Zero Hour (Expeditionary Force Book 5)

by Craig Alanson

  “No, but we can get to something more stout than these saplings,” Zhau stated. “Then we can call in and find out what the hell is going on here. We all go together, so find a tree to aim for, and tell me when you’re ready.”

  Sami didn’t think she would ever be ready to run while being tracked by an unseen and unknown sniper. She held up her left hand, saw that it was no longer shaking from cold, exertion and lack of oxygen. The longer they waited, the more time the sniper had to sight in on their positions. “Ready now, Sir.”

  “Three, two, one, GO!”

  In addition to a low-pitched moaning sound I could not find the source of, and the alarming creaking and popping sounds of the Dragon’s hull flexing, there was an intermittent sound coming from under the water. It was probably an alarm telling me what I already knew: I was in extreme danger. Whatever it was, no way was I going into that dark, frigid water to identify it. The cockpit was a third full of water, and I had a chilly but somewhat dry perch on a console, with my feet resting on a seat. The cold had me shivering as the cabin air’s last vestiges of heat were pulled away by the mass of chilled water outside the hull.

  “Oh!” The underwater alarm said, and I cocked my head.

  “Ee aht!” It said.

  Crap. That was no alarm. Tumbling off the console before I lost my nerve, I ducked my head under the water to hear and locate the source of the sound. I felt around until my fingertips detected a vibration and my frozen fingers closed around the familiar shape of a zPhone. It must have fallen out of my pocket during the scramble to evacuate.

  “Joe! Answer me, you idiot!” Skippy boomed at me, his voice ringing at painful volume around the cockpit.

  “I’m here, Skippy!”

  “Where is ‘here’?”

  “How the hell should I know?” I stared at the zPhone. “I’m at the bottom of a lake. Or near the bottom.”

  “What are you doing there?” His voice was a disbelieving screech. “You should have gotten out of the dropship after it hit the lake, you dumdum!”

  “Gosh. Wow. That never occurred to me, Skippy.”

  “Damn it, you- Oh, ha ha, sarcasm. I get it. How did you end up at the bottom of a lake?” He asked incredulously.

  “The Dragon got hit by a missile, Skippy, in case you have not been keeping up with current events.”

  “Joe, was your seatback and tray table in the full upright and locked position before you hit the lake?”

  “Uh-”

  “I knew it! This is all your fault.”

  “My fault? A missile came out of nowhere and-”

  “Joe, it’s real simple. You were pilot in command when you crashed, correct?”

  “Yes,” I responded sullenly.

  “Hmmm. And now your Dragon is at the bottom of a lake. An aircraft is supposed to be in the air, yet now your Dragon is underwater. The pilot operating manual for the Dragon does not mention a submersible feature, unless I missed something. You were flying an aircraft, and now you are captain of the Titanic. Totally your fault.”

  “That’s kicking a guy when he’s already down, Skippy.”

  “Sorry, Joe. I’m uh, I am a little upset.”

  “I’m a little upset too, Skippy. Lt. Reed and the others, are they safe?”

  “Yes. Safe enough for now, anyway. They are on the western shore now, taking cover behind trees. Do you know how deep under the water you are?”

  “I don’t, the instruments are out. You want me to stick my head out the window?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “All I can tell you is the ship sank a long way, then it rolled deeper after it hit.”

  “Hmmm. Give me a minute, I’m attempting to triangulate your position.”

  “Screw that for now. What the hell happened? Who hit us? You said this planet was uninhabited!”

  “Amazing. You are at the bottom of a lake in a crashed dropship, and what you care most about is who shot at you?”

  “Hell yes! I’m responsible for my people.”

  “It’s not like you can do anything about it right now, Joe.”

  “That’s not the p-point,” I had trouble speaking as my teeth were chattering from the cold. “What happened?”

  “Well, heh heh, it appears we have a group of Thuranin living here.”

  “Shit! Thuranin?! I thought all those little green pinheads were killed by the Guardians.”

  “That’s what I thought also, Joe.” His voice contained an implied ‘duh’. “Some of them must have survived and made their way here, in dropships or escape pods. I did tell you that once ships have been rendered harmless, the Guardians leave them pretty much alone. One or two dropships landing here might have been permitted by the Guardians, as long as those dropships did not take any hostile action. Hmmm. It is likely any survivors would be trapped here permanently; any attempt to build a jump drive would attract the wrath of the Guardians.”

  “When was the last time a Thuranin ship tried to jump in here?”

  “According to the records I have access to, that would be around four hundred years ago.”

  “Whoa. Damn, maybe that explains why that missile missed us. It was freakin’ ancient. Unless the Thuranin have been able to build new missiles.”

  “I very much doubt that, Joe. For the moment this is a guess, but I suspect any beings living here have been forced to exist on a low level of technology to avoid attracting the attention of the Guardians. Flying around in aircraft, using high-tech weapons and building an industrial infrastructure are all things that the Guardians would, let’s say ‘discourage’. That explains why we didn’t detect the Thuranin until now; they have been laying low.”

  “Great, just freakin’ great. Hey, wait. You said those green pinheads couldn’t use weapons without the Guardians coming down on their heads? Then how the hell did they launch a missile at us?”

  “As you pointed out, Joe,” Skippy’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I changed the game here when I told the Guardians to stand down. The Thuranin must have realized the rules had changed when they saw you flying around without the Guardians knocking you out of the sky.”

  “Well, shit, Skippy, that’s no good. Now we have an unknown number of Thuranin to worry about down here?”

  “Possibly more than just Thuranin.”

  “What?”

  “Use your brain, Joe. If a group of Thuranin were able to land here and survive, then other species might be on this planet also. The advanced technology of the Rindhalu and Maxolhx would have given them a better chance of reaching the surface here after their ships were disabled.”

  “Oh, hell,” I felt sick. “There could be a bunch of senior species hanging out down here, and you just removed the one thing that keeps them from stomping us like a bug?”

  “Joe, at the time, you were very much in favor of me telling the Guardians to stand down,” he answered peevishly.

  “Sorry. You’re right. We’ll deal with one problem at a time. Connect me with Chang so I-”

  “Lt Colonel Chang is already directing a response. Major Smythe is loading a SpecOps team into dropships now, and other dropships will be scanning the area around the camp for hostiles. Your team is highly competent, let them do their jobs, Joe. What we need to worry about is getting you out of there.”

  “Ok,” I tried to bite my lip in frustration but my teeth were chattering so badly from the cold, I almost drew blood. Instead of biting a lip, I squeezed my numb hands into fists and released. Squeeze and release, then repeat. That action forced warm blood into my numb fingers. “You got any ideas?”

  “I assume you sealed yourself in the cockpit, as Lt. Reed told me the main cabin had a bad leak and was filled with water.”

  “Yeah, I’m in the cockpit. I got the door cranked closed, and I fixed another small leak. It’s about a third full of water in here. And it’s cold, Skippy, really cold.”

  “It can’t be super cold, Joe, or the water would freeze. But, Ok, to a hairless monkey I am sure it is plenty c
hilly. You don’t have a lot of oxygen left in the cockpit,” he declared, as he knew the cramped volume of a Kristang Dragon-A dropship’s cockpit. “Ship oxygen supply is probably out also?”

  I reached down to the pilot seat and picked up the oxygen mask there, fitting it over my nose and mouth and pulling the lever to activate it. “Nothing, Skippy, it’s dead.”

  “Ok, no problem, I thought that would be the case. You do have your emergency Oh Two bottle, correct?”

  I patted the small bottle tucked into a pouch in the right thigh of my flightsuit. A hose ran up the suit to the collar, and in another pocket was a soft, collapsible mask. “Yes. That only provides ninety minutes of oxygen, Skippy. I am conserving it for when I really need it.” A Dragon, or any other dropship I knew of, had three oxygen systems. The primary oxygen supply was the cabin air; a mix of oxygen and nitrogen. If that system failed, pilots and crew were to immediately switch to the backup system that fed mostly concentrated oxygen through tubes into masks. The masks were supposed to be used short-term while the cabin oxygen system was fixed, but masks could be used long-term if needed. If the masks also failed, each crew member had an emergency bottle of pure oxygen either in their flightsuit, or in cabinets scattered around the cabin. If you had to go to the emergency supply, you were supposed to drop everything and fix the primary or secondary system. The fourth-level system was prayer, because after the emergency oxygen bottle ran out, you could kiss your ass goodbye.

  “When you really need it? That would be about now, Joe. We need to get you out of there before you become so weak from cold that you are unable to get yourself out.”

  “Is there any chance of rescue?”

  “Not in time for you, Joe,” Skippy was morose. “Lt Colonel Chang will not allow dropships to overfly the lake, until the Thuranin on shore have been neutralized with a ground assault by Major Smythe’s team. Captain Zhau and Lieutenants Singh and Reed on the west shore are taking intermittent rifle fire from the east shore, and they report movement on the hills above them to the west.”

  “Crap. Chang is right, do not risk another dropship to rescue me. Any idea how many Thuranin are out there, or what weapons-”

  “Joe. Your team has this,” Skippy admonished. “Worry about yourself. Because no one else can help you right now.”

  “Ok, Ok. What do I do?”

  “First, get your emergency oxygen mask ready, but don’t turn it on yet. You will need that oxygen to swim through the cabin and up to the surface. Now, since you have no training in procedures from escaping from a submarine, which is basically what your Dragon is now, I will break it down Barney style for you. It is good that you were able to get the cabin door closed, because if the water had flooded in, the remaining air would have become pressurized to the same as the surrounding water, and you would have quickly suffered nitrogen narcosis. Unfortunately, you now need to get that door open wide enough to fit through. I calculate you are about a hundred thirty meters below the surface, Joe.”

  “Whoa,” I said slowly. That was almost four hundred feet. There was a whole lot of heavy, cold, dark water looming over my head.

  Skippy continued explaining the escape procedure to me. It was risky. I had to go on emergency oxygen, then partly go under the water in the cabin to manually crank the door open. That would allow water to rush in, and I needed my flightsuit to protect me from the pressure of the water. The pure oxygen of my emergency bottle would help reduce nitrogen sickness when I reached the surface. “Skippy, should I stay here and pre-breathe on pure oxygen for a while, to get the nitrogen out of my blood?”

  “That would be a good idea, but you don’t have time, Joe. To get all the nitrogen out of your system would take about two hours.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh indeed. When you are ready, turn on your emergency oxygen supply. Then seal your flightsuit.”

  “Ready now.” The first thing I did was tuck the thin zPhone away in a slot inside the helmet so I could continue talking with Skippy. Next, the emergency mask went over my nose and mouth, secured with a strap inside the helmet. An inhale fitted it to my face, and I turned a knob to start the oxygen flowing. With the helmet faceplate closed and latched, I was on internal oxygen. “Should I turn on the suit heater?”

  “If you feel you need to. Flightsuits are designed to be used in air or vacuum rather than water, the thermal density of water will rapidly pull heat away from your body, so the suit heaters will not be able to keep up. It would be best if you can ration the heater power until you really need additional heat to prevent you from becoming unconscious, however you must also keep your muscles in usable condition until you are ascending.”

  “Balance use of heat, got it,” I replied. “Now I crank the door open?”

  “Yes. Do it slowly, in a controlled manner.”

  “Ooh.”

  “What?”

  “I’m kneeling in the water and you’re right, it is damned cold.”

  “Turn on the suit heater if you need to, Joe.”

  “No, I’m good. I need my arms more than legs to get the door open and swim through the main cabin. I’ll activate the heater when I need to.” My expectation was I would need artificial heat once the cockpit filled with water high enough to surround my torso, sucking body heat away from my core. “I have the crank extended. Hmmmf. Huh.”

  “What is it?” Skippy asked anxiously.

  “It’s not moving.”

  “The door?”

  “No, Skippy, I meant the line at the Taco Bell drive-through down here. Of course I meant the freakin’ door!”

  “You don’t have to be nasty about it.”

  “Sorry,” I apologized to the alien AI who was safely on shore, while I was trapped four hundred feet down in an icy lake. “Trying it again,” I grunted. “Damn it! The crank on this thing won’t turn at all.”

  “Did you try turning it the other way?” Skippy suggested helpfully.

  I didn’t feel like arguing with him, so I tried that. The end of the crank moved one notch, maybe a quarter inch, then froze. “It was super hard getting the door closed the last bit, I think the crash warped the frame. Ah, damn it!” I shouted in frustration. That handle might as well have been welded in place, it was not moving. “No good, Skippy; it won’t move.”

  “Uh oh, Joe, I think I know the problem. The water pressure outside is pushing in the door, bending it inward. If the frame was already warped, then the door will not move until the pressure is relieved.”

  “I need to equalize pressure on both sides of the door?” I guessed. “Let the water in?”

  “That may resolve the problem, Joe, but if you let the water in and the door still won’t open, you will be in very great danger.”

  “I’m not in very great danger now?”

  “Good point. Let me think a minute, there may be other options.”

  “This thing has only one door, Skippy. The ejection seats won’t work underwater?”

  “No they will not.” His voice was glum.

  “Well, damn it.”

  “My thoughts exactly, Joe. While we have been talking, I have been running simulations on the effect of water pressure on the cockpit door of a Dragon dropship. You have very bad luck today, Joe. If you were only one hundred meters deep, the water pressure would be low enough that the door could likely be cranked open. It would be stiff and difficult, but there is a ninety percent chance the door could open wide enough for you to escape.”

  “That is fascinating trivia, Skippy, but I more than a hundred meters deep.”

  “Hence why I said you have very bad luck today.”

  “I am willing to try equalizing the pressure.” Using the lights of my helmet, I looked around the cockpit, trying to think of something that could cut or burn a hole in the door. “You know the standard equipment we carry aboard one of these things, Skippy. Is there a drill or laser or something I can use to make a hole in the door?”

  “Searching. No. Unless you brought something l
ike that with you?”

  “I did not. I flew thousands of lightyears from Earth, now I’m in a dropship that contains technology aircraft designers back home can only dream about, yet I can’t get a freakin’ door open? This is crazy!” I got to my feet, crawled up on the console so I was out of the water, opened my helmet faceplate and turned off the emergency oxygen. As long as there was breathable air in the cockpit, I wanted to conserve my emergency oxygen supply.

  “It is indeed unfortunate, Joe."

  Chapter Sixteen

  “This is not good,” Samantha Reed stated. Using their zPhones in infrared mode, they had determined at least five bipedal beings were higher up the hill above them to the west. The glimpse in infrared had been brief as the beings, likely Thuranin, had been crossing a mountain meadow. As soon as the beings went back into the dense forest, they had been lost to view. What Sami and her companions knew for certain was there were at least five, and the beings were moving downhill toward the three humans.

  That was bad enough. What made it worse was some asshole on the eastern shore of the lake continuing to take potshots at the humans. Someone over there was shooting at them with a heavy-caliber weapon. The humans each took cover behind a tree, but that was only temporary safety, and trees were sparse on the lower slopes of the hills west of the lake. Huddling behind the west side of a tree exposed them to the beings coming down the hill from the west. They needed to find some place to conceal themselves and wait for the approaching dropships that were carrying SpecOps teams. Lt Colonel Chang had ordered the three downed pilots to take cover rather than running, as they might blunder right into the enemy. Until the dropships could arrive and hopefully deploy drones to give the SpecOps teams a tactical read on the enemy locations, it was best for Reed and the others to stay put.

  Except for that asshole shooting at them.

  “Ah!” She twitched, startled.

  “You all right, Reed?” Captain Zhau asked from a tree ten meters to the south.