by A P Heath
“They hit us with something…” Bolthosian faltered as he tried to drag himself further along the floor, wincing at the pain from his damaged leg.
“Something, something huge hit us.”
Aitkin steadied the lieutenant with a supporting hand.
“They closed the shutters on us, don’t ask me how they had the bloody things open in the first place.”
He coughed, spat thick phlegm onto the deck plates.
“We were working on opening them up again when this noise came…” His eyes glazed, “This whirring that just built and built until…”
Bolthosian looked back to the tortured and torn metal of the trans-shaft shutters. Aitkin’s gaze followed.
The hole had been blown up and outwards from below. The force it must have taken was astounding. Aitkin knew those shutters were built to prevent just such a breach.
They could withstand grenade rounds, placed charges. Yet somehow this strange enemy had the means to rip them open like paper.
“It just floored us.” Bolthosian continued.
He turned his eyes on Aitkin, uncharacteristically wide.
“Don’t let them draw a bead on you!” He said, griping Aitkin by the arm.
To see the famously stoic sergeant show such emotion was unsettling.
“Any word from Sergeant Johs?” He’d asked.
Bolthosian shook his head, letting his eyes fall to the deck and the ruin of his leg.
“Nothing.” He replied, “Not since those shutters closed on us.”
“And enemies numbers? Their positions?”
Aitkin could see the energy draining from Bolthosian, but he needed any information he could gather.
The enemy force was formidable, deadly and they’d had the upper hand throughout every encounter so far. Aitkin could see the damage their weapons caused, the havoc they were able to wreak.
He wasn’t going to walk his marines in blind if there was anything useful the lieutenant could tell him.
“Don’t know numbers,” Bolthosian coughed, “But they’re close to the trans-shaft. At least on this side.”
He spat again and Aitkin saw red in the globs that splattered onto the floor. Bolthosian had more injuries than were evident from first glance.
“Every time we get near those buggers shoot back up through the hole and whatever they’re firing makes a bloody mess of a man.”
Aitkin could see the proof of that for himself. By the open shaft, next to where he’d found Bolthosian was the body of another marine. Aitkin couldn’t tell which one, the man’s head was a mess of crushed bone, brain matter and blood. It was still attached by the neck, but looked like some grotesque deflated balloon. Bolthosian saw the question in his eyes.
“Sergeant Riesen,” He said with sadness heavy in his tone.
“He was trying to spot their position, had his fool head right in the hole and then,” Bolthosian raised his hands up sharply, “Whumph! And suddenly his head is nothing more than a brain pancake.”
Aitkin glanced around at the marines still in the corridor.
His mission was plain; get to the substation and clear the reactor. He couldn’t leave these men and women to die here though.
“Sergeant,” He spoke quietly, Johs was crouching at his heels. “Take four marines and evacuate Lieutenant Bolthosian and any surviving marines of 2C1 to the loading bay.”
He glanced at the open shutters, thinking.
“Begging your pardon sir, but if you think I’m running evac duty while you go down there you’re bloody dreaming.”
Aitkin turned to look Johs in the eye. The man’s usually jovial tone had disappeared and his face was set with a grim determination.
Aitkin realised what he’d said. He’d just asked his sergeant, his friend, to abandon his own sister. He smiled thinly.
“Pardoned.” He said, “Very well Sergeant, if I can’t be rid of you for two minutes at least make yourself useful.”
Sergeant Johs didn’t smile, but his face softened slightly.
“I want this area as secure as we can make it. Get Halfson set up covering the loading bay from this side and Platiff on watching these bloody shutters. If so much as a hostile nose comes into view I want their gattlers blowing it clear of its face. And I want these marines evac’d.” He added.
Johs turned to issue the orders and Aitkin grabbed his arm. “And get a grenade from every marine here.”
He let Johs carry on and turned back to Bolthosian. The lieutenant’s eyes were closed but Aitkin could see the slight rise of his chest.
Still alive. Just stay alive old friend.
It took a matter of moments for his orders to be carried out. Johs was back behind him, crouched again and holding a clutch of the small grenades the marines carried, in his big hands.
Aitkin waited for Bolthosian to be lifted over the shoulders of his marines and carried away to the waiting Peregrine that would take him to the infirmary on the Pride and the miraculous work of it surgeon apparatus.
Once the corridor was clear of the injured Aitkin beckoned his marines to him. The space was wide enough for six to crouch abreast. He addressed the marines closest to the trans-shaft.
“We’re about to meet the enemy properly so get yourselves ready,” He said, “We’ve been lucky up to this point, but Lieutenant Bolthosian and his marines should show you what we’re up against.” He looked to Sergeant Johs, “Pass out those grenades Sergeant.”
“Right you are sir,” Johs said, his trade-mark grin returning briefly.
“Lieutenant Bolthosian confirmed we have enemy forces blocking our route. They’re out of sight, but able to fire on us with deadly effect.”
Aitkin lifted his hands, a grenade held in each fist.
“I think it’s time we gave them a little gift eh?”
He activated the grenades with his thumbs, the arming lights blinking red. The marines around him followed suit.
Aitkin nodded then leaned forward, tossing his gifts into the opening in the trans-shaft shutters. The blinking lights arced through the air and disappeared into the darkness below. A stream of ten more followed them closely. There was a moment of silence and then the corridor rocked to a series of powerful explosions.
Aitkin didn’t wait for return fire. He hefted his rifle, stood.
“On me.” He said simply, stepping into the breach and disappearing into the darkness of the trans-shaft.
He hit the floor and rolled, coming up onto one knee and scanning his surroundings with the barrel of his rifle. Dust filled the air. It stank with the aftermath of the grenades exploding in such a confined area. Aitkin didn’t wave the smoke away, he simply stepped forward, gun still raised and his eye pressed to the sights, his finger hovering over the trigger.
The scene that greeted him was similar to that of the loading bay. Body parts were scattered around the inner walls of the trans-shaft.
The shutters to the substation filled one side of the shaft, torn open like the ones above. For a moment he wondered again at the power of the weapons his enemy carried.
Johs landed behind him with a grunt. The big man sprung up with surprising speed for his size, his weapon held ready, his eyes searching for targets. Together they stepped through the second set of ruined shutters, the tear easily big enough to admit them both.
The rest of Johs’ squad, those that weren’t still carrying the injured to safety, dropped through behind them, coming down in pairs and rising to their feet in fluid motion.
The corridor beyond the shaft held more bodies, less damaged than those inside but still prone. Johs angled his rifle to fire into the nearest and Aitkin put out a hand to stop him.
The schematics he’d poured over before they disembarked put the entrance to the reactor almost directly below them. Ahead he could see the metal stairway that led down, but there was an absence of other noises.
He listened for a moment, expecting the familiar bark of rifles or the strange booming of the enemy weapons discharging.
There was nothing. The bodies before them looked dead, but everything Aitkin had heard through his comms told him not to believe it.
“Blades.” He sent through his comm link, gesturing with his rifle.
Johs was the first to pull his combat knife. He knelt beside the closet foe, took the man’s, bare scalp in his left hand and used his right to plunge the blade into the exposed throat.
There was no sign of life; no fight or thrashing. No grunt of pain.
Johs industriously worked his knife back and forth, sawing through the tissue and bones until he could wrench the head free.
“That should do it.” He said with a satisfied look up at Aitkin.
Aitkin nodded, seeing two other marines following in their sergeant’s stead with the remaining bodies.
Confident they would not be fighting to protect their rear as they moved onwards.
“I want those weapons collected and put on the drop ships with the wounded,” He gestured to the scattered, damaged guns of the enemy that lay with their corpses.
“No doubt Command will want to know what we’re up against out here.”
Aitkin gave the signal to advance. He led the way, creeping onto the narrow stairway and moving down with quiet caution.
“We’ve entered the substation Captain.” He sent on a direct channel to Lanad.
“We encountered resistance at the trans-shaft but have dealt
with it. I’ve also dispatched four members of the squad to assist in the evac of Lieutenant Bolthosian and his wounded.”
Lanad did not respond.
Aitkin didn’t know if the captain was still aboard or if he’d already boarded a Peregrine and lifted off. Either way he should be well within range of the comm link, so either he was too injured to respond or otherwise engaged coordinating the mission.
Aitkin chided himself. The mission was over. If Lanad was still coordinating anything it was a full scale retreat. Only Aitkin and the marines behind him still sought any objective outside a desperate scramble to the drop ships and the safety of the Pride, waiting somewhere out in the blackness for their return.
So few would be making that return. He didn’t know the casualty numbers but it seemed high. So very high. Unbelievably high.
The Deorum military were the strongest, most rigorously trained, most competent fighting force in the solar system. The marines were the pinnacle of that force and to see an enemy that could wipe them out so utterly, so effortlessly, was truly terrifying.
Aitkin had nearly reached the end of the stairs. Below him the decking opened into a narrow space with more stairs a metre onwards.
To the left was the entrance to the reactor chamber; a great hall, forty metres high its walls lined with gantries and walkways. At its very centre was the fusion core reactor. A miniature sun, burning within the many layered protective shielding of its housing.
The next set of stairs continued down to the comms array of the substation, but this was the only access to the core. The door into the chamber was large, fully three metres across and up, with a viewing pane at its centre that allowed sight beyond.
There were no windows, no other forms of access. The reactor was too dangerous to allow such things.
Somewhere inside Sergeant Augustine Johs and her marines were possibly still fighting to secure the area, but outside there was no sign of them.
Aitkin moved to the viewing pane.
It showed a top down view of the great chamber, as if the observer were standing on the highest gantry and looking down on the reactor housing. Around it were figures. All were motionless to Aitkin’s eyes.
He placed a hand on the pane, closing his fingers to zoom the picture in and resolve the detail. He could see bodies lying prone on the floor that surrounded the reactor. Some were in the grey uniform and black armour of the Deorum marines.
Some were in the dark, ragged overalls the enemy wore. None were moving. He focused the view closer on one and saw the features had been demolished by continuous impacts. If Sergeant Johs was dead down there she’d gone down with one hell of a fight.
At the centre of the core he could make out more dark figures. It looked as if they were attempting to open the core itself.
For a moment he considered a radiation leak, perhaps the core had been breached in some way. He dismissed the thought. If that were the case sirens would be sounding throughout the station and the viewing pane before him would be awash with warnings not to enter. If they were attempting to open the core that would cause a leak. He needed to get in, to stop them, to avenge his fallen brothers and sisters.
Aitkin heard a faint cracking behind him. It was the knuckles of Johs’ hands as his fists clenched in fury. He could see the view over Aitkin’s shoulder. He had drawn the same conclusion Aitkin had come to; Sergeant Augustine Johs and the marines of 1C3 were dead.
“Captain Lanad,” Aitkin tried the comms again. There was no response.
“Captain Lanad, Captain Timonny, respond.”
Silence greeted him. He opened his comm wider to the officers of the mission.
“This is Lieutenant Cassini to all officers. Confirm status Captain Lanad and Captain Timonny.”
More silence followed. Then a voice he recognised.
“Lieutenant Cassini, this is Sergeant Mathers.” Came the
response. Mathers’ voice was shaking.
“I can confirm Captain Lanad is injured, but alive. He is aboard DS One on return to the Pride.”
“Thank you Sergeant,” Aitkin returned, “And Captain Timonny?”
“No one has seen the Captain since he was ordered to the substation.”
Aitkin bit his lip. Timonny had not been among the dead and injured they’d found at the trans-shaft shutters.
“Lieutenant Bolthosian was injured and has been evacuated.” Aitkin informed the sergeant.
“Yes, we know,” He replied.
“Bolthosian is out of action and Lieutenant Mentrim is KIA.” The words rocked Aitkin with their import. Lanad out of action, Timonny MIA and Mentrim KIA put Aitkin in command. He was still realising this fact when Mathers continued.
“We’re holding station with DS Two and Three in the primary loading bay sir. DS Five has already left to evacuate wounded to the Pride, but Four is still in the tertiary bay, waiting on your orders.”
“Board your drop ships and retreat to the combat perimeter.” Aitkin ordered, knowing his words would be greeted with stark relief.
“All members of 1C3 are assumed KIA, but 1CR is still combat effective.”
He looked over his shoulder, seeing the brooding hulk of Johs and the marines of his reserve squad waiting on his orders. “We have an objective still to complete.”
He cut the comm link and turned to face his marines.
“Mission command has fallen to me,” He started.
He didn’t want to list the reasons it was the case, he needed his marines focused on the task left to them.
“We have one objective left to complete.” Aitkin pointed the barrel of his rifle at the vast door that would admit them to the reactor chamber.
“The substation must be cleared and the detachment sequence
completed so it can return to Luna.”
Johs was a silent statue, his eyes fixed on the viewing pane of the door.
“We are going to complete our mission.” He said, injecting a stern confidence into his words.
“Sergeant Johs will take Garanth, Cooper, Atherly and Ascero to the comms array and set the detachment sequence. The rest of you will come with me to confirm the reactor is unbreached.”
Johs did not move at Aitkin’s words.
“Sergeant Johs.” He said, louder.
The sergeant tore his eyes slowly from the viewing pane and turned them on Aitkin. They didn’t look like his eyes. They were hard and blank. Unblinking and unresponsive to Aitkin’s address.
“Sergeant Johs.” Aitkin repeated, emphasising his friend’s rank. Johs blinked once, twice.
> “Yes sir.” He spoke in a flat tone, but he moved off toward the next stair, the named marines following his steps.
Aitkin turned back toward the door and pressed his hand against the panel to issue the open command. He knew Johs would be hating him right now. He couldn’t take the big sergeant into the reactor chamber in this state though. The man was hurting, grieving for his sister and Aitkin had seen and heard enough of this enemy already to know that precision was needed over brute force. If he brought Johs down there now the sergeant would likely take a kamikaze approach to bringing down the enemy and give little or no regard for himself or the safety of his fellow marines.
Aitkin knew that Johs would understand. Not now, but soon, when he had the chance to look back on the situation with a cooler header.
“Weapons ready,” He said over his shoulder.
“Same routine as the loading bay; if it even looks like it might move, kill it!”
Their mission was almost over. A mission that had seen so many deaths, so may losses and raised so many questions that
he knew he couldn’t answer.
A mission that had somehow fallen to him to complete. Aitkin Cassini, a reserve Lieutenant expecting to see nothing more exciting on this operation than the inside of a Peregrine’s troop compartment.
Aitkin pressed the command to open the reactor chamber doors and allow his marines inside to complete their mission. Nothing happened.
Aitkin’s comm link opened.
“Situation report Lieutenant, tell me what the hell’s going on down there!” The Lord Admiral’s voice demanded inside his head.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The celebratory reception to honour the Martian Governor’s Eights-Day was in full swing. The Ministry’s Celebratory Hall echoed with voices of dignitaries and political delegates from across the solar system.
The chandeliers sparkled from the high ceiling, a quintet of string played their merry melodies from a balcony overhanging the small stage at the head of the hall. Waiters dressed in crisp, high coloured whites moved delicately between the bodies filling the floor; offering a drink or canapé wherever they found glasses or hands to be empty.