Chapter 1: Kruger

“Incoming charge!”

Moralez raised his XMR over the trench wall, resting the bipod in the wet, black mud. He peered through the thermal scope, his finger poised over the trigger as he waited for the telltale heat signature of a Bug to flare in the sight. The UNN troops to his left and right did the same. They were all clad in the same black, ceramic body armor, many with the opaque visors on their helmets down. They scanned the haze, peering between the broken, shattered trees that littered no man’s land.

He picked out the glow of an energy shield, a line of blue ovals coming at them through the mist. He began to fire, and the sound of automatic rifles exploded around him, plasma bolts and tungsten slugs plowing through the air and impacting the shield wall that was advancing rapidly towards them.

Now that they were in range, the Bugs began to sprint, closing ground rapidly across the blasted field of cratered mud. They were bipedal insectoids with four arms, one of which held a plasma shield aloft while the other three wielded pistols and cruel, serrated knives designed to butcher. At about five feet tall they appeared small at a glance, but that was misleading. Their bodies were encased in rigid chitin, reflecting what light made it through the cloud layer above, shining in iridescent hues that might have made them look beautiful under different circumstances. Ornate, beetle-like horns protruded from their heads, no two of them exactly alike. Or were those their helmets? It was impossible to tell where the exoskeleton ended, and the armor began. Their green eyes, or maybe visors, glowed through the mist as they rushed towards the entrenched unit. Where the hell were they coming from? They emerged from the fog seemingly at random, disappearing without a trace when their work was done. All that the defenders could do was dig in and wait for the assaults to come. It was nerve-wracking.

He squeezed the trigger, his slugs melting on contact with the energy barriers in sprays of orange sparks as they drew closer. Damn it, they had to concentrate their fire, only plasma would overload those shields and bring them down long enough for the railgun rounds to penetrate.

“Concentrate fire,” he ordered through his helmet mouthpiece, his voice crackling with static. “Overload those shields with plasma!”

Moralez cursed, fumbling with his belt, trying to free the plasma receiver for his XMR so that he could swap out the railgun attachment. The XMR series, or the X-Species Modular Rifle, was a weapons platform designed for versatility. It could be used by any humanoid species of the Coalition in the fight against the Betelgeusians, known to allied soldiers as Bugs, roaches or critters. The weapon’s receiver could be replaced on the fly, accommodating either a magnetic railgun or a plasma caster.

Moralez’s hands were shaking as he unclipped the plasma receiver from his belt, releasing the catch on the XMR frame and sliding off the railgun, but it was too late. The Bugs were too close now. He dropped the whole apparatus, cursing under his breath as he unholstered his pistol. The M1911 would do just fine at point blank range, but the Bugs were notoriously deadly in close quarters, known to cut soldiers to ribbons in a flurry of knives and mandibles.

The Betelgeusians reached the lip of the trench, raising their ornate knives and screeching a battle cry. A good number had been felled but not enough to turn the assault. Moralez braced himself, raising his sidearm, but then he paused as a black shadow passed over him. The Bugs were thrown to the ground, scattered by several dark shapes that leapt over the trench, emerging from the mist like ghosts. They drove what looked like massive spears into the aliens and ripped them apart with their bare hands. They hissed and growled like demons, their long, furry tails waving in the air.

Borealan auxiliaries, saving the day as usual. Moralez vaulted up and over the trench wall, firing his pistol into the Bugs, now in disarray as they attempted to engage the eight-foot-tall Borealans in hand to hand combat. The larger aliens impaled them with their long-barreled, bayoneted XMRs, using the huge rifles more as pikes than guns. They split open chitinous carapaces, stabbing and dismembering, ichor and bodily fluids spraying in an orgy of technicolor viscera.

One of the Bugs came at Moralez from the left, its four limbs swirling in a whirlwind of ceramic blades. He spun to face it and fired from the hip, emptying his sidearm into it, the creature spraying yellow ichor as it warbled and collapsed to the wet earth. The other UNN soldiers were rising from the trench now, climbing over the wall and firing into the mass of colorful insects, their handheld shields counting for little in the melee.

Moralez released the catch on his pistol, dropping the empty magazine and slamming home a fresh one, firing into the melee as a Betelgeusian was impaled through the chest by one of the massive Borealan bayonets a short distance away. It raised the screeching creature into the air with the strength of the thrust, the cat-like alien snarling, baring its sharp teeth as it fired the rifle with the blade still embedded inside the Bug. The insect exploded in a shower of gore, pieces of nondescript viscera and shell fragments raining to the ground. The Borealan dove back into the fray, shrugging off a pistol shot from a panicked Bug that barely slowed it.

The enemy had been routed and began to withdraw, the arthropods covering one another as they made their retreat back towards the fog. It was not out of fear, but rather strategy, as Moralez doubted whether they even had the capacity to be afraid. The Borealans gave chase, pouncing on them and tearing into them with their hooked claws, loosing carefully placed shots from their massive weapons into the backs of fleeing Betelgeusians. The human Marines formed a firing line, cutting down as many as they could before they vanished back into the haze.

They stood over the bodies of the dead Bugs and a few unlucky humans who had fallen victim to their knives, covered in the sticky mud, the barrels of their weapons glowing orange as they cooled.

The pack of Borealans returned to where the humans were standing, draping their rifles over their backs on straps. They were tall and heavily muscled, their black body armor doing little to hide their impressive figures. Orange tails and fluffy, round ears protruded from their combat armor conspicuously as they loped over the scarred terrain on their digitigrade legs.

One of the larger males walked over to Moralez and removed his helmet, orange hair falling about his shoulders in a lion’s mane.

“Lieutenant Moralez? My name is Zuga, I am Alpha of Lambda Company. We have been sent to reinforce your position.” The alien spoke with a rolling accent that almost sounded Russian, but it was understandable enough. He saluted, and Moralez returned the gesture, motioning for him to be at ease.

“Good job you guys showed up when you did, I’ve never been happy to see a Mad Cat before today.”

Zuga huffed appreciatively, then turned to bark orders to his pack in their harsh, native tongue. It sounded like a cat fight, all hissing and spitting.

“These Bugs are becoming more brazen, Lieutenant,” the feline continued. “Holding the trenches may not be possible next time. I have new orders from fleet command.”

The alien retrieved a small data card from a pouch on his belt and held it out in his massive, furry hand. Moralez took it, careful to avoid the wicked claws that tipped each of his sausage-like fingers, inserting it into a slot on his helmet. He lowered his visor, and the green HUD flared to life, detecting the storage device and playing the video briefing automatically.

It was Admiral Doherty, leader of the defense forces on Kruger III. The video seemed to have been recorded on an orbiting carrier, Moralez could see stars beyond the window behind him, along with other fleet vessels hanging lazily in space. The Admiral leaned over a console, speaking into a camera.

“Lieutenant Moralez, as you well know, the defense of Kruger against the Betelgeusian forces is not going well. Since assaulting Kruger III, the only habitable planet in the system, they have become heavily entrenched. They are somehow able to avoid detection and have so far withstood orbital bombardment. The means by which they were able to move across the planet undetected and with such speed are no longer a mystery. Our intelligence suggests that the Betelgeusians have dug tunnels below the surface of the planet and are using them to move troops and supplies.”

Damn it, crafty buggers. They could be moving under their feet at this very moment. The thought raised the hair on his arms.

“It is unknown whether this previously unseen behavior is a new battle strategy, or if they have begun colonization of the planet in earnest, but that doesn’t matter right now. Your new orders are to abandon your current position, that line is no longer defensible. Instead, you are to investigate what we believe to be an entrance to the tunnel network near where you were stationed. The coordinates will be automatically uploaded to your onboard computer. It is paramount that you report back your findings. I have reinforced you with a Borealan pack, Lambda company is under your command now. Enter the tunnel network, record your findings and relay them to fleetcom.”

The video ended and Moralez ripped the data card from the slot in his helmet, throwing it angrily into the mud.

“God damn it, I’ve lost two dozen men defending this fucking line, and now they want me to abandon it? If this order had come through two hours ago, I’d have ten more Marines at my back.”

Zuga waited patiently for him to calm down as the Lieutenant balled his fists and stamped the storage device into the wet mud with his boot. He took a moment to compose himself. This was not the first time that he had been given contradictory orders, or that the lives of his men had been spent needlessly.

“Fuck it. Zuga, you’re under my command now, orders of Admiral Doherty. Gather your men, I’m going to brief everyone.”

Moralez called over the two dozen men who remained under his command, and Zuga gathered his pack, the Borealans towering over the smaller humans as they milled about. Moralez relayed the Admiral’s orders and their mission to the group, which were met with many angry exclamations from the human troops. He waved his hands, trying to calm them down.

“I know it’s bullshit, I know you’ve fought and bled to hold this position, but those are our orders. There’s nothing I can do about it, they come straight from the top. Let’s take this opportunity to hit the roaches where they live. Get some payback.”

A few of the soldiers perked up at that, and the outraged muttering mostly ceased. He ordered the men to collect what gear and supplies they needed, then beckoned to Zuga, who lumbered over obediently. The Borealans were massive and deadly, but they took orders well.

“Zuga, I need your pack to spearhead the search party. You’ll find the tunnel entrance before we do. Use your nose, it should reek of Bugs. We’re probably going to meet resistance in there, and when we do, I want the Borealans at the front. Your people will fare better in close quarters than mine.”

“Very well, Lieutenant. We will be ready on your command.”

They trudged through the mud, passing between the decrepit skeletons of dead trees, their XMRs shouldered as they scanned the gloom and mist for any sign of the enemy. Kruger III was a cursed hellscape, nobody in their right mind would want to live here. Even before the orbital bombardments had attempted to dislodge the Bugs it had been a wet, barren wasteland, punctuated by what scraggly plants could grow here. Let the Bugs have it, who the fuck cares. But obviously, someone cared enough to fight over it. It probably had some strategic value that someone poring over a star chart would recognize immediately. But ankle-deep in filth under the oppressive, grey sky, Moralez couldn’t see the appeal.

There were many theories as to why the Betelgeusians did what they did. The foremost of which was that, as insects obviously operating based on some kind of communal hive society, they were always in need of new territory to house their ever-expanding numbers. Another popular speculation was that like many insect species on Earth, the Queens (if indeed Betelgeusians had them) would flee the planet of their birth to found new colonies. Being a spacefaring species, rather than flying over to the next garden, they would travel over interstellar distances.

Regardless of why they were doing it, the Bugs attacked systems all along the borders of Coalition space, seemingly indiscriminately. They never announced their invasions, demanded any kind of surrender or communicated in any way that their victims could understand. Their only goal seemed to be capturing and holding habitable planets, taking great care to fortify them when possible, if they were already inhabited by sapient species or not.

Moralez had been a soldier in the UNN before Earth had joined the Coalition, and he had been fighting the Bugs since day one. He didn’t consider them to be an especially dangerous adversary on an individual basis, but their sheer numbers and persistence could wear down even the most experienced and battle-hardened units. It was nice to see Borealans and Krell filling out the ranks and taking some of the strain off the human soldiers.

“Over here!”

One of the Borealan scouts was aiming his rifle at the ground, circling warily. The group ran over to him, weapons raised, and the thick fog parted to reveal a wide hole in the mud. Moralez inched over carefully, aiming his XMR down the hole and peering through the infrared scope. After a moment he lowered his gun and stepped back.

“No Bugs, at least not here. It doesn’t go straight down, there’s a curve to it.”

One of his soldiers looked over the lip of the tunnel entrance, his face pale.

“What do we do L.T?”

“We have our orders, Private. Borealans go in first, we follow them down.”

“They don’t pay us enough for this bullshit, L.T.”

“Suck it up. The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can leave. Lambda pack, move in.”

The Borealans approached the hole and jumped down dutifully, disappearing one by one into the dark opening. Moralez waiting for shouts or gunfire, but none came. Were these entrances completely undefended? Why wouldn’t the Bugs have fortified them?

“Clear!” he heard one of the aliens yell from below. He exchanged a resigned glance with the soldier next to him, then slung his XMR over his chest and jumped down the hole.

Moralez landed in slippery mud, skidding down the curving floor of the passage before coming to a stop in an almost level tunnel a few meters below the surface. He rose to his feet, brushing himself off, then hefted his XMR and flicked on the flashlight attachment. The white beam illuminated the pack of Borealans who were waiting obediently in the tunnel, their yellow eyes reflecting the light. The subterranean passage was tall and rounded, tall enough for a Borealan to stand erect. Why was it so tall? Bugs were roughly four to five feet tall, were they using these secret warrens to transport vehicles? He knew that Bugs used spaceships, but he had never seen a Bug tank or a troop carrier before. Besides, a tank wouldn’t fit in here...

He stepped out of the way as the rest of the Marines slid down into the hole, cursing and stumbling as more crashed into them from behind. Soon the whole platoon was inside the dank tunnel, at least what was left of them. Moralez shielded his eyes against the flashlight beams as they waved them around, examining their new surroundings.

“God damn it, keep those beams on the tunnel,” Moralez complained as he shielded his eyes. “Form up and follow Lambda. Don’t fire at anything unless I give the order, you’ll cut each other to pieces down here.”

Zuga raised his bayoneted rifle, seeming to abandon the idea of firing it at this range, wielding it instead like a spear as they advanced down the tunnel. The humans followed them, their boots squelching in the wet mud, moisture dripping down on them from the ceiling.

How had the Bugs hollowed these tunnels out so quickly? They hadn’t been entrenched on Kruger III for more than six weeks, and it would have taken human engineers with mining equipment months to dig tunnels like this. One of the Marines sidled up beside him nervously.

“I got a bad feeling about this, L.T.”

“Yeah, you and me both. Eyes forward, kid. Zuga, you smell anything?”

The Borealan shook his head.

“Just Bug smell, nothing close.”

“What do they expect us to find down here?” the Marine continued, “what if we don’t find anything to report?”

“I’m sure we’ll find something,” Moralez replied, playing his flashlight beam over the uneven dirt walls as they walked. “And I bet it won’t be anything good...”

After a few minutes of walking, they came to a junction, the two tunnels splitting off in different directions. One was angled slightly downwards, but besides that, there was nothing to set them apart. The Borealans stopped, waiting for orders.

“No markings, no signposts, nothing?” Moralez examined the wall between the two tunnels, expecting to find some kind of Betelgeusian text indicating which path to take, but the wall was bare. He ran his gloved hand over the surface, finding that the soil was sealed in with some kind of hard, transparent resin. He stepped back, appraising the two routes. “What can you tell me Zuga?”

“Smell is worse down there,” the great alien gestured with a clawed finger, pointing at the tunnel to their right that sloped gently downwards.

“Figures they’d go deeper to avoid the orbital bombardment. Well, this was never going to be a picnic. Lead the way, Zuga.”

They marched down the tunnel, the sounds of their footsteps in the damp earth echoing along the passageway. Moralez sincerely hoped that it was just mud and soil, though he didn’t smell anything foul, just damp and dirt. It smelled like a grave. The ground had not been sealed with that strange resin like the walls and ceiling had, perhaps it was structural in nature and prevented cave-ins. They went deeper and deeper underground, the slant of the tunnel staying consistent as it led them towards some unknown destination. It was bizarre. There was no visual information, no indication of where they might be going, no lighting. How did the Bugs navigate this network? They halted as they came to another fork. This time three tunnels branched off in different directions, curving out of view. Things were getting dangerous. The place was a maze, could they find their way out again if they got lost down here?

“Zuga... ?”

The alien sniffed the air, walking between the tunnels, considering as the Marines behind them shuffled and muttered nervously.

“Smell is stronger here.”

He pointed at yet another downward curving passage.

“Then I guess that’s where we’re going.” Moralez jogged further ahead until he was beside Zuga at the front of the pack. “Zuga, what exactly is it that you smell? Can you tell me?”

The Borealan considered for a moment, then gave a tentative reply.

“Definitely Bugs, but the smell is ... stronger ... richer. Somehow more complex than just Bug scent. It is hard to describe.”

“Do you think it could be pheromones? Is that how the Bugs communicate, how they navigate these tunnels?”

“You may be right,” the alien replied. “The stronger smell seems to outline a path. Towards what, I cannot say.”

They must have traveled a good thousand meters before they reached another fork in the passageway, three more tunnels branching off in random directions.

“L.T, this is FUBAR. We’re gonna get lost,” someone shouted from the back of the formation, and his complaint was met with a chorus of affirmations and curses. Moralez turned, squinting through the flashlight beams.

“Listen, I don’t want to be here any more than you do, but these orders come straight from the Admiral. If you have a problem with those orders, then you can take it up with him when he court-martials you for desertion.” That shut most of them up, and he turned back to Zuga who had his nose to the earth like a bloodhound, crouching in the tunnel and sifting the dirt between his fingers. “Zuga, report.”

“I ... don’t understand what I smell. The path up to here was clear, but now the smells change, they are ... more subtle. Perhaps as you say, these are pheromone trails, and I cannot interpret the information that they convey. It is as if the directions are written in the smell, but I cannot read the language.”

“Well that’s just great,” Moralez muttered under his breath, trying to figure out their next course of action. What the fuck were they supposed to do now? The logical course of action was to split up, but if they did that, how would they ever find each other again? If they split into three teams then there would be enough Borealans for each team to have at least three, and perhaps they could smell their way back out, but it was risky. Fuck it, this whole operation was risky.

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he announced. The grumbling of the Marines subsided as they waited for his instructions. “We’ll split up into three groups, each group gets three Borealans. Zuga, you’re with me. Gutierrez, Briggs, you’re in charge of your teams. If nobody finds anything, we meet back at this junction in two hours. If one of the groups finds something and doesn’t come back, the other two groups take their tunnel and go find them.”

“Ain’t you never seen Scooby Doo, L.T?” someone near the back shouted. There was a chorus of laughter.

“Enough lip, let’s get it done.”

The group of humans and Borealans split into three teams, and each proceeded down one of the tunnels. Moralez checked his helmet comms, but they were blocked by the dirt that surrounded them, they wouldn’t penetrate the walls. Even if they did, who knew how long that would have lasted as the tunnels wound and snaked away from each other into the depths of the planet.

Chapter 2 »