by Mark Iles
Veterans had their own cabins on modern ships whenever possible, but the designers of their new vessel had either not taken this into account or had completely ignored it. Consequently they’d be crammed into one large dormitory, but Selena preferred it that way. She knew they didn’t have much time and was trying hard to form them into a team. In her book, familiarity didn’t breed contempt; it created a bond in a body of people who needed to be able to rely on each other, through intimate knowledge of their comrade’s strengths and weaknesses. At the end of the first week, Selena found herself alone in the cafe, waiting for the others to finish their showers and join her, when Bryn walked in.
She sipped her coffee and watched as he acknowledged her with a nod and got himself a drink, before walking over to join her.
“Mind if I sit down, Ma’am?”
“Help yourself, Lieutenant.”
“You don’t like me very much, do you. That’s been apparent over the past week.”
Selena put down her cup and fixed him with a stare, her blue eyes boring into his. “It’s not that I dislike you, Bryn. But I’ll be honest, I think you’re a loose cannon. If it was my choice, I’d have both you and Lacey replaced immediately. I know that after the battle for Theta you two broke into a compound, injured six guards and killed the alien prisoners being held there; depriving us of valuable intelligence. Luckily for you, the Commodore says you two are the best we have, so it looks like I’m stuck with you – at least for the time being.”
“For the time being,” Bryn repeated slowly, as if savouring the words. Taking a sip of his coffee, he stared into her eyes, undaunted. “It sounds to me as if you’re determined to get rid of us.”
“I fully understand that you lost your family, and for that you have my condolences. But I need people I can trust, who’ll stand with me through thick and thin — not someone who’ll go off on some half-witted act of revenge when mankind’s very survival depends on our success. So yes, Lieutenant Clayton, if I can talk the Commodore around into getting you replaced, then I will. Until then, however, I’m stuck with you. So make the best of it, while you can.”
“I think you’d have lost your rag too, if you’d been through what I had,” Bryn replied, biting back his anger. He blew on his drink, took another sip and then carefully placed his cup on the table. Looking down at it, he remained quiet for a moment, before adding: “The official records aren’t exactly comprehensive, Ma’am. Let me fill you in on what really happened. Perhaps then you’ll change your mind about me.”
“If you think so, go ahead; but it better be good.”
“You’re right, I did lose my family.” Bryn raised his eyes to meet her icy gaze. He continued to speak quietly but with growing confidence and determination. “I hadn’t seen them for a long time. Singh and I were away when Theta fell. We were running freight in another part of the galaxy. It was good business and very profitable, we were back and forth between worlds constantly. When we found out what had happened, it was already too late; but we dropped what we were doing, joined up and passed fly school easily. We’d already been trained pilots for years after all, and the fleet was desperate for people like us. Then we heard that there was a plan afoot to retake Theta, and we volunteered to be in on it. We were assigned to the Luxembourg, one of the numerous carriers in the liberation fleet...”
* * * *
“Two minutes to launch,” Bryn grunted. He’d always been the tall, dark silent type but the worry since the invasion had made him even more reticent. He had his father’s broad shoulders and rough oversized hands. His previous long hair was cropped for military requirements, but he still wore the tattered red headband that his mother had given him many years before.
Singh leaned over and touched his arm. “I’m sure they’ll be all right, buddy. Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”
The pilot’s cool green eyes melted for a moment, as he thought about his family, who’d been trapped down there during the Manta invasion. Besides his mother and father he also had a little sister, who would have been three-years-old a few weeks ago. He prayed that they’d either escaped the enemy and were in hiding, or were at least in one of the many enclosed clusters of buildings loosely termed “prison camps” where reconnaissance reported humans were being kept.
“Standby!” came the warning from Luxembourg’s launch control.
Seconds later their landing craft and countless others were spat into the shallows of Theta’s atmosphere.
Bryn gripped the controls tightly as the little craft dropped like a stone, one dark grey fleck in a swarm of its fellows, the sheer number sinking like a mist towards the planet. Above them the protective shields of the battle fleet flared constantly against incoming fire.
One of the cruisers burst with blinding intensity as its shields failed, allowing a full salvo of beams to slip through. The two friends turned away from the view, new enough to war to hear the screams of lost friends in their minds, the men and women being torn apart in the explosions of the ship or suffering a terrible and lonely death in the vacuum of space.
The two pilots’ concentration returned to the planet towards which they fell. It now filled their forward view. As they burst through the clouds, their camouflage system kicked in, the nose of their craft coming up as they arrowed over rough seas, and the landing craft constantly changed colour from varied blues to greys, then back again, blending in with the seascape.
Crippled ships flamed towards the ocean, their exits crowded with the dead and dying as they ploughed into the waves and the metallic tasting sea water rushed in; forcing what few survivors there were back inside, as the vessels sank into the still largely unexplored depths.
Bryn handled the controls with skill born of many years’ experience, seeming almost relaxed as he dodged and wove through the anti-aircraft fire.
A discreet cough from behind him reminded Bryn that this time they weren’t carrying their usual silent cargo of stores, but soldiers. As they left the ocean behind them and shot over long golden beaches, then rolling grassy plains, he turned to look over his shoulder. “Everybody okay back there?”
Before anyone could answer, the ship shuddered, as if running over cobblestones. The lights blinked and then dimmed, as the forward shield sucked power to deflect the blast. Warning lights flickered on the console and there was a popping sound as a small trail of smoke rose from the controls.
“We’ve lost defence and weapon systems,” Singh said calmly through clenched teeth, switching to emergency power and backups.
“Blast, that’s all we need.” Bryn looked over his shoulder. “Sergeant, you’d better get ready. When we go in, I want you and your men out of here, fast!”
“Right,” came the gruff reply, followed by muffled instructions to the troops.
“Standby!” Bryn yelled. “Now!”
He hit the green indicator button at the same time as he reversed the forward thrust of the landing craft’s powerful engines. The ship’s nose rose and then fell, stopping in mid-flight almost instantly. Split seconds later, the bay doors beneath the troops opened and they dropped the remaining two hundred feet, supported by their antigravity packs. The little craft hovered overhead for a moment, ensuring all was well. Luckily, the ship’s camouflage gear was back up again and working well, and she was now blending into the sea of grass below them and if one looked up all you could see was a vague outline against the sky.
“All gone,” Singh said happily, eying his monitors. “They’re down; now let’s get the hell out of here.”
Even as Bryn hit the accelerator there was a deafening explosion and the little vessel slewed sideways. A shower of sparks exploded into Bryn’s face, momentarily blinding him, and he let go of the controls and grabbed at the sharp burns with a yell.
“Damn it,” Singh said, struggling with the dual controls as his friend cursed and rubbed frantically at his face, trying to clear his vision.
But it was too late. With a high-pitched two-tone warble the shi
p slewed towards the ground and ploughed into the side of a hill.
Flames erupted as the two men shook their heads in an effort to clear them and unstrapped themselves. Grabbing weapons and backpacks from the stowage under their seats, they leapt from the emergency exit and ran frantically over the grass to the safety of a rain-filled ditch a short distance away. Crouching in the stagnant water, they covered their heads with folded arms, expecting the ship to explode at any moment.
It didn’t.
For a while the silence was broken only by the slow tick of cooling metal. Bryn breathed a sigh of relief and ran his fingers over the burns on his face, deciding that despite the stinging it was all still there and that there was nothing serious.
“Well,” Singh said matter-of-factly, checking Bryn’s burns and then spraying a fine cool mist of honey-smelling healing gel over them from the first aid kit in his pack, “at least the water’s warm.”
Bryn gazed at his friend. “Yeah but it stinks; a bit like your sense of humour.”
“Quiet, isn’t it? Listen. No birds, nothing at all. Not like before the invasion. It’s kind of eerie.”
“Personally, I’m just thankful we’re alive. The bugs must have seen us come down; we need to get the hell out of here.”
Bryn recognised the ruined city and bridge over the river that lay about a mile or so away. He’d arranged to operate in this area and no one had begrudged him that, given that this was his home world. If he was right then his town was about fifteen miles from their current position. He was about to impart this knowledge to Singh when, with a deafening roar, another landing craft appeared above them. Hovering, it disgorged its troops but remained overhead protectively for a moment, before shooting skyward once more. It was soon lost in the low-lying clouds, as she returned to her mother ship for more human cargo.
A small, thin sergeant strode up to the two friends. He planted both feet in the mire and, with hands on his hips, looked down at them and said loudly, “Hello chaps, tracked you in, of course. Thought it would be jolly nice of us to come and look after you. After all, we don’t want you wandering around aimlessly and getting yourselves killed, now do we? We’ll need you to give us a lift back out again when this is all over.”
“Rather decent of you, old boy,” Singh retorted, getting a dig in the ribs for his efforts from Bryn as he stared at the man’s greying goatee.
Just then the sergeant touched his ear-piece, twisted his head towards the city and said quite calmly, “Better take cover lads, there’s some beasties coming.”
“I don’t believe this guy,” Singh said quietly, looking up at Bryn, as they cocked their machine pistols.
“If I was you, I’d shut up and take cover,” Bryn replied from the side of his mouth, moving to the edge of the ditch and following the other men’s gaze as they too flung themselves into the trench and other concealments about them.
A few seconds later, the Manta came into view.
The two friends’ eyes widened in disbelief at the approaching monstrosities, the very smallest of which must have been at least eight feet tall. Knowing what they looked like was one thing but to see them for real was completely different. They were terrifying and did indeed look like a cross between an upright praying mantis and a spider, except for the six apple-sized eyes that blazed a deep vermillion as they scanned the landscape. Thick dark leather-like webbing criss-crossed the stick-like limbs and body, the garments edged with silver insignia were painted on the central band, which was worn diagonally across the thorax area. It was difficult to tell where the creatures ended and the equipment and trappings of war began. The top eyes on either side of their heads were surrounded by metal and appeared mechanical, as they moved around independently of each other, scanning the area in front and around them.
Huge ponderous limbs clutched assorted weapons, insectoid heads swung back and forth while those eyes searched the landscape and they approached the human’s lair. Their greenish-black chitin shells were shot with gold and flecked with silver. As they came closer, Bryn could see splashes of blood decorating them like so much paint, and he wondered if the strange devices or insignia on the central bands depicted some kind of rank.
Singh watched the enemy approach and then dropped his head, turning to Bryn. “Screw this for a game of soldiers,” he whispered, glancing back up as the aliens’ jaws and mandibles snatched at the air as if in anticipation of the fighting to come; they didn’t have teeth as such, their shells sprouted thousands of spiked protrusions from where lips should be right back into the back of those hellish mouths.
“Man, them fuckers are plain ugly,” Singh observed, swallowing nervously despite himself.
“Now!” the sergeant bellowed, standing up and opening fire. His head instantly disappeared in a fine red mist and he fell backwards to the ground, spraying them with his blood.
The machine pistols hammering in Bryn and Singh’s hands added to the clamour of the troop’s heavier firepower. At such short range the soldiers couldn’t miss and the bugs were hacked apart by shells or burst as if of their own accord from microwaves beams, their innards splattered some of the nearer humans with nauseating slime.
Running out of ammunition, Bryn didn’t have time to reload and, instead, drew his sidearm and continued to fire away, desperate to keep the creatures at bay. More of the aliens were hit with microwave weapons and simply exploded, while others appeared to dance from the multiple rounds slamming into them; and then, quite suddenly, it was all over.
The two friends lay panting in the silence, luxuriating in the feel of the cool wind on their faces. Now only a solitary white cloud drifted through the skies, its fellows gone as if frightened away by the fighting far below. One by one the troops stood up, until they were all on their feet. A soldier walked over and kicked at one of the fallen aliens, as Bryn holstered his weapon.
“Remind you of the wife, does it?” one of the troopers asked in time-honoured bravado.
“Yeah, no wonder you joined up,” another snorted, to chuckles from the other soldiers.
Of the many bodies strewn about, only the sergeant and two others were human. The pilots would be classified as temporary replacements for the time being, now that they were ship-less or at least until they were picked up. Luckily, they knew the corporal now in charge and some of the others too. They’d met briefly aboard the Luxembourg at parties held a couple of days before the battle, leaving the last few days free for the troops to get as much rest as they could prior to facing the enemy.
Singh bent down and picked up two discarded antigravity packs, handing one to his friend. Adjusting the frequency of their radios, they were just in time to hear over their ear pieces: “...proceed to designated target with all haste. Enemy anti-personnel batteries have been neutralised, reinforcements are on the way down.”
Although out-ranked by the two pilots, the corporal was now in charge of the platoon and they took his lead, as he made sure they all were widely spread out. They set off across the rolling plains, the grass damp from the morning dew cleaning their boots and lower legs of mud and gore. Thirty minutes later, they reached their target.
The anti-ship installation lay atop a plateau that stretched for several miles. The base consisted of a series of alien bubble-shaped and anthill-like buildings. Some of them were transparent, as if they were made from glass, while others were an eye-burning white and looked somewhat like up-turned porcelain basins. Small stubby rods protruded from these bubbles, giving vent to massive streams of searing energy that flashed brilliantly towards the human fleet far above.
A shimmering silver shield hung like a suspended blanket over the entire site, protecting it, although the sides remained vulnerable. Each time the Manta weapons fired, their shield dropped but sprung back into place immediately afterwards, so that return fire splashed harmlessly against it.
A small, lithe good-looking woman leapt down the slope and landed lightly in a crouch beside the two pilots, her antigravity pack kicking
in to break her fall at the last moment. Looking at Bryn, she smiled; then turned to peer at the fortification.
“Bloody bugs,” she blurted. “It was much nicer the last time I was here, a few years ago.”
“He must have a daughter your age here, somewhere,” Singh remarked.
She laughed. “What, only one? You do surprise me.”
At a signal from the corporal, the platoon edged forward, using the rocky base of the plateau as cover. An energy beam spat from the site with a loud hum and there was a large silent glare in the heavens as another ship died. The station remained still for a moment, as if considering its next target. Bryn felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around he saw his current flame, Mary Black, following in his footsteps.
“Mary, where the hell did you come from?”
“You know me,” she chuckled, “always where the action is. Talking of which, what’s this I see? Chatting up youngsters now, are we?”
“I just met her, actually.”
She grinned at him. “Hah, from what I hear you can’t muster it these days anyway.”
“I’d love to prove you wrong, but we’re a trifle busy right now and I don’t want to tire you out.”
Daughter of the well-known admiral, Mary lived up to her surname; as her eyes, skin and hair were all jet black. Suddenly she pointed to their left at a metallic form flying towards them. “Here comes that daft android and about time, too. What are you going to do when this campaign’s over, Bryn? I’m off to Eria in time for the snows. It’ll be like Christmas back on Earth; fancy coming along?”
Bryn shook his head, panting as he negotiated a large builder and wished that he had spent more time working out. “Another time, lover, I’ve got family here.”
Her eyes widened and she considered him. “I didn’t know that. Good luck, Bryn. I hope you find them.” She turned and gave a low whistle. The android stopped in mid-flight, then turned and sped towards them before sinking to the ground with a mechanical sigh. Mary glared at it and demanded in a rough whisper, “What the hell have you stopped for? Get going, you’re supposed to be doing all the heavy stuff!”