Purple Heart
Chapter 1: Kruger

Copyright© 2016 by Snekguy

Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: Kruger - After a recon mission in the Kruger system goes badly wrong, Moralez finds himself maimed and disgraced, his only hope for recovery rests in the notorious Pinwheel station.

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Coercion   Consensual   NonConsensual   Rape   Reluctant   Romantic   Heterosexual   Fiction   Military   War   Science Fiction   Aliens   Space   FemaleDom   Light Bond   Rough   Sadistic   Cream Pie   Oral Sex   Petting   Big Breasts   Doctor/Nurse   Size   Caution   Slow   Violence  

“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.


The tunnel seemed to go on forever, and as Moralez checked the digital watch on the screen that was mounted to his wrist, he realized they had been walking for forty minutes. They would need to turn back pretty soon in order to return to the junction on time. He shook his head, frustrated.

“What the hell is this, Zuga? We’ve seen no Bugs, no vehicles, no storage areas. None of these tunnels even seem to go anywhere. Just what are they doing down here?”

“I cannot guess, but I do know that we cannot return with no information. We must find something, anything.”

He stopped abruptly, and Moralez almost walked into him, the handful of Marines that were following behind him bumping into one another. Zuga was looking down, and Moralez edged around him to follow his gaze. There was a hole in the middle of the passage, the same circumference as the tunnel, angled directly down. Moralez leaned over the side and shone his flashlight into the opening, it looked like some kind of well, he couldn’t see a curve or a bottom.

“Well, this is different...”

“Do we go down?” Zuga asked hesitantly, his three Borealan packmates exchanging worried glances.

“How? We don’t have climbing gear, I can’t even see a bottom.”

“A Borealan could make it, we could climb using our claws.”

Moralez thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“This is too risky, we need to turn back and meet up with the other teams. Maybe they’ve found something of more use to us than a hole in the ground.”

When they eventually arrived back at the junction, one team was waiting for them, and one was not. Briggs greeted Moralez, a worried expression on his face as his companions milled about nearby. The three Borealans who had accompanied him quickly returned to their Alpha’s side, as dutiful as ever.

“You guys are a little late, I was starting to get worried, Briggs muttered. “You find anything?”

“Nah,” Moralez shook his head. “Where’s Gutierrez?”

Briggs looked down the center tunnel, concern furrowing his brow. Moralez sighed, popping off his helmet for a moment and running his fingers through his dark hair.

“Give ‘em fifteen more minutes. If they’re not back by then, we go after them.”


The quarter hour passed with no sign of the third team, and so the remaining troops grouped up, with the seven Borealans leading the way. As they advanced, the passage became steadily steeper, angling downwards until the humans had to dig their heels into the soil to avoid slipping. The going was slow, and it was at least five hundred meters before the floor of the tunnel leveled out again. The surface of Kruger III was wet and windy, like a cold, rainy day on some godforsaken Scottish island. But as they made progress deeper below the ground, it was becoming warmer, and uncomfortably humid.

“Wait...” Zuga raised his balled fist, indicating for them to stop. The Marines raised their weapons, taking a battle stance as Moralez inched forward to stand beside the Borealan.

“What is it?”

“I smell blood, yours and ours,” he whispered.

Moralez signaled to the troops to be cautious, and they advanced slowly, their XMRs trained on the tunnel that curved out of view before them. As they rounded the corner, a battle scene came into view. Moralez had to cover his mouth with his hand to save from gagging at the grisly sight. Half a dozen humans and one Borealan had been completely eviscerated. Their limbs and viscera were scattered around the tunnel, splashes of blood drying on the walls and ceiling. It was impossible to tell what parts belonged to which body.

“What the fuck did this?” Moralez wondered aloud. “Some kind of mining machine? I’ve seen people killed by Bugs, they don’t break people apart like that.”

“What the fuck, L.T?” One of the privates was freaking out, staring wide-eyed at the mangled bodies.

“Keep it together,” Moralez barked, “we’ll figure this out.”

Zuga walked over to the dead Borealan, crouching beside it to examine the wounds more closely.

“Whatever did this must be a machine of some kind, I have never seen wounds like this. It takes a lot to kill Borealans without destroying the vital organs.”

Moralez shook his head, a sick feeling rising in his gut.

“This can’t have happened long ago, and where’s the rest of their team? Stay alert, we move on.”

There was no point checking for vitals, these soldiers were clearly beyond help. Medicine in the 2600s could do wonders, but bringing the dead back to life was not one of them. They stepped over the corpses, careful to avoid the still wet innards that had been spilled on the tunnel floor. Having every man walk over the bodies of his comrades wasn’t good for morale, not in the slightest, but there was only one way forward. He heard the splatter of vomit behind him as one of the privates was overcome by the scene and doubled over.

This tunnel was winding, unlike the others which had been mostly straight, and every turn was a nerve-wracking blind spot behind which unnamed horrors could be lurking just out of view. The slant was still noticeably downhill, drawing them ever deeper into the bowels of Kruger III.

“The smell is strong here, Bugs passed through recently,” Zuga commented as he sniffed the air with his pink nose.

Odd, had the gruesome spectacle they had just passed actually been a victory? Had the Bugs been driven back and pursued down the tunnel? If only the damned helmet radios worked down here, they might have been able to come to their aid sooner. They followed the tunnel for what must have been almost a mile. The odd smell was even apparent to the humans now, and the heat was starting to get to them. They couldn’t be deep enough inside the planet to be warmed by magma, that would be absurd, it must be the Bugs’ doing. Moralez remembered what he had been taught in school about ant colonies, how the tiny insects could build ventilation shafts in order to cool or warm areas of the hive as they wished, bringing in moisture and fresh air below the surface. Was that what this was? A Betelgeusian colony? The thought made him anxious, and he thought it best to keep it to himself.

“How long are we gonna keep looking for them L.T? We’re gonna get fucking lost!”

More complaints from within the column of troops. They were becoming agitated, afraid, and perhaps they were right to be. Moralez was increasingly aware that he had no plan, he didn’t really know what he was doing. He had thought that he could rely on the Borealans to take on anything that they encountered in these narrow passages, but seeing that dead Borealan had rattled him. The only ways in which he had seen a Mad Cat die before today was being totally obliterated by anti-vehicle weaponry or an extremely well-placed vital shot.

“Shut the fuck up, Smith,” Briggs scolded. “If that was you down there, you’d want us to come after you, so suck it up. We’re not leaving anyone down here.”

“What if they took them?” another private asked, a tremor in his voice. “It doesn’t add up, why are half of them missing?”

This was becoming dangerous, some of the less experienced Marines might desert if he didn’t rally them. He turned, illuminated by their flashlight beams.

“Listen up, we have two jobs to do here!” His commanding voice echoed through the tunnel, and the soldiers fixed their opaque visors on him. Despite their current situation, he had led them straight before today, and the men respected him. They had been through a lot together on Kruger, and that shared experience counted more than any rank or badge. “We have to find out what the fuck this is, then we have to bring our men back. I don’t care what the odds are, I’m not leaving a single one of you down here to rot. If you’re gonna die, it’s gonna be on your feet with your friends at your side, not alone in these tunnels. When we’ve cleared this shithole out, we’re going to send teams back down here to recover those bodies and send them home. Is that clear?”

There was a chorus of affirmations, some more enthusiastic than others, but peer pressure was a wonderful tool. The detractors would stay in line as long as they faced the ire of their comrades. He waved them forward, and the column moved along.

The Borealans had remained silent throughout all of this, their loyalty was unwavering. It was kind of creepy, they didn’t seem to care that one of their own had been butchered, they just marched on without a complaint.

His thought was interrupted by Zuga motioning for them to stop as they came to a blind corner. Moralez gave the hand signal for his men to take a knee and crept forward to stand beside the alien.

“What is it, Zuga?” he whispered.

“Something new, I don’t know the smell. Advance with caution.”

The Borealans crouched low and moved forward slowly, Moralez following after them, switching off his light and using his infrared scope to peek around the passage wall. Through the red-tinted sight, he saw a warm blob a short distance down the tunnel. He couldn’t make out details, but whatever it was, it wasn’t shaped like a Betelgeusian. Some local wildlife that had found its way into the underground network perhaps? He glanced at Zuga, who was wrinkling his feline nose.

“What is it, Zuga?” he asked. “What do you smell?”

“Bugs and ... death,” Zuga replied ominously.

“Take up firing positions, I’m gonna get a light on that thing.”

They bunched up, aiming their long rifles down the passage in the pitch darkness. Moralez stood behind them, ready to turn on his flashlight attachment and illuminate whatever it was.

“On my mark. Three, two, one...”

He flicked the switch, casting a beam of white light down the tunnel.

The thing was big, and it was hunched over, its four arms moving out of sight as its round body cast a shadow on the walls. It looked like a Bug, its blue-green, shiny carapace reflecting in the light with a jewel-like sheen. Decorative horns protruded from what must have been its head, rising into view over its back. It chittered softly, then rose from its stooped position and turned to face them.

It was fucking huge! As tall as a Borealan but wider and heavier, its green eyes glowing at them through the darkness and its serrated mandibles flexing. As it turned to face them, Moralez saw what it was eating. It dropped the partially dissected body of a human soldier, just a torso and an arm, which fell heavily to the ground with the limp slap of dead flesh. The damned thing was almost as wide as the tunnel. This was why they had built them with such a large circumference, so that these things might pass through them. It took a step forward on massive, armored legs that were as thick as tree trunks, shaking the ground beneath their feet. It extended its four arms, snapping giant lobster claws that were stained with drying, crimson blood.

“Fire! Fire!”

The Borealans opened up, their massive, long-barreled XMRs deafening in the confines of the passageway. The kick rammed the weapons into their shoulders with a force that would shatter human bone. The tungsten slugs slammed into the thing, penetrating its shiny shell with spurts of orange ichor, but it didn’t slow the beast. On the contrary, it accelerated, charging down the tunnel towards them. It was built like a goddamned cargo lifter, and those Borealan rifles were the most powerful weapons they had at their disposal. If those hadn’t felled it, what would?

The Borealans changed their stance, raising their bayonets in order to skewer the thing, and Moralez rushed back around the corner into the column of troops to get out of the way of the melee that would surely ensue. Most of them hadn’t gotten a look at the thing yet, but they had heard the gunfire.

The Borealans drove their bayonets into the advancing beast like medieval pikes as it came into view of the column, the vicious blades sinking deep into its meat, but still it did not fall. It slammed into the line with the force of a charging rhino, knocking the massive aliens aside like bowling pins. It drove straight through them, picking one of them up in its four claws along the way and crushing him against the wall behind them. They heard the crunch of breaking bone and the crack of what might have been the clear resin shattering. The wall held, it was remarkably well enforced, and the yowling of a Borealan in pain flooded the tunnel.

The members of Lambda who were still standing jabbed at the monster with their bayonets, trying to free their comrade as the creature pinned him against the wall, laying into him with its mandibles and claws. It was futile, even their long blades would not penetrate deep enough to do any serious damage. By God, it was dissecting him alive. Moralez engaged the combat audio filter in his helmet, trying to block out the screams as the thing disemboweled the Borealan with the mechanical efficiency of a compassionless insect.

The Marines didn’t know what to do, and Moralez had no orders for them. They couldn’t engage that thing in melee, and they couldn’t fire on it without tearing Lambda apart in the process.

“Zuga, pull your pack back! We need to concentrate fire on that fucking thing! Zuga!”

The alien was in a fugue, hacking desperately at the monster, hackles raised as he tried to free his subordinate. The trapped auxiliary was still struggling against his assailant as its mandibles carved up his...

Moralez looked away, even for a career soldier this was intolerable. Zuga wasn’t listening to him, and if Moralez didn’t pull his men back, they would run of their own volition. Borealans had a reputation as being invincible and seeing one carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey wouldn’t do their morale any good. Should he tell them to ready grenades? That might take it down, but in this confined space it would kill them along with their enemy. On top of that, the tunnel could cave in, trapping them down here.

“Pull back, pull back! Form a staggered firing line and don’t shoot until I give the order!”

The tunnel was just wide enough for a handful of Marines to stand shoulder to shoulder, and one line kneeled while the other aimed over their heads, readying their XMRs. They didn’t have a clear shot. If the Borealans didn’t follow his orders and move out of the way, then he would have no other choice but to order the men to fire through them.

A chill flooded Moralez’s veins, the familiar, calm resignation of combat. He gave one last order to Zuga before telling his Marines to open up.

“Zuga! Pull your pack back right now, or I’m shooting through you!”

With a glare over his shoulder and what sounded like a curse, Zuga and his men hopped backwards, retreating back down the tunnel the way that the creature had come and out of their line of fire. Moralez gave the order, and his men loosed a volley from their rifles. The hypersonic slugs peppered the thing, spraying orange fluid as they penetrated the carapace, and it dropped the dismembered Borealan to turn towards the humans.

From behind it, Lambda fired another salvo, but it shrugged off the rounds and marched towards the Marines. Its savage mandibles clicked and twitched, like the bladed legs of a crab, still dripping with dark blood.

“Just fucking die!” Moralez shouted, his voice lost amongst the sounds of gunfire. The thing marched through the hail of projectiles as if it were merely rain, viscous ichor leaking from its innumerable wounds. It wasn’t going down, but it was slowing. It was covered in armor, even its relatively tiny head was covered in thick plating. It could have been its natural carapace, maybe synthetic armor, it was impossible to tell.

“Fall back!” Moralez ordered, using the mic in his helmet rather than attempting to yell over the racket. “Keep firing!” The column moved backwards as the thing staggered towards them, but those at the back were holding them up. The passage was just too narrow for the two dozen men to maneuver. The giant Bug reached the firing line as the soldiers scrambled to get away, laying into them with its claws and tearing the men apart. Limbs flew, and guts were spilled as the cries of fear and pain echoed morbidly through the tunnel.

“Keep firing!”

One Marine emptied his XMR from the hip, spraying wildly at point blank range as the heat made the coils on his rifle glow red. The thing shrugged off a spray of slugs that would have sheared a man in half, silencing his scream with a heavy blow to the head from one of its massive, armored claws. Those at the rear of the formation were running away back up the tunnel, their morale broken. If they didn’t stop this monster in the next thirty seconds, it was all over.

Moralez steeled himself and strode forward, firing carefully placed shots at its head, but it just would not drop. The shots were penetrating, at the muzzle velocity of a railgun, how could they not? Yet it wasn’t enough to put the thing down. The Borealans came at it from behind, leaping onto its back and stabbing it with their bayonets, but they didn’t penetrate far enough into its thick shell.

The tunnel was a brawl now, unit cohesion was a long forgotten memory. The Borealans clambered over the thing, trying to find a weak spot with their spear-like rifles. Injured and dying soldiers littered the ground, the giant Bug thrashing its arms and clawing at its assailants, trampling and screeching. Moralez unholstered his 1911, his XMR too unwieldy to use at this range, but would the .45 even penetrate its armored carapace? He didn’t have the time to find out, he caught a massive crab claw to the side and was sent tumbling several meters down the tunnel, coming to a rest near where the first Borealan had been pinned and butchered.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, wincing as he wrapped an arm around his side. His body armor seemed to have absorbed the worst of the impact, leaving his ribs badly bruised instead of shattered. As he looked back up the passage, he saw one of the dying Marines lying at the feet of the monstrosity, fumbling with something on his vest with his one remaining hand.

It was his grenade belt. He coughed foamy blood, gagging what must have been one last curse before he pulled the pin.

“No! Zuga, get back-”

The blast wave of the belt exploding threw Moralez onto his back, the combat audio filter in his helmet the only thing saving his eardrums from popping like cherries. He felt dirt and shrapnel impact his armor like buckshot. There was a great, rumbling cascade as the roof of the tunnel caved in, burying what remained of Lambda pack and the trashing Bug in a pile of rocks and dirt that sealed off his side of the passage. He was plunged into darkness, the rebreather in his helmet switching on automatically as dust surrounded him.

He scrambled to his feet, dazed, waiting for the smoke to clear. The pain from his ribs seared through his mind as he slapped the flashlight on his XMR, trying to get the damned thing to turn back on. The night vision filter on his visor wouldn’t work without at least some kind of light source, and his only alternative was exploring these eerie passages with the thermal imaging mode. To his relief, it flared to life, and he aimed it through the swirling haze at the pile of earth that now blocked off his escape route. The roof had collapsed completely, any Borealans or remaining Marines were either buried under it, or trapped on the other side. Panic clouded his mind as he realized that he might be alone.

No, there was movement. He stumbled towards the heap of soil and stones, dropping his XMR to let it hang from its strap and trying to dig out the shuddering figure. After a moment it sprang to life, pushing out of the dirt and shaking itself like a wet dog. It was a Borealan, female, she seemed to have no serious injuries as she stood and appraised the blockage.

“Are you okay?” Moralez asked, looking her up and down. She must have been thrown by the blast just as he had been, shielded by the giant Bug perhaps? Her black UNN armor was scarred by debris, but it didn’t look as if anything had penetrated.

“My ears are ringing ... what happened?”

Of course, the Borealan’s ears protruded from the tops of their helmets unless they fastened the protective caps, her hearing might be impaired for a while. She seemed to be able to understand him, however.

“Someone set off a grenade belt and collapsed the tunnel. We’re stuck on this side.”

She pulled off her helmet and shook her head, her orange mane spilling down her shoulders. She glared at him with her amber eyes, reflecting the flashlight beam eerily in the gloom as his weapon swung on its strap. He reached down and picked up his rifle, angling the beam down the tunnel. It looked clear. Sound didn’t carry well in this winding network of warrens, there was a chance the battle had gone completely unnoticed. The creature would surely have released some kind of stress pheromones, however. Who knew how far those would travel if the tunnels were ventilated, as he suspected they were.

“What the hell was that thing?” he asked the stranger. “You ever seen anything like that before?”

The Borealan didn’t reply, turning to appraise the cave-in. She pulled a few rocks away experimentally, sifting through the soil, but soon abandoned the attempt. They’d never remove the blockage on their own.

“Only one way to go,” Moralez mused, flashing his torch at her. “You coming or not?”

“Very well,” she hissed. She sounded pissed off, aggressive, but why shouldn’t she be? Her whole pack had just been wiped out, and they were cut off from the survivors. They made their way down the tunnel, passing the ruined body of the Borealan who had been pinned. She stepped over him, oddly disgusted, almost angered by the sight. There was no pity or regret in her expression.

Moralez tested his radio, static hissing through the speakers. No matter, he hadn’t expected much. The only path to take now was further into this nightmare, and deeper into the maze of tunnels.

Chapter 2 »

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