Here goes nothing.
He switched on the engine, letting it idle while he checked the worms’ response. They surged and circled even faster than before but none came closer than five yards away, as if wary of the combination of the field’s defense and the squad’s firepower.
Let’s hope it lasts.
He feathered the accelerator but the truck refused to budge until he put his foot fully down. The vehicle lurched forward and Reid banged on the roof overhead.
“Carefully please, Cap. We nearly lost the vases there.”
Banks bit back a rejoinder and drove forward along the increasingly furrowed track ahead of them.
*
Progress was slow but steady to begin with; the worms kept their distance and although Banks couldn’t bring himself to put the truck much above walking pace, they were making headway. The worms circled faster around them, sometimes darting forward only to be repelled back when they were within four or five yards of the protective field. The hum in the air around Banks grew steadily louder and a soft golden light filled the cab. He felt slightly light-headed as if he’d had too much coffee and nicotine on an empty stomach, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.
He looked ahead and for the first time saw a solid outline of a rocky ridge, the far side of the lakebed appearing out of the heat haze. Resisting the urge to head faster towards it, he kept his gaze ahead and concentrated on maintaining a straight line.
The worms had other ideas. A large mound grew up out of the track twenty yards ahead, bigger than any they had yet seen, ten feet across, almost the width of the truck and just as high.
Hynd shouted from somewhere back and above him.
“Let’s plow the road!”
The roar of gunfire—three of them by the sound of it—filled the cab. The worm raised its head up out of the sand, a massive red, wet maw filled with hundreds of pencil fangs. Deep in its throat was a darker, squirming mass. When the rounds hit it, the whole thing exploded in a wash of gore and suddenly Banks’ windshield was coated solid an inch thick with two- to three-inch worms.
He had to slow—he had no visibility but didn’t want to stop, keeping the truck inching forward, chancing to luck that he was maintaining a straight line.
They ran over something large and wet that splashed beneath them, setting the truck wallowing for a heart-stopping few seconds before the wheels hit sand again. The worms on the windshield slid slowly downward, allowing Banks a view out of the top half. The rocky ridge was tantalizingly close now but half a dozen more worms were in danger of blocking their escape, two of them as large as the one they’d just ran over. He looked in his wing mirror and saw that there was only a wet red smear on the track now to mark where the big one had been. The roadway seemed to seethe and roil and he realized that it was the smaller worms eating the remains of the one who had given them birth.
He leaned over and shouted out the window.
“All okay up there?”
“Just fine, Cap,” Hynd replied. “We got a few of the wee fuckers on us but no damage done. The lad’s field seems to be doing the trick.”
“I’m going to head straight for the ridge ahead. Try to keep those fuckers ahead of us away from the road; we might not get so lucky the next time.”
He pressed his foot on the accelerator, taking the truck up to ten miles an hour.
They’d be safe within minutes.
Worms allowing.
- 22 -
Donnie held on to the vase with both hands. It was more difficult now that the captain had picked up speed and made more so by the fact that the surface of the vase had grown hot like touching a recently boiled kettle. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to keep contact with it. He’d almost lost it for good when the huge worm exploded right in front of them and they’d been showered with a rain of tiny worms. The soldiers’ calm, almost casual, brushing off and stamping on the menace seemed to spread to him and he was surprised to find his hands weren’t shaking as the truck headed for the valley rim.
“Let’s give the captain a smoother ride, shall we, lads?” Hynd said. “I’ll take the front. Wiggo, you’re on the left, Wilko on the right. You other two, just don’t drop yon vases. Another minute and this will be all over.”
Donnie’s hands felt like they were burning but if the sarge needed a minute, a minute is what he would have and he was once again grateful for the cotton in his ears as the firing started again. He saw Wiggins take out the largest worm so far, an almost fifteen-foot-wide mouth was a large target, even at over fifty yards, and Wiggins’ three-shot burst went right down its throat. It blew apart in the same fashion as the one they’d killed on the road. This one appeared to have been crammed to bursting with the smaller worms, a mass of them gathered in a tight ball that quickly collapsed onto the sand in a frenzy of feeding on the scattered remains.
All around the truck the same scene was being played out. Hynd blasted another large worm that was threatening to park itself on the road. Wilkins took out one that tried to sneak up behind them, rising high over the rear of the truck before the private took it out with two volleys of three down its throat. That got them another rain of smaller squirming worms but Wiggins and Wilkins were able to stomp them into oblivion before they could do any damage.
Donnie chanced a look up; they were almost at the rim of the lakebed and as if he too had noticed it, the captain put on another burst of speed. The truck lurched, Donnie stumbled, almost fell, and the vase slid away from him. He made a grab for it but was too late. It slid off the driver’s cab roof, tugged its copper wire attachment away as it fell, and tumbled off the side of the cab and out of sight.
As if emboldened, a huge worm came up out of the sand behind them, the largest one yet, its mouth big enough to swallow the whole truck. Davies abandoned his vase and turned to stand with the others. The line of four of them across the truck all fired at once, even as the vehicle lurched heavily left then right. The worm blew and the truck caught firmer ground and sped forward so that the mass of tiny worms escaping from the downed one fell and scattered only on sand.
Donnie scrambled for the remaining vase on the cab roof, trying to attach it to the trailing copper wire.
“Leave it, son,” Hynd said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’re free and clear.”
Donnie turned and saw that they were now looking down on the lakebed from a higher position on a rocky track. Behind them, the sand seethed with tiny worms as they fed on the sudden feast of the dead. As they watched, the frenzy subsided. The tiny worms burrowed deeper, the sand shivered, and a wave ran through the lakebed heading away north and west toward the river outlet and the wide desert plains beyond.
*
Banks drove them into town two hours later. By that time, the sat-phone had got over its huffy spell and was working again. He’d put in a call for support and made a quick report to the colonel with a request to collect Gillings’ remains and the finds from the dig site.
They had time for a long-anticipated beer in a roadside bar. Donnie joined them and got the first round in.
“We did it,” he said. “We won.”
Wiggins smiled thinly.
“Naw, it was a draw at best. We nearly got our arses kicked. Those wee buggers are all still out there in the sand just waiting for it to rain again.”
“Aye? Well, they’re welcome to it.”
“And what’s with all this ‘we’ shite, Donnie. Are you thinking of signing up? Want to join us on our wee adventures?”
He thought of the camaraderie, of how close he’d felt to these men during the action. Then he thought of Gillings, the worms eating through his body, gnawing at his tongue as he screamed. He could only manage a weak smile as he clinked his beer bottle against the one Wiggins held up.
“No fucking way,” he replied.
The End
Read on for a free sample of Recon Elite
1
CAV V-117 landed on planet Mawholla, setting ablaz
e what looked like a North American pine tree. But Sam Boggs knew better, this was a long, long way from home. The SA-1 intelligence computer on Colonial Assessment Vehicle V-117 had determined Mawholla to be a forest planet, with considerable volcanic activity and cave labyrinths, but also Earth-like elevation changes (rivers and moisture in the canyons, snow and colder as you go up the mountains).
Boggs emerged from his bunk, and slipped off the virtual device connected to his Happy Box. The “Happy Boxes” made advanced space travel tolerable, as Recon Elite disappeared into their fantasies. Most of his squad chose rock star fantasies, selling out large venues while having hundreds of adoring women throw themselves at them.
Boggs chose fishing trips. Specifically the Rocky Mountains, where he’d fish streams not all that different from the ones on Mawholla. Except in the Happy Box, his wife Sarah was still at his side, before she’d died during childbirth, taking his supposed-to-be son Connor with her.
Boggs pressed the red awake button on the Happy Box chain, and soon the rest of Recon Elite Six awoke.
“Get your fat asses up,” Boggs said as he slid into his forest camo uniform. “We have a planet to explore.”
James T Bone rose from his bunker, rubbing his head, and his short crop of hair. He stood at 6’7, an enormous man, with the body of a WWF wrestler. Behind him, along the row of Happy Box beds rose the other four men: Jim Dagger, Raul Portman, Tim Emoth, and Mark “Pearl” Staunch.
The men rubbed their eyes, yawned, and stretched as the CAV-117 winded down its engines and began the transition into support mode.
A bay door opened, and a rush of oxygen flooded the stale cabin air.
While the fresh air flooded the cabin, a security sensor deployed numerous lasers across the opening. Sure, Recon Elite Six had been briefed, and knew much of what they were dealing with on a surface level. But Boggs again knew better, and so did the commanding officers at Colonial Preparation Base, or CPB. No matter how well recon satellites portrayed a planet, there were always surprises. A man or woman had to get onto the surface and sniff around, get his or her fingernails dirty to truly find out what the planet was all about.
There had been countless reports of snafus and surprises…many the deadly kind. And the recon satellites could not, and would never determine every species on the planet, whether said species was poisonous or hostile. Even the drones had a tough time navigating thick forest, with ancient canopies blocking out however many suns on Planet Whatever. Submersibles were launched too, plying the oceans of Mawholla.
Some of the submersibles had disappeared into underwater caves rather quickly.
A little too quickly for Boggs, as if the recon submersibles had been swallowed by something enormous.
The rest of Bogg’s squad dressed, and slipped into their CR-07 replenishing backpacks. These neat backpacks regenerated a hydrating fluid of water, sodium, and carbohydrates, keeping the men consistently nourished in even the most demanding conditions for up to a week straight. The packs connected to a long over-the-shoulder straw from the top of the packs to their mouths. After that, they’d rely on on-board provisions, and whatever they could hunt and drink on Mawholla. The water had already been tested, and was approved by CPB as safe for consumption. The animals?
Not so much.
But Boggs had learned on plenty of these missions that meat was meat. If it looked like a lizard, and ran like a lizard, it probably tasted like one too, depending on what kind of vegetation the damn thing ate that week. If it had lingered in a swamp, he and his men could expect a muddy taste. If the animal had fed on meadow grasses, light and juicy. If it had fed on lichen, somewhere in-between.
“Fuck these packs,” Dagger said as he stood next to Boggs. “Let’s get some meat. I aint no damn vegan.”
“You pussy,” Emoth said to Dagger as he loaded his ZR-15, the standard colonization assault rifle for Recon Elite Six. “How in the hell did you get this job anyway? Maybe you should be a farmer.”
“Hah,” Portman said, also loading his ZR-15 with stun, frag, and decimate bullets. “I’d kill myself,” he said as he pumped in the ammo. “I need the action.”
Dagger shook his head. “Yeah, ‘cause you aint had any in years.”
Portman grinned and shrugged. “It’s true, it’s true. I lost your mother’s phone number.”
Dagger shot Portman a look, then grinned like a maniac. “Well, I hope she was good.”
Boggs sighed. “Alright you nimrods,” he said. “Recon Elite is better than high school locker talk. Respect yourselves, and in return earn respect.”
“Yes sir,” Dagger said, standing at attention and saluting Boggs. The rest of the men fell in line as Boggs paced the room, a waterproof map clenched in his hands.
“You see that door right there, men?” Boggs said as he leaned into his squad. “You see those protective lasers? Why do you think those exist?”
“To protect us, sir,” Dagger said.
Boggs stepped over to Staunch, and made firm eye contact an inch from his face. “What about you, Staunch? Why are there a hundred interlaced lasers protecting our six right now? Do you think it’s because there are rabbits and possum out there?”
“No sir,” Staunch said, his hands shaking at his side.
Hmmm…Boggs thought. He didn’t care for that. And Staunch had been quiet pre-trip as well, as if he’d been shaken by personal issues. Boggs didn’t need that. He couldn’t count how many times formerly confident and centered men had inadvertently screwed with group dynamics on missions. These kinds of psychological issues had a way of creeping up.
“You good Staunch?” Boggs asked. “Recon Elite don’t get nervous.”
“I’m sorry sir,” Staunch said as he glanced back at the laser-interlaced bay ramp.
Boggs watched as Staunch gulped his own saliva.
“A confident squad is the best squad,” Boggs said as he met eyes with the rest of his men, one by one. Boggs turned and pointed to the bay opening. The smell of pine trees wafted into the craft. “Out there, you’re going to encounter who-the-hell-knows-what. Sure, some of those animals may look like ones we’re familiar with. But don’t be fooled. They might be poisonous. Might bite. Might spit shit at you that melts your face off. Or, they could all hold hands and sing skippety-dee-doodah. You just never know. So no slacking, got it? Your partner has your back, and you have his. We go out two by two, due to the forested nature of planet Mawholla. Listen to that word, men. Mawholla. Twice the size of Earth. Two suns, Little Blaze and Big Blaze, offset by 90 degrees. According to CPB Commanders, this is numero freaking uno on the list. Let’s not let them down. Look sharp, be sharp, or have sharp things sink into you. Got it?”
“Yes sir!” the men shouted back in unison.
Bogs cupped his ear. “What’s that, I didn’t quite hear you.”
“Yes sir!”
“Good,” Boggs said. “That’s what I like to hear.”
2
Recon Elite Six stepped off the CAV-117 and into a breezy meadow. What looked to be North American pine trees swayed in the wind. To Boggs, it felt an awful lot like Montana.
“I don’t get it,” Dagger said as he adjusted his LifeForm Scanner that hung off his belt. “Where the hell are the birds?”
Boggs turned and shot Dagger a look. “Who the hell says there are birds?” he said.
Dagger glanced away. “The recon craft data indicated there might be.”
Boggs nodded once, and spat. “Key word there is MIGHT. The drone’s sensors weren’t optimal due to bad weather. But CPB was hot to get here, so here we are. Let’s not let our people back on Earth down.”
“Roger that,” Portman said, flexing his bicep as he gripped his ZR-15.
Boggs flashed his LifeForm scanner in front of him. He didn’t want his men to know that he too, had suspicions as to why there were no flying life forms such as birds. This meadow was excellent habitat. Beyond the ancient-looking pine trees, rugged mountains laced with random snowfield
s rose higher and higher. Boggs took a breath of the clean cool air. Not like Earth air. At all. Things had gotten too hot on the home planet. They’d fucked it up really good: oceans of plastic, the shoulder seasons disappearing, with months of long drought that killed crops and triggered widespread famine. No one was able to control it. The planet had been set on a course that was unrepairable for generations.
Boggs led the way across the meadow as moist grass dragged along his camo pants, slicking his boots. Strange insects that looked like ticks and gnats scurried along the blades of grass.
“We’ve got life,” Boggs said. “Of the insect variety.”
As expected, the hand-held LifeForm meter beeped, and gave an “all clear” indicator in the shape of a green circle. Even on other planets, green meant go.
As Boggs hiked across the meadow, clouds swirled above, clean and clear and pregnant with rain. The air here was so much different than Earth, despite similar oxygen concentrations. The difference was the absolute absence of pollution. In the modern era, this was just not something human lungs were used to. Boggs noticed he felt lighter and faster, despite a valley elevation of 3,231 feet, approximately 2,000 feet higher than his apartment in Billings back on Earth.
Mawholla’s power was having its way with him, Boggs thought. He’d been on these missions before, on planets that were quite frankly, a joke compared to Mawholla: desert planets not fit for a god damn scorpion, or planets teetering between dying out completely, and still harboring a few random life forms. There were of course the sad lot of planets near Earth, solid ice, desert, and gaseous. Useless planets, really, at this stage in their existence. And Boggs had learned in all his years from space travel that planets were a lot like people. They just existed, did their own thing, and died.
Operation Mongolia (S-Squad Book 8) Page 11