Resistance (2 page)

Still, everything seemed to be going well, until Hale rounded a bend, and froze as a wall of snow and dirt exploded away from the embankment ahead. Tons of soil slumped into the river, where it formed a momentary dam, before being washed away.

Close on his heels, Kawecki came to a sudden halt. “Jeez, Lieutenant, what the hell …”

Hale shook his head, and held a finger to his lips. “Listen!” he hissed urgently.

They didn't hear anything at first, but then came a faint rumble, a vibration beneath his boots. That was when Hale shouted, “Burrower!”

A fraction of a second later Jasper hollered, “Contact!” and began firing his carbine behind them.

But there was no time to see what he was referring to, as even more earth slid down into the river and a whirling drill head broke through the embankment, and a cylindrical machine roughly the size of a locomotive thrust up out of the ground. It lurched heavily to a stop with half its length hanging out over the river. As snow landed on the Chimeran construct it was immediately transformed into steam.

Hale had seen machines like this before, back in England, and knew they had been used to flood London. A hatch clanged open and at least a dozen heavily armed Hybrids clambered out and dropped into the shallow water below thereby blocking the humans' escape route. Hale scanned the area for a way to retreat, but it was too late. Behind them, Jasper continued to fire bursts upstream.

“It's an Attack Drone, sir!” he shouted. “I can't make a dent in it.”

Were we spotted by that first drone?
Hale wondered.
Are the Burrower and the Attack Drone working in concert?
Or was the team in the wrong place at the wrong time?

That was the problem with the Chimera—there was no way to know. Not that it mattered, because they were out of options, other than to fight back. Geysers of snow, dirt, and water shot up into the air as the drone
opened fire and the Sentinels scrambled for cover behind a cluster of water-smoothed boulders.

“I'll deal with the drone,” Hale said grimly, as he put his shotgun aside. “You take care of the Hybrids.”

As the other men nodded and turned their attention toward the still steaming Burrower, Hale readied his Bellock Automatic. The grenade launcher had been slung across his back, and qualified as the heaviest weapon they had.

The drone consisted of a central housing, sensor arrays, and a pair of weapons pods. Muzzle flashes sparkled as the machine fired and projectiles
pinged
off the boulders Hale was hiding behind. In order to engage the target Hale would have to expose himself momentarily. He knew from experience that there was only one way to defeat the machine—he'd have to hit its heavy-duty shield and beat it down.

Between enemy rounds Hale fired, took cover, then emerged to fire again. Most of the flaming projectiles hit home, and each hit yielded an explosion and a puff of black smoke, which took an inexorable toll on the drone's shield.

As he twisted out of the line of fire, something hit Hale's left arm. It hurt like hell, but Hale threw a grenade before taking cover again.

It was a battle of attrition that seemed to last forever, though only moments had passed. Finally a thin stream of black smoke appeared, and the machine began to lose altitude. But it continued to fire, forcing Hale to seek cover as his Bellock
clacked
empty. He dropped the grenade launcher and grabbed the Rossmore 236 shotgun. It wasn't high-tech, but it packed a wallop, and had saved his life more than once back in England.

The 12-gauge was barely in position when Hale heard a loud
thrumming
noise as the drone appeared directly
over his head. He swung the shotgun up and fired both barrels. The recoil punched into his shoulder, and there was a loud
BOOM
as the Chimeran machine took two loads of double-ought buck from less than six feet away. Lurching backward, the drone exploded and peppered Hale with small pieces of shrapnel. They stung in a dozen places, but Hale saw with satisfaction that the threat had been neutralized.

Kawecki heard the explosions behind him, but focused on dealing with the Hybrids, so he didn't have time to look.

One of the most numerous Chimeran forms, Hybrids were tenacious and adaptable. Standard Hybrids were vaguely humanoid, boasting six eyes and a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth fangs—the result of an alien virus that broke human bodies down into their constituent parts, creating new forms appropriate to a wide variety of purposes.

“There's a bunch of stinks hiding behind that ledge!” Jasper shouted. “I'll drop a grenade on them.”

“Don't let the bastards tag you!” Kawecki warned, but Jasper was head and shoulders above the rocks by then. He fired the carbine's under-barrel grenade launcher, and as the projectile hurtled toward its target, one of the Hybrids fired a Bullseye tag. It hit Jasper, but did no visible damage as the Sentinel took cover.

But in the second before the exploding grenade blew its head off, the Hybrid managed to trigger a dozen Bullseye projectiles, all of which ripped through the air, looking for the tag that had been fired moments earlier.

“No!” Kawecki shouted desperately, but it was too late.

The sparkling swarm circled above Jasper's head, then all twelve of the projectiles slammed into Jasper in rapid
succession. It was more damage than even a Sentinel could sustain and Jasper jerked spasmodically as the slugs tore him apart.

Hale rejoined them just as Jasper went down. He reloaded the Bellock, and loosed a barrage of explosive projectiles against the enemy position. Hybrids screamed hideously as some were blown apart and others began to burn. They ran every which way, batting at the flames, and became easy targets for Kawecki to pick off. Then an eerie silence settled over the much trampled section of riverbed. After what seemed like an eternity the battle—which had lasted only minutes—was over.

Hale knelt next to Jasper's mangled body, somberly removed the young Sentinel's dog tags, and dropped them into a pocket. Then, with a quickness born of grim experience, he stripped Jasper of any items he and Kawecki might be able to use.

As much as he wanted to take the body back for a proper burial, they were still half a mile short of the LZ, and had to assume that more Chimera were on the way. Rather than leave Jasper's remains to be picked over, however, Hale pulled the pin on a thermite grenade, dropped the cylinder next to the body, and backpedaled away. Kawecki followed suit.

There was a flash as the device went off, followed by an eye-dazzling glow as powdered aluminum combined with iron oxide to produce molten iron and aluminum oxide. Even from where he paused, a good thirty feet away by then, Hale could still feel the wave of intense heat as half a dozen rounds of loose ammo cooked off.

Hale wanted to say something, to thank Jasper for his sacrifice, but there wasn't any time. Shots rang out again as Kawecki fired his Fareye upstream.

“We got Howlers, Lieutenant … Six, make that five, all southbound.”

Hale sighed.

“Okay,” he said as he dropped the empty Bellock in favor of Jasper's carbine. “Let's haul ass.”

They took off at a fast jog, and caught a whiff of ozone as they passed under the Burrower, splashed through knee-deep water, and emerged on the other side. Hale spoke into the lip mike of his radio as he ran. Each burst of words was interrupted by the need to suck some air.

“Bravo-Six to Echo-Three … We have one man down … Five Howlers on our tails … Southbound in the riverbed … ETA about ten minutes … Over.”

“This is Three,” the pilot replied grimly. “You keep a-coming, Six … We'll take care of those Howlers. Over.”

The pilot sounded confident, but Hale had his doubts. They increased as the Howlers—lion-sized Chimeran quadrupeds—uttered the long, bloodcurdling cries from which their name had been taken. From the sound, he could tell that they were closing the gap.

“Let's slow them down!” Hale shouted as they came to a bend in the river, and he skidded to a halt. The now discarded shotgun would have been effective at close range, but Hale didn't want to get up close and personal with any Howlers if he didn't have to. Kawecki watched as the lead Chimera fell, and managed to get back on its feet again. Then, dragging a wounded leg behind it, the beast continued to advance as another Howler took over the lead. Meanwhile, having slowed the Chimera down a bit, the humans turned and ran.

The ground was uneven, the ice-covered rocks treacherously slippery, and freezing water splashed away from their combat boots as the two of them zigzagged back
and forth across the riverbed in order to avoid rocks and patches of slick ice.

Then the VTOL shot into sight, coming straight at them and traveling only ten feet higher than the top of the riverbank.
Marilyn's
engines roared as she passed overhead, and Hale could feel the plane's prop wash.

The pilot opened fire. He turned to look back, and saw a curtain of spray appear as hundreds of high-velocity bullets chewed their way through both the water
and
the oncoming Howlers. They went down screaming their defiance, and the river ran red with their blood, as the resulting waves broke around his boots.

“Tell
Marilyn
I love her,” Hale said appreciatively into the mike, as the aircraft flashed overhead.

The VTOL turned upstream and waggled its wings as it roared overhead in search of a secure landing spot. Ten minutes later what remained of the team was safely on board and strapped in.

The mission had been successful—but had the tradeoff been worth it? Had Jasper died for something? Or was his death just one more sacrifice in an unwinnable war?

The Sentinel closed his eyes and allowed his head to rest against the bulkhead. He was exhausted, but sleep refused to come. In his hand, clutched so tight that the metal cut into his flesh, was a pair of dog tags.

The chasm was hundreds of feet deep, and as Hale made his way out onto the flexible conduit, he was careful to keep his eyes fixed on the far side of the canyon. If he looked down, he would almost certainly lose his balance and fall.

So Hale placed one foot precisely in front of the other, and felt the conduit start to sway.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door. The bottom fell out of his stomach, and he was snatched into the
real
world, where he lay panting on a sweat-soaked sheet.

“Lieutenant Hale?” a voice inquired from the hallway outside. “Sorry to wake you, sir … but the major wants you in the briefing room by 0400.”

Hale peered at his wristwatch. It was 0325.

“Okay,” he croaked. Swallowing, he added in a firmer voice, “What's up?”

“Don't know, sir,” the voice answered. “It's above my pay grade.”

Hale swung his feet off the metal rack, planted them on the cold floor, and began the process of making himself look halfway presentable. Less than twelve hours had elapsed since he and Kawecki had returned from the field. Two of those hours had been spent telling a team
of debriefers the same things, over and over again. Finally, having been wrung dry, he'd been released, and used his freedom to eat some chow, and grab some much needed shuteye. He had fallen into bed without even hitting the showers.

Now Hale stripped down to his boxers and took a turn in front of the mirror that was mounted over the sink. Only a slight trace of redness could be seen where enemy fire had sliced his left arm open. The puncture wounds caused by the exploding drone were completely healed, and he felt better than he had any right to. Ironically he had the Chimeran virus to thank for his quick recovery, although if left to its own devices, the alien bug would likely turn malevolent.

Fortunately, frequent inhibitor shots kept the virus in check, and were supplemented by aerosolized doses he took into the field in his I-Pack. But everything depended on access to a military treatment center. Without regular inhibitor treatments his cells would begin an inexorable transformation.

That was a possibility Hale preferred not to think about.

He wrapped a towel around his neck, slipped his feet into a pair of moccasins, and carried his shaving kit out into the hall. From there he followed a line of naked light bulbs down a windowless corridor toward the communal showers. The SRPA base wasn't equipped with a lot of amenities, but there was plenty of hot water, and Hale was determined to get his share.

The countenance in the mirror was pale and thin. It was the face of an ascetic, rather than a man of action. He'd been teaching classes at MIT only six months earlier, had never fired a weapon until he entered Officer Candidate School, and was scared shitless. But Captain
Anton Nash
knew
things, important things that had to do with physics, which was why he had been given the brevet rank of captain.

Now he was going to lead soldiers into combat.

A lot of men had been called up under President Grace's Emergency Mobilization Order, and placed in jobs they weren't qualified for. But what made Nash different, or so he assumed, was the fact that he was absolutely terrified. Not only of the Chimera, but of his own weaknesses, of which there were many. So as Nash looked himself in the eye he wasn't very impressed. Was this the day he was going to die?

Yes
, Nash thought to himself,
it probably is
. And with that he made use of a washcloth to wipe the beads of sweat off his forehead, buttoned his jacket with palsied fingers, and took one last look at the photo that was sitting on top of a utilitarian dresser. The woman in the picture was beautiful,
very
beautiful, and more than a man like him deserved. Above all else he wanted to make her proud.

With that thought in mind Nash went to meet his fate.

Each SRPA base was different, but all of them had certain things in common, including underground bays in which aircraft and vehicles could be maintained and stored. Subsurface levels were dedicated to administration, medical, and food services. Typically, living quarters were located even deeper underground, where they were protected by a matrix of passageways in which prepositioned explosives offered a defense against incoming Burrowers.