Dean left the small room and went immediately to where Harper was still working on the shortwave radios. She had a small audience, but no one was talking. Emily Harper had disassembled all the radios and was close to getting one reassembled from the various parts that weren’t damaged.
“Ghost, anything?” Dean asked over the platoon channel.
“Nothing, Captain. We’re all alone out here.”
“Time to come in. We’ll open the hangar doors for you.” Dean turned to Loggins. “Private, I want your MSVs surrounding this facility at regular intervals.”
“Yes, Captain,” Loggins replied.
He stepped away from the group and sent the small drones rolling from their slots on his shin armor down over his boot and onto the floor of the facility. They went out in a single-file line, slipping through the hangar doors that Owando and Wilson had opened for Ghost using the manual hoist.
“Landin, can we recharge our battle armor here in this facility?” Dean asked.
“It should be possible,” the Demolitions Corporal said. “I can look into it.”
“Good. I want Ghost’s jet pack recharged and ready if we run into trouble tonight. Everyone else, make yourselves comfortable in this hangar. Lars has an eighteen-hour night, and we’ll take shifts standing watch. Rest when you can. At dawn, I want us out searching for the people who should be manning this outpost.”
Chavez began assigning everyone to three teams. One would stand watch for six hours, then trade duties with the next group. Only Dean, Chavez, and Loggins could monitor the feed from the MSVs. The other specialists’ battle armor wasn’t equipped to view the vid feeds from the little surveillance drones. Chavez made sure at least one of them would be awake at all times.
Dean took the first watch along with Adkins, the Swede, Ghost, and Harper, who was finishing up her work on the shortwave radios. They gathered around the small radio booth in the hangar, watching Harper work. Dean brought up the feeds on the MSVs, minimizing them on his view screen after setting each one to alert him at any sign of movement. They were effective in low light, and Dean could only hope the stars and moons around Lars would provide enough light that the little drones would notice movement if something approached the outpost in the night.
It took another hour before Harper had the radio repaired and connected to the tall antenna Ghost had spent the day in. She stood up, stretched, and looked over at Dean.
“It’s ready, Captain,” she announced.
“Alright,” Dean said. “Good job, Sergeant. You want to take a break?”
“No, I’ll hang with it just in case something goes squirrelly.”
“I appreciate that,” Dean said, slipping into the operator’s chair.
He had to plug the microphone directly into his battle helmet. Harper bent down and adjusted a few of the dials before Dean spoke. It was the moment of truth: time to find out exactly what had happened on the alien world. Dean hoped he was ready for what he discovered.
“Lars outpost workers,” Dean said. “This is Captain Blaze of the Extra Solar Defense Force. Come in please, over.”
He waited. The group of specialists around him leaned a little closer, anxious to hear a reply.
“Lars outpost workers,” Dean repeated. “This is Captain Blaze, EsDef Recon. We are on planet. Please respond, over.”
“Get off the damn radio, you idiot!” came a snarled reply.
The vitriol was so powerful that everyone around Dean stepped backward.
“Lars outpost workers, this is Captain Blaze. We are here to help. Tell us where you are and what has happened, over.”
“Go to the comms center and watch the admin log’s final entry. But I’m warning you, turn off the radio. Disconnect it. We won’t respond anymore. If you keep trying to reach us, you’ll regret it. Lars actual, over and out.”
Dean sat back, looking at the specialists around him as they all tried to process the response from the workers. Then Dean jerked the microphone input from his helmet, and without a word they all went to the comms center and crowded into the tiny room. Harper sat in the control chair and brought the video call system online. There were two folders on the vid screen. One was titled Workers, the other Admin. Harper used the manual input control to open the Admin folder. Two dozen names came up in alphabetical order.
“Command, this is Wolfpack. Do you read, over?” Dean said on the command channel of his comlink.
“We have you, Wolfpack,” said Anders. “What have you found out?”
“We need the name of the Administrator on this outpost, over,” Dean said.
“Nathan Orlovskey is the chief administrator and head of personnel on Lars outpost,” Sheldon Myers said in a monotone.
“Thank you, Command. Stand by,” Dean said.
Harper had already clicked on the name Orlovskey, Nathan. A list of dates came up. She clicked on the most recent entry and the screen blinked to life. A big man with chiseled features, thinning hair, and weary-looking eyes appeared.
“Admin log,” he said, naming the date and time of the recording. “Still no word from EsDef. Don’t know if they’re sending anyone out here, but we can’t wait any longer. I’d send this entry, but I don’t want to attract the crawlers. Sherman believes they’re drawn to radio waves, so we aren’t taking any chances. Before we cut all contact, we were down six operators. I don’t know if they were all killed like Johannson, but it’s hard to believe they weren’t. The crawlers are intelligent and completely without mercy. I don’t know what we’re going to do, but we have to get away from this outpost as soon as possible. If you’re watching this, be prepared. They come at night. They’re damn hard to kill. Hell, you won’t even see them until they’re on top of you. We’re going out to wait for help. There’s a mountain range two-days drive from here. We’re going there, if we can. This is Nathan Orlovskey, Lars Outpost Administrator, signing off.”
The screen reverted back to the list of entries, and once again everyone looked at Dean. He felt a weight on his shoulders as the realization of what they were facing set in. If something was drawn to radio waves, he had just put a huge target on their backs, and they still had no idea what they were facing.
“Command, this is Wolfpack,” Dean said on an open channel so that his platoon could hear the conversation with Vice Admiral Anders. “Looks like a new species threatened the outpost and they fled. We’ll be going after the survivors in the morning, over.”
“Well, that is a relief,” the vice admiral said. “At least they’re alive, over.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean said. “It appears that this new species is drawn to radio waves, so we’ll be using that equipment as little as possible. Send your reports to EsDef Command. We’ll keep you updated if there are any changes down here, over.”
“See that you do, Captain. Good luck and Godspeed. Command out.”
The small squad was looking at Dean, all of them waiting for him to say or do something that would give them a sense of direction in the midst of the unsettling news. But there was nothing Dean could say. They were facing an unknown species. He couldn’t devise a strategy until he knew more.
“Let’s see if we can find out what these crawlers are,” he suggested.
“Sir, what do we do if they attack?” Adkins asked.
“We fight,” Ghost said.
“That’s right,” Dean agreed. “We’re Force Recon: we don’t run from a fight.”
“But we don’t even know what we’re up against,” the Swede said, breaking his normally quiet demeanor.
“We’ll find out as much as we can,” Dean said. “But we do know a few things. We know they’re nocturnal, which means we only need to hold out for sixteen more hours. We know we’re in a fortified position. There’s no way anything gets inside this complex without us knowing. And we know our mission. If the shit hits the fan, we’ll deal with it. Until then, we stay the course until the mission is complete.”
They all nodded.
“Maybe the Swede and I will
take a walk and just double-check all the entrances,” Adkins said.
“That sounds like a productive idea,” Dean said. “Ghost, go rouse Chavez. I want him monitoring the vid feeds from the MSVs.”
“Yes, sir,” the Sniper replied.
“Harper, let’s see if we can find out what we’re dealing with,” Dean said.
Chapter 15
“Log update,” the man on the video proclaimed.
Dean was now used to seeing the outpost administrator. Nathan Orlovskey was not a man who liked the sound of his own voice. Dean and Harper had gone back nearly two months watching the video logs, which were little more than updates on equipment function and atmospheric readings. That finally changed when one of the workers reported that a group of creatures had attacked the atmo processor in the night. Thus began a series of log entries detailing the systematic attacks on the terraforming efforts.
The repair crew, who usually had nothing to do but maintain the outpost’s fleet of hovercraft, were suddenly swamped with repairs to the large atmospheric processing units. The attacks had become a weekly occurrence, and it was clear that the creatures responsible were moving closer and closer to the outpost. In his last log entry, Orlovskey had displayed a graphic that showed all the atmo processors. They were spread out in a circular pattern around the outpost. The administrator proceeded to show exactly which processors had been attacked. It wasn’t a straight line, but the attacks were moving closer and closer to the outpost.
“We have lost contact with Gerald Potter,” Orlovskey continued on the video log. “He’s been offline for more than twelve hours. I’ve already sent a crew out to investigate, but I’m getting worried. It was only a matter of time before these creatures attacked one of us. And Potter isn’t the kind of man to sit back and let someone mess with his equipment. I should know more in a few hours.”
The video screen went blank for a moment, then Orlovskey reappeared.
“It’s official—Potter is missing. My crew is still investigating to see if they can uncover what happened, but so far there’s no clue as to what happened to Gerald. There is damage to the processor. Whatever is attacking the machinery is consistent in their methods, so we’re fairly certain that whatever has been sabotaging the processors is also what has kidnapped Potter. We’re saying ‘kidnap’ because there’s no sign of blood, or even a fight. It’s all damn strange, and I’m having trouble keeping people on their stations. I think it’s time we notify EsDef. We need some of their Recon people out here to offer us protection.”
The video ended, and Harper clicked the next file automatically. They had been watching the log entries for nearly two hours, while Chavez monitored the MSVs and Ghost joined Adkins and the Swede making rounds through the facility. They were all aware that something might come for them in the night, which made the threat seem more potent somehow.
“We have a new species” were the first words from Orlovskey when the next log entry began to play. “I had every field unit put up motion-activated cameras on their processors. Wallace Burr’s unit was hit by what looked like large rock crabs. They have what appears to be a shell. It’s difficult to see for certain. Whatever it is, the shell looks just like the terrain. They have powerful pincers, which they’re using to destroy our equipment, and they’re working in concert. We didn’t have cameras on Burr’s trailer, but it was broken into and he’s missing now as well. No sign of him, no blood, no body—but the trailer was ransacked and his radio destroyed. We have no idea what we’re dealing with. No one’s ever seen these creatures before, which is reasonable given that they probably blend right into the landscape when they aren’t moving. But it’s turning dangerous down here. I’m requesting immediate assistance.”
When the video entry finished and the list of logs by the outpost administrator flashed back up, there were several entries in a subfolder.
“Should we move to the next log entry or try the subfolder?” Harper asked.
“Try the videos in the subfolder,” Dean said. “I’m betting it’s the footage from the motion-activated cameras.”
Dean was correct. When the first video played, it was from a stationary camera at night. There was a light mounted just above the camera. The video showed a circle of light and a bit of the atmospheric processor, surrounded by total darkness. Suddenly, the ground shifted in the ring of light. It was hard to see what the creature was. A large, spiny claw seemed to emerge from under a section of the rocky ground. It clamped onto several vital components of the atmo processor and in one swift motion ripped the wires, hoses, and pipes out of place. A blast of carbon dioxide fogged the lens on the camera, and the video ended.
“What the hell was it?” Harper asked.
“Impossible to tell," Dean replied. “Play the next one.”
Another video of the strange-looking creatures played. Dean understood the comparison to rock crabs. The creatures were much larger than any crab on earth, and there was very little liquid water on the surface of Lars. Still, the beings had what appeared to be large shells on their backs and massive pincers. Their exoskeletons covered their backs completely with spines along the edges of their shell and serrated teeth on their pincers. It was impossible to see more of the creatures. They were low to the ground and their shells hid most of the strange creatures.
“What do you think?” Dean asked his Fast Attack Specialist.
“Well,” Harper said, thinking before she answered, “fighting such beings could be difficult if their shell is as tough as it looks.”
“I agree, but at least we know what’s coming.”
“I suppose some sort of explosives on the ground would be most effective.”
“If we see them coming,” Dean agreed. “If they attack before we’re ready, your MSVs may be our best weapon against them. Go ahead and play the final vid.”
Harper clicked on the only entry they hadn’t watched. The screen showed a haggard-looking outpost administrator. His eyes were red and puffy. Dean guessed the man had lost someone he cared about.
“Administrator’s log,” he said in a gravelly voice, giving the date and time. “That’s four workers lost. Potter, Burr, Evans, and Selby. We’ve got eight processors offline, but I can’t risk the maintenance crews. I’m recalling everyone to the outpost until we get help, but if it doesn’t come soon, it may be too late. I’m including the video from Alice Selby’s trailer. There’s no doubt that these damn crawlers are taking our people. They have some type of paralytic spines they shoot from under their shells. I warn you, the following vid is not for the faint of heart.”
The administrator flipped a switch on the console and the picture changed to the interior of a small travel trailer. A woman was against the wall opposite the doorway. She had an old-fashioned pump-action shotgun held protectively across her chest. The entire trailer shook violently. The woman screamed, but there was no sound. Then the door was ripped open—and before she could aim her weapon, she was struck by several spiny needles. Her body spasmed hard and she fell to the floor. She was so stiff, it reminded Dean of a person knocked cold—only she didn’t relax. She lay on the floor of the cabin, not moving, the shotgun still clutched to her chest. A long, articulated arm with a massive pincer came into view, stretching from the open doorway. It took hold of the worker’s shoulder and pulled her out of the trailer.
The picture changed back to the administrator, who looked not only frightened, but angry too. He had to clear his throat before he spoke, and there were tears in his eyes.
“Send help,” he said, his voice shaking. “If I find out the company has written us off, I’ll find a way to get off this godforsaken rock and come after each and every one of you. Send help now!”
The video cut off without warning, and Dean felt the man’s pain. He knew what it was like to be left without help, watching the specialists he cared about die while the people in charge did nothing. He was determined not to let that happen on Lars.
“Get everyone up,” Dean told Har
per. “We have work to do.”
They all assembled back in the hangar. Dean was scrolling through the vid feeds from the MSVs around the outpost and wishing the little surveillance drones had night vision. Once everyone was ready, Dean toggled to the open channel so that his platoon and the officers aboard the Hannibal could hear him.
“Looks like a new species that isn’t on the official survey of the planet has attacked the terraformers,” Dean said. “We have video.”
Dean used his TCU’s recording capabilities to display images from the video he watched with Harper. The pictures popped up on his platoon’s battle helmet Heads Up Display and were also beamed up to the Hannibal.
“Lieutenant Gretskey, can you access the outpost’s video logs, over?” Dean asked.
“I can try, but it might take a while, over,” she replied.
“Do what you can. EsDef needs the information. This planet isn’t safe for humans, no matter how much money has been invested in equipment or man hours. These crawlers, as the terraformer workers called them, have camouflage shells. I believe that during the day these creatures simply clamp down onto the ground, their shells completely protecting them and blending them in with the natural terrain. They have large pincers and can shoot toxic quills that cause almost immediate paralysis. We also know these creatures are intelligent enough to work together and break into existing structures. They seem to be drawn to radio waves, over.”
“Why do you think they’re drawn to radio waves? Is there evidence for that, over?” Vice Admiral Anders asked.
“Well, they destroyed the radio equipment in the workers’ trailers. All we have to go on is the administrator’s logs, but that’s what the workers here believed. If it’s true, there’s a good chance the creatures will attack us before the night is through, over.”
“Perhaps it would be better if you returned to the Hannibal until we can be sure where the workers have hidden, over,” Anders suggested.
“No, sir,” Dean said. “If the creatures return for us, we’ll deal with them. I want to be in the air searching for the surviving workers at dawn, over.”
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