0939, Friday, July 2, 2027
Karkin Four
Westbound on Transportation Line Two
We’ve been traveling westbound at high speed for five minutes, and no one has said a damn word. I make my way to the cockpit where Insarka stands behind the RAT’s pilot.
“How we doing?”
Insarka doesn’t bother looking back. Instead, she gestures to a holo display of a topo map. The point is about five clicks southeast of MPF6. “This is the most optimal place for us to disembark.” It looks heavily forested, and our projected footpath follows a river right up to the massive dome.
“Contact with the najeel?” I ask.
“Probable. But between the river and the forest, we should have ample cover.”
“They don’t like water?”
She lets out a breath she’s been holding. “They’re not the best swimmers, but they’ll still follow prey. This river flows into the facility, which we can use to our advantage if need be.”
“Why not ride it in?”
“Rapids.”
“More than our suits can handle?”
She nods grimly.
“Copy. What’s our ETA?”
“Three minutes.”
I nod, turn back for the crew compartment, and hold up my fingers. “Three mikes, everyone.”
Heads nod, and everyone starts double-checking each other. I even notice Insarka’s troops check the Phantom’s gear. That’s a good sign.
I take a moment to pull up the RAT’s topo map in my HUD, mark it with waypoints, and distribute it to the rest of the team. “We’ll slow and make our insertion here.” I ping the first waypoint near a natural rise in the landscape where the rail system is only a couple meters above the ground. “Then we’ll follow the river northwest toward the facility. Speed is critical, but so is silence. Watch your footing, stay together, and do your best to keep a low profile. We’ll also be looking out for AE air patrols. Any questions?”
No one speaks up.
“Alright. Time to OTF.”
“OTF,” everyone else responds, including our Blood Guard counterparts. I’ll take it.
* * *
Insarka’s pilot slows the RAT to a crawl. Not a full stop. Just enough that we can jump out, which we do. Sugar is the only one who doesn’t land on his feet on account of still getting used to the bulky death angel armor, but he’ll get there. Hell, once he does, he’ll probably be more nimble than all of us.
The RAT starts to speed up as the knoll falls away from the elevated track. I’m waiting for the driver to exit.
“He’s just setting the autopilot to speed,” Insarka says next to me. “He’ll be fine.”
“Copy.”
The RAT reaches cruising speed again, and a figure leaps from the side door. A few controlled bursts from his jetpack allow a fast descent to the ground. He waves at Insarka just this side of a tree line.
“Let’s move.” I point the team forward, and we start down the hill.
A hundred meters to the west, I spot the river. What stands out most are the rapids, just as Insarka noted. White froth churns as the water slams against giant rocks and careens around well-worn curves in the sidewalls. Our death angel armor will certainly allow us to breathe underwater, but I’m not sure how they’d hold up against the boulder beating. Best not to find out.
We meet up with the pilot and reach the tree line. Under the leafy canopy, I notice the outside air temp reading drop by ten degrees. The light’s lower too, and my HUD compensates. Tree trunks seem beefier, and the leaves broader. Aaron probably has some detailed explanation about why all this makes sense for the planet, but for me, it’s just more good cover.
A suggested path overlays in my display but fails to account for all the forest’s obstructions. It’s more like a compass heading than any detailed routes we saw in the MPF6 or the Vile Crucible . Still, it serves to keep all of us headed in the right direction.
Given our current hiking speed, my helmet says we’ll cover the five klicks in forty-five minutes, even with the terrain gently sloping downhill. That’s not bad, but it’s not great either. I want to minimize our exposure to patrols and the najeel, so I prep our unit for a jog. The risk, of course, is attracting predators with the sound. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. But I figure a light jog is a happy medium between walking and running.
“Try and keep your footfalls light,” I add. “And strap down anything loose.”
Heads turn to Yrag and his Blood Guard pack mules.
“Why is everyone looking at me?” the armorer says through the translation software.
“Because,” Bumper says as he takes some of Yrag’s load and throws it around his shoulders. “We don’t want your toys getting eaten.”
“Nor you, Rag Bear,” Hollywood adds to soften the blow.
We’re jogging thirty seconds later, and my HUD’s updated our time to destination to twenty-six minutes. I can work with that.
Over the next ten mikes, we make our way toward the massive silvery dome looming above the trees. Even though we’re still three clicks away, the fifty-kilometer-wide half-subteranean merchandise manufacturing facility stands as an icon of Androchidan engineering and, by extension, mass torture and eradication. I’m only sorry that our last conflict didn’t level the damn thing. Then again, had we done that, we wouldn’t have the opportunity to rescue some of humanity like we are now.
By the time we close to within one klick of the facility’s southeastern perimeter, I’m fighting the temptation to get my hopes up. No AE patrols, no najeel. There’s a half-click clearing around the complex that acts as a safety buffer—smart on their part. Nowhere for encroaching enemies to take cover. Fortunately for us, the Blood Guard reports that all the MPFs on the planet have been shut down; the war effort dictates as much. Which means they’re not scouting this clearing, and we should be able to make it across without a problem. But that’s just it: we should . That doesn’t mean we will.
We reach the edge of the tree line where the clearing begins, and Vlad raises a fist to hold the columns. The river is fifty meters to our left. Gone are the raging rapids, replaced with flat water all the way to the complex’s intake port.
“Let’s take five,” I say over comms.
The unit seems grateful for the reprieve, and everyone either takes a knee or leans up against a tree. The Androchidans among our number raise their visors and enjoy some fresh air—an act that would make the rest of us pass out and then get us killed. What I wouldn’t give for a little fresh air of my own. Even with our death angel armor’s servo-assists, the gravity is taking its toll.
“Anyone else tired as shit?” Sugar asks no one in particular. “Feels like… like I can’t catch my breath, man.”
“Gravity’s stronger here,” Aaron explains. “So your heart’s working harder to circulate blood. And since you technically weigh more, your muscles are having to work harder for each movement. Then there’s the mental fatigue that—”
“Hold up,” I say. In the distance, I hear the sound of a dropship. “We got company.”
“It’s a patrol,” one of Insarka’s men says from the edge of the forest. “Two ships.”
“Everyone down,” Insarka orders. “Make sure your thermal reduction system is at full and double-check that your transponders are off.”
I already know I set mine earlier, but we call it double-checking for a reason. Both systems are where they need to be. I move forward and take a knee beside Insarka and her scout near the woods’ edge.
“They’re definitely searching for us,” Insarka says. “See the pattern?”
“Yut.” Both ships are taking turns going wide and then doubling back to crisscross one another’s search areas. “Thorough. They must want us bad.”
She turns to me. “Wouldn’t you?”
I nod and then motion toward the vessels. “Looks like they’re coming in from the direction of our RAT.”
“Agreed. I’m sure they started there and are working their way backward. They’ll pass in a moment.”
“Chuck. Can you shield us from detection?”
“To the best of my abilities, yes, Patrick.”
I slowly turn back to the Phantoms and raise a flat hand to insist on no sudden movements. Confirmation icons stream down my chat window, but then someone moves out of the corner of my eye. I turn to face them. But it’s not one of our people.
It’s something in the woods.
My HUD will give me a good view, but Chuck’s scope and sensors will be better, so I raise him. Slowly.
“Patrick? Are you seeing this?”
Even before I have him all the way up, I know it isn’t good. A moment later, I spot a najeel’s sleek black body moving between the trees.
“No one move,” I say in a preparatory order. “Najeel, forty-three meters south, moving right to left.” The thing’s the size of a school bus with muscular legs, black blaster-proof hide, and a circular maw with rows of teeth.
“He doesn’t smell us,” Insarka says quickly.
Sugar sounds agitated. “How do ya know that, ma’am?”
“’Cause you’re not dead yet,” Bumper replies.
The beast is moving slowly, one leg at a time. It doesn’t seem to be stalking anything, just going about its business. Which is exactly what we want it to keep doing.
But as the dropships get closer, the najeel tenses up and turns around.
“Everyone just sit tight,” I say in an effort to keep people calm. “We let this play out.”
Even through all the trees, I see the beast start tracking the vessels. And since I’m not picking up the animal on thermal, I’m guessing the plushies aren’t detecting him either. He’s the big boy on the block for a reason. Everything’s calm until the dropships start descending and then put down between us and the dome, which puts us between the dropships and the najeel.
“Everyone stay down,” I order in a stern tone.
“You think he’s hungry?” Sugar asks Bumper.
“Cut the chatter,” I say. This is where Sugar’s lack of military discipline shines through. But growing up in the projects, I know he’s seen his share of death, so I trust him to keep his splick together.
The Mack-truck-sized beast is coiled up like a tiger and moving in our direction. While the predator might have his sights set on the plushies now exiting the two dropships to patrol on foot, he’s about to walk right over us.
“Damn, he looks hungry,” Sugar whispers.
Kid’s wound up. Not that I blame him. I just have more years of dealing with adrenaline.
“Let me,” Insarka says on a private channel to me and Bumper. She holds up her forearm and enters some commands on her suit’s external interface.
I hear a soft hiss over Sugar’s microphone, and three seconds later, he’s relaxed. “Whoa. Hey. Anyone else feel that?”
I glance at Insarka.
“Drugs,” she replies. “Just enough to take the edge off.”
“Better living through chemistry.” Bumper grins. “Works for me.”
Medicating the kid doesn’t solve the rest of our problem. The najeel is fifteen meters out, and the plushies are expanding their foot search, with a pair headed toward us.
An idea hits me.
“Cut out the middleman,” I say over comms. “All units, fire one burst on the dropships and then freeze. Wait for my go. Do not target the ground units. I say again, only fire on the vehicles.”
I can almost feel understanding dawn on the team. The enemy patrol isn’t looking for a najeel—they’re looking for rogues in death angel armor with blasters. Their instinct will be to fire back blindly, but they’ll be shooting toward a very hungry, very unhappy death angel of another sort. And if the najeel is traveling in a pack, as I seem to remember that they like moving in groups of two or three, then all the more reason to keep a low profile. Nothing like picking a fight and then getting out of the way.
“Go!”
The entire unit leans out from cover and opens up on the dropships. Instantly, the Anderkins raise their weapons and return fire. And almost as fast, the najeel charges through our group and lunges into the clearing.
Those plushies with their visors up scream in horror as the animal charges the two closest tangos. The glistening smooth-skinned najeel chomps down and severs a torso, then bats a claw at a plushy who tries running away. Blaster fire glances off the animal’s thick hide, which reminds me that its only weakness seemed to be the inside of its mouth.
A third victim gets swallowed in three jerky attempts, while a fourth enemy is thrown against his dropship and lands lifeless on the ground. More blaster fire tracks the beast but does little if anything to slow its voracious warpath. Two death angels charge the animal’s left flank. I’m not sure if they’re brave, stupid, or just desperate. We’ll never know. Both aliens get cut down by the enraged predator’s teeth and claws, which fill the air with green mist.
The nearest dropship pops off the ground into a hover and starts raking the najeel with turret fire. The assault does little more than infuriate the predator, who then lashes out at the flying machine with a clawed paw.
“Shoulda used missiles,” Z-Lo says.
The vehicle spins sideways but rights itself to the sound of straining engines. Again, it turns and fires on the monster. The najeel dodges the worst and then rams the ship with its shoulder.
Unable to avoid the animal’s energy, the dropship’s stern plows into the ground, which forces the vessel to flip over. It looks like a turtle pinned on its back. And here comes the najeel, nipping at three Anderbabies trying to flee the wreckage. When it’s finished with them, the creature climbs atop the downed ship with plushy blood dripping from its fangs.
Realizing they’re outmatched, one of the death angels gives the call for retreat. The remaining plushies seek shelter on the farthest dropship, and the pilot has the thing lifting off even before the last member is on board. But none of it matters anyway. The najeel leaps atop the vessel like a cat might land on a mouse. The ship’s four engines whine but do nothing to prevent the monster from driving the ship into the ground. One engine explodes on impact and throws the beast aside. Likewise, the dropship flips over twice like prey in death throes. Dirt flings thirty meters into the air as the vehicle’s flight systems try to correct the catastrophic failure. But the najeel is back on its feet and sees a dying victim.
The animal lunges again, buries the dropship in the ground, and swats at the last two engines. As soon as the hull is stripped of propulsion, the najeel reaches inside and starts pulling out the prize. The image reminds me of a monkey eating from a coconut that it’s recently broken open. One at a time, Androchidans are pulled out, most in terminal states of health, and get chewed to death.
Only one Androchidan manages to fire into the najeel’s mouth. The monster falls back and howls, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. But the wail only lasts as long as it takes for the najeel to double back on its victim and charge. The plushy fires from on his back and strikes the enemy in the mouth a second time. Pink chunks of flesh fling skyward, as does a small plume of red blood.
For the first time since the violent assault began, the najeel halts. The Androchidan unloads the rest of his energy mag at the animal’s head, but the creature is smart and keeps his mouth and eyes shut. Blaster bolts smack against the hide until the magazine goes dry.
Even from fifty meters away, we all hear the victim plead with the gods to spare his life. But the najeel isn’t interested in prayer, and the plushy’s life ends inside the animal’s maw.
In slurred speech, Sugar exclaims, “Oh, man, baby. You guys see that shit? Snap, bro. Like, seriously, though. Those mofos didn’t stand a chance. Like ribs at the church bar-b-que, dog. Shit and stuff.”
“I never pictured him as a church kid,” Hollywood says.
Bumper smiles. “I like drugged Sugar better.”
“Meeee too,” the kid replies. “Plus, we all better off than that guy.” He points down at the ground, and for the first time, I notice we have a man down.
* * *
We let the najeel finish his meal in peace and then pray to Mary it doesn’t return to the woods the way it came. All the same, we’ve got weapons up in case Mary is away from her desk. Fortunately, the newly satiated monster lumbers toward the smooth-flowing river for a drink and then slinks back into the forest without another sound.
I order the squads to wait another minute. “Clear,” I say at last and then move toward our casualty. It’s one of Insarka’s men. He was pounded into the ground when the najeel ran through our ranks. The chest cavity is flattened, and the inside of his visor looks like it’s been painted green.
“His name was Haneema,” Insarka says as her men bury his body in armor beside a large tree. Only the victim’s weapons and magazines are kept and redistributed. “New to our cause. But no less important.” Then the major makes a sign over her chest that the other Androchidans mirror and follows it with speech in her native tongue. My helmet translates, and I categorize it as a prayer to their gods for safe passage into the afterlife.
Despite the tragic loss of Haneema, the najeel assault has been a blessing in disguise. For one thing, it got rid of our AE tail. And for another, it made the episode look like a random predatory attack.
“I believe we’re in the clear,” Insarka says after checking with one of her people. “Transmissions confirm this was a najeel attack. A rescue team has been sent to investigate, but that won’t be for another hour at least.”
“And no mention of us?” Hobbs asks.
“No.”
“Good,” I reply. “Alright, team. We’re double-timing it across that clearing. Insarka, any directions for infil?”
The Blood Guard major focuses on the nearest entry gate. It looks like a metal garage door big enough for an Airbus A380. “Yrag will breach the door in the lower right-hand corner. As mentioned, the facility is rumored to be abandoned—minimally staffed if anything, so I don’t think there’s much to worry about.”
“Roger. Bumper, wanna lend a hand from our side?”
The SEAL looks to Yrag. “Good with you?”
“Of course.” He gives Bumper a fist bump.
“Alright, people.” I jut a hand toward the dome. “Let’s move.”