Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet (35 page)

Alpha-538 stood over six
feet tall, and was big and burly. Even without his machine parts
and exoskeleton, the cyborg was incredibly strong. His massive bald
cranium was supported by a thick, bull neck, which added to the
weirdness of his yellow-white skin. Dark circles surrounded his
eyes, which were nothing more than optic sensors. They not only
gave him day and night vision, but also were capable of penetrating
well beyond a person’s clothing, down to their very flesh. Unlike
other cyborgs, the black uniform, which he wore, was more than
interrupted by silvery machine parts and hydraulic tubes. He was
sheathed in resin pads of ion-armor. This made him a walking
tank.

But
Alpha-538 had not become this by choice. With his lawful execution
for the serial murders of over a dozen women, he had forfeited his
right to be at peace.
The Order
had claimed his body as their property. As
established by “due process”, they had re-made him as their
surrogate. Neither living nor dead, he had only one sole purpose,
to obey the orders of bureaucratic proxies like
Damon.

As the machine-man-thing
lurched down the deck, monitoring the activities of his guards, his
audio acute ears detected faint noises from above, however. The
cyborg stopped and turned his head upwards to listen
closely.

The noises were strange;
subtle echoes, some scrapping, and mysterious intermittent thuds
agitated the metal and reverberated through the steel ceiling
plates. The noises steadily grew and became more prominent. Even
his guards began to notice, turning their heads up in unknowing
curiosity. Yet, it only continued for about a minute more—and then
all became hushed.

Alpha-538 scanned the
ceiling, but dense steel refused to be pierced by his gaze.
However, the human part of him sensed something that made him wary.
And for the first time in his altered memory, apprehension tempered
his mind.

“BBBOOOOOMMM!” came a half
dozen simultaneous and deafening explosions. Their brilliant white
flashes bathed the room in blinding light and waves of scorching
heat. The ceiling then buckled and disintegrated into small
murderous pieces. Hurled like javelins, they speared, sliced, and
gouged anything in their path. Guards directly beneath exploding
charges were either crushed by debris or torn to shreds. The shrill
of death screams and the horrific smell of burning flesh
accompanied their demise.

Next, a barrage of plasma rifles raked the interior
as silhouetted figures slid down ropes like a swarm of attacking
spiders. In their finest tradition, the Martian Marines stormed
aboard the enemy held vessel with one goal: to take the ship
back.

The fight automatically
became hand-to-hand as rifle butts clubbed, bayonets stabbed,
pistols shot, fists punched, and feet kicked. The shrieks and yells
of carnage overflowed the interior while blood flowed like a
river.

The fight became
particularly savage around the ship’s main computer terminal. Here
the marines fought with unbelievable skill, ferocity, and
determination to possess the equipment. Lead by Captain Benson, the
marines quickly seized control of the blood stained computer and
locked down the ship in short order. But this did not go
unnoticed.

“SECURITY! SECRUITY!”
bellowed Jacobs voice over an intercom. “WHAT WERE THOSE
EXPLOSIONS? WHAT’S GOING ON! ALL THE HATCHES ARE JAMMED!” the
frightened officer demanded to know.

His transmission was cut
short, however, as Sergeant Gagarin shot out the communication
console. The intercom burst into flames with a puff of blue smoke
as several plasma bolts struck it.

Without warning, however,
Gagarin found his rifle sheared in half as an enormous hand chopped
right through it. The marine sergeant hastily spun around in the
direction of the great hand and came face-to-face with Cyborg
Alpha-538. The human-machine’s glowing red eyes were filled with
the impiety of murder.

Immediately, Gagarin swung
his left hand that still held the barrel of his destroyed rifle,
and punched the cyborg on the right side of his face. But the hard
blow only jerked the cyborg’s head slightly. As Alpha-538 moved his
head back to center, he grinned malevolently.

The huge cyborg grabbed
Gagarin by his uniform and web belt and picked the marine up over
his head. The machine-man then threw the sergeant against the
console he had just shot up. The marine slammed hard into equipment
with a crash. Although the impact was tremendous, the marine’s life
was spared by the cushioning effect of his high-tech elastomeric
uniform. Upon sensing a high velocity increase as well as a
possible brunt crash, its molecules stiffened before impact to
allow the physical shock to be spread over a large area of the
camouflage fatigues, avoiding terminal injury. However, Gagarin
still lay helpless, stunned, and in pain.

Alpha-538 lumbered forward towards Gagarin
with the intent of crushing the marine’s head. But as he drew
closer, a blur from the ceiling, which became the souls of a pair
of moccasin boots, struck the cyborg solidly in the face. Alpha-538
lurched backwards and fell to the ground on his butt with blood
running from his broken nose.

Swiftly recovering from his
daze, the cyborg looked up to see a figure in a blue Martian
mariner’s uniform taking on four of his loyalist guards. It was an
unimaginable sight.

Although average in size,
the muscular man struck with the lighting speed of a snake. He
ducked and rolled into a cyborg that had just tried to kill him
with an ion pistol. The weapon’s stray energy bolt blasted another
cyborg that was entering the fray. The machine died immediately as
the mariner whirled upward directly in front of his first
attacker.

Suddenly, a flash of steel
came across machine-man’s throat from the blue uniformed warrior’s
mighty right hand in a reverse stroke. Almost at the same time, the
warrior’s foot arched around in a spinning wheel kick. The
mariner’s boot heel crushed the temple of a third assailant, and
the two cyborgs crumpled into the floor dead.

Yet, the warrior was not
finished. As his leg dropped from the kick, he hurled what was in
his right hand at a human security guard some fifteen feet away. It
caught the man in the lower chest, and the man slumped over and
died. Alpha-538 spied the handle of what appeared to be an ancient
knife sticking out of him.

Against Major Franks’
insistence, Wakinyan entered the battle. The Lakota warrior was not
about to standby and let his marines fight and die alone. He was
their leader—and he lead by example.

Wakinyan swiftly retrieved
his knife from the man he had just killed, pulling it from the
body. The weapon was barely out when he felt his left wrist grabbed
in a vise-like squeeze. Instinctively, his left hand reversed the
hold to break the grip, but surprisingly, the hand that held him
did not let go.

Wakinyan quickly flipped
the knife in his hand as he raised it above his head and turned to
meet the new threat. Without really grasping who was holding him,
the Lakota brought the blade down to stab the arm that held him.
Alpha-538 howled as the knife penetrated the machine parts of his
arm and into his very flesh. The machine-man-thing paused gazing at
his wounded arm that seeped blood mixed with hydraulic fluid from
the knife that was impaled into it.

Wakinyan, however, did not
cease his attack. Reaching over his trapped hand, he grasped the
cyborg’s weakened and wounded forearm. The Martian officer jumped
into the cyborg’s chest with both feet and then rolled his own body
backwards. Alpha-538 was jerked off the deck and hurled forward
through the air in a summersault as Wakinyan pushed off with both
his legs. The machine’s body crashed against an instrument panel,
which blew-up from the impact.

As Wakinyan pulled out his
electron pistol and began killing more Earth loyalist guards,
Alpha-538 stumbled to his feet shaking off the effects of the
throw. His mouth contorted into a toothy snarl at Wakinyan, who was
taking on enemies in every direction. Under the spell of a terrible
rage, the cyborg ripped the knife out of his own arm with a roar
and heaved it with all the strength he had at the blue uniformed
warrior. But the yell alerted Wakinyan who saw the attack through
the corner of his eye.

Throwing himself backwards
to the ground in a hard twist, Wakinyan just barely managed to
dodge the speeding blade of his own knife. The edged weapon,
however, continued past the warrior, flipping end-over-end. Finally
the handle ricocheted off of a piece of equipment and landed near
the recovering Sergeant Gagarin.

Yet in his haste to avoid
the weapon, Wakinyan struck the floor violently. The jolt was
enough for him to lose the grip on his pistol, which spun away from
him into the darkness of the room’s floor.

Wakinyan quickly jumped to
his feet and glanced about for either of his lost weapons. All he
saw, however, was the huge cyborg advancing menacing towards
him.

Not waiting a precious
instant, the Martian officer lunged with a stepping sidekick that
flew with incredible swiftness and power. His boot caught the
cyborg just below the chest, forcing him back a step, but the kick
did little else.

With his prey now in range,
Alpha-538 threw a hook punch at Wakinyan’s head. The Lakota
warrior, however, easily ducked and bobbed out of the path of the
machine-man-thing’s fist. Wakinyan then punched furiously away at
the cyborg’s ribs with his own knuckles. The metal parts of the
cyborg’s body stung and reddened Wakinyan’s own hands in the
attack, however, while only slightly denting the machine’s armor in
wasted effort.

Suddenly, Alpha-538
backhanded Wakinyan across the face in a surprise response.
Wakinyan was driven to the floor in pain as some blood sprayed from
his parted lips. As Wakinyan lay unmoving on the deck of the ship,
the big cyborg slowly raised a leg to stomp him.

Without warning, the ball
of Wakinyan’s right foot shot upwards, striking the
machine-man-thing directly between its legs. The unexpected blow
and stabbing pain between his legs made the cyborg’s eyes widen and
wince. The Alpha-538 grounded his teeth to the swelling agony, as
he hunched over and gripped his groin with both hands.

Wakinyan stood up slowly.
He then grabbed the machine by the back of its neck in an iron grip
and stared coldly into its optic sensors.

“Your sorry ass is mine,
machine!” Wakinyan threatened. His eyes glared unblinking in a
hypnotic hateful stare while a snarl curled his lips. “I’m going to
beat you into dust!”

It was more than the
machine could understand or possibly imagine. The powerful human he
faced was fanatically fearless, the cyborg realized. A cowering
panic shook Alpha-538, while confusion flooded his mind. By the
look in Wakinyan’s eyes, the machine firmly believed that Wakinyan
would do just what he had promised.

Wakinyan’s fists began to
batter against the cyborg’s face with jabs and hook punches that
struck like lightning and with awe-inspiring uncontainable force.
Alpha-538 swayed and staggered backwards as the Lakota warrior
relentlessly pummeled his head and face with sundering blows. The
machine-man-thing tried to block the punches, but to no avail. They
crashed through the cyborg’s flaying arms with devastating ease.
For the cyborg, Wakinyan became a juggernaut of punishment and
pain.

In a little over a minute,
Alpha-538’s face rapidly was a mess of blood, bruises, and broken
bones while an electronic eye hung partially out severely damaged.
He staggered backwards in a dazed motion as punch after punched
rained upon him. Still, he fought as best he could. As he tried to
retreat from Lakota warrior, he stumbled and dropped to the
floor.

With swollen eye muscles
that were closed tightly around his optic implants, the machine
still was able to glimpse an ion pistol on the deck not too far
away. In an act of sheer desperation, the cyborg hurdled himself at
the weapon with the intention of using it. As he grabbed it, the
cyborg rose in a kneeing position and began to wildly fire at his
persecutor, but the Martian officer jumped upon the cyborg and
fought the machine for the weapon on the floor.

The two grappled on the
deck and struggled viciously for control of the pistol. Although
the cyborg held greater strength, Wakinyan swiftly neutralized much
of it by tearing out many of the machine’s hydraulic hose lines and
wires. Wakinyan then pulled its wounded arm straight and taught,
and with a powerful palm strike to the joint, broke the machine’s
elbow. Yet even with such damage and injury, Alpha-538 was still as
dangerous as any cornered animal.

With its only good arm, the
cyborg elbowed the Martian officer in the face, followed by a
glancing blow to Wakinyan’s upper back. The Lakota warrior was
stunned for a moment, but it was enough time for the cyborg to roll
quickly away.

The cyborg hastily stood up
and aimed the electron handgun at Wakinyan’s head. He was
determined to kill the formidable Martian officer
immediately.

As Wakinyan looked up at
Alpha-538, the cyborg suddenly jerked twice, becoming motionless,
while his mouth split open wide. The cyborg’s good arm then dropped
slowly to his side, releasing the pistol from his hand. In a
metallic clang, it bounced and slid away on the floor plates of the
deck. Even with the battle raging around him, Alpha-538 stood
limply silent. As Wakinyan continued to gaze at the machine-man,
his head unexpectedly rolled backwards as his body let go of life
for a second time. With a great thud, the cyborg fell over like a
chopped tree.