In the Blink of an Eye

by Mark Dutkiewicz

  “Anvil, Crud,” Jeff screamed, “those razors aren’t designed for this. Pull the hell up, you’re going to be torn apart!” The radio was a choppy mess of screams and garbled orders making it impossible to know if they heard him. Disregarding his own safety, Jeff pressed his ship for more power all the while calling for the two marines to pull out. “Stupid fucking jarheads!” he spat into the mic. “The shuttle will be fine. They’re made for this!”

  He hit the atmosphere hard desperate to get their attention. What with the firestorm taking place in orbit, he felt they’d be needing every hand available. Warning sirens rapidly shouted urging him to pull out of the steep dive. Undeterred, Jeff pushed his razor on, the fighter’s heat shields quickly reaching their limits. The blare of the alarms combined with the roar of his descent was deafening. The cockpit became an oven. The flight computers began to fail from the strain and the ships tactical display winked out. Reluctantly he eased up on the controls watching in horror the fiery tragedy unfolding before him.

  In a brilliant flash one of the razors exploded, the sound almost alien to his ears after years of deep space combat. The debris from the doomed fighter arched from the blast, the droplets of molten metal quickly burning away. In quick succession, the other razor began to tumble slamming into the lead shuttle in an expanding fireball. The surviving craft rolled severely in an effort to avoid a collision and the hopelessly crippled Lander-Two began a death spiral towards the surface.

  ***

  “What the hell is going on up there?” Butler yelled into the intercom. The shuttle was being rocked by what felt like explosions.

  “Crud just lit up in a fireball Captain! Hold tight.”

  Throwing caution to the wind Butler grated, “Like hell I am.” Unbuckling his harness he began wobbly making his way to the cockpit. The ship jerked throwing him onto the deck. The turbulence was getting worse. Pushing himself to his feet with an audible growl he clambered to the cockpit hatch tearing it open. “They aren’t paying you to throw us around like rag dolls back there,” he roared pulling himself through the hatch. Grabbing hold of both pilots’ seats he steadied himself squinting through the glow outside the windshield.

  “Oh shit!” the pilot grated through his teeth. Outside, almost directly in the shuttles path, the other razor suffered an engine flare out. “Hold on!” the pilot warned punching the ships emergency thrusters. He rolled the craft hard to the right, his hands gripping the yoke like a vice. The razor struck Lander-Two exploding on impact. The powerful concussion threw Butler into the bulkhead.

  “Captain, I don’t—”

  “Just shut up and land this thing,” Butler cut the pilot off. Struggling to pull himself up, he was whipped across the cockpit hitting the far side hard before being pinned to the deck. He’d been in enough simulations and botched insertions to know the ship had lurched into an erratic spin.

  “I think we lost a wing,” someone yelled over the blare of the warning sirens.

  Pinned to the deck Butler could only guess at the situation. The sharp sound of sparks filled as the air, along with the heavy smell of ozone. A shrill cry followed. Poor bastard had nowhere to go when the console blew, he thought. Whoever was left in control frantically called out the altitude. “Six-thousand…five-thousand…four-thousand,” he called. The wait was excruciating. Was it seconds? Minutes? In the grand scheme it didn’t matter. The last thing he heard was the sound of earth being churned and the windshield shattering.

  ***

  It was the nearest of near misses Jeff had ever witnessed. Without a moment to spare the shuttle fired its emergency thrusters narrowly avoiding the other craft. It was an impressive bit of flying. Pushing his throttle up, Jeff pitched his plane, set on closing his trailing distance as soon as he dropped from the stratosphere. His plans changed quickly when a beam of energy lanced up from the surface sheering the port wing from the landing shuttle. “Jesus,” he rasped helplessly watching the shuttle tumble to the surface. From what he could see the craft hit the ground hard plowing up mounds of dirt.

  “Teak,” Jeff called out, “my tactical display is dead. Did you see that?”

  “You bet your ass I did,” the radio belched in reply. “There looks to be a couple of Drac ships parked just outside of the fuel dump.”

  “Can you get a lock on them?”

  “Negative. Shuttle went down inside two-hundred meters to target.”

  Another lance of energy ripped up through the sky. The air sizzled from the heat of the blast. “Well we can’t stay up here. And we can’t leave them down there.”

  “It just got better. There’s a fucking swarm piling out of one of those ships. Ugly sons of bitches.”

  “Copy,” Jeff grated. He tried to key up the shuttle on the radio saying, “Lander-One this is Knight. If you can hear me you’ve got a hostile welcoming party on foot inside two-hundred meters north north-west of you.”

  Another sizzling blast tore through the air, this time nearly taking Jeff out. Jeff banked his plane wide attempting to move out of range. “Okay Teak. If we keep circling up here that thing’s eventually going to get us. Swing wide over the complex and follow my lead. We’re strafing them.”

  “On your six boss.”

  Jeff punched the razor’s speed up diving towards the tarmac separating the fuel dump from the base. The altimeter raced with him towards the ground and he became a little lightheaded during the dive. Just as he was leveling off Alan was screaming over the radio, “Knight, four toads coming down, zero seven point one one.” Jeff didn’t have time to pull out. Just shy of three-hundred meters off the ground he streaked across the air field. Without his tactical display he’d have to rely on guess work. Before him the ground seemed to come alive. The swarm of odd shaped purple armored creatures paused in their advance on the landing shuttle. A wicked smile graced Jeff’s lips.

  With no time to think he fired two smoke bombs praying they’d strike true before unleashing a hail of slugs into the mass. The air buzzed with fury, the ships guns raining a mountain of ordinance on the Drac. His quarry, undaunted, returned the gesture in kind. The bulbous almost star shaped craft along with the unsightly foot soldiers flung blue death back at him. The bolts burnt the air as they passed, and Jeff punched his afterburners streaking once more into the sky. He almost blacked out, banking hard to escape the cross fire.

  “Teak,” he called, “Put more smoke on the ground.” Jeff whipped his head about trying to get a visual on the incoming fighters. “And tell me where these toads are. You’re my eyes buddy.”

  “Smoke will have to do. Turned and burned when the image multiplied. Six toads, now at zero three point one two,” Alan returned.

  “What happened to four?”

  “How the fuck should I know?” He was beginning to sound frazzled.

  CHAPTER 18:

  PINNED DOWN

  A loud bang, as if a clap of thunder, awoke Captain Butler with a start. Attempting to push himself up he bit back a curse when his left arm gave out under him. Don’t need Doc to tell that’s broken, he thought. Somehow he was thrown from the cockpit during the crash. Stumbling to his feet the sounds of coughing and groaning greeted his ears. A thin haze of smoke filled the bay, the emergency lights giving it a murky glow. Sparks from a damaged console threw harsh shadows upon the walls.

  “Son of a bitch!” He coughed clearing his throat. Reaching with his good arm he grasped the overhead handrail. The ship was laying at a tilt and debris was strewn about the deck. “Pierce,” he called out coughing again. He tried to wipe the smokes sting from his eyes with his sleeve. “Pierce, where are you Goddamnit?”

  “Sir,” the sergeant’s voice sounded more gravely than usual.

  “Get everyone on their feet and be ready to go in five minutes,” Butler barked stumbling towards the cockpit. The unmistakable roar of a razor passed overhead. “And see if you can find out what’s going on out there.” He vaguely heard the sergeant respond and start bellowing orders.

/>   Stepping through the cockpit hatch, Butler found Petty Officer Russell straddling the pilot, beating his chest mercilessly in an effort to revive him. Across from her, the smashed console told the co-pilot’s story. In fact, it was probably the only thing him together, much less in his chair. His head lolled to the side, glazed over eyes staring blankly through the cracked windshield. Outside the spider webbed viewport a thick cloud of smoke was rolling in their direction.

  “Corpsman,” he said to Russell. The petty officer ignored him. She continued to furiously pump the man’s chest, unwilling to let him die. His skin flaked and cracked under her hands and the sickly sweet smell of burned flesh assailed the captain’s nostrils. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he more forcefully said, “Russell!” The woman looked up; her green eye’s betraying her outward composure.

  “Captain,” she gasped, her eyes quickly located his injury, “your arm.”

  “It’s nothing Doc,” he said looking down at the limb. He hadn’t noticed the sleeve was soaked with blood.

  “Shut up and let me see it,” she scolded. Whipping her field knife out, she briefly cast a final resigned look at the dead pilot before going to work. Quickly she cut the sleeve open, a sharp intake of air whistled through her teeth when she revealed the small fragment of bone peeking out from the skin. She pulled a roll of gauze from her medical kit thrusting it into his good hand before jabbing him with a small vial he hadn’t noticed her palm. His arm was just beginning to go numb when she looked him in the eye and asked, “You ready?”

  Butler nodded once gritting his teeth for what was coming. Bracing his arm with the back of the pilot’s seat a searing pain radiated through it when the petite corpsman pulled setting the fracture in place. Say what you will about Petty Officer Russell’s size, she was a strong little lady. She roughly tore the gauze from him tightly wrapping it about the limb and ordered, “Hold that.” Russel bent to her kit again simultaneously retrieving another vial while wresting her canteen from behind her. She jabbed his arm a second time before emptying the contents of her canteen saturating the dressing. In moments the gauze grew taught forming an instant cast. “Good enough for out here,” she mumbled and bent to repack her gear.

  Flexing his fingers, he was testing the cast when Pierce called from the back, “Cap’n Butla!”

  He turned saying, “Gunny,” as the stocky man trotted up to the hatch.

  Pierce’s eyes took in the dead forms; the man seemed to pause a moment paying his respects. “Squid’s say we’s got company inside two-hundred meters northeast of us. Tried strafin the bastards to give us breathin room but got tied up with some toads. Say’s there’s some rocky ground ’bout forty meters due south. Dropped a coupla smoke grenades ta give us cova. All in all, sounds like shit’s FUBAR out there.”

  “What kind of cover does this rocky ground offer?”

  “There’s a neat bowl behind a five-meter ridge. Gonna be a scramble ta the top, but it’s betta than this death trap we’s sittin in now.”

  “I agree. How soon can we move?”

  “Already loaded the boy’s up with all the rounds they can carry. They’s pretty banged up. But they’s also itchin ta get some pay back,” Pierce said adding in a louder voice, “Ain’t that right?” The marines grunted, “Oohrah!” in reply.

  “Move ’em out Gunny.”

  “With pleasure Cap’n,” the sergeant said with a grin. “All right sweethearts, breathers on and get your asses in gear. Russell, break out the litters and police the pilots.”

  “Belay that Russell, we don’t have time,” Butler corrected. Turning to Pierce he said as sympathetically as he could, “We’ll have to come back for them.”

  “Beggin the capn’s pardon, but we’s don’t leave men behind.”

  “I understand Gunny. I don’t like it either.” The sergeant looked to argue again and Butler said more firmly than he intended, “We’ll come back for them. You have my word.” Butler firmly gazed into Pierce’s eyes conveying his resoluteness on the matter.

  “Aye-aye Sir,” Piece muttered before barking again at the squad, “Andrews, grab them ammo cans. Emerson you got the door. Banx and Dumont up front, once that hatch is open set up cova. Daniels, you move out ten meters and stay there. Make sure our trailas can see you. Emerson, you’re last one out.”

  The sound of rifles being primed answered the sergeant’s orders. Butler hoisted his own checking the safety and chambering a round. Looking up, Corporal Banx had set himself up before the hatch while Emerson stood to the side by the activation switch. Butler simply nodded at Pierce giving him the go ahead.

  ***

  Emerson elbowed the switch at Pierce’s signal. The hatch made a brief grinding sound moving barely two centimeters. Thinking there just wasn’t enough power to operate it he pulled the manual release asking Banx to give him a hand. The two men grasped the inset hand grips and heaved to no avail. “Hatch is jammed Gunny,” Emerson said looking at Pierce. “I don’t rightly think it’s a good idea to blow it either. Sound will give away our position.”

  “Son,” Pierce said gravely, “those blood suckas already know our position.”

  Closing his eyes, Emerson whispered a silent prayer before giving a swift kick to the explosive release lever. In the tight confines the pop was dangerously loud. But the hatch flew a healthy twenty meters from the ship’s hull. Banx and Dumont dove through the opening, the smoke quickly reducing them to vague shadows. The platoon quickly streamed after them Captain Butler saying, “Keep them off our assess,” as he exited.

  Jumping through the hatch on the captain’s heels Emerson made a quick scan of the scene before dropping to a knee next to Banx by the shuttles tail. Dumont had set himself up near the nose and Daniels was still trotting after the platoon. A hissing buzz filled the air in tandem with brief blue flashes. The bursts illuminating the smoke screen seemed directed at the sky. “We clear Banxie?” Emerson asked.

  “About as clear as we’re gonna be,” Banx’s voice was muffled by his mask. “Bloodsuckers seem preoccupied with the squids.”

  “Good to know,” Emerson breathed.

  Pressing a finger to his ear bud Banx said, “Daniels, give me a twenty on the Platoon.”

  “Maybe about ten meters ahead,” Daniels voice crackled in Emerson’s earpiece. “Hard to make out in the smoke but I definitely see Wisniewski’s antenna,” he added referring to the private’s long range radio gear.

  “Copy. Be ready to move out,” Banx ordered. “Dumont, you see anything.”

  “Are you kidding me?” the private scoffed, “This shit’s so thick it reminds me of survival training back on Eden.”

  “All right, let’s get out of here before those bastards smell us.” Banx turned to Emerson saying, “Catch up with Daniels, we’ll be right behind you.”

  “Don’t gotta ask me twice,” Emerson cynically agreed. Turning he began trotting the distance to Daniels flashing a hand signal to move out. The private stood still as a statue giving no outward appearance he’d even noticed the command. As he got closer he noticed Daniels wasn’t even looking at him but over his head. He heard the thump before he could turn around. And Dumont’s muffled shriek.

  The creature was enormous. It easily stood three meters tall and a wicked proboscis, similar to a mosquito’s but five centimeters wide, was extending from its grotesque mouth. Two powerful arms held the private fast, lifting him from the ground. Another smaller pair wrested the pack from Dumont’s back tearing it away before its arrow shaped head impaled the man with its terrible snout. It happened so fast Emerson was just bringing his rifle to bear when Banx began rattling rounds into the thing. It dropped Dumont releasing an ear splitting God-awful screech. Banx continued firing emptying his magazine into its horrid body driving it to the ground and spraying a pus like yellow liquid on anything within a few meters of the beast. Emerson was quick to rush over to Dumont’s twitching form his mask doing little to filter out the stench of the nearby dying alien. A puddle of blo
od had formed under him and was foaming from his mouth once his mask was pulled off. “Daniels you fucking lout!” he heard Banx yell and someone was calling on the radio asking what was going on.

  “What the fuck was that thing?” Daniels asked in a panic.

  “What do you think it was Jackass?”

  The sound of something heavy landing on the shuttle brought Emerson’s head up quickly. There was another beast standing atop the crippled landing ship. Banx was too busy berating Daniels to have heard and Emerson called, “Banxie, we need to get out of here!” The alien’s four legs spread for stability and it was raising a sinister looking weapon at them. Emerson turned screaming, “Hit the deck!” and tackled the two men just before a sizzling energy bolt burned the air over them. Some poor soul up ahead wasn’t so lucky based on the screams he heard. The deafening rattle of machine gun fire followed shortly after accompanied by another round of shrill screeching.

  Something grabbed Emerson’s pack hauling him to his feet and suddenly Captain Butler’s scared visage was staring at him. “Move it Marine, we’re not out of this yet!” the captain hollered. Pushing past he pumped several bursts from his rifle. Emerson turned leveling his weapon in time to see the alien topple from atop the shuttle. More shapes were emerging through the fog and energy bolts began falling about the small band.

  Daniels was still on the ground beside him, but the private had begun firing on the hellish forms. “Glad to see your heads back in the game!” Emerson yelled throwing a volley of fire himself.

  “No time for jawing,” Butler interrupted hauling Daniels to his feet now. With a shove the captain sent the man into a tottering trot towards the supposed safety of the ridge line. In the distance Sergeant Pierce could be heard motivating the rest of the squad. “Banx, Emerson, grenades,” the captain bellowed.

  Emerson was quick to tear one of the destructive spheres from his flak jacket hollering, “Fire in the hole!” He let fly the grenade in near unison with the captain and Banx before instinctively diving for the ground. The concussion that followed left his ears ringing but he paid it no mind. Rising to a knee he gazed back checking his ammo counter. The shuttle was ablaze and the Drac advancement was for the time being halted.