by Nate Johnson
“Yes, Sir,” the sergeant said as he grabbed a three man team and raced for a small gully to the left.
Dex held his breath. They only had four shots at this, and they needed to get them off before the team was overrun by the approaching hoard.
“We’re ready,” Daniels called, just as Cheevers took another shot. Dex smiled to himself. A second trigger guy was down. Then, a third shot rang out and one of their leaders fell. The larger green tinged alien spurted blood from his throat, dropping to a knee before falling face down.
“Good job, Cheavers,” Dex said as he admired the man’s work.
The horde continued approaching while Daniels and his team frantically scrambled to get the mortar tube set up.
Dex had just turned to get a better look at the aliens’ weapon when a sharp blue light hit the house on the hill. Bathing it in death.
“Cheavers,” Dex called desperately, his heart racing with fear.
“Sir…” Cheevers started to reply just as the house exploded in a cloud of timber and dust.
Dex’s heart fell, the man was gone, his team was gone. Nothing could have survived that explosion.
“Daniels,” he yelled.
“We’re ready, Sir,” the sergeant answered.
“Fire. I will walk you in.”
A quick woomp sound let Dex know the first round was on its way.
“Smith, open up, keep that horde of aliens off of Daniels.”
“Yes, Sir,” the sergeant said as twenty rifles started firing into the left side of the marching aliens. The sharp crack of rifles echoing off the walls of the valley.
Dex hadn’t taken his eyes off the aliens’ weapon. Only two seconds after launch the round fell. Sending up a column of fire and dirt.
“Fifty left twenty-five up,” Dex told his mortar team.
Woomp, the second round was on its way.
Dex held his breath, they didn’t have rounds to be messing up. And Daniels didn’t have time to be patient and thorough.
Biting his lip, he waited and could have sworn he saw the round drop out of the sky directly on top of the weapon. A huge yellow explosion rocked the area, killing dozens of aliens and tearing the machine into a crumpled mess.
“Put the last two rounds into the hoard and get out of there, leave the tube.”
Woomp, Woomp, reverberated through his bones as he watched Daniels and his team scramble out of the gully and race back towards there lines.
The first round fell, exploding, carving out a neat circle of dead Scraggs. The second round fell between two marching groups, doing a lot less damage.
Dex sighed, ten minutes into the battle and his mortars were gone.
The four men raced hunched over, their legs pumping. Dex held his breath again as blue laser lights from the hoard rifles started to hit his men.
Thankfully, their reflective armor protected them, refracting the light and sending it off into a thousand different directions.
Dex took a large breath, it looked like they would make it, but something went wrong. The second man on the right suddenly fell. Not a stumble or a trip, a full-on collapse.
Daniels and his team slid to a halt as they hurried back to retrieve their fallen comrade. Grabbing him under the arm, two men started dragging him back while the third fired his entire clip into the mass of aliens.
“Hurry, damn it,” Dex muttered under his breath. “Give them cover,” he told the rest of his company who immediately opened up on the alien horde.
At last, Daniels and his team made the lines, jumping into a fighting pit and gently lowering their teammate in with them.
A distant movement caught his eye, another five hundred of the rat-faced bastards were breaking off and starting towards them. Damn, how would they ever stop them?
Before his mind could wrestle with the problem. A blond blur raced past him towards Daniel’s team. Miss Miller and her brother, each carrying a bag of medical supplies.
“Get back,” he yelled into his radio only to remember the woman wasn’t equipped with a radio. Even if she had been, he was pretty sure she would have ignored him.
Bent over at the waist, she zigged and zagged until she came to the hole in the ground and dropped in. Her brother right behind her.
“Rhys is dead,” Daniel said as he stood up to lean over the face of the hole and open up on the approaching aliens.
“Tell her to get back, now,” Dex said with a little more anger than he should have. Why had she done such an idiotic thing? Shaking his head, he watched as the two civilians scrambled back up out of the hole and raced towards the Rift.
Dex couldn’t take his eye off them until they were safely back behind the sandbag walls. Sighing with relief, he turned his attention back to the approaching enemy.
His men were taking them down. Not as much as he had hoped, but some. The aliens’ armor seemed to offer some protection. A direct hit would knock them to the ground, but they’d slowly rise and keep on coming. Only a hit in one of the joints seemed to work.
At the neck, the hip, or shoulder. If the aliens were hit there, they stayed down. Otherwise, it was like shooting at tumbling rocks. They wouldn’t stop.
Dex’s insides turned to mush as the aliens grew closer and closer. Soon, it would be hand to hand combat and his men didn’t stand a chance against these numbers.
“Fall back,” he said. It was the only choice. While they still had time. The men would be exposed. But if they didn’t move now, they’d be overrun.
His heart swelled with pride. His men reacted as they had been trained. One staying, continuing to fire. Two leaping out of the hole to race back towards the trench. But then, both men would turn, fall to the ground and cover the remaining Marine as he scrambled out and joined them.
Dex continued to scan the line, then back out at the aliens. Over and over, the same maneuver was repeated. Men used what cover they could. The shuttle, the debris from the exploded building. But mostly they ran for the trench, praying that speed would save them.
Dex gasped as his men began to fall, just like Rhys had, they would collapse as they ran. And just as Daniel’s team had done before them, two men would grab the fallen Marine and drag him forward.
“In the trench,” Dex yelled.
“Sir,” Obamway yelled, “Get down.”
Dex dropped to the ground as Obamway fired over him, the bullets ripping through the airspace he had just been occupying. An alien rat-face freak fell next to Dex, his eyes open, staring off into death.
Dex swallowed hard and rolled over to drop into the trench.
“Thanks,” Dex said to Obamway. The corporal smiled back, “Just because you’re an officer now, doesn’t mean you get to start being dumb. Keep your head on a swivel sir.”
The big smile on the corporal’s face sent a warm appreciation through Dex that made his heart swell.
Taking a deep breath, he forced his mind back to the battle raging around him.
His men were flowing into the trench. The flanks were covered. The aliens continued to approach. But they were a mob. Firing indiscriminately, getting in each other’s way. The Marines fired over the edge of the trench. Firing, then dropping down to reload, then popping up to fire again.
“A little closer,” Dex said to himself. “Just a little closer.
Another marine fell back into the trench, his faceplate shattered, his skin burnt black.
Dex’s guts threatened to rebel, but he pushed the bile back down and focused on the approaching enemy.
“Almost,” he whispered, “almost.”
Now, he realized. Now was the time.
“Everyone down,” he yelled into the radio. And like a chorus line taking a bow. Each marine dropped below the edge of the trench.
Dex smiled to himself and pushed the button as he dropped down to join his men.
If he had stayed upright, he would have seen the charges under the shuttles fuel tanks go off. He would have seen the explosion pushing the volatile gases out of
the tank, and the beautiful orange flame igniting those gases.
As it was, the WOOOOMP of the charges was followed by an even louder BAAAAANG of the fuel going off. The ground shook, and the air was sucked from his lungs to feed the fire.
Smiling to himself, he gingerly raised his head above the trench line.
“Yes,” he said to no one and to everyone at the same time. The explosion had taken out hundreds and hundreds of the rat-faced bastards. Parts and pieces of gore littered the village. An alien arm was stuck into the side of a building. A burnt head rolled down a roof to fall onto the ground with a hollow thump.
A cloud of oily smoke hung over the area and even through his faceplate he caught the sharp tang of burnt meat and partially burned shuttle fuel. A smell that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life.
At the far edge of the village, the aliens that had survived the blast were milling around in a daze. Unable to believe what had just happened.
They don’t know what to do, he realized. No one is giving them directions. Fall back? Attack? Nothing.
Fall back, he prayed. Leave, please.
But they refused. Instead, they started taking up positions in the abandoned firing pits.
Dex’s insides relaxed. They weren’t leaving. But at least they weren’t attacking. Swallowing hard he realized just how dry his mouth was and how much adrenaline was pumping through his system.
“Report,” he said into the radio, forcing his mind to focus on the job that needed to get done.
“First Platoon, seven dead, three injured, that includes Cheavers team,” Obamway said.”
“Second Platoon, two dead.
“Third Platoon, three down, three injured,” Sergeant Daniels said.
“How?” Dex demanded through gritted teeth. Their armor should protect them against lasers.
A silence hung in the air for a long second when Smith finally said. “I think, if our armor has any chink, any scratch. And the laser finds the flaw. Basically, it breaks through and cooks the guy inside.”
Dex swallowed hard. That was what he had been afraid of. The longer they were in battle, the more flaws and scratches their armor would pick up. The faster they would die.
“Okay,” he said, “make sure your men are resupplied. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
The sergeants took over control of their men and Dex leaned back against the trench wall and tried to get a handle on the thousand thoughts racing through his mind. Should he have done something different? Twelve men were dead because of him. Surely, he could have done something to prevent it.
His heart twisted in pain at the loss. Good men. Fine men. Jenkins was married. Cheevers would have made a great top sergeant one day. Rhys and Tomas were both good Marines. So many down. So heavy a loss.
Biting his lip, he forced himself to move on. Sighing, he watched as they removed the dead men from the trench and helped the wounded back behind the sandbag walls to Miss Miler.
Yes, it was going to be a long night. And it would be a miracle if they saw the morning sun.
Chapter Thirteen
Professor Janet Sinclair stepped onto the weapons deck. She had to know what was going on. Had to know how they would defeat these aliens. Everyone else onboard knew the ship, knew every valve, junction box, and spare part. She was the only one completely in the dark.
She was clueless. The Imperial Navy had never been her field of study. In fact, they were as far from her field of study as it was possible to get. And one thing that Janet knew about herself. She would never be able to relax until she had the facts in front of her. Knowledge was what would help her maintain a calm pretense.
Oh sure, she knew about the concept of the Higgs engine. She understood the basics about wormholes and intragalactic travel. Every school child learned those things at an early age. But her knowledge of the inner workings of an Imperial cruiser was as foreign to her as the inner working of an old-fashioned internal combustion engine. Not something she’d ever really thought about.
Besides, how could she be asked to pontificate on the mind of the alien warriors when she knew so little about their own spacers. Why did they do what they did? What did they think? And most of all. How could they hope to survive the upcoming battle, let alone win?
The young spacer working on a piece of electronics caught sight of her, his eyes bugged out for a moment, then, in a flash, he immediately jumped up, yelling, “Attention on deck.”
The three other spacers in the compartment immediately followed suit, coming to full attention, backs braced, arms stiff, eyes locked on a distant point.
Janet turned to look over her shoulder wondering who had followed her into the compartment. Only to realize they were standing at attention because of her. The poor dears didn’t realize she was a civilian. All they knew was that she worked with the Admiral. That meant she was important enough to come to attention for.
“Carry on,” she said, “no need for formalities. I just had a few questions.”
The young spacer’s face grew pale, a third class petty officer she saw by the chevron on his arm. He looked as if someone had asked him to save the universe single-handedly.
“Chief,” he yelled from the corner of his mouth as he swallowed hard.
An older spacer, with a touch of silver in his black hair, stepped into the compartment from the door on the opposite bulkhead. Heavyset, with a look of competence and a been there, done that, attitude.
“Ma’am?” the Chief asked.
“Chief Kennedy?” she asked. “Lieutenant Weaver said I could talk to you about the weapons?”
“Yes Ma’am,” the chief said with a serious frown. Janet could tell right away that the man was not pleased. They were getting ready to go into battle and this strange, civilian woman was interfering.
“I promise it won’t take long,” she said. “I realize how busy you must all be. Just a few questions and I will be out of your way. But I was told that the entire battle might depend on you and your men. And I just need to know a few things.”
The Chief’s chest swelled a little when she mentioned how much depended upon them. She imagined that these men, working down in the bowels of the ship, might feel forgotten at times.
He smiled. “That’s all right Ma’am, we were told at jump-off that we were to help you with whatever you needed. Besides, maybe you can fill us in on what’s going on topside. We’re like mushrooms around here. Kept in the dark and fed sh…. Uh, manure.”
She had to fight to hide her smile. Even after all this time, the crew still treated her like she was a delicate flower that might break if she heard the wrong word.
“I will try. But I can’t tell you much, only because I don’t know a lot.”
“It’s got to be more than we know,” the young spacer said.
“That’s enough Tinker,” the Chief said with a heavy scowl. “You get that motor switch fixed, then we can talk about your future. If I decide to let you have one.”
The young spacer looked chagrined. Janet shot him a quick smile to try and ease the humiliation. The young man returned the smile, shrugged his shoulders and returned to working on the piece of equipment sitting on the workbench.
“Now then, Ms. Sinclair, what would you like to know?” Chief Kenned asked.
“Everything,” she replied. “Assume I am a dumb civilian and totally clueless. Because you would be right.”
The Chief smiled. “Let’s start back here, with the cannon. They are the heart of the matter, and sort of the point of the whole thing.
Janet followed him into the next compartment. He stopped and pointed to a long, eighteen inches wide, nondescript metal tube pointing out the side of the ship. The tube was attached to a large square machine that she couldn’t make any sense of. Tubes, and hoses, wires, and a control panel that left her baffled. But then, she’d never been close to being an engineer, a toaster confused her.
There were three more such ‘Cannons’ laid out in
the compartment.
“The Mark-26 Cannon,” the chief said with obvious pride. “The fastest, most accurate weapon in the fleet. It shoots Twenty-our-pound projectiles at over Mach-five. A good crew can reach three per minute as long as the ammunition lasts. No combustion. All electrical magnetic. No friction, the barrel never gets too hot. Not at that rate of fire.”
Opening the breach, he pulled out a round metal sphere the size of a bowling ball. Janet was surprised at how shiny and polished it was. There appeared to be words handwritten in black, ‘Best regards,’ they said.
The chief saw her questioning expression and smiled. “I have the men polish them up. It keeps them busy and I let them write a message for the Scraggs. You know, things like ‘Happy birthday’, or “Die mother f…’,” the chief paused for a second, shooting her a quick look to see if he’d gone too far. When she smiled encouragingly back at him, he continued. “Of course, the Scraggs will never get a chance to read them. If they’re close enough to one of these things, that means they’re dead.”
Janet’s stomach clenched up at the chief’s obvious joy in causing death and destructions.
“How many guns?” she asked
He smiled. “The Churchill has forty, ten batteries of four, sixteen guns to a side, four up forward, and four aft. Each gun has a two-man crew, each battery of four guns is overseen by a chief. This is Battery B,” he said with obvious pride, “My battery, the best onboard. Each battery is responsible for the maintenance of their own weapons and their operation during battle. They can be controlled by Combat central, by the weapons officer, or by the gun crews themselves.”
Janet nodded. It made sense, and now she understood why Admiral McKenzie wanted to attack the aliens from the side.
“Why electric rail guns? Why not missiles?”
The chief scoffed, “Missiles don’t work ma’am. Not real well, not in space.”
“Why not?” she asked.
The chief looked at her for a second and she could have sworn he was fighting to not roll his eyes at such a stupid question.
“Because Ma’am, missiles have to hit their target to be any good. There is almost no shock wave in space, so close proximity is no good.”