Chapter 15

DAY 31 – HADES – NICK

“Can’t see a goddamned thing with this storm,” Nick muttered, glancing up at the overcast sky through his visor. “Visibility is, what – thirty meters?”

“That’s the only thing keeping the drones from spotting us and calling down a fucking orbital strike on our heads,” one of the Marines who was crouched beside him said. “You’re Nick, right? This your first mission?”

“Yeah,” Nick replied with a nod, fidgeting with his rifle. “I guess we were the closest team when the call came in.”

“Just stick close and do what the Sarge says,” the Marine replied, trying to be reassuring. “If Rivera cleared you for action, it means he thinks you’re ready. Remember your training.”

“Thirty meters will be all we need,” the team leader added. He touched a finger to his helmet, activating his radio. “Fireteam two – are you in position?”

“We have overwatch on the building, Sarge,” someone replied. “Waiting for your signal.”

They were hunkered down in an alley between two prefabs, the wind that swept down the street picking up dust and sending it swirling through the air. The sound of airborne sand impacting the facades of the buildings was like rain hammering on a tin roof. One of Rivera’s sergeants was leading two fireteams of six fighters – a standard Marine formation. Four of them were taking cover beside him, along with Nick, while another six were hidden in a prefab with a view of the building across the street. Not all of them were Marines from the carrier – there were a few ex-PDF and a couple of trained civilians like Nick joining their ranks.

Their source inside the local garrison had warned them of an impending arrest, and the new outposts beneath the city had allowed them to get a squad into position in time. They were cutting it close – the enemy should be arriving any moment now.

Nick had visited the infirmary as Ruza had suggested, and seeing all those injured men lying on gurneys had only galvanized him. He’d volunteered to become a fighter, and the next week had been occupied by a crash course, the Marine instructors teaching him everything they could. He’d learned about small unit tactics, first aid, and how to shoot a rifle – amongst other things. It didn’t feel like enough, and he wondered if he was ready for a real firefight, but his instructors seemed to think so. They didn’t have the luxury of taking their time with so much ground to cover. They needed people, and they needed them fast. They couldn’t call a time-out for a few months while they drilled.

He glanced down at his XMR – a weapon that he’d known nothing about only a few days prior – checking the voltage to ensure that it was set to subsonic. Overpenetration was a problem in an urban environment like this one, and they were using hollow-tipped rounds, the slugs designed to pancake against hard surfaces.

“Our scout is reporting an armored column heading down the street,” the Sergeant announced. “This is it. Keep your cool, and don’t fire until I give the order.”

Nick hefted his weapon, taking a deep breath. There shouldn’t be any danger of friendly fire, as the two fireteams had formed an L-shape, and their targets would be inside of it. He was more worried about collateral damage, as there was a non-negligible chance of slugs penetrating the walls of the nearby prefabs and potentially hitting the civilians inside. The people firing back certainly wouldn’t be taking the same precautions. Fortunately, they had already extracted the people wanted by the Borgs to safety, and they would be taken back to the base when the team withdrew. There was nowhere else for them to go now.

“Here they come,” one of the Marines whispered. “Two APCs – probably two PDF teams, just like the informant said.”

“Standard procedure is for them to pull up outside the building and establish a secure perimeter,” another of the fighters warned over the radio. “That’s how we were trained when I was in the PDF. One team stands guard while the other carries out the arrest.”

“We’ll hit them before they enter the building,” the Sergeant said. “Remember the plan, and watch out for the SWAR agent. Even one of those fuckers can be deadly.”

A strip of headlights cut through the dust that filled the air, and Nick watched the shadow of a vehicle grow more distinct as it approached, a second one coming into view right behind it. They were easily recognizable as PDF armored trucks, the troopers who were supposed to be watching from the hatches on their roofs only emerging once the vehicles began to roll to a stop, perhaps wanting to avoid the sandstorm. Once they’d come to a halt, the rear doors flung open, and two squads of a dozen men piled out onto the dusty street.

Nick felt his heartbeat quicken even more as he watched a figure in jet-black armor hop down from the cab of the lead vehicle, slamming the door behind him and scanning the area with his faceless helmet. There was a decal on his visor – it looked like a billiard ball with a stenciled number eight. One of the teams took up position behind their trucks, aiming their weapons at the target prefab, some of them covering both ends of the street. The second team moved up, the lead man quickly mounting the short flight of metal steps.

“Hit it!” the Sergeant hissed. One of the fighters lifted a detonator and pressed the button, the facade of the prefab exploding outwards. It tore the trooper who was standing on the steps to pieces, the largest chunk that remained impacting the near side of the lead APC along with a shower of shrapnel, making it rock on its suspension. The other nearby PDF were tossed off their feet by the blast, a whole squad sent crashing to the dusty street where they either writhed or lay still, splayed in unnatural positions. The blast was close and loud enough that Nick felt it reverberate through his soft tissues, but his PDF helmet protected his ears.

The troopers who had been covering the first team from the other side of their vehicles were shaken but unharmed, hunkering down in a panic as dust from the debris joined the airborne sand to blanket them in an obscuring cloud.

“Weapons free!”

The team in the adjacent building opened fire, the targeting data that was being shared over their network allowing them to shoot clean through the thin metal wall without line of sight. The slugs blew molten holes in the faded white facade of the prefab on their way out, sparking off the hull armor of the APCs and sending several of the cowering troopers toppling to the road. A couple of survivors threw themselves to the ground, crawling on their bellies as the rounds impacted all around them, trying to shuffle beneath the wheels of their vehicles.

Nick and the rest of his fireteam were already moving out into the street, forming a firing line as they joined the fight, their slugs cracking the armored windshields and shattering headlights. It was hard to see much with all the smoke and dust, the poor visibility causing their helmet cameras to lose tracking, but Nick pulled his rifle tight against his shoulder and fired as he had been trained. Even at low voltage, the recoil was difficult to manage, the molten trails left by his rounds punching holes in the billowing dust. He caught the shadowy silhouette of a trooper leaping from the driver’s seat of an APC, the man dropping like the legs had been kicked out from under him as a stray round found its mark.

“Where’s the Borg?” one of the Marines demanded, leaving Nick wondering how he could sound so calm in these circumstances. “Anyone got eyes on the Borg?”

As the wind began to carry away the smoke, Nick saw movement coming from the left side of the lead APC. Having survived the initial blast, the Borg had taken cover behind the open passenger door of the cab to shield himself from the gunfire, partially closing it over himself. Nick heard the sound of rending metal as the agent tore it from its hinges, holding the heavy armored panel in front of him like a shield.

The Marines were firing before Nick could even shout a warning, their slugs hammering against the already cratered surface of the door, the Borg shuddering under the blows. He absorbed them, aiming a weapon around his makeshift shield – an XMR with a cut-down barrel and a long magazine. A hail of slugs came their way, forcing the team to scatter for cover, one of the fighters dropping as a round caught him in the leg.

Nick was closest, and he grabbed the man by the shoulder strap of his chest carrier, dragging him to the left side of the street and into an alley as the Marines attempted to cover him with bursts of return fire. They retreated to their original position in the alley to the right side of the road, and the Borg didn’t pursue, keeping his back to the APCs. Instead, he swung his weapon towards the prefab where the second fireteam was hiding.

“Turn your transmitters off!” one of the Marines yelled over the radio. “He can see your EM!”

The Borg opened fire, controlling recoil with a single prosthetic arm that Nick would have struggled to manage with two, peering through the reinforced glass of the door. The wall of the prefab looked like Swiss cheese now, pocked with cooling holes about the size of a finger, another salvo of shots impacting all around the Borg as the shooters fired back.

The fireteam had been connected to an ad-hoc network, sharing targeting data to set up their ambush, and that network gave off EM emissions that the enemy could track. With meticulous precision, the SWAR operative fired off controlled bursts, continuing to move behind the APCs as he went. His slugs cut through the wall of the building, and while Nick couldn’t see what was happening behind it, he could hear the panicked shouts and cries of pain over the radio.

Nick lifted a hand to his helmet’s touchpad, trying to turn off his ad-hoc and finding that his fingers were slick with blood that wasn’t his own. He turned his attention back to the wounded fighter, swallowing the bile that was threatening to rise in his throat as he fumbled for a tourniquet. He remembered the man’s name – it was Jarek. They’d only met a few hours earlier, during the mission briefing. He pulled the kit from the man’s belt and tried to hold him still, wrapping it around his upper thigh. The slug had hit a few inches below, and there was so much blood that Nick couldn’t get a good look at the damage, which was probably a blessing.

He pulled a device from his own rig, hesitating as he raised the syringe over the wound. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he jabbed it into the bloody mess, pushing it as deep as it would go – much to Jarek’s loud protests. Nick hit a button, and the syringe injected the wound with expanding medical foam, which should help slow the bleeding.

“Where the hell is he!?”

“Anyone got eyes!?”

Nick heard snippets of panicked conversation as he tightened the tourniquet, glancing back at the men who were taking cover in the alley across the street. Too late – he saw a dark figure moving across the top of the prefab.

“The roof!” he warned.

The Borg fired down at the men below, dropping one of them with a burst of gunfire. As they raised their weapons, he leapt from the roof, their rounds sparking off his makeshift shield even as he fell. He landed in their midst, slamming the nearest man with the heavy car door and knocking him back into a prefab wall, the fighter’s helmet ringing against the metal.

With his first target stunned, the Borg swung around, tossing the shield at a Marine with the ease that someone might throw a garbage can lid. The heavy door hit the man with enough force to send him toppling to the ground, its weight pinning him down.

The operative brought up his weapon with inhuman speed, one prosthetic hand wrapping around its glowing barrel, aiming it at a third fighter. The Borg put two slugs into his target’s chest, then switched to the man beneath the door, who had only just had time to shove the armored panel off him. Two more shots rang out, blood splattering the pale metal prefab.

Only two of the fighters were still standing, one of them already aiming his XMR in the cramped alley. In the time it took him to squeeze the trigger, the Borg darted in, dropping low. There was a chatter of gunfire, but the rounds flew above the agent’s head. The fighter’s augmented assailant hit him hard enough in the stomach to bend him double, grabbing the XMR with his other hand in a single smooth motion, crushing its barrel like it was no more resilient than a soda can. Before the fighter had a chance to recover, the other hand darted beneath his helmet, Nick hearing a gurgling sound over the radio that made his blood run cold.

The fighter dropped, clutching at his throat, leaving the Borg standing with a fistful of torn flesh clutched in his black polymer fingers. Behind him, the stunned Marine was recovering, reaching for something on his belt. The operative spun around and drew his sidearm like a gunslinger, firing it from the hip, a trio of shots making the Marine shudder as they blew holes in his chest piece. He slumped to the ground, leaving a smear of crimson on the prefab wall as he slid down it. Something rolled out of his hand – the Borg realizing too late that it was a grenade.

The alley erupted into a cloud of flame and shrapnel, everything within its confines shredded, Nick seeing the listless body of the SWAR agent land a few feet away. Dazed, he watched the smoke and dust billow for a moment, then the logical part of his brain kicked into gear again.

Nick knelt beside the injured fighter and lifted him in the way he’d been trained, grunting as he heaved Jarek up and over his shoulders. Even through his camouflaged uniform, he could feel the warmth of the blood that had soaked the man’s trouser leg, his passenger wailing as the movement exacerbated his wound.

“C’mon!” Nick groaned, setting off at a labored jog. “We have to get off the street before more of them arrive!”

He didn’t really know where he was going – all he knew was that his heart was racing and his blood was pounding in his ears, his shell-shocked mind too occupied with survival to remember which direction his team had come from. Sirens were ringing out over the city now, and he could hear shouting, the gunfire and explosions drawing the attention of the whole neighborhood. All he could do was try to put some distance between himself and the scene, his own labored breathing filling his helmet as he ran for what felt like minutes.

As he carried Jarek down a back alley, a door ahead of him flung open, and a woman leaned out to peer at him. Nick stopped in his tracks, freezing up in anticipation of her calling out to the PDF, but she silently waved for him to approach. Having little choice, he hurried over to her, hauling Jarek’s dead weight up the steps. He found himself standing in a small home, its layout exactly the same as the one he had lived in before the invasion, with its familiar cramped furniture and narrow layout. There was something eerie about the normalcy of his new surroundings.