Soul at War (6 page)

"Masks on in six." Sergeant yelled. I
didn't bother waiting, I got mine ready and on. I'd always
preferred the time to get used to breathing in it before the
atmosphere hit you like a brick. Walker and Green carried on
regardless, though now it was all muffled until the final minute
when Phillips called for a digi-com check. Then the world regained
its clarity and was pumped in through both ears.

"Hatch drop in fifteen seconds." The
Sergeant moved to the back as the landing feet extended and the
belt clips released automatically. Above my head I could hear our
kit being ferried away into a sealed crate that would be ejected
after we did. It was no good us coming out suited up, only to
contaminate our kit carrying it around. The only thing we were
allowed to carry was our chest rig and weapons.

Most had been issued with the standard
M-4B, a compact automatic rifle with a straight magazine. There was
a woman near to the hatch carrying a long Sniper rifle and two
brutes carried heavy machine guns with a chain feed coming from
their backpacks. All wore the standard side arm and combat knife. I
cradled an auto-shotgun in my arms as the cold air rushed into the
cab.

"OUT OUT OUT!" Came the order and in
sequence we burst down the ramp and assembled in
formation.

"Look sharp, people. Spread out and
take ground." We moved as one across a high meadow on the edge of a
forest that disappeared into the distance behind us. There was
nothing but an ocean of green in front and blue skies
above.

The drop-craft gunned its engines and
shot upwards, returning to the Midian.

"Walker and Tekoa, forward in squads,"
Phillips ordered and the two squad leaders broke away taking six
men each. "Wulfgar, covering positions around the box." One of the
enormous troopers carrying a heavy machine gun took seven from the
unit and spread them around the kit box, leaving myself, Phillips
and Lt. Burns at the head of the defensive line. Burns had been in
the cockpit trying to raise the Avalon for the duration of the
journey down and had been the last off the craft. He was in a
standard black smock; boots and a baseball cap perched on his head.
On his thigh he wore a pistol and a knife.

"Anything from the Avalon, Dan?" I
asked as I scanned the horizon. Tekoa and Walker's units had
disappeared over the horizon, separating as they hit a tree
line.

"Nothing, John. That means either a
simple delay, or they've run into more enemy ships."

"I understood that the one we'd
encountered was a lost cruiser off its flight plan?"

"That was only an educated guess, one
that only time would prove. With the delay of the Avalon, it would
seem to suggest otherwise," The digi-com crackled as Walker
reported in.

"We've reached the edge of the farm.
No signs of life, sir."

"What about the farm house?" Sergeant
Phillips replied.

"Negative. Abandoned - in a hurry.
Looks like there's been some small arms fire."

"Casualties?"

"Negative, not even a trace of
blood."

"Secure the building and wait for
further orders."

"Received." I looked at Burns who was
running a finger down the face of a plastic coated map. Without
saying a word, he nodded to Phillips who looked like he'd been
waiting for an answer to a question I hadn't heard asked. Already
the efficient relationship they'd built up over previous conflicts
was starting to show.

"Okay Wulfgar, we move." The giant
with the machine gun directed his unit forward, lugging the supply
box between them on floating grapples. Burns turned to me and
said,

"We'll set up operations at the farm
house. Out here we're sitting ducks and according to the map it
offers the best position for us defensively. From there we'll try
to reach the Avalon or the city, see why our welcoming committee
hasn't arrived."

"We haven't been here five minutes and
already it's turning to shit," I heard Phillips mutter inside his
mask, digi-com off of course. As the towering shape of Wulfagar
steamed ahead, we took up positions at the rear of the line and
began to move.

*

Walker greeted us at the steps of the
rotting building, face free of the mask.

"Sniffers say the air is clean. Always
was," He stated. He looked like he was holding up a beam and that
wouldn't have been a ridiculous idea looking at the condition of
the farmhouse. Its walls were a crumbling mess of plaster and straw
and there were a few holes dotted about on the first floor. The
roof looked in poor repair and on the east side a section had
collapsed inwards. It looked like a huff and a puff would bring
this house down easily enough.

"So why the false report?" Burns
asked, me and Phillips behind him as we entered. Wulfgar and his
unit were securing the perimeter, the supply crate safely inside.
Through the gaps in the walls several of Walker's team had set up
sniper's nests overlooking the dead zone around the house and the
woman I'd seen earlier was sticking out of the hole in the roof. As
the kit was being handed out I took up my Bergen and found a nice
corner to sit down in. Phillips raised Tekoa's team on the digi-com
and asked for a situation report, or 'sit-rep' as he liked to call
it. He spoke too fast as it was, why abbreviate?

Sat in the gloom of what was probably
the dining room, I watched Green as he began duct-taping the glass
windows shut, and another trooper who was setting up a long-range
transceiver as far away from him as he could. Burns was looking at
the map again with Phillips, tracing lines I couldn't
see.

"Tekoa inbound, west side. ETA two
minutes," snapped the earpiece.

"Sign alpha. Sign alpha," Phillips
replied and went to the doorway to watch. From my position I could
see past him and out across the land, and as the door opened I saw
Tekoa emerge from the high bushes.

I'd heard his name around the mess
hall simply because he commanded the most respect from the rest of
the unit. He was an excellent scout, someone who the troopers had
nicknamed the 'Phantom' because he disappeared in any terrain. A
life spent growing up on a world where the past time was hunting
had been an asset to the slender man who's browning skin looked
haggard from days out in the sun, almost as if his body had started
to take on a forest-esque look. He approached the camp with his
weapon slung, his troopers a little behind.

"Anything?" Phillips
enquired.

"Nothing. We've checked a two-mile
radius that included the main road towards the city. Nothing. No
cars, people, troopers. Nothing," Tekoa replied.

"Good work. Stand your squad down and
find your kit. Wulfgar is on first watch." Tekoa walked past me,
threw me a saluting nod as he retrieved his Bergen.

*

As night time drew in, Burns gave up
on the transceiver. He'd been working the controls for over an hour
and could neither reach the city nor the Avalon. Most of the
troopers not on watch had settled in for the night, or were already
asleep.

I felt restless, unable to relax. I
reached into my rig just as Burns came over to me with a mug of
stale tea.

"I think you need that more than I
do," I replied, but took it from him anyway.

"I've had three already."

"No joy with the radio?" I asked as he
sat down next to me. Walker and Green were sat on the opposite side
with a deck of cards.

"Nothing. The city isn't giving off
any kind of transmission and there's nothing up there." He
indicated the sky above with a finger. "We'll try again tomorrow,
then make our way into the city, twelve miles maybe."

"What about the Midian?" Phillips
asked, coming over with a similar mug.

"Orders were to leave orbit
immediately. They were out of range once we'd landed." Taking out a
slender tube of steel, Burns laughed. "You still carry that damn
thing?" he said. I took the battered copper penny whistle out and
wiped the mouthpiece.

"Soothes the savage beast they say," I
said and began to play a gentle ballad as softly as my lips would
allow. Burns shook his head.

“Can you play anything other than that
same damn tune?” I nodded, grinning.

After a few minutes some had dropped
off in their sleeping bags. An hour later and they were all
asleep.

All except myself who sat in the dim
green light shining from the radio's control panel. I seemed to be
the one beast that couldn't be soothed.

CHAPTER 5

The morning came too soon. The last
thing I could remember was the little yellow light that flashed on
the radio to say it wasn't receiving a signal. Then I woke abruptly
to Sergeant Phillips yelling at his troopers.

"Get up you girls, time to earn a bit
of that oversized wage packet." At some point in the night the
watch had changed and led dribbling in front of me were Wulfgar and
the rest of his unit. Green and Walker could be seen outside
walking the perimeter and I felt slightly guilty for not taking a
post. The rank could be its own burden sometimes.

"Comms?" said Burns coming in out of
the morning sun.

"Nothing sir. We're still not
receiving." Tekoa was behind the radio desk playing with the
dials.

"Then pack up, we're moving
out."

"Sir, what are you thinking?" Phillips
asked.

"I think we're in a hot zone. I think
we arrived a little late and they've started the party without
us."

"But we've not met any
resistance?"

"The drop crafts are designed to avoid
detection, whether we're trying or not. I think we've stumbled into
something and it's only going to get worse. My guts are telling
me." Burns turned to me. "What do you think,
Lieutenant?"

"I'd have to agree," I said getting to
my feet. "But either way we'd better get out of here as fast as
possible." Burns' brow knotted.

"You afraid of something, sir?”
Phillips muttered.

"No, but that radio has been sending
out tracer signals all night and if we are in range of an enemy
receiver they'll know our position by now." As if waiting for its
cue, the digi-com burst into life. It was the Sniper, Brand on the
roof.

"Sarge, we have incoming, the west
wall."

"How many?"

"A dozen at least. Possibly armour.
Heat signatures are amber."

"Sarge, incoming from south side.
Light armour and troop movement." Stomachs dropped into boots so
fast you could almost hear them. Burns shot a glare towards
Phillips who rushed out into the fields and began organising a
defence line.

"This is a bloody ambush!" he spat and
stormed up the stairs to get a better look out of one of the
windows. I slung my weapon over my shoulder and left the Bergen
where it was; then took up position behind sandbags looking out
through the window. From here I had a good clear field of fire over
a ten-metre area. As I settled in I listened to the digi-com
reports as they came in frantic bursts.

"Sir, tank, closing in along the road
side," Shouted one trooper who sounded like he was wrestling with
the desire to break ranks and run.

"Sir, troopers coming in fast from the
west. Three minutes."

"Hold fire people, keep it together,"
said the reassuring Sergeant Phillips.

"Sir, half-track in bound, eight
troops." I recognised Green's shaky voice.

Then suddenly the thing died in my ear
and I felt deaf for a moment. I heard someone shout behind me,
something about the digi-com being blocked. All of a sudden it
became very real, I'd been here many times, that dead space between
readiness and conflict. I felt caught in a time warp, stuck waiting
and waiting.

Until Hell shattered around
me.

They came in fast, crossing the fields
at a sprint. The shotgun bucked in my hands, spent casings flying
past my ear as it fed another into the breach. I saw two red clad
troopers fall down in spasms, others rushing across to fill the
gap.

One on my left exploded in red mist as
Wulfgar opened up with his heavy weapon. Three fell backwards in
terror as it roared and tore up the ground with devastating effect.
Another trooper's head exploded as Brand's rifle cracked over
me.

"Tekoa, advance! Take out their
tracks!" The digi-com returned in broken verse just as I ducked
down to load a fresh magazine, rounds whizzing past over my head
and slamming into the shabby wall behind. Then I rose again and
scanned the carnage for targets.

One shell downed a trooper creeping
along the sidewall, head down hoping to avoid the wrath of Wulfgar
with a grenade in his hand. Another managed to throw one into the
roof space where Brand was and I saw it thrown back, exploding in a
shower of turf and bone.

Behind me there were screams and I
turned in time to see one of Walker's unit impaled by a combat
knife. Three enemy troopers had managed to get in through the back
door of the kitchen and were laying down fire into the hallway. The
shotgun replied and one died outright, his legs split into strips
by the shot. Another fell wounded and got off a round that scarred
my neck, only to be blasted by the last shell.