Nikki lifted the blade and then slapped it to the electromagnet on the back of her harness; it snapped into place and held. “I needed a hobby. It’s antiquated… like me.”
But you have a gun, too… right?
Nikki buckled the prototype 30mm, cylinder-fed shotgun to her harness and holstered a 50-caliber Harkama Juggernaut to her thigh. “Of course.”
She started the GravLift on the manual cart and pushed it into the elevator.
Is that what I think it is? Where did you even find that?
“In the back,” Nikki replied with a smile. “Let’s hope there’s ammunition left for it in the ordinance bay on level two.”
Why is it still in the protective case?
Two Tangos entered the elevator as the doors opened, searching for the occupants. When they noticed the opening in the ceiling, it was too late. Nikki cooked off her improvised incineration grenade and dropped it into the carriage, kicking the hatch shut after it.
The aliens screeched and thrashed below her and the soles of her boots smoked against the metal roof. After a few minutes, when the thrashing stopped, she opened the hatch and dropped down into hell. One Tango still scratched at the walls of the elevator, its metallic exoskeleton blackened and warped. Her knife penetrated its bulky skull and shut down its brain with ease. The other Tango took the brunt of the initial flare and lay in the corner, resembling the remnants of tunnel rats that had strayed too close to the recycling pit.
The protective case of her big gun, designed to endure the extreme heat of the lower levels, was slightly compromised, but still operable. She grabbed the cart and pushed it out of the flaming carriage, turning her head and blowing out a small flame that had caught on her shoulder.
Sergeant Lancell leveled the carbine at the door alongside five other men. They had found an old cache of emergency weapons and ammunition; a throwback to the days when the drones were new and untested. The log registry on the cache showed a name he did not recognize, and he had worked this area of the base for over five years.
Sergeant Lancell placed Holiday in charge of servicing the weapons and making sure they were in operation. The man still had his mosquito wings and his full combat training amounted to two weeks of voluntary training in Fort Kyle, Texas, on Earth — learning how to fire and clear jams on old bull pups. That made the private the most experienced weapon specialist among the group.
“Sergeant, I can’t do this,” Private Holiday wheezed. His knuckles glowed white as he gripped his weapon to his shoulder. “I shot at fragging holograms on Earth. I wasn’t even a squad leader in Basic.”
Sergeant Lancell grabbed the skinny kid by the lapel and yanked him close. Outside the door, the creatures tore at the metal, clawing their way in through reinforced steel like plywood. “Lock it up, Private. Fate doesn’t give a shit about your readiness; it calls you up regardless. You are the most experienced among us; I don’t need you to be a squad leader; I need you to remember how to clear a jam and to shoot straighter than you’ve ever shot in your short life. That is the extent of your responsibilities at this moment. Now can you do that, Private?”
A metallic claw punched through the steel of the door and tore a diagonal line across it. Alien hands pulled on the weakened steel, widening the breach. Green, drone-like eyes peered in at them, taking in their numbers and resistance force.
Sergeant Lancell lined up the quick-sight apertures on the hole in the door. “On my command! Select your target. Alternate your fire. Ready?”
The sergeant’s finger slipped over the edge of the trigger and he wiped the sweat off against the side of his uniform before replacing it. He might have worried about normal things like recoil or ricochet if it were not for the face of death glaring at him from behind the six-inch gorge in the top half of the door.
A loud boom resounded outside the door, followed by another and then a third. The alien looked to the right and screeched an unearthly scream just before the fourth boom obliterated its skull and half its torso.
A deathly silence settled over the room as all inside froze in confusion. Sergeant Lancell concentrated so hard on the door that he forgot the challenge word the mysterious ‘Beast’ had given him.
“Frisky! Frisky!” His voice cracked under the anxiety, but he kept calling out the challenge, simultaneously hopeful and fearful of hearing the return password.
“Dingo.”
Sergeant Lancell reached out and grabbed Private Holiday before he hit the ground and nearly dropped his weapon. Someone was outside the door; someone who had given them an old military verification technique they knew the aliens could not compromise and who had just cut through four alien creatures that hours ago had seemed invincible. It seemed almost too much for the boy to handle.
“Pull the barricade back, Sergeant, and rally your men. We’re moving out.” The voice came from around the corner, but no one peered through the hole the aliens had cut into the door.
Sergeant Lancell gave the order and every able-bodied soldier in the room scrambled to pull the makeshift barricade from the door. Once the exit was clear, the door opened and Sergeant Lancell stepped out into the hall, weapon raised.
Gore coated the ground and hall. Something had torn into the aliens with such force it splattered them like warm paintballs. The next thing he saw took him completely off guard.
Leaning against the wall, just to the left of the doorway, stood the tallest woman he had ever seen. She wore a skin-tight, grey and green suit with heavy-looking web-gear. Her short hair was blood red and her cold blue eyes reminded him of Neptunian glaciers as they cut into him. In her right hand she gripped a weapon straight out of a history program.
The colonel pushed past him. “Is that a Milkor? Wait, no, it has too many barrels on the cylinder.” She stared right at the bulky, old-world weapon the soldier had slung to her front. “That’s a shotgun… with 30mm slugs. You’ve also got shrapnel and incendiary rounds. It must be a prototype. A weapon that big is too impractical for regular troops.”
“Are you in command here, ma’am?” The soldier ignored the Colonel’s peculiar interest in her firearm and studied the hall as she addressed the officer.
Sergeant Lancell winced at the breach of decorum then grimaced when the colonel deferred to him. “I am in operational command at the moment, soldier.”
She continued scanning the hall as she spoke. “What is the status of your men, Sergeant? How many can move in five minutes?”
Sergeant Lancell glanced back in to the room. “I have twelve who can move now, but three are wounded and need help getting along. One of my privates is shredded below her left knee. Two of my men are badly wounded and need immediate EVAC if they’re to make it.”
The soldier leaned close enough to whisper, which scared him. “We are moving to the hangar bay in five and we will be moving at double time the entire way. Anyone who cannot hobble on a shoulder or be carried stays.”
“Stays?” Sergeant Lancell eked out a nervous laugh. “They cannot stay here; they’ll die. We need to evacuate them to the med bay and stabilize them—”
“We’re not going to the med bay, Sergeant.” Her blue eyes were tiny icicles as they bore into him, freezing him to the bone. “A molecular induction device has been activated on level 3 with a medium fuse. It will sink this base into the planet and anything still inside. My mission is to get as many survivors as possible off world before detonation. If you stay here or if you slow down the group… I will leave you. Four minutes, Sergeant.”
Sergeant Lancell stared at the ground as he carried Private Fialto on his back. He could not believe what he had just done. Not only had he left behind two dying men, but his conscience had also deprived the group of two carbines and a grenade. It was the least he could do for them after the choice he had to make.