Arcotis called out another adjustment and shouted “Fire!” above the racket. He watched yet another blast take an insignificant hunk out of the fortress, grimacing with the realization that cracking it might take all night.
Daniel waited in a dark, stuffy, cramped room. There were other men at either shoulder, in front of and behind him, and he felt like a sardine. Or maybe a canned mackerel. Or anchovy. Definitely a fish of some sort.
They’d been standing there in the dark throughout the day, while the thunder of nearby artillery rocked the shelter over and over again. It didn’t seem so bad at first, but after more than eight hours of standing nuts-to-butts, Daniel was uncomfortable in a way he never thought possible.
Then a red light flicked on to signal the assault, and Daniel and the others checked their weapons one last time.
“Locked and loaded,” a sergeant yelled.
“Ready to rock and roll!” the others replied.
Ground charges went off. The Earth rumbled and shook as thousand upon thousands of buried explosives detonated for tens of kilometers around, tearing the ground asunder and disrupting the enemy line. Alien screams and panicked cries rose above the din, as the constant thump of artillery finally came to an end.
The release hatch opened with a groan, revealing the dim and smoky night, the riven landscape and raging fires beyond. Gun emplacements on either side of the hatch opened fire, spitting burning lead at the alien bastards, their bright tracers streaking the dark sky above.
“Go, go, go!” Daniel shouted, accompanied by the sound of boots pounding dirt.
All along the battle line, a flash flood of fresh human troops numbering in the millions surged from their underground shelters, filling the ragged craters left by their explosives. The teams took turns moving, odds then evens, providing cover fire while their counterparts advanced, then striving for a few more meters. They squeezed the enemy in towards the Ark and the ravenous blaze which surrounded it.
Daniel’s squad pushed fast and hard, and as a group, dove to their bellies and opened fire. Their barking rifles punched holes in the invaders, who scrambled for cover in half-demolished forts. The twitching corpses of the giant cannon walkers lay beyond, their legs shattered by the surprise attack.
“Move up the MG!” Daniel shouted, and a gunner stomped up behind him, hit the deck and leaned into his weapon. The gun spat another stream of hot lead into the enemy hordes.
Grenades arced high, rolled across the ground and exploded, raining shrapnel in every direction. Rockets whistled by, their smoke trails gleaming in the orange light of the thriving inferno.
“We got ‘em. Keep up the pressure!”
“Right flank. Pin it down.”
“Die bastards!”
Daniel was sighting targets and dropping one alien after the next when he heard a sound like no other. He heard and felt it, like the buzz of a defective speaker at a concert, but amplified a thousand times. He looked all over for the source of the noise, and finally found a titanic silhouette in the smoke filled sky.
An instant later, metallic bubbles like boiling quicksilver appeared around the alien troops. Bullets and rockets alike bounced off the bubbles impotently, unable to penetrate or even disturb them, while the enemy regrouped inside.
Just like that, the advantage went back to the invaders, while the human soldiers sought cover and dug in. A new battle line emerged, with forces entrenched on either side, lobbing explosives forward and firing at anything stupid enough to raise its head. It ceased to be a battle, and instead became a meat grinder, churning human and alien alike into an undifferentiated smear of stinking offal.
Suppressed by fire and locked in place, the soldiers on both sides fought without rest. The lines never moved more than a meter in either direction, and the carnage continued until morning.
Chapter 49:
Donovan’s Counter-Attack
Legacy’s bridge was oddly quiet. The three tiered ivory-white room had been redecorated, now sporting a combination of human and Eireki technology, as did much of the rest of the ship. Dozens of computer workstations lined the room, each manned by a crew member busily making final preparations for the return.
Marcus Donovan was floating in place at the command station, the exact spot where he was bonded to Legacy more than a year before. He’d become so adept at manipulating the gravity systems that his feet never touched the floor anymore. He was content instead to fly from one position to the next, like a proper creature of the void.
“This is taking too damn long,” he said. “Mason, give me some good news.”
“Loading procedures are nearly complete, sir. We’re waiting on the last cargo shipment right now.”
Much to Marcus’ surprise, things had gone largely according to plan during the previous nine months. The two factories, one inside Legacy and the other on the surface of Mars, had worked non-stop, fed by materials reclaimed from the two small moons. The fleet of tugs completely dismantled Deimos, and Phobos was nearly hollow now.
The three habitation domes of Ares Colony were transformed into a sprawling metropolis that far outpaced its population, while a half-dozen destroyers and an assortment of smaller warships joined Legacy in orbit. They also surrounded Mars with a network of defense satellites, capable of putting a serious hurt on anyone reckless enough to arrive unannounced.
Mason said, “The last carrier is docked, sir. We’re ready to go.”
Marcus nodded. “About time. Open a priority channel to Administrator Saladin.”
Mason tapped at his console, and a holographic image of the administrator appeared at the front of the bridge.
“You’re ready to depart, Dr. Donovan?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be. Does my fleet meet with your approval, Administrator?”
“Of course,” Saladin said. “And we both know I couldn’t stop you anyway. Take care of my people, Marcus.”
“I’ll bring them back to you, sir.”
“Good luck and God speed.”
The administrator ducked his head and the hologram vanished. An instant later, the walls of the bridge went into crystal mode, revealing the endless sea of stars and a particularly bird-like cruiser doing barrel roles in space.
“Should I inform Phoenix we’re ready to get under way?” Mason asked.
“No,” Marcus said with a grin. “Faulkland’s a big boy. He’ll figure it out.”
He told Legacy it was time, and she did the rest. The starscape lurched out of position as the ship came about, then she launched toward Earth, accompanied by the feeling falling.
Sarah Park checked her instruments and reported, “Reading zero obstructions between here and our destination. Hollow-drive at ninety percent output. Linear gravitational accelerators running at maximum efficiency. Current speed is .108 C, Earth relative. ETA in forty-three minutes.”
“Good,” Marcus said, but he didn’t mean it. Forty-three minutes was too long. A minute would be too long, but Legacy was still running on a single hollow-drive, which limited her to less than a fifth of her maximum speed and prevented the use of her instantaneous traversal system altogether. That also meant they were confined to a single star-system until they could somehow crack the hollow-drive’s secrets.
With only one drive, the ship was always riding on the razor’s edge of failure. Legacy was a mind-bogglingly powerful ship, but she was crippled compared to her former glory. And worse, overdrawing could destroy the one remaining drive, and Legacy would simply die.
Without access to new hollow-drives, she also couldn’t construct sentient vessels like herself. The fleet was instead composed of hybrid vessels, which bent Eireki technology to human designs. They were human ships with alien aftermarket parts.