Operation: Sahara

by William Meikle

  He'd heard the stories of vast elephant's graveyards in Kenya; this must be something similar was his first thought. The hollow area, almost a hundred yards wide and cut deep into the cliff, was full of empty carapaces of dead beetles, some whole, some broken, some still containing parts of limbs and pincers, others oozing sickly ichor that looked jet-black in the moonlight. The whole place stank like a charnel house. Looking up the slope he thought he could see more discarded shell fragments littering the cliff face, all the way down from the tops to the hollow.

  "They came over the side from way up there?" Wilkins asked.

  "Looks like it, lad," Banks said. "Came, or were made to come."

  Wiggo pointed at a shell the size of a small bus.

  "What could put a thing like yon over a mountain top?"

  "A bigger thing like yon," Banks said grimly. "But let's hope that's one wild guess I don't get right. Come on, lads. These are dead. Davies isn't."

  They walked quickly around the charnel pit and Banks was almost glad when the trail climbed away from it and a breeze from the east meant that not just the sight, but the smell of the dead things was behind them. A quiet had fallen over the mountain and all he heard was the men's feet on the rock and his own breathing. Even Wiggo had fallen silent and they climbed that way for another half hour before Banks looked up to see the cliff top was definitely much closer; they were finally approaching their destination. He stopped the squad for another smoke break.

  "Right, lads. We're nearly there. We don't ken what to expect once we get over the top, but Davies is up there somewhere, probably waiting for us, maybe in trouble. We find him, and we leg it out of here."

  "Now there's a plan I can get behind," Wiggo said. "And what about yon dead researchers?"

  "As you say, they're dead. It's not as if we can take them with us. Their final rest lies in the hands of the diplomats but if you ask me, they'll just quietly get forgotten. We were never here, nobody ever saw us, this place doesn't exist."

  "Same as it ever was," Wiggo said and flicked the glowing butt of his cigarette away over the cliff into the night as Banks turned for the final stage of the climb.

  They came to the top with the rising moon at their back. He hadn't known what to expect, but the sight surprised him nevertheless. They stood on a high ledge, looking west across what looked to be the vast crater of a long dead volcano. There was enough moonlight to see that the caldera had formed an oasis of foliage and glistening pools of water that danced in the moonlight. There were other shadows too, too dark to penetrate, but they looked to be natural rather than man-made. This spot was the very highest reach of the city.

  Banks turned to look eastward. They stood thirty feet above a high wall that ran across to the other side of the valley. The wall was twenty feet thick and topped with a wide causeway that was cast deep in shadow. Turrets loomed even higher at regular intervals along the top, the highest points of each level with Banks' eye line as he stood up on the ledge; they too would have a view in daylight over the massive crater beyond. He searched in vain for any glimmer of light at the dark windows. If Davies was in one of the turrets, he was keeping his head down.

  "Right, lads. I have no intention of blundering around the city in the dark; that's just asking for trouble we don't need. But I told Davies to get high, and yonder turrets are the highest things here. I'd like to check them out. If he's not there, we wait for him; if he is there, we secure a location and wait out the night. Either way, we get a rest."

  "That sounds like another fine plan to me, Cap," Wiggo said. "What's first?"

  Banks risked using the night light on his gun to strafe the immediate area and found what he was looking for; another track, or rather, a flight of stairs, leading down from their position to the high concourse.

  "Well, at least it's not upward," Wiggo said, and took the lead on the stairs.

  They descended into darkness with only moonlight and stars to show the way but Banks was loath to switch on their gun lights.

  "No sense in giving away our position unnecessarily," he said quietly. "Easy does it, lads."

  As they approached the causeway, he saw that he'd been right to be so circumspect; the flat area between where they stood and the doorway to the first turret was full of domed, dark shadows, none of them moving. Scores of the beetles, all with their legs and heads tucked in, like limpets on seaside rocks. Wiggo stopped at the foot of the stairs. The nearest beast was only ten paces away, a large one some ten feet in length, its dome six feet tall.

  'What now, Cap?" Wiggo whispered.

  "The plan's still the same," Banks replied. "We need to check out these turrets. We know they are triggered by sound. Let's make sure we don't make any."

  He squeezed past Wiggo and took the lead again. They had good reason to be thankful for the moonlight; on a cloudy night they would have been forced into using their lights but as it was each of the black domes was clearly delineated against the lighter stone of the causeway. He went to the right of the first large beast and looked ahead, trying to see the easiest path they could take through the creatures. Wiggo and Wilkins came up behind him in single file, walking in his footsteps.

  They inched forward, painfully slowly, carefully placing their feet on solid ground before attempting the next step. An acrid odor hung in the air and tickled Banks' throat, threatening a cough that he had to stifle but even then the resultant chuff in his throat sounded far too loud in the deathly silence on the causeway. He stopped mid-step but none of the creatures stirred. They skirted another huge beast, so tall in the dome that Banks couldn't see round it. Once clear of it he finally had a clear view of the turret doorway. The beasts were packed so tight around it there didn't appear to be any way through them.

  It became a moot point seconds later. Two gunshots cracked from the turret high above. The moment's relief of the discovery that Davies was still alive was quickly forgotten as all around them the beasts stirred. Talons scraped on stone, domes rose off the ground, and heads emerged to investigate this latest noise. The high droning wail rose up all around the three men who were now trapped in the midst of the waking horde.

  "Move!" Banks shouted. "Let's plough the road."

  -Davies-

  The attack had almost taken Davies off guard. He'd been checking his pockets for his cigarettes when he heard the scrape on the steps immediately outside the doorway ahead of him and barely managed to get his rifle aimed as a dog-sized beetle barreled through. It came straight for him; he put two bullets in its head but its momentum meant it kept coming and it fell on his feet and ankles, bringing a flare of pain to his wound and causing him to yell out.

  That brought more scraping and scurrying on the stairs. He had another flashback to his youth in Glasgow, the wee frightened lad hiding in the dark. That time he'd been cowering, terrified.

  But I'm not that lad anymore.

  "Come and get me, if you think you've got the balls for it," he shouted.

  In answer, he heard the ring of gunfire from the causeway below the balcony.

  "About fucking time the cavalry got here," he shouted, then had to concentrate on his own survival as the scrape of talons on stone on the stairs got louder and the high wailing drone of the beetles echoed across the moonlit city.

  The second beast to try its luck was bigger than the first, almost twice the size, but he had more time to prepare for it and put it down, front legs then head, in the center of the doorway, providing a ready made barrier that any other attack would have to clamber over. He considered lobbing a grenade over the top of it but he had no guarantee it would drop down the stairwell far enough to protect him from the blast and neither could he lob one over the parapet, for fear of killing one or more of the squad. Besides, it looked like he was going to be too busy with the rifle to bother with much else; a third beast came over the top of the dead one in the doorway. One round in each leg, one in the head, it was becoming a ritual, and the beetle fell atop its brother although it was much sma
ller and didn't add much to the barrier.

  A grenade went off amid the roar of gunfire; it sounded as if it came from directly underneath him.

  "Up here. I'm up here," he shouted, then had to defend himself again as a fourth beast came over the top of the others. This one was bigger still and must have had a struggle in the narrow stairwell. One in each leg and one in the head did for it and it too fell in the doorway. His barrier was now four feet high. There was frantic scrambling and frenzied high droning from beyond it. The sound of gunfire came up from somewhere down the stairwell.

  Rescue was getting closer. All he had to do was stay alive long enough for them to get to him. But his chances weren't looking good. The barrier of dead beetles in the doorway moved as if pushed from behind, then shifted again, the whole thing coming six inches closer.

  The uppermost of the dead beetles toppled sideward, leaving a gap that was quickly filled. Two smaller ones came through at once. He switched to rapid fire, put three rounds in the nearest one, blasting the whole thing to a stinking pulp, but didn't have time to aim at the second. It scuttled across the balcony floor, over his feet and ankles bringing a fresh white sear of pain in his wound, and was in his lap before he had time to react to it. A huge pincer tried to tear at his flak jacket; he didn't want to wait to see which of them won out. He dropped his rifle and grabbed the beast in both hands. The shell tore a gash in his left palm then he finally had a grip of it. He lifted it above his head. Legs squirmed and a pincer snapped shut an inch from his nose but by that time he had a firm hold. He tossed it backward over his head and it sailed away over the parapet.

  If it hits Wiggo on the head there'll be hell to pay.

  He retrieved his rifle just in time; another beast, almost as wide as the doorway, clambered its way over the dead. Davies aimed, fired… and came up empty. He ejected the mag and reached for a fresh one but knew it was just a last gesture of defiance; the beast would be on him before he got to slam the mag home.

  -Banks-

  The fight across the causeway into the turret doorway and onto the stairs was already taking on the flickering shadowy semblance of a bad dream. The three men had almost been overrun in the first seconds and it was only Wiggo's smart thinking to make use of the high dome of the largest beast in the area to take the high ground that saved them.

  "To me," the sergeant shouted, as he took out the legs and head of the massive beetle and climbed up onto the top of the shell. From there he began ploughing a furrow between them and the doorway to the turret. When Banks and Wilkins leapt up to join him the three of them joined in a rapid-fire volley that sent bits of shell and limbs and pincers flying in a mist of tarry black ichor. The ferocity of their assault seemed to give the beasts pause, and they stopped coming forward in quite so many numbers.

  Banks saw a chance.

  "Wiggo, lob a grenade towards the doorway, then, when I make a run for it, leg it after me. Don't be slow."

  When the grenade went off, the beetles that weren't caught in the immediate blast scattered away from the area. Banks leapt down and ran for the vacant space, hoping that Wiggo and Wilkins were right behind him. He reached the turret doorway to find a large beetle facing him in the hallway. He took it down fast, legs and head and had to leap up and over it to get into the stairwell proper.

  After that it was an interminable fight for territory up a dark stairwell, gun lights sweeping into shadowed areas, beetles making darting attacks from around bends, boots splashing in tacky oozing gloop as they climbed in a haze of stink, gunfire and the steady high wail of ever more frantic beetles. At one point he heard Wilkins shout out.

  "Fire in the hole."

  Three seconds later there was a muffled crump below them and then a quick blast of heat at their backs. Gunfire came down from above them. Davies was still alive, still fighting.

  The battle for the stairwell went on. Banks' mag came up dry and he allowed Wiggo to squeeze past him while he reloaded. He watched for anything that might get past Wiggo's rapid fire and tried to avoid standing in any of the dead beetles they had to go over to go up.

  Wiggo's mag went dry. When Banks moved to squeeze past him a beetle almost as wide as the stairwell launched itself full pelt down towards them. Banks put six rounds in it before it fell an inch from his toes, his bullets blowing holes in its shell and splashing stinking black gloop all across his chest and thighs. They had to climb over the creature before they got sound footing once again on the stairs.

  Davies' gunfire was much closer now and when Banks took the next turn of the stairs, shooting two more dog-sized beasts in the back as he climbed, he saw dim moonlight ahead. He burst through the doorway in time to see a huge beast making straight for Davies, who was struggling to get a fresh mag into his weapon. Banks put six shots in the thing's arse, blowing its whole rear end to pulp but it didn't slow, crashing straight into Davies who was now hidden under its bulk.

  "Wiggo, get in here, I need a hand."

  The two of them caught the beast by the rear end, their hands covered in the black gore, and lifted and pushed at the same time. The beast went away over the parapet and they heard a crash as it hit the causeway below.

  Sudden silence fell over the balcony. Banks looked down to see Davies smile up at him.

  "You took your bloody time."

  Wilkins spoke from the doorway.

  "All quiet below, Cap," he said. "I think we gave them something to think about."

  Banks sniffed at the mess of goo that coated his fingers.

  "Aye, and they did the same for us."

  He looked around at the sticky remains of dead beetles that coated the balcony.

  "Let's send this lot to join their mate," he said. "And see if we can make this spot habitable, at least until sunup."

  They spent ten minutes tossing beetles and bits of beetles over the balcony and made an attempt at getting rid of the worst of the gloop using one of Wiggo's spare shirts from his pack as a mop.

  "I don't think this would pass the sniff test," Wiggo said, holding up a sodden, blackened mass of cloth. He tossed it away over the balcony.

  By the time they had a stove on and a brew of coffee bubbling, the adrenaline rush of battle was fading and the ringing in Banks' ears no longer sounded like church bells tolling beside his head.

  Davies brought them up to date with his adventures in the city and Wiggo told a lurid version of their own journey from temple to turret while they had a smoke and a coffee.

  "What now, Cap?" Wiggo asked.

  Banks addressed Davies first.

  "How bad is the wound? Will you be able to walk on it?"

  "I've bound it up tight and it hurts like blazes, but I should be fine, for a while anyway."

  "We'll see how it is in the morning. Getting out of here is going to be hard enough in daylight; I'm not about to risk it at night. This is as good a position as any to defend, so we'll rest up here. Two hours watch each and we'll get gone at first light. I'll take first watch. Wiggo, take an inventory before you bed down; I've got a feeling we're going to need every bit of ammo we have left if we're going to get out of here."

  Wiggo's inventory proved him right; they were down to a mag and a half of ammo each for the rifles. All of them had handguns with full clips and between them they had eleven grenades remaining. If they were going to get out of here, they'd need to use stealth more than force, given that the horde of beasts appeared to be almost limitless in number. To make matters worse they were running short of water; he estimated they'd have enough, if rationed, to get them back to the oasis and fresh supplies but it would be tight, and they'd have to leave as soon as they were all rested. Then they'd only have a horde of rabid giant beetles to contend with between them and safety.

  "Where the fuck are they all coming from?" Wiggo asked as he and Banks shared a smoke in the doorway after Davies and Wilkins got their heads down. "And what do they eat out in in the middle of fucking nowhere?"

  "We've already seen that they
eat each other, in a push," Banks said. "But I'm sure they'd fancy a bit of us given half a chance."

  "Do you think it was them that had away with all the people that used to live here?"

  "I think that's probably more likely than not, don't you?"

  "One thing's for sure, the beasties didn't build yon statue you destroyed. So what did we have here? Do you think they worshipped them? Beetlemania?"

  Banks smiled thinly at that.

  "Speculation gets us nowhere. Let's see what the morning brings. Get your head down; we're all shagged out and living on fumes."

  After Wiggo finally bedded down, Banks stood looking over the moonlit city. It was strangely beautiful, ageless and solid under the stars. He knew that some of the darker shadows concealed more of the beetles but for now the beasts had returned to ignoring the men. If they were still quiet in the morning there was a chance the squad might be able to creep through them and make an escape.

  He hoped that would be the case, for this was already a fucked-up rescue mission.

  It couldn't get any worse, could it?

  He was asleep a minute after Wilkins took over watch duties from him.

  He woke with the dawn to see Davies and Wiggo standing at the balcony looking over the opposite view from that across the city.

  "Fuck me sideways," Wiggo said.

  Banks rose to join them. He was forced to agree with Wiggo's comment.

  Last night they'd seen the huge crater from up on the lip but the night had hidden its secrets. Now, with the coming of day they were exposed. The ancient dead volcano stretched away for several miles below them. At the nearer end, below the causeway wall, there was a ledged platform containing what appeared to be an altar. Strewn around it, covering an area the size of a football ground, was a sea of bleached bone, all too human, long dead skulls grinning in the morning light. Beyond that, the crater was a natural oasis, a vast forested area punctuated with pools of water that appeared to steam in the daylight. Between these pools, on long used trackways, moved beetles, travelling in trails like an army of ants, but ants the size of horses, and many larger still.