by T. R. Harris
“This is humiliating,” Larry said.
“Relax and enjoy the ride,” Kyle whispered. “It won’t happen again.”
There were lights illuminating the area outside the array of tents, with a few Antaere and Lanic milling around. The largest was the command tent, where the leader of the Antaere forces would be found. His official title was First-Lead Cadre and was essentially the general of the operation. Two smaller tents to the left and right were the tac center and comm stations. The forth shelter was barracks for the support troops.
There were probably fewer than fifty Antaere personnel in the command regiment. There were other technicians and NCOs helping with the railguns and the APC division, but they were housed in other parts of the field of operation.
Kyle and Donovan set Larry down, positioning him under the heavy load on one knee and pointed toward the main tent. There were two Lanic guards outside the entrance and a group of three uniformed Antaere officers making their way from one of the other tents to the main structure. Other than that, the scene was quiet. Too quiet. An activated REV wouldn’t have enough movement to focus his angry attention.
“We’re in position, captain,” Kyle reported.
“Roger that. Clear the area,” the officer commanded.
“On my mark, give us a ten second countdown.”
The REVs tapped Larry’s armor. “Good luck. See you on the other side.”
Donovan and Larry scrambled away into the dark. They stopped three hundred feet away and removed two round objects from their tac vests.
“Okay, Mr. Drake. Ten seconds, starting…now.”
The countdown could be heard in the ears of all three REVs. Donovan and Kyle pulled the pins on their grenades, stood up and prepared to throw.
“Seven…six…five…four…three.”
At three, the REVs tossed their grenades, aiming for the entrance to the command tent. It was almost four hundred feet away, but easily within throwing range of the jacked-up natural REVs.
“Two…one…activate!”
Despite the heavy load he carried, Larry Hand stood bolt upright when the NT-4 was injected into the back of his neck. As the grenades reached their marks, his odd silhouette was displayed to Kyle and Donovan against the yellow flame of the blasts. Even through the cacophony of the thundering explosions and screams of the nearby Antaere and Lanic, the REVs heard Larry’s blood-curdling scream, the primal call of an activated REV.
Larry ran forward, attracted by the fiery explosions, the panicking troops and the flames as they began to consume the side of the canvas tent. The weapon on his right arm was spitting bullets, targeting the running aliens, while an arching stream of yellow fire shot from the tip of the device on his left. The sticky liquid was landing on living creatures, as well as on the tent. The thick tan-colored material flare up and tore apart, revealing parts of the interior and the confusion taking place inside.
Larry shot everyone who moved before running headlong into the burning structure. Kyle and Donovan lost sight of him but could still hear the screams of his victims and the popping of the M-93. And more of the material was erupting in flame, turning the once black of night into a blinding, angry tornado of yellow and white light building above the command tent.
Kyle tapped Donovan on the shoulder. “Our turn.”
The men ran off to their left.
There were other Lanic and Antaere near the tower and the generators, but they were now rushing toward the burning tent. The REVs slipped in behind them but let them go. They were destined to become additional points on Larry Hand’s scorecard.
Donovan stopped at the generators, while Kyle ran toward the tower. The generators were gas-operated turbines with high-tech capacitors to store the energy. They were operating even at this hour, building up the charges that would be needed to fire the railguns. Donovan knelt near the middle unit and began to wrap the thermite strips around re-enforced gas feed lines. These were thick pieces of metal designed for safety. The storage tanks for the gas were buried, but this was where the gas fed the burners for the internal boilers. When he was done, he activated slow-burning fuses and ran away to the south.
As Donovan worked on the generators, Kyle ran past the six-legged microwave transmission tower and hopped into the cab of a large alien bulldozer, with its heavy metal blade resting on the ground. He’d never driven a piece of equipment like this before, but figured if the Lanic could do it, so could he.
The interior of the operator’s cab was lit by the dancing yellow flames of the command tent. Larry had emerged from the tent and was shooting streams of fire at the other three, following the movement of the aliens either rushing in or out of the structures. There was new gunfire heard through the maelstrom, as well as pops of flash weapons, as the defenders were realizing what was happening and had begun to fire on the running REV.
Kyle scanned the dashboard of the dozer. There was the ubiquitous on switch—rather than a key—and he pressed it. The mighty piece of machinery came to life. It chugged a little, as the chemical fuel fed the engine. Soon it steadied out with a deep rumble.
There was a lever to the left. Kyle pressed it forward and the front blade dug deeper into the ground, raising the cab and the center part of the earthmover. He pulled the lever back and the large piece of curved steel began to rise, setting the cab back on an even keel. Kyle lifted the huge, steel scoop off the ground. Now he just needed to figure out how to move the tractor.
There were peddles near his feet. He pressed the one on the right and the engine revved, but the dozer didn’t move. When he pressed the second peddle—the middle one out of three—the vehicle lurched forward, slowly at first until Kyle pressed the right peddle to the floor, along with the middle one.
The bulldozer shot forward, guided by a joystick to Kyle’s right. He aimed the front blade for the nearest leg of the tower and raced forward, not slowing until he crashed into the angled support.
The dozer came to a sudden stop. Although he was expecting it, the collision still sent Kyle surging up out of the seat and onto the top of the dashboard. He wasn’t hurt and quickly retook the seat.
The tower leg was bent radically, but not broken. Kyle looked up through the glass ceiling on the dozer at the dark and ominous-looking spire lit by the yellow flames. It was huge and imposing, giving Kyle concern that he may have bit off more than he could chew.
He pressed the far left peddle, and as expected, the dozer moved back. A hundred feet away, Kyle changed direction and gunned the engine again. This time, the sharp edge of the dozer’s scoop broke through the metal of the support leg. The tower didn’t fall. There were still five other legs holding it upright.
Holes began to appear in the glass of the cab to Kyle’s left. He ducked as the bullets zipped past his head. He looked out, and using his REV-enhanced eyesight, spotted a pair of Antaere coming at him from the north, their alien ballistic weapons spitting slugs his way.
He unslung the sniper rifle from behind his back, pointed the barrel out the shattered side window and took aim. As a natural REV, Kyle not only had improved eyesight, but much quicker reactions. His two answering shots came so close to each other that they sounded like one. The two Antaere lay dead on the ground a split second later.
Kyle went back to his job. He rammed another leg next to the broken one until it, too, was severed. Like cutting down a tree, he concentrated on only one side, hoping to weaken the structural integrity of the tower’s base. He was racing toward the third leg when the generators blew up.
Donovan had slipped back to a point he thought was far enough from the center generator. The thermite began to burn, hot enough to melt the metal covers for the gas lines. He figured the residual heat and sparks would ignite the gas. If not, he would fire his rifle at the generator until it did. He didn’t need to.
A moment after the gas line was severed, the surface of the desert to the back of the generator erupted like a miniature volcano, as the huge underground storage tank exploded. But it di
dn’t stop there. The tanks on either side also blew, creating a giant shockwave and explosion that consumed everything around it for a hundred yards.
Donovan was at the edge of the major effects of the blast, but he was still thrown forty feet in the air to the south. Only his REV durability saved his life. He was just climbing to his feet when the area around him was showered with flying shards of sharp metal. The generator blades had shattered, sending clouds of deadly shrapnel shooting through the air. Donovan took three hits, two to his right leg and one to his shoulder, the shiny pieces of metal stuck in his bleeding flesh.
His half-activation level suppressed most of the pain, and his rapid healing limited the blood loss. Even still, he left the shards embedded in his skin until he could better assess the damage.
With his part of the mission complete, he looked to the still-standing tower to see how his partner was doing.
The bulldozer was showered in the deadly debris from the exploding generators. Fortunately, ducking near the peddles kept Kyle from being hit by any of the shards. Once the danger had past, he sat up again and began to move the bulldozer toward the tower once again.
That was when he noticed something odd about the tower. It was getting bigger. A moment later he realized it was falling—and directly along the path of the dozer. The exploding generators had sent a shockwave his way, adding its force to the weakened supports on the opposite side of the tower. Now it was falling, and on top of the dozer.
Kyle kicked open the door to the cab and jumped out. He ran with REV speed, cascading to dangerously high levels in the face of his almost certain death. The tower was wide and seemed to be following him no matter how fast he ran.
When the tower met the ground, it produced something akin to a six-point-oh earthquake in the immediate area. The ground rolled up, forming a rapidly-moving wave. Kyle was tossed into the air, only to land in a patch of pulverized soil that cushioned his fall. He stood up and looked around.
“Donovan are you okay?”
“Affirmative. A little cut up from the generator blades, but fine otherwise. I take it you weren’t crushed by the tower?”
“It was touch and go there for a while.”
From their vantage points, both men looked to Larry Hand’s killing field.
“Captain Drake, what’s Larry’s status?” Kyle asked through his comm.
“He’s still running. One leg is shot up pretty badly. The flamethrower is empty and has been discarded.”
“No need to keep him in harm’s way any longer, sir. Both the generators and the tower are down.”
“Roger that. Beginning…whatever you want to call this next stage of the mission.”
49
Through the collar cameras, Captain Drake could see Sergeant Hand was in the clear, outside of any of the burning tents. There were dead aliens littering the ground nearby, even as the defense was beginning to form up in the compound after several minutes of confusion. This phase of the operation was a crapshoot. Drake had to drop the REVs protective armor—what there was left of it—just as the REV was encountering the most intense incoming from the defenders. He had no control over where the REV ran, so he couldn’t instruct him to take cover while Drake worked his magic. All this would have to be done in the open.
He activated the remote levers for the weapons first. The only one still on the REV was the M-93 gun; the flamethrower had already been jettisoned. The weapon fell away. Next came the breastplate armor. He’d keep the helmet on.
Drake activated the jet pack.
The view through the cameras was suddenly filled by a thick cloud of dark gray, the desert sand thrown up by the blast of compressed air. The scene cleared quickly, as the force of the escaping jets blew away all the loose material around the REV.
That’s went Drake noticed Larry was still on the ground, the cameras shaking violently from the vibration of the jet pack. He wasn’t lifting off the surface.
The armor plate!
Drake had forgot to drop the steel shield protecting the jet pack. That was two hundred pounds of extra weight, and it was keeping him glued to the ground. He slapped at the button that would release the levers and the scene changed instantly. The ground fell away, revealing all four burning tents and the slew of bodies littering the ground from a high vantage point. Defenders were running into the clearing below the REV and firing into the air. The men in the REV tent at the Unity Enclave could hear the rounds whizzing by. Larry gave out a grunt as a round sank into the sole of one of his combat boots. They could also hear him growling—almost barking—with the angle of his head pointed downward and his hands reaching out, trying to grab the tiny objects he saw below. He was still activated and desperate to destroy everything he saw.
Drake pressed the button that would administer the Twilight drug into Larry’s system. The vibrations ended, and the camera angle fell static.
“He’s only at twenty-five hundred feet,” a tech called out. “He needs to get to three thousand to clear the hills to the north.”
“He’s still climbing,” said Drake. “Give it a—”
The view on the screen changed, the forward cameras now pointed toward the stars.
“Jet pack depleted. He’s falling back to the surface,” reported the tech in a panic.
Drake deployed the parafoil.
As the elongated nylon scoop unfurled, Drake threw himself back into his chair. “Dammit!” he yelled. “I used up too much compressed air before dropping the plate. What’s his altitude now?”
“Eighteen hundred feet, sir,” replied the tech. “Unless he slips through between the hills, he won’t clear the tops. And even if he does, it will be only by a few feet. The Lanic and Antaere there will have clear shots at him.”
Drake slumped deeper into the chair. The other people assembled in the tent remained silent. Monroe placed a hand on the Marine’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, captain. We’ll see what happens, but he knew the risk.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t expecting me to fuck up like this.”
“Keep your fingers crossed. This isn’t over yet.”
Donovan and Kyle met at the top of a fifteen-hundred-foot-high hill to the west of the battlefield. They plopped down on their butts and looked out over the valley below. They had the perfect vantage point from which to survey their handiwork.
Directly in front of them were the burning remains of the command center, lighting up the area south of the hills for miles around. Closer to them was the crater formed from the exploding generators and their underground tanks of natural gas. The tower lay facing northwest, appearing remarkably intact for the long fall it took.
They took out monoculars and scanned the hills to the north. Along the western face—where the road was being cut—was the main APC force and the ten thousand Lanic fighters. LtCol. Monroe would have to contend with them next, if the Lanic decided to carry through with their attack. Focusing their instruments on the black blocks of the APCs, the REVs noticed a strange spreading of even smaller black dots, all rushing out in different directions from the APCs. A little closer examination and they could see the black dots were panicking Lanic soldiers running from their formation of armored vehicles. There were periodic flashes of light as Antaere officers fired on the deserting troops, but to no avail. The Lanic were leaving, and in droves.
The REVs next scanned the sky for the dark blue parachute Larry was riding. There was a robin’s egg blue sunrise beginning to lighten the sky to the east, making the long, narrow scoop of nylon easier to spot.
As they had heard over the comm, Larry didn’t have the altitude to make it over the hills. His Twilighted body would crash into the higher elevation of a hillside, to be swarmed over by both natives and Antaere seeking revenge for the devastation he’d delivered. The mission was a success, even if the aftermath wasn’t.
As the strip of blue neared the hillside—with the dark figure of Larry Hand dangling below—something odd began to happen. Kyle and Don
ovan stood up and peered eagle-eyed at the parachute.
It was rising. In fact it was gaining altitude at a decent clip.
“Captain, he’s going up!” Kyle shouted through the comm.
“We see that. It’s the thermals around the hills. He’s caught one. Let’s pray it can carry him over the top.”
The REVs watched, just as those in the command tent back at Unity were doing, holding their breath as the parachute approached the hillside. Larry barely made it over, but he did. The parafoil continued to climb, even as gunfire was heard from below. Once clear of the top, the winds caught the sail again and shot him over the summit at increasing speed. The shooting died away as Larry drifted farther to the north.
Yet once clear of the thermals, his ride began to come to an end. The angle of descent increased and from their vantage point, Kyle and Donovan could see as Larry’s legs scraped the top of the Unity boundary wall, skidding over the top before his body disappeared over the side. Captain Drake’s voice was shouting into the comm, directing the medical recovery team to his location. They were already near the wall and able to reach the unconscious REV seconds later.
“He’s alive!” came the report over the comm.
The open comm line to the REV tent erupted with cheers, heard by the two REVs standing on a hilltop twenty-two miles away. They would make their way back to the enclave, but for the moment, there was no hurry. The Lanic were scattering and the few Antaere forces in the area would be running, too. Without their Lanic army to protect them, they would be vulnerable to Human follow-up patrols.
Kyle and Donovan sat down again and pulled a pair of water bottles from their field vests.
“Here’s to another successful Run, my friend,” Kyle said.
They tapped the lids together, unscrewed the caps and chugged the contents.
Earlier, Donovan had pulled the sharp metal shards from his body. He was covered in blood, although most of the flow had stopped, thanks to the natural NT-4 in his system. It looked worse than it was.