connected the dots. “You think they could make it to the north rig?”

  “Absolutely. Even with a couple of us on each one they should have enough power. They’re spec’d to run for four hours continuously on a single cell.”

  Transportation, underwater and silent: the setup was perfect. “We’re going for it,” he announced. “Delta, get down here and be ready to move in two minutes.” O’Hare switched channels, “Sergeant Mason, Southwest is empty, but we’ve got a way across.”

  “Excellent. What do you have? ETA?”

  “There’s a couple of diving submersibles over here.” He looked out across the water to the emergency clearance lights illuminating the barest of features on the northern derrick. “I don’t know how fast we’ll be moving, maybe twenty minutes if it goes smoothly.”

  O’Hare checked the seal on his helmet and jumped into the water, sinking quickly before grabbing the jet and buoying himself to the surface. He clipped a climbing cable to the handle for safety and let the unit pull him along, “This should work perfectly. Get down here and hook up, four per unit.”

  He grabbed for the first soldier to jump behind him and broke the man’s fall, pulling him to the transport while he hooked up his line in similar fashion. Clouds of bubbles filled the water around them as the rest of the squad joined up.

  Once everyone was in place, O’Hare nudged the control on his jet forward, slowly but surely pulling the crew of three along for the ride. He turned on a single LED for light and looked back for the others. “Guide on me. Keep your lights off,” he ordered and kept the illuminated cone of water pointed down as to draw less attention.