CASPer Alamo (The Revelations Cycle Book 9) Page 17

  “We get through this and we’ll all grab a drink together,” Peterson said. “How about that? But for that one soldier who rises above, I’ll give you a shot of my private stock. You’ve never tasted anything like it. I promise you.”

  “Get the cigars ready,” Estes added as he sent a few more to their graves. “That makes ten for me.”

  Yet for all the false bravado, there was an underlying fear in every word spoken over the infantry comm channel. They could all see what was happening ahead of them and around them, and it wasn’t pretty. This mission was supposed to be a cakewalk, but instead, it looked more like a lemming walk…straight off the cliff to their deaths.

  The CASPers appeared to be getting their butts handed to them by the savages in short order. Peterson and his men had gradually pushed their way close enough to be of some help, but it was clear they were vastly outnumbered. Infantry and CASPers alike fell in equal bloody numbers.

  “We have lots of low-hanging fruit,” Estes said as he emptied his clip into the crowd of devils. “There are beasts to blast anywhere you look. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel. I’m ready for that drink, sir!”

  “Get a clue, Estes,” Burroughs said as he tossed another flash grenade. “Leave this to the professionals.”

  “You see one of these devils riding a CASPer, you pick it off,” Peterson said as he aimed carefully and shot one in the head, causing the back of its skull to splatter against a nearby tree. The CASPer it had been clinging to waved in a small gesture of thanks before turning back to the fray and unleashing a volley of small explosives.

  The riverbed was awash with the blood of dead soldiers and massacred savages. Bodies lay strewn everywhere. Clouds of smoke hung overhead, casting the entire battle in a silver haze. The screams of the dying were muffled only by the roar of explosions.

  The men unloaded their automatic rifles, their grenades, their knives, and their courage. What they lacked in body armor, they made up for in bravery. Linton, who always carried two sidearms, raced forward, firing with both hands, dropping beasts to his right and left. He never saw the one who blindsided him, forced him to the ground, and opened him up like an urgent letter. He managed to fire a couple of rounds into the devil’s abdomen, spilling its guts on top of him, but by then he was too dead to care.

  “We’ll have a drink in Linton’s honor tonight,” Stewart said as he leveled his auto-rifle at a marauding savage and blew its legs out from under it. “Goodbye, old friend. This one’s for you.”

  “For Linton,” Peterson’s men shouted as they opened fire simultaneously, dropping a line of aliens in their tracks.

  Although Rai had the advantage of her CASPers with their fancy tech, heavy ordnance, and near-invincibility, Peterson counted himself as the one with the true advantage, because he had something she didn’t—he knew he was in a fight he couldn’t win.

  Without the false sense of superiority the CASPers provided, he could see clearly that they were heavily outnumbered. If the savages could take down CASPers, which were about the toughest things imaginable, then they could take down the infantry just as easily. For the first time in recent memory, Rai must have realized this as well. One moment there was a phalanx of CASPers rushing headlong into the fray. The next, there were only a handful left and they were in full retreat.

  “Fall back,” Peterson said. “Nobody try to be a hero. Let’s all live to fight another day. If the CASPers can’t win against these things, it would be foolish of us to think we can do any better.”

  * * *

  Colonel Hendershot smashed a fist into the wall of the APC, bloodying his knuckles. If there was any pain involved, he didn’t show it. His mind was elsewhere. There’d been no word from Rai since she’d called in the fire mission. There was no word from Peterson, either.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that things must have gone terribly wrong. Hendershot frowned, feeling helpless. The three APCs were unable to move up in support of the Hellhounds’ advance forces, and they couldn’t just start lobbing shells into the woods without someone out there to call in a target for them. Although he was in no immediate danger, Hendershot felt powerless. He didn’t like just sitting here waiting for something to happen, while his people were out there getting ravaged by a bunch of bloodthirsty savages.

  Specialist Nicholson looked at him from the APC’s sensor station. It was clear he wasn’t comfortable doing nothing either, but Hendershot didn’t have any orders to give him. There was nothing they could do until contact was reestablished with somebody in the forward unit. Assuming there was anyone left.

  Hendershot pushed that thought out of his mind. It was inconceivable that Rai and Peterson’s units had been decimated by the savages. They had spears, arrows, and clubs. Those were no match against CASPers and automatic weapons. Still, no one was answering, and that could only mean bad news.

  Hendershot sighed and said, “Get me Colonel Robert. Patch him through on my personal command channel.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nicholson nodded.

  Hendershot flinched when he heard the cacophony of gunfire and screams in the background as Colonel Robert’s voice filled his comm.

  “What the bloody Hades do you want, Hendershot?” Robert snarled. “We’re under heavy attack here!”

  “I’ve lost contact with my entire forward unit, Robert,” Hendershot told him. It pained him to say what he was about to, but he did it anyway, thinking of his men. “I’m requesting emergency assistance and support.”

  Robert laughed coldly. “I don’t have any CASPers to spare, Hendershot. Didn’t you hear me when I said we’re under heavy attack? Those things hit us from all sides at once. We’re penned in and doing our best just to hold on. The intel on these creatures was inadequate. I saw one of them wrestle a CASPer to the dirt and shove a knife through its chest. Their weapons are primitive, but their unbelievable strength and bloodlust more than make up for it. Oh, and let’s not forget the sheer number of these things. They outnumber us far more than we anticipated.”

  “Perhaps it’s time we called for an emergency evac then…sir?” Hendershot tried not make the honorific sound too insulting as he attempted to play to Robert’s ego.

  “Negative on that,” Robert told him. “We’ve got a job to do here, Hendershot. If your Hellhounds can’t cut it, that’s your problem!”

  Hendershot held himself back from pointing out that it didn’t sound as if Robert’s men were doing much better. The comm was filled with explosions, shouting, and the screams of the dying. It was impossible to tell if the screams were human or alien. Hendershot guessed it was a mixture of both.

  “Robert, we need to…” Hendershot started, but Robert’s transmission ended abruptly. He couldn’t tell if Robert had simply had enough and ended it himself, or if something else had shut him down. There was no love lost between the two, but Hendershot hoped that nothing untoward had happened to Robert.

  Until they left the planet, they were all in the same boat. He knew that Robert would have his back if the situation called for it, and given the way things were looking, it might. He would do the same for Robert if necessary.

  “Colonel,” Specialist Nicholson called to him.

  “What?” Hendershot asked.

  “The sensors are picking up heavy enemy movement in the trees around our position,” Specialist Nicholson reported. “Looks like there are a couple dozen of them.”

  “Frag it,” Hendershot muttered wondering what could possibly go wrong next. Without thinking, he thumbed off the safety on his shotgun.

  “Bravo 2 is under attack!” Specialist Nicholson blurted out.

  “External camera views, all APCs, on screen,” Hendershot ordered. “Now!”

  The APCs were positioned in the middle of a clearing, intentionally putting distance between them and the surrounding trees. Of the three, Bravo 2 was the closest to the woods. A volley of spears had flown from the trees without warning. Several of the spears imbedded themselves in the veh
icle’s armor. Most struck at an angle where the wooden shafts that carried the black tips of the weapons simply shattered and bounced harmlessly away.

  “Bravo 2 is requesting permission to open fire, sir,” Specialist Nicholson told him.

  “Weapons free,” Colonel Hendershot nodded as he stared at the streaming camera feeds filling the screens of the sensor station. He could see at least a dozen hulking figures moving about in the trees near Bravo 2’s position.

  “Permission granted,” Specialist Nicholson shouted over the comm. “I repeat, you are cleared for weapons fire.”

  Bravo 2’s top-mounted machine gun swiveled around on its turret to engage the creatures in the trees. The weapon chattered, hosing the tree line with a barrage of high-velocity rounds as it swept back and forth in a side-to-side motion. Tree trunks splintered, spraying wooden shrapnel. Severed limbs crashed to the forest floor. Hendershot watched as the figures in the shadows of the trees ran for their lives.

  One creature took a burst of rounds in its back. Its upper body exploded in a shower of gore and entrails. Several others were cut down as they attempted to flee, but it was clear that at least some escaped Bravo 2’s fury.

  The machine gun mounted on top of Bravo 2 fell silent. Curls of smoke drifted skyward from its barrels. The woods were eerily still in the wake of the devastation that had been inflicted. Hendershot was too experienced to believe Bravo 2’s fire had completely driven off the creatures, though. The aborted attack felt more like a careful probe than an onslaught. This was likely the calm before the storm.

  “Get me Captain Gunter,” Hendershot ordered.

  “Sir?” Specialist Nicholson stared at him.

  “You heard me, Nicholson,” Hendershot snapped. “I’m calling this one. It’s time for us all to get the Hades out of here.”

  “There’s a lot of EM interference in the atmosphere, sir,” Nicholson said, “I’m not sure I can reach Byrne.”

  “Try, damn it,” Hendershot ordered, keeping his eyes on the camera feeds of the three APCs.

  The sound of drums rang out from the trees surrounding the clearing. Their beat was a fast tempo and violent in nature. The sound of it made Hendershot think of rattling bones. The speed of the drum beat continued to increase into a frenzied crescendo before abruptly falling silent.

  “Here they come,” Hendershot predicted, and he was right.

  The creatures poured from the trees all around the APCs as the top-mounted guns of the vehicles swept across the front lines of their charge. Hendershot watched the creatures fall, their mangled and bullet-torn bodies dropping to the dirt. For every creature that fell, though, it seemed like two more took its place. He could see they were going to be overrun.

  In that brief span of seconds, Hendershot’s life seemed much too short, and he thought about all of the things he would never get to do. He wasn’t ready to die yet, but he considered it a very real possibility.

  “All units, move out!” Colonel Hendershot ordered over the general comm. “Follow our lead!”

  He ended the transmission and yelled, “Take us back toward the drop zone!” In that split second, instinct took over, and those fleeting doubts of survival were gone. He was no longer the colonel of the Hellhounds—he was reasonably certain he was going to die and wasn’t happy with that outcome. Instead, he was simply George Hendershot, a seasoned professional, determined to stay alive at all costs. It would take more than a bunch of godless savages to take him down. He had seen and lived through worse.

  The CASPers had cleared a path between the drop zone and the APCs’ current position. It was still a very rough one, but it was the only real option available. Heading in any other direction, the APCs would surely run into too many trees to move through effectively.

  Hendershot could easily imagine the outcome if the APC’s tried to take an alternate route and got stuck. They would be pulled out like sardines from a can and annihilated systematically.

  Given the sheer number of beasts that were rampaging, there was no room for mistakes. Mechanical failure would mean certain death. If they ran into a second group of beasts, they would be flanked on both sides, which would also mean certain death. The only favorable outcome relied on the trip through the clearing going according to plan. There was no margin for error.

  Bravo 1 took the lead pulling out of the clearing, its engine roaring even as its top-mounted machine gun continued to blaze away at the approaching creatures. Bravo 3 swung in behind it, keeping pace. Bravo 2, however, was not so lucky.

  The creatures swarmed it before it could get underway. Obsidian knives slashed at its tires, and spears were driven into them, plunged into the sidewalls by the supernatural strength of the creatures. More beasts scampered up the sides of the APC to go after its machine gun. The machine gun twisted about madly on its turret, trying to hold the monsters at bay. The weapon’s point-blank blasts of fire gutted and blew apart several of the creatures attempting to get at it. It didn’t take long, though, for one of the monsters to flank the machine gun and grab it from behind. The monster ripped the weapon up and out of its turret in a shower of sparks, flinging it from the vehicle.

  Bravo 2 made it several dozen yards before it was crippled. Wheels were wrenched off and tossed aside. Deep furrows were gouged in the metal by vicious claws. Hoses were torn free like mechanical entrails, spilling oil and hydraulic fluids in a wide, hot spray. Anything that was attached was ripped free and tossed aside. It was like watching a school of piranha systematically reduce an animal carcass to little more than bones.

  Colonel Hendershot’s view of the APC was blocked by the bodies of the monsters as they tore it apart. The view from Bravo 2’s external cameras on the console screen showed only snarling faces, until a hair-covered hand slapped over the lens and the feed from the camera was lost. There was no doubt what had happened to the men inside, even without the benefit of the camera feed. The same fate awaited the troopers in the other two APCs if they didn’t get to the drop zone.

  Both surviving APCs were moving as fast as they could, but it was nowhere near fast enough. Their wheels bounced over thick roots, and they were forced to steer around the larger stumps left from the trees the CASPers had cleared. The monsters overtook them quickly, despite the amount of firepower the two APCs brought to bear on them.

  Several creatures clung to the sides of Bravo 3 and others had already made their way to its roof to go after the machine gun mounted there. As soon as the weapon was disabled, one of the creatures on the roof dangled in front of the APC’s forward window. It struck at the window time and time again with a black-bladed tomahawk. The glass cracked and finally shattered with the creature’s eighth blow. Bravo 3 swerved about wildly as the creature reached inside, grabbing at its driver. The APC slammed into the thick trunk of a giant alien tree, knocking the creatures clinging to it away as it overturned. Bravo 3 rolled end over end before colliding with another tree and exploding in a ball of fire that set the base of the tree ablaze.

  “Bravo 3 has been destroyed, sir,” Specialist Nicholson reported, as if Hendershot hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

  “I suggest you ready your personal weapon, Specialist,” Hendershot warned. “We’re next.”

  A spear through one of Bravo 1’s rear tires brought the heavy vehicle to a stop. The spear blew out the tire, and the sudden loss of traction sent Bravo 1 swerving headlong into a tree. Hendershot held onto the sensor console tightly to prevent the impact from sending him bouncing into the APC’s rear. He was just barely able to keep his feet. Another well-placed spear silenced Bravo 1’s top-mounted weapon. The creatures were learning, and that wasn’t a good thing.

  Hendershot looked on in awe and horror as the creatures outside wedged the APC’s side door open through their sheer strength and numbers. He heard Bravo 1’s forward window shatter as Roy came rushing out of the driver’s compartment to join them. Roy sealed the door between the two sections of the APC behind him.

  “Make your sh
ots count, people!” Colonel Hendershot yelled as he, Specialist Nicholson, and Roy made their stand, opening fire on the creatures trying to enter the APC through its now wide-open side door.

  Roy’s pistol cracked over and over in rapid succession as Hendershot blazed away at the monsters with his automatic shotgun, blowing holes through the bodies of the lead creatures. Nicholson had a hand laser. Its beam sliced and burned one creature after another. Bodies began to pile up outside the open door.

  A black-bladed knife came flying end over end through the air to thunk! into Specialist Nicholson’s helmet. The blade pierced the helmet to its hilt, sinking into his skull. The young man gave a half-formed cry of terror and then thudded onto the APC’s floor, dead.

  Roy was busy dropping his pistol’s spent magazine and trying to force a fresh one home when Hendershot’s shotgun clicked empty. There was no time for the colonel to reload the weapon. He flung it aside, drawing his sidearm as the creatures surged forward. Roy shrieked as one of the creatures ran him through with its spear, pinning him to the APC’s wall.

  Hendershot figured he was dead, but from somewhere outside the APC boomed a savagely inhuman voice. Whatever it said, it caused the monsters coming at him to stop. They stood there staring him as he held his pistol steady, its barrel aimed at the head of the closest of the creatures.

  The creatures in front of him parted as the largest one Hendershot had ever seen moved to stand just outside the APC’s open door. It watched him closely with its glowing eyes as he stared back at it.

  The thing was clearly the chief of this group of warriors. The others deferred to it as his own men would to him. What he didn’t understand was why the thing hadn’t had him killed already. He was one man with a pistol. If they wanted him dead, they could make him that way whether he tried to fight back or not.

  The chief gestured for him to come out of the APC. Hendershot shook his head in the negative, but he had no way to know if that was a gesture these things even understood. The chief grunted, motioning for him to come out again. His failure to comply was angering the other creatures around him. Several of them poked the points of their spears at him as an incentive to get moving. Hendershot sighed, accepting his fate.