by Peter J Welmerink
Part Two
The landscape spun. The blue sky seesawed. Treetops and grassy open fields, roadway, Krollian city off in the distance: all swirled round and round. I gripped the collective trying to maintain power while it violently shook in my left hand, convulsing with the rest of the doomed Ebon Hawk skycraft . The cyclic quivered in my right hand, jerking one way while I struggled to move it in the opposite. Even minor success meant keeping the aircraft from turning into a giant spinning top.
I grit my teeth. My heart pounded in my head and chest keeping time with the thumping of the dying rotors above me. Kerbasi , my copilot , was dead, strapped in his seat with his head slumped forward, chin against his chest, lolling side to side as the chopper pitched. His face was gone where a single plasma beam shot had hit and torn it from his shattered skull.
Above the screaming klaxon alarm, the warning lights flashing an angry red, and the guts of the aircraft full of thick smoke, I yelled to my gunner to "hold tight". Bertille , a blond curl escaping from beneath her helmet, tried desperately to secure herself. She grasped the mounted laz-cannon in one hand and the gunner's bench beneath her. She rocked in her harness, fighting with a clasp that would lock her in.
"Oh, shi - -!"
My exclamation died abruptly as the ground rushed up fast--too damn fast--and punched me from underneath. A sound of tortured and twisted metal filled my ears with the low altitude airship making an abrupt and violent acquaintance with the ground. My guts shot to the bottom of my boots as my body snapped forward. The air smashed from my lungs and immense pressure pushed from within my skull as if my brain were trying to bust out my forehead. Digging into my shoulders, the seat harness held like talons of some mighty bird-of-prey. My helmet visor clapped down. Everything went dark and silent.
#
Rushing up from an ocean of blackness, I snapped my eyes open, choked in a deep breath of smoky air, and instinctively tore at the belt release freeing myself from my seat. Flipping my visor up with a trembling hand, I reached for the comm button to radio base. "Hawk One to base--"
I cut myself off when I noticed the radio was a charred spot on the console. Still gasping and gulping air; I leaned over and snatched the map lying at Kerbasi's feet. I moved to bail and flipped the "burn-out" switch on the console before I exited. The dash components flared and I rolled out of the crashed warbird.
I hit the ground gracelessly face-first, then pulled myself onto hands and knees, shaking the stars from my throbbing skull. I didn 't have any broken bones; I wouldn't have been able to raise myself if I did without feeling it. The only pain came from my ribs that were sore on my right side ... I had fallen on my holstered sidearm.
A dense stand of alien trees and woodland beckoned me several yards away as I rose with wobbly spaghetti legs. Checking my strength and that my head was screwed on straight, I made a dash for the underbrush. I threw my legs out, taking four long strides when my senses and protocol again returned to me.
I had forgotten to check on Bertille . My copilot was beyond help but my gunner might have survived.
I turned back, spinning on my heels. Too fast. My brain decided it was still feeling jilted from our abrupt love affair with the ground and the earth tilted sideways. My helmet flipped off as I stumbled. I threw my hands out thinking I was going to bite the dirt but, again, I regained my equilibrium. My somersaulting gray-matter halted its dance and I continued my quick trek back to the downed Ebon Hawk.
"Damn damn damn," I said under my breath as I worked my way around the busted ship. Bertille was still in there; I could see her in the crumpled cargo door behind the LC that angled slightly sideways. I knew she had taken a few hits when the ground fire had rushed up and strafed our craft. I cursed myself for not maintaining control, seeing again in my mind's eye the spatter of hydraulic fluid on the canopy, senses overwhelmed with the pungent smell of JP4 fuel, feeling the small starship losing steam, spinning, dropping, twirling towards earth. I knew my gunner would be most vulnerable and had tried to keep Bertille in my sights ... and failed.
The wreckage lay upon a patch of torn, viciously upturned ground. The ship hadn't burned since most the fuel had been lost and the final drop, our impatient descent from the sky, couldn't have been over eighty feet. The metal carcass stood crumpled, tail section broken. The dead turbines, on their stumpy broken wings, bent down raking the wounded earth.
I reached for Bertille , ready to give her a mild shake as if that would wake her from her stillness. My hand drew back when my eyes focused on the blood. All the blood. Her uniform and gear were dark with it.
Checking her rig, I noticed she had one shoulder strapped into her broken chair pan. The belts that secured her gunner's cradle to the roof of the cargo bay dangled like torn rags.
I had failed to keep us airborne long enough for her to get secure. The impact had killed her.
For a brief second, images flooded my sight. An image of bootcamp together on Premus Nine, giving each other support as we spent those exhaustive hours busting our chops to make the grade. A picture perfect recollection of tending her broken leg in a debris-filled blast hole during the battle of Asteroid 1490; warming her with my body to keep her from going into shock while artillery fire erupted around us as we waited for MEDEVAC . Her in her white gown, and me giving her away at her wedding due to her folks being deceased. She had referred to me as her captain, her best friend, and, as she had put it, her recruited guardian angel.
Not knowing what else to do but get her body out of the wreck--I'd do the same for my copilot --I crawled inside the downed ship, reaching for the last strap to dislodge Bertille . The wreckage shuddered slightly as I touched Bertille 's belt strap. I heard the sound of a turbine engine whine in the distance and the ‘whoosh' and drone of giant hover fans turning on hard-packed ground. My body shook as the land-shudder turned into a small earthquake. I looked and saw a dust cloud rise and flow towards our locale like a dark rolling wave.
My attention drawn out the busted cargo door, I looked to the road that ran parallel to the field in which we had crashed. Krollian troops, who we never expected to be stationed this far out of prime hive, had been lying in wait and now were on their way to make sure the job was finished. A month ago there had been a report of stolen and commandeered armor from one of our plantery bases, a military training facility south of a large Krollian hive.
My heart slid up into my throat, making it hard to swallow. I wondered if I would ever get a message back to HQ confirming, yes, the enemy in the hive city had tanks.
It was supposed to be a simple recon mission around the outside perimeters of the Krollian city-hive, Gand Rappar --the city under siege. The main metro area had been dusted with an airborne sedative weeks ago (the news had stated it was some form of deadly biochemical agent before really knowing) causing mass panic and a mass exodus from the city and surrounding countryside. It came to be known that the city's own leader—a human male—was behind the entire incident. INTEL was still gathering the why's and how's. There was rumor of some sinister plan to take control of a vast mineral deposit discovered in the town's hive mines—a supreme bank heist if that were the case. It was a terrorist act nonetheless, and moreso when the goodly human, Benjamin Ondesen , surprised everyone again when his army of 3,000 loyalists—a mixture of human and Krollian militants—helped him secure the city-hive.
Pelted by plasma bolts, the starcraft body shivered. I fell away from Bertille , slamming back against her Heavy Laz Bolter. I spilled out of the open bay and hit the ground outside the wreck. I rolled to my feet, hesitating momentarily to look at my dead partner--the urge to grab her came and went as more plasma bursts peppered the ship. I ran for the woods a bit southeast of the open field. The Gand River, a wide steady-moving body of water that cut through the area like a giant winding snake, rushed along the wood's edge. If I could get there and find cover I could evade Ondesen's mercenaries, hopefully throw them from my trail and their potential focus on the ship, and return to the crash site to scoop up my downed crew.
Not wanting the hover tank crew to spend too much time on the wreckage or possibly disturb my downed comrades, I pulled the Z9 Plasma Bolter from my shoulder belt and fired two shots into the air. The call was replied and I bit my lip, diving for the ground, as the dirt rose in little hot geysers around me. I glanced up when the gunfire subsided, watching the tank--a hulking USF Rhino--roll into the field, circling around the downed warbird like a jungle cat surveying its prey.
I was screwed.
My thoughts were a-jumble. All I could think about was Bertille and Kerbasi , getting my teammates out and away from the hands of the enemy.
I got to my feet and, as if I could take down the tank, I held my gun raised, following the armored vehicle as it blew out the soft earth beneath its giant fans. It did a complete three-sixty around me and my ship, then stopped, the turbine engine winding down.
"Drop your weapon," a voice called from the tank coming from the open turret hatch. The turret gun ground its way around in my direction.
I dropped my sidearm in better judgement . There was no reason to play the idiot-hero.
I was surprised when three men and a Krollian slipped out of the tank. They must have really crammed themselves in the thing. Once the soldiers hit the ground the tank began to move away and the turret cannon swung around in our direction telling me the driver and gunner were still inside. The tank continued to do a slow circle around us, the driver showing off his driving prowess.
"Thanks for dropping in. It would have been nice if you could have landed a bit gentler. We could use a good high-alt flyer to add to our collection of vehicles," the commander of the tank said. He wore a red beret while the others wore black bandanas wrapped around their heads. The leader was in full fatigues (that I was sure were stolen from where they got the tank) while the others wore simple Old Earth street clothes: jeans and shirts with camo military jackets. The Krollian , with its slender, multi-faceted tan carapace and spidery legs, nodded and flicked the air with its forked tongue. The commander had a blaster strapped to his side; the other men all toted K14 rapid-fire plasma guns.
I didn 't respond as the group moved closer, weapons slightly angled towards the ground. They eyed the crumpled ship suspiciously possibly expecting more of an assault team. I let them think what they would.
"Lays down ground. Faces down with hands behind head," a Krollian said in typically broken dialect, standing to the right of the commander, waving the tip of its gun at me.
I did as it said. I was out-manned, out-gunned. I might get lucky and they'd take me prisoner, take me to the city-hive, and show me around. The copilot 's map was still stowed in my cargo pocket. Given the chance in a place of tall buildings and dark shadows, I could turn this failed recon mission around.
"Since you aren't very talkative," the commander said as I watched boots move closer from my position laying on my belly. The sound of gun bolts being pulled back sounded in my ears. I looked down at the ground as a gun barrel was pressed roughly against the top of my head. "And for all my boss knows there were no survivors from the assault ship crash..."
I wasn't going to be lucky this time.
I closed my eyes.
This was it.
A sizzling gun blast jerked me taut, then another and another.
But it wasn't death that had come for me.
The Ebon Hawk's HLB fired a continuous rapidly pounding barrage of laser spikes that made the air scream. I mashed my face into the soft earth, covering my head. All I heard was the report of the gun, the heavy thump and hissing of molten slugs biting the ground, the metallic plink and sizzle off the armor hide of the tank, and the screams of the man and Krollian who were being bathed in the high energy onslaught.
Bertille had saved me.
The gun went dead and I was on my feet, snatching up my pistol. My finger flexed on the trigger but further gunfire was not needed. All the men from the tank were on the ground riddled with holes and lifeless. A few were mere smoldering clumps of chewed up crimson-colored clothing and ragged indistinguishable flesh-piles.
The tank ground about in a circle and stopped between the spacecraft and myself. The turret slowly rotated towards the downed ship.
" Bertille ! Get out of there!" I yelled, then noticed the body in the downed craft. She was slumped over the HLB , not moving. I took a step towards her when the tank's cannon roared, the force of the blast knocking me to the ground. It felt like someone hit me in the back of the head with a sledgehammer.
There was another roar as the ship took the hit. The chopper seemed to fold in two as it rose off the ground, then burst in a ball of flaming metal.
I staggered to my feet, ears ringing, turned and teetered like a drunk towards the tank. The thing had stopped. A head appeared above the turret hatch—another Krollian with painted beak and bulbous eyestalks . The creature looked around as if not sure where he was, then saw me a nano-second before my bolter barked and a fiery slug slammed into his forehead.
The tank suddenly lurched forward, the driver still within.
The bastard wasn't getting away.
I ran to the rear of the tank, latching onto the cargo net. There were boxes of supplies, items pilfered from local markets, containers of alien fruits and dry goods. I clambered up over the boxes almost losing my balance as the driver swung a hard left, engines roaring, a choking cloud of dust rising, the right fan angling severely spitting up a large patch of earth.
I made my way to the open hatch and gave the driver a warning. "Stop the tank or I'll drop a grenade down your throat!"
The driver seemed intelligent. The tank came to a halt. The soldier, human, shouted he was coming top-side knowing the inside of a thick-skinned tin can was not the place to have an explosive charge go off in your lap.
#
The driver helped me bury what was left of Bertille and Kerbasi along with his comrades. The man seemed extremely glum about the whole thing, actually saddened with the turn of events. I held him at gunpoint, watching him dig, as he explained (nervousness making him ramble) he had always questioned why he had gotten into the city-hive's takeover scheme. He had friends—both human and Krollian —who were anxious to join Ondesen and he went along for the ride expecting whatever the big pay out was. Rhyme nor reason hadn't come down to his level. He hadn't been told what the main game plan or what the pay out would be. He knew he'd become a low-level lackey and it made him miserable. The only thing he had enjoyed was his training in driving a hover tank, something he had picked up on quickly and done quite well.
My idea of being able to get some good details of what Ondesen had planned dried up the more the guy spoke. The recruits were the easily manipulated poor. Dregs of planets and civilizations that didn 't want them.
"And it all seems a joke. Seeing the killing. Running innocent people out of their homes. What do we get out of war? Death. More anger. More anxiety," he said as he finished burying the tank commander.
I had to hold my temper at his blather yet I understood what he was saying. I understood it all too well. Unlike him, however, I was a career soldier. I didn 't like the senseless killing either but I had been trained to keep the law, fight for freedom across the United Planetary System. If I lost my life or took a few for the cause, then so be it.
Burial detail complete, we headed out towards the west, away from the city-hive. The hover tank and the driver were out of Ondesen's clutches. The driver would be interrogated. Information would be gathered regarding happenings in the city proper and anything remotely helpful on the mayor-turned-terrorist. He'd be trucked off to a cold hard deep space prison after that. The tank would probably be used against Ondesen ; the next mission being a force of Special Ops to infiltrate the city-hive and extract the terrorist. That was a good thing.
" Bukkus ? Steve, you all right?" one of my other teammates said over the secured channel as the hover tank rumbled down the road and I sat, hunkered down within the turret, my bolter at the back of the driver's head. The gun's safety was on; I wasn't going to discharge a firearm in the confines of the tank, but the driver didn 't know that.
" Bukkus here. I'm coming in with armor. Lost my wings and my flight crew." There was a lump in my throat upon those last few words, but I swallowed that bitter horse pill.
My ship was destroyed but my crew, Kerbasi and Bertille, would not be forgotten. I would make sure of that. Bertille had saved my butt, come back to be MY guardian angel in a time of dire need. That was the true spirit of a fighter in life ... in anything. Keep pushing until your very last breath.
END
Send your comments on this story to the author:
