CASPer Alamo (The Revelations Cycle Book 9) Page 3

  Dillard closed his eyes and thought about how much he missed her, how he would give anything to be headed home. Then he heard a deep, guttural growl from behind the guard shack. He immediately realized his mistake and regretted not being more alert. Startled, he nearly fell out of his chair as he scrambled to unholster his gun, but there simply wasn’t time. He heard the breaking of glass, saw the yellow-eyes and open mouth filled with teeth like knives, felt the claws sink into the tender flesh of his abdomen, and watched his life spill out of him in rivers of red. “I love you, Sarah,” he mouthed as his eyes glazed over, and his last breath left him like steam from a kettle. Dillard died as he had lived, never having fired a shot.

  * * *

  Sawyer’s landing legs unfolded beneath the massive transport as she prepared to touch down on the surface of Durin II. Clouds of dust billowed like the ghosts of dead sand beasts rising up from the earth. Thrusters firing to keep her descent under control, she thudded onto the dirt of the open field beyond The Sanctuary’s walls. Her landing shook the ground, sending shockwaves out from the spot where she made contact. Sawyer’s bay doors opened, and an unloading ramp extended itself for Colonel Travis and his men to disembark.

  Colonel Travis, accompanied by three heavily-armed infantrymen, was the first one down. The sky above held a purplish hue, as the planet’s sunset was underway. Travis and those with him cleared the ramp to allow the rest of the company to exit the massive transport. After spending so long in flight, everyone’s legs were wobbly. They looked happy to be on firm ground, even if it was the acrid dust of Durin II.

  The company’s three Armored Personal Carriers drove out of the transport and spread out, taking up defensive positions around it. Their sensor suites were fully active, making sweeps of the immediate area. Mercs manned the top-mounted machine gun turrets on their roofs, their eyes alert and scanning the horizon for any signs of danger. By this point, they had all heard the stories about what had happened, and was still happening, to Commander Neill’s men, how they had been torn limb from limb, slaughtered in horrifying ways, murdered in cold blood by beasts that no one had seen, except the dead they left behind. This was a hostile place, populated by hostile creatures. The mercs were aware of that and at the ready.

  The CASPers were next off the ship. Sixty armored warriors moving in formation marched down the ramp. The smaller Mark VIII suits moved with an almost human grace, despite their size and the heavy armaments with which they were equipped. The larger Mark VI suits lumbered down the ramp like mechanical apes. All the Mark VI CASPers were in the middle of the formation, with a dozen Mark VIII CASPers in the lead, and another dozen bringing up the rear. Colonel Travis smiled as he watched them and chewed on his last cigar, still unwilling to light it until he was certain he could obtain more.

  Once this job was done, he would have enough money to buy all the cigars he wanted, even the Cubans he loved; he just needed to focus on the task at hand.

  By buying the cheaper Mark VI suits, he had more than doubled the size of his company’s armored personnel—and numbers, as he had learned over the years, meant everything in war. He refused to be outmanned or outgunned, and this new batch of mech suits meant that neither outcome was probable. Of course, his pilots were still learning the ropes of the Mark VIs, but they weren’t that different from the Mark VIIIs in terms of systems operation. He had shelled out a bit extra to make sure they were all capable of pinplant interface, and that could very easily turn the tide if things started to get bloody.

  Pinplants allowed the pilots to control them via mental link instead of manually. The mind was quicker than the hand, which meant that a merc who was alert, focused, and using pinplants could outgun just about anything.

  Major Bowie, however, wasn’t overly happy with the addition of the Mark VI CASPers, and he made that fact clear as his voice rang out over the comm piece Colonel Travis wore in his ear. “Those older suits are a joke, sir. I can’t believe you bought them. We may as well be making our men wear garbage cans and handing them a couple of handguns for all the good these outdated relics will do.”

  “We needed numbers, Bowie, and they’ve given us that,” Colonel Travis replied. “This isn’t some surgical strike or hit and run op. We’re going to be defending an entire colony. As good as your Mark VIIIs are, there simply weren’t enough of them to get the job done, and you know it. Or maybe you have a few million credits stashed away somewhere that you want to use to purchase better equipment. Please, if that’s the case, feel free.”

  Bowie grunted his displeasure but said nothing more.

  Colonel Travis went on, “Mark VI CASPers were built for defense. Before this is over with, you’ll thank me for buying them.”

  A crowd had gathered on the wall of the city facing the field where Sawyer had landed. Some were cheering at their arrival, but most were simply staring in awe at the mercs as they unloaded. The colonists were a peaceful lot, and most of them had never seen a CASPer in person before. The sight of sixty such battle-suits was likely a lot for them to take in. Colonel Travis had to admit that even he was still sometimes impressed at seeing so many of them moving in formation, and he had been doing this for most of his life.

  The company’s two command cars rolled out of the transport next, joining the APCs already in place. All that remained now was for Major Evans and Lieutenant Blair to offload the company’s ordnance stockpile—simple, boring work that Colonel Travis had no intention of sticking around for—and then Sawyer would take flight again, not returning until the end of next month. He figured that would be more than enough time to deal with whatever creatures were attacking the colony and to drive the things away for good. They had done far more in less time before.

  An old Earth-style car raced toward them from the city, flanked by two jeeps with rear-mounted .50 caliber weapons. Colonel Travis readied himself, dusting off his uniform and smoothing it out as he waited. The vehicles came to a stop just inside the perimeter his mercs had set up. Armed men—members of the colony’s security force from the look of them—jumped out of the jeeps. They looked the part: guns, uniforms with the company insignia, spring in their step. It was only the look in their eyes that revealed them to be greenhorns. There was too much hope. They hadn’t seen enough to harden them to the job, to give them the edge that would make the difference between life and death. They looked like teenagers who had taken on this security detail as a summer job, in much the same way kids chose to be lifeguards for the summer or work at one of the old-school restaurants back home on Earth.

  One of them dashed over to open the car’s right rear door and helped an elderly man, dressed in black with a clerical collar, out of the car.

  Some men were tethered to their jobs or their families. This man was tethered to his god, and the collar was a sign of that.

  Colonel Travis stood where he was, hands clasped behind his back, letting the elderly priest and his escorts come to him. It was always good to establish who was in charge up front. The contract the priest had signed gave him near complete power over the colony until the job was finished.

  “Welcome to Durin II, Colonel Travis,” the elderly priest said with a smile, extending his hand. “So glad you could make it. I appreciate you taking this job on such short notice. You really are a lifesaver.”

  The greeting was sincere and seemed to have no underlying tone. Colonel Travis found this strange. In places like this everyone had an agenda, and most made no attempt to hide theirs.

  For his part, however, Father Valero seemed like an archetypal man of the cloth who was doing his best to survive out in the wastelands. If he had any ulterior motives for bringing the merc group here, he showed no signs of it. He was either an expert thespian or a man of his word.

  Colonel Travis accepted the priest’s hand and shook it firmly, eyeing the old man in much the same way a snake eyes its prey.

  “My men could use some assistance in moving our gear into your colony,” Colonel Travis said bluntly.
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  “Anything you need, Colonel,” Father Valero nodded. “Commander Neill, send for some men to help them!”

  “At once, Father,” Neill answered. “I’ll handle it myself.”

  “Commander Neill,” Colonel Travis responded, looking at the head of Valero’s security forces with disdain. “I remember you from our video negotiations.”

  The man nodded. “Nice to meet you, Colonel.”

  Colonel Travis nodded but didn’t return the sentiment. “Your life will be much easier now that we’re here.”

  “We’ve handled things the best we could,” Neill admitted, “but it is nice to have reinforcements.”

  “Let’s correct that statement,” Travis said. “We will handle this the way the Marauders always handle things. You and your men will be our reinforcements. Not the other way around. Are we clear?”

  “It’s your circus,” Neill said, not bothering to hide his dislike for the colonel. Travis dismissed him like he would a worrisome fly and turned his attention back to Valero.

  “I assume you’ve prepared billets for us,” Colonel Travis said to Valero.

  “Of course, Colonel,” Father Valero assured him, “and to your specifications as well. Our colony’s limited spaceport has all the equipment you need to set up a centralized command center and store your ordnance and CASPers. The houses and buildings surrounding it have been vacated temporarily, for use by your soldiers.”

  “Good,” Colonel Travis said smugly. “As soon as we’re settled in, we can discuss how my men will be set up along your walls in the event of an attack by the ‘monsters’ that have been plaguing you. I’d also like to send a couple of squads to your mines to check things out there. That is where most of the attacks have occurred so far, yes?”

  Commander Neill wasn’t used to being addressed with such disdain, and didn’t like it one bit. He could have let Valero handle the remainder of the details, but that would have shown weakness. He had dealt with men like Travis before, and he knew the key to gaining respect was not to allow them to walk all over you. Before Father Valero could respond, Neill interjected.

  “I think you and I should be having this discussion, Colonel. I am the commander here, hired by Father Valero to oversee security. Until he tells me otherwise, that is what I will do. Now, you mentioned the attacks. The mines are where the attacks started and have been heaviest, but they are no longer confined to that area. Just this morning, one of my patrols was massacred by those things.”

  Colonel Travis studied Neill for a moment with equal parts irritation and surprise. “Very well, Commander. I’ll expect a full briefing on all the attacks after we’ve settled in.”

  “I’ll see that you get all the intel you need,” Neill said.

  Colonel Travis looked the commander over once more, appraising him. Although he’d initially dismissed him as an interplanetary rent-a-cop, he realized that he might have misjudged the man. Neill seemed more competent than he’d initially given him credit for. That wasn’t the same, however, as considering him an equal. Neill and his men existed outside the contract the Marauders had with Father Valero. Neill and his men had a contract of their own to uphold. Clearly they hadn’t been up to the task; otherwise, Bowie’s Marauders would have never been hired.

  “I would be most pleased if you would join me for dinner this evening, Colonel,” Father Valero offered, hoping to lessen the tension building between the two of them.

  Bowing his head to the priest, Colonel Travis answered, “It would be my pleasure, Father, if there’s time. My men and I have a lot of setting up to do.”

  “I understand, Colonel. As God wills, then.”

  Father Valero turned his attention to Commander Neill. “See them to where they need to go, Neill, and assist them in any way that you can.”

  Commander Neill nodded and was about to walk away when Father Valero motioned him closer and whispered one last order. “One more thing. Try to play well with these mercs, Neill. They are a necessary evil here. This Travis fellow isn’t the easiest person to get along with, but we need him. Our lives depend on it.”

  With that, the priest climbed into the car and sped away toward the city, leaving Colonel Travis and Commander Neill to stare at each other.

  “Well, let’s get to it, then.” Colonel Travis laughed. “It’s too fragging hot out here to be standing around like this. Let’s see just how deep the guano is here on this rock.”

  Commander Neill nodded. This was the most arid, desolate planet he had ever been on, and that said a lot. On that point, he and Travis agreed. He was about to suggest they go someplace cooler when he saw one of the tactical jeeps speeding toward them from the direction of the mines. Clouds of dust rose in its wake. Please, not now, he thought to himself, hoping this wasn’t what it looked like. Not in front of Colonel Travis. But the jeep raced forward, bouncing over the rugged terrain, seeming to disregard any notion of safety, and didn’t stop until it was almost upon them.

  The man behind the wheel was named Roja. Neill didn’t know him very well, easily recognized the look of panic on his face.

  “Sir, it’s Dillard,” Roja said, not bothering to salute or to even exit the jeep.

  “Attacked?” Neill asked.

  “Torn apart,” Roja replied. “It’s terrible, sir. Those things are barely afraid of anything anymore. It’s like they’re getting braver by the day.”

  “He’s dead, I presume?”

  “That is an understatement, sir,” Roja said.

  Colonel Travis didn’t bother introducing himself or flexing his authority. He ran to where the two men stood at the jeep.

  “What’s happened?” Colonel Travis demanded.

  “There’s been another attack,” Neill admitted.

  “And this just occurred?” Colonel Travis asked. “Where?”

  “Yes, sir. At the mines.” Roja answered before Neill could. “We’re in the process of shutting them down for the time being, given the level of danger there.”

  “Commander Neill, I will be deploying a squad to check things out at the mines. The more we know about these creatures we’re dealing with the better. This is a good chance to gain that intel without waiting on those things to come to us,” Colonel Travis said, leaving little room for argument.

  “The mines aren’t far,” Commander Neill commented. “My men and I can reach them before your CASPers. It might be better to get a look at what’s happened before just going in, guns blazing. There may still be personnel on site who need extraction.”

  “Do what you like, Commander, but I’m sending my CASPers,” Colonel Travis said firmly.

  Colonel Travis walked back toward his unit, already barking orders over his comm as Commander Neill slid into the passenger seat of the jeep. “Dustin, Robbins, you’re with us!” he called to the two men, and then, slapping the jeep’s dash, said to Roja, “What are you waiting for? Get us moving already!”

  * * *

  Commander Neill tried several times to raise the mines over his comm unit as the two jeeps tore along the dusty road. The only answer he got was the crackle of static, and it worried him. Someone should have been on hand to answer him, even with the chaos an attack on the guard shack would have caused.

  Roja shot him a concerned look, and Neill met his glance with a look of determination. This was his post. These were his men under attack. This was his job to do. He wasn’t content to leave everything to Colonel Travis, even though he had played this very scenario over in his mind at least a dozen times. Before the mercs landed he had prayed for them. Now that they were here, their presence made him feel weak.

  Roja kept watching him out of the corner of his eye as he drove, but wisely said nothing. Neill didn’t know the man well, but that was the case with about half the men under his command.

  At first glance, Roja appeared to be as raw as Dillard. That didn’t bode well for him, given Dillard’s fate. When Neill had hired the men he needed for the security force on Durin II, he had taken on seve
ral new guards he had never worked with before, fresh faces who needed the experience on their resume and came cheap. Roja was in that group.

  Of course, being new and inexperienced wasn’t an automatic death sentence. Everyone had to start somewhere, and there was no way to get experience without someone giving you a chance. Besides, Durin II was supposed to have been a cakewalk, not a hellish nightmare of monsters and death. Neill felt a surge of guilt run through him as he stared at Roja and thought about Dillard. Death came with the job, but it was never easy. Refusing to give in to the guilt he felt, Neill returned his focus to the task at hand as the mines came into view up ahead.

  “Slow down,” he ordered Roja. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us up there.”

  The jeep slowed and came to a stop at the barbed wire fence that ran the length of the mines’ perimeter. The sharp, steely needles on the wire looked like the teeth of iron demons. Despite its appearance, the barbed wire didn’t seem like it had been much of a deterrent, given the carnage that waited at the guard shack. The thought didn’t reassure Neill about their chances; fortunately, Dustin and Robbins’ jeep pulled up beside them before his mind could travel very far down that road. The fence was down in several sections, and putrid, black blood dripped from the barbs in the places that had been forced to the ground. Neill leaped out of his jeep, clutching his shotgun in a white-knuckled grip, eyes scanning for any sign of movement. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he walked to meet Dustin and Robbins at the fence’s gate. Roja followed them, his sidearm drawn.

  The gate was still perfectly intact and untouched, although the fence was torn at random intervals on each side. Whatever had done this had realized that the fence was an easier point of entry, and disregarded the danger the barbed wire posed. That meant the beasts were smarter than Neill had given them credit for. The thought made the shotgun seem inadequate in his hands.