Dark Rising

by Greig Beck

  Adira and O’Riordan took a step towards each other and Hex moved in between them. Adira suspected O’Riordan was a man who didn’t like any opinion other than his own. She looked at him steadily around Hex, holding back the Hebrew curse and keeping her voice calm and even.

  ‘That’s right, Lieutenant O’Riordan. Best intel we’ve got. The alternative is a direct assault – go head to head with an unknown number of Iranian Special Ops. We could be bogged down for days… and the only reinforcements arriving will be theirs. How much time did you say you wanted to spend here, Lieutenant?’

  O’Riordan locked eyes with her, then spat onto the sand and walked off, swearing under his breath. She smiled; she’d made her point.

  Adira gave the cave coordinates to Hex and a description of the entrance. It was distinctive because of its guardian: a ten foot tall decaying statue of a long dead king.

  Hex nodded and turned to the HAWCs. ‘Rocky, send a squirt to the Blue team. Irish, we move in three minutes for the cave.’

  Though the team had direct communication via their helmets, from now on they would use coded information squirts, especially in open terrain. If there were Iranian Special Forces close by, they might be able to pinpoint a foreign signal coming from the desert – with or without the frequency jumpers. The ‘squirt’ was almost instantaneous and technologically invisible. Rocky simply used a text-based messaging format in his SFPDA, which, when sending, was coded and compressed and bounced off any local satellite it could find. He sent Alex information on the Takavaran, the cave system and its entrance, and their operational status. Within minutes, the message was received and acknowledged: they were good to proceed.

  Hex checked the ground-based radar strapped to his forearm while Adira scanned the near horizons with her scope. They looked at each other and Adira raised her eyebrows. Hex mouthed okay back to her – no movement or metallic readings in a two-mile radius. Good as it’s going to get, time to move, Adira thought.

  It would be a ten-mile jog to the cave in this dry heat and they needed to remain alert at all times. She was tired already, pissed off with the redheaded HAWC, and they hadn’t even got to their objective zone yet. She sucked in a deep breath and began to run.

  Zach saw Alex receive the information squirt. The HAWC read for a few seconds, then turned to him and Sam and spoke briefly about the potential force of opposition, their destination, and the cave system they would use to try to enter the Jamshid II complex. Zach was intensely interested in the further gamma-pulse readings emanating from a live Jamshid site and couldn’t wait to actually see what technology the Iranians were using. But he was tired, his elbows throbbed from the jump from the train, and his stomach still ached from the buffeting he’d taken strapped to Sam for the HALO jump.

  ‘Uh, how do we get there?’ he asked, spinning around as though expecting to find a taxi to hail.

  Alex looked at Sam and smiled. ‘Speed formation. Uncle, you’ll be taking us out. And you, Dr Shomron, suck in some air and take a big swill of water – you’ll need it.’

  Sam quickly checked for any loose equipment on his suit and lowered his visor. Alex grabbed Zach by the elbow and checked his suit for loose equipment too.

  ‘The speed formation is the optimum way to cross hostile terrain on foot,’ he explained. ‘We run in single file, and each man takes a turn in the lead to absorb the wind resistance and allow the man behind to “rest” in his lee. The rest only saves a minuscule amount of energy each time, but over many miles it makes a difference. It’s all we’ve got, and we don’t have a lot of time.’

  Many miles was all Zach heard. ‘I… ah… I don’t think I’ll be able to keep up, Captain Hunter.’

  Alex put both his hands on the tall, skinny scientist’s shoulders and looked him in the face. ‘You’d be surprised what you can do if you try, Zachariah. I remember a young man who probably didn’t think he could jump out of a plane at 35,000 feet or climb down into a pitch black elevator shaft a while back.’

  Zach knew Alex was waiting for him to make some sort of positive response, but there was no way he could speak as his voice would betray the lack of confidence he felt.

  After a few more seconds, Alex nodded in understanding. ‘It’s okay, I’ll take your shift out in front. I’ll carry you if I have to, but I’d prefer you give it all you’ve got, all right?’

  Zach nodded, still unable to speak. Alex slapped him on the shoulder then pulled down his visor. Zach sucked in a huge breath and slowly slid his visor down as well.

  *

  Dozens of miles apart, two small camouflaged teams, looking like sand-coloured cyborgs, ran across the dry and spindly Markazi landscape.

  A little over two miles from the Blue team’s position, a small four-man Takavaran team monitored their surveillance equipment. They were on a two-on, two-off shift rotation so they had eyes and ears on the desert for an unbroken twenty-four hours. They had with them a traditional nomads’ tent constructed of sun-bleached canvas and animal hides, to give them the appearance of a small band of traders resting before entering the city for a day’s commerce. Inside the tent, the antiquated gave way to high tech, with guns, explosives and ammunition lined up for quick access next to surveillance, communication and monitoring equipment. An electronic eye kept watch on their surface surroundings: day or night, nothing would cross the desert within a mile of their patch without them knowing.

  Or so they thought.

  A hundred feet from the men, the dry, dusty surface of a hump of earth broke open. A sharp proboscis lifted in the air and fine, boneless tendrils protruded, waving back and forth as they tasted their surroundings. Anyone watching might have mistaken them for the petals of a colourless fan-like flower gently waving in the breeze.

  The creature had detected the slight footfalls of the men and the hum of their electronics from many miles away, but it was their body fluids that had been an irresistible magnet. The creature’s hunger flared – it sensed two of the organic beings were sleeping and decided to approach these first. The pale fan folded and the proboscis withdrew below the ground. The earth lifted slightly as the mound moved towards the tent and disappeared under its edge.

  Abu Tayib woke to an intense pain in his shoulder. When he went to sit up, he couldn’t. He could open his eyes and his mouth, but his limbs weighed a ton, as if he were drugged. He concentrated all his strength on his arm and managed to raise it a little – just enough for him to catch sight of… But this arm couldn’t belong to him – his arm was burly and covered in shiny, black curls of hair, while this limb was shrunken and withered. The pain intensified and he tried to scream, but all that escaped his cracked lips was a feeble mewling.

  From under the sand, the creature had inserted its feeding spike up into the sleeping animal and injected it with a natural sedative designed to immobilise it. It also injected a substance to liquefy the organic matter it found within the soft outer casing. The absence of a hard exoskeleton meant the creature was quickly able to penetrate the body and soften the muscle, cartilage and even most of the bone. Abu Tayib was literally being liquefied and drawn down the feeding spike into the belly of the monster below the sand.

  Yusuf Ayyub and Tawbah Siluf entered the tent to wake their sleeping Takavaran brothers. After a long boring shift they were looking forward to taking their turn on the sleeping rolls. At first, they didn’t comprehend what they were seeing. Abu Tayib seemed smaller somehow.

  Yusuf pulled back the bedroll covering and blinked; it looked like a shrivelled monkey had been placed inside his comrade’s robes – stick-like arms and legs attached to a mottled, collapsing diaphragm. Yusuf nudged the thing with his foot and the head slowly turned towards him. A withered black tongue came out of its mouth – the thing was still alive and trying to speak to him.

  ‘Al-Muhaimin.’ Yusuf spoke one of Allah’s secret names as the Protector of Men, and stuck his knuckles in his mouth. He had seen men blown to pieces, or tortured in ways that would cause normal men
to loosen their bowels from fright. But this was something else, so horrifying that it tore at his consciousness.

  Tawbah pulled back the covers on the second bedroll and found the other agent in a worse state. He was even more desiccated if possible, just a small sack of bones and tendons. Even the orbs of his eyes had been drained of all their fluids.

  Both men were about to flee when Abu Tayib’s collapsed body was thrown to the side. What rose from the ground froze the two soldiers in terror. Yusuf thought perhaps they were already dead and had been cast into Jahannam, for this was surely one of the foul beasts of the pit sent to torment the souls of the unbelievers.

  In a sinuous motion, the creature lifted itself from the hole below Abu’s bedroll and stood on powerful, segmented legs bristling with insectoid hairs. A rain of sand fell from it as its cuticular exoskeleton front flared open, exposing many smaller legs. It was far quicker than a creature of its size and bulk should have been, and immediately enveloped Yusuf. While holding him close to its body with its many legs, it shot out a long curved claw to cleave the head of Tawbah.

  The creature lowered itself and its struggling prey to the ground, its eyestalks swivelling around to fix black, glass-like bulbs on the terrified man. Its pointed head broke open at the front and its gristly mandible apparatus spread wide to allow the feeding spike to extend slowly into Yusuf’s chest. The Takavaran vomited as he realised what had happened to the sleeping men – and what was about to happen to him.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  After jogging for just three miles, Zach collapsed. The temperature in the open Markazi desert had been known to reach over 170 degrees. It was nowhere near that yet, but for the untrained Israeli scientist it was still far too hot and dry to stop exhaustion and dehydration from knocking his legs out from under him. Alex took a quick look at the thin, young man, gave him a sip of water, then lifted him onto his back as if he weighed no more than a child.

  Sam didn’t even bother offering – he knew Alex had far more stamina and strength than him. If need be, Alex could have carried them both. Both HAWCs increased their pace now that they didn’t need to keep it in second gear due to the young scientist.

  They still had a long way to go.

  After about twenty minutes, Zach felt a little better. His eyesight had stopped swimming and he was less nauseous, but bouncing along on Alex’s back didn’t make for a comfortable ride. His head throbbed every time the armoured plates of his own suit banged into Alex’s shoulder shielding as the HAWC pounded across the sand.

  Sam was taking his turn out in front again, and Zach marvelled at how effortless he and Alex made the desert crossing look. In between the armour plating, the HAWCs’ suits stuck to their bodies, probably drenched in perspiration. They’ll need to stop soon to drink, Zach thought. But as yet both men looked powerful and relentless.

  Zach could feel a rash beginning on his neck where the material met his bare skin. His suit didn’t fit right – it bagged on him and made him look like a skinny kid playing dress-ups in his father’s work clothes. He remembered what his Uncle Mosh, Aunt Dodah’s squat husband, used to say to him almost every week: You need more muscle, Zachie. Uncle Mosh was forever trying to encourage Zach to get his head out of the books and do more exercise. You’ll need muscles as well as brains when you grow up, he used to tell him. Uncle Mosh had played football at high school and got around in a white singlet in even the coldest weather. Though he only owned a carpet-laying business, he used to waggle his finger in Zach’s face and say, ‘The brainy kids never get to do anything interesting. They just sit at a desk all day and write boring papers.’

  Zach watched the hard-packed desert earth pass rapidly beneath Alex’s feet and his mind travelled back to the Persepolis ruins and the unbelievable physical distortion evidence he had seen. He had hoped the first gamma release was just some form of accident, but he had overheard Captain Hunter talking to Adira about a further radiation pulse. He hadn’t really believed anyone would actually try to harness the strange forces involved in black holes and dark matter – everything was so theoretical, so dangerous. They just didn’t know what they were dealing with. It was a little like looking for a landmine in the dark by banging the ground with a hammer.

  Zach liked to think he was equalitarian when it came to politics, race and religion. Everyone was equal; everyone had the right to be heard. But what if Adira was right? What if it was possible to turn the power generated by a black hole into a weapon? Would he want Israel to have that weapon? America? Worse, someone like Moshaddam?

  You’re right, Uncle Mosh, he thought. We brainy kids never get to do anything interesting.

  He contemplated asking Alex to let him down so he could try again to keep up with the HAWCs. But Alex accelerated to take the lead from Sam, and after a few more seconds of watching the speed with which the HAWC leader travelled across the dry desert, Zach decided another few minutes’ rest wouldn’t hurt.

  Both HAWC teams were closing in on the Sassanid Dynasty cave. Hex’s Red team was less than four miles out, and the Blue team about double that as Alex had to travel in a slight loop to skirt the city. Night was closing in and the temperature was falling. The cooler air was easier on the straining soldiers, but they were all exhausted. They planned to rendezvous and rest about a mile out from the cave.

  Twilight was turning to night as O’Riordan slow-jogged at forward point in the line. He should have been taking sensor readings every few hundred feet, but instead his mind kept travelling back to the woman kneeling on his chest and pinching his windpipe. Try that again, you bitch, and you’ll wake up in fucking traction. He spat dry, sticky saliva out into the desert.

  Behrouz called to his Takavaran partner – there was motion on the sensor. The other Takavaran positions were logged into the grid so they knew immediately that it wasn’t their own people. This was an unidentified incursion. It was as their Commander had said: They will come.

  Behrouz woke his two other team members, and communicated the presence of the unidentified contact to headquarters so the nearest teams could be immediately dispatched as backup. They were under instructions to take the intruders alive, or at least one of them. Behrouz knew that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a little fun first. He hoped they were tough – Mossad or any enemy Special Forces soldiers were best. He loved it when they held out for a long time, giving him the pleasure of inflicting more and more pain and degradation before they finally broke or their hearts gave out.

  He checked the motion sensors again against the updated grid – at the rate of approach, the intruders would arrive only minutes before the next Takavaran team – perfect. Behrouz sent the information to the other teams so they could approach from behind and squeeze the enemy in a pincer movement. There would be no escape.

  As O’Riordan approached a tumble of boulders, his mind continued to work on his team’s failings instead of his environment. He cursed Rocky Lagudi for doing nothing to help him against Adira. He swore revenge on Hex for making him look bad with that fucking space gun. Even Captain Hunter had managed to get himself bitten by a fucking snake – some great leader he’d turned out to be.

  He looked up and noticed it was now night-dark and the boulders were closer than he expected. He ignored them, turning his mind to the young Israeli professor and what was annoying about him.

  The first high-calibre bullet took him in the chest and the second in the gut. The powerful impacts kicked him backwards off his feet and he sprawled groggily on the rocky ground. His ceramic plating had defrayed and absorbed much of the force, but two of his ribs were painfully smashed. He shook his head to clear it and rolled fast.

  Even though the high-powered rifles had silenced muzzles, the Red team knew where the fire was coming from and spread in a standard defensive formation. Rocky Lagudi pulled a small thermal scope from a slot in his belt and held it to his eye. He’d just caught some of the phosphorescent movement of a warm body in the dark when a bullet splintered the rock in fron
t of his face.

  ‘Takavaran,’ Adira whispered.

  Hex nodded; they had just walked into an ambush. The Iranians would already be calling in backup. Not good, not good at all. And no time to be pinned down.

  Irish had managed to drag himself back behind a rock – he would have to pull his weight regardless of his injuries. Hex made rapid hand signals to the HAWCs and Adira to prepare for an offensive spike-and-spread attack – two go up the centre and fan out, leaving a cleared tunnel for the next two to come up the middle and fan again.

  Hex held up one finger – hold one minute – and pulled the M24 A3 from over his shoulder. He quickly slotted a nightscope down the rail and leaned around the rock. One of the Takavaran noticed the slight movement and brought his own sighted sniper rifle down and focused. It only took him 1.7 seconds – too long. The large slug entered his forehead and removed the entire back of his skull, spraying blood, bone and grey-green brain matter over the sand behind him.

  One less bad guy. Hex replaced the gun over his shoulder and drew a shortened M9 pistol, then held up five fingers: four, three, two

  … go!

  The bullet took him in the back of the shoulder, just under a ceramic plate, and passed up through the flesh to shatter his clavicle. A stun grenade went off next to Rocky Lagudi and knocked him to the ground. His helmet and armour plating protected him from most of the blast, but he probably felt like a man swimming to the surface from under fifty feet of water. The second Takavaran squad had arrived – the Red team were now sandwiched, exposed and outnumbered.

  ‘Call it,’ Hex yelled to Adira.

  She fired twice more into the dark, then pressed her back against a sheltering rock and pulled her SFPDA from her belt. ‘Ambush, three dents,’ she said quickly into the tiny flat device and immediately sent the squirt. The device would code it and attach the coordinates. She let the comm device drop and pulled her other sidearm from its holster.