Chapter 6: The Black Pass

The sounds of the Kodiak’s roaring engine and rumbling tracks reverberated through the hull, the seventy-ton vehicle grinding the volcanic rock beneath its polymer treads as it made its way up the dry riverbed. Cooper’s padded chair vibrated beneath him as he looked through the optics, a square display with a row of switches that controlled its functions, watching the column of vehicles ahead of him. They were part of a procession of tanks and troop carriers that were making their way deeper into the foreboding massif, as spread out as they could reasonably be between the walls of jagged, black granite than the ancient water had carved out. Charlie was a mechanized company, comprised of twelve Kodiaks and eight Pumas that were kicking up clouds of dust as they advanced.

The gunner’s position was cramped, miscellaneous electronics and machinery boxing him in, the commander occupying the seat to his left on the other side of the main gun. There was a third crew member below, deeper inside the armored chassis, surrounded by panoramic displays as he piloted the vehicle.

Cooper reached up towards his monitor, pressing one of the switches with the textured tip of a polymer finger, changing the camera to the heat-sensing FLIR view. The prosthetic was connected at his shoulder, its black housing covering up the skeletal frame and the electronics beneath, powered by electric motors that whined softly as he moved. It was almost a perfect replica of his original, hooked up to his nervous system to provide sensation that approximated that of his organic limb.

The right side of his body had been damaged during a previous deployment, when a Betelgeusian breaching cannon had been used to pierce the hull of his vehicle, sending super-heated plasma and shrapnel spraying through the turret. The crew had all survived, but he had lost his right arm, his right leg below the knee, and he had sustained damage to his torso that only his flak jacket had prevented from being fatal. His right lung and kidney had been replaced with synthetics, and his burned skin had been grafted with an artificial substitute. It was flexible and stretchy, just like the real thing, its jet-black color giving the impression that molten latex had been drizzled over his ribs and thigh. His face had thankfully been spared, and so most of the damage was hidden beneath his pressure suit. Thanks to the state of the art medical facilities on the Pinwheel, the surgeons and technicians had been able to restore full functionality, allowing him to resume his duties.

“You picking up anything on the FLIR, Cooper?” the commander asked.

“Nah, it’s a fucking scorcher, Sarge. The rocks are so hot that they’re blowing out the sensor.”

“Maybe the drones’ll pick something up,” the commander replied, peering out of his cupola at the desolate landscape beyond. “Recon said they didn’t see any Rask, but I’ll bet my left nut they’re out there in the rocks, just waiting for us to roll on by.”

“Barry!” Cooper yelled, stamping his boot on the deck.

“What?” the driver’s muffled voice replied.

“How’s Sheila doing? I’m sweating my arse off up here.”

“Engine temps are within safety limits,” he replied. “And stop stamping, you dickhead. I can hear you fine down here.”

“Not a bloody servo in sight,” Cooper muttered, scanning the canyon walls for movement through his scope. “Dead trees and burning wasteland as far as the eye can see. How the fuck did we travel seventy-five light-years just to end up back in Perth?”

“Less whinging, more working,” the Sergeant complained.

They pressed on as the primordial riverbed began to narrow, only around forty meters wide in places, forcing the formation to close ranks until the vehicles could only continue in single-file. The canyon walls were less sheer here, more like steep hills that were scattered with volcanic rock, the large boulders that had been deposited along their inclines providing excellent cover for anyone who might seek to trap them in a crossfire. The infantry dismounted from their IFVs, making the going even slower, the Marines and Borealan Shock Troopers sticking close to their vehicles as they inspected the surrounding terrain.

“Whose bright idea was it to make everyone’s body armor black?” Cooper muttered, watching them through his scope. “Those poor fuckers must be roasting out there.”

“They’re environment suits, they’ve got cooling,” Barry replied. “They’re probably doing better than we are right now.”

“I really don’t like being boxed in like this,” Cooper continued, reaching over tap the commander’s shoulder. “Hey, Sarge, have the drones spotted anything yet?”

“Nothing so far, I’ll let you know if there’s any radio chatter. No reports of sightings from the other vehicles, either.”

“Maybe there’s nobody out here, and we’re just jumping at shadows,” Barry suggested.

“We know there are natives running around,” the Sergeant added, “so don’t freak out if someone starts chucking rocks at us.”

“I expect the noise would keep them away,” Barry said, “we must sound like a mobile thunderstorm.”

Cooper watched a squad of Marines leave the side of their IFV, climbing up the nearby slope, checking between the rocks as they went. Seeing the infantry contrasted with the boulders really put their size into perspective, some of them were as big as the Kodiaks. They made their way up towards the ridge, trudging through the dark sand, the magnetic coils on the barrels of their XMRs glinting in the sun as they waved them to and fro.

A sudden explosion rocked the tank, the ground trembling beneath them as a cloud of dust was thrown high into the air somewhere ahead of them. The convoy ground to an abrupt halt, the Marines on the hill taking cover amongst the rocks as Cooper turned his view to their front. He was just in time to see a rockslide plug the riverbed ahead, the rolling boulders no doubt dislodged by charges that had been placed long before their arrival. The sand seemed to sweep in like a wave, burying everything to create an impassable wall. The lead vehicle was mercifully clear, avoiding being crushed by only a few meters.

“It’s kicking off!” the Sergeant yelled. “Weapons free!”

The hills suddenly began to move, the sand shifting all around the convoy. Figures were rising from beneath it, sheets of dark sand sliding off the canvas tarps that were draped over their backs, the glint of bayonets catching the sunlight. The Rask had been lying in wait, hidden just beneath the surface, the explosion signaling the start of their attack.

There was a lingering moment of silence, and then the reverberating crack of railguns began to echo through the canyon, audible even through the Kodiak’s thick hull. The squad of Marines in the rocks was the closest to the enemy, a nearby Rask launching himself from beneath the sand, spearing one of them in the gut with his bayonet. The man was lifted off his feet, the alien slamming him into one of the rocks. Cooper couldn’t hear his cry of pain, but he could see it in the way that his helmeted head snapped back, his gloved hands gripping the long barrel.

The Rask pulled the trigger, the Marine jerking as the slug tore through him at point-blank range, his body going limp. His companions had turned their weapons on the leather-clad feline now, a torrent of full-auto gunfire tearing his body to pieces where he stood, the kinetic energy turning him into a cloud of red mist and floating strips of leather.

Another of the Marines caught a slug from a hidden shooter, the impact exploding his head like a melon, helmet and all. That body armor was designed primarily to stop plasma and shrapnel, there was no wearable defense against a railgun that could punch a hole through two and a half inches of rolled steel. The squad began to move, taking cover and returning fire as best they could, their rounds digging deep craters into the surrounding boulders.

Tungsten slugs hammered the Kodiak’s hull, ringing it like a gong, but the crew were in no danger. It would take something far more powerful than an XMR to penetrate their defenses, and their assailants didn’t seem to know it.

The IFV ahead of them began to fire its thirty-millimeter gun into the hills, the slugs tearing into the volcanic rock and creating puffs of pulverized stone, Cooper catching one of the Rask being pasted in his viewfinder. The troop carrier drove forward a few feet, angling itself so that it was perpendicular to the incline on its left, its squad rallying around it as it covered them with its turret. As he watched, it extended its deployable cover, two chest-high walls of thick armor unfolding from either side of its cab on articulated arms to create a protective barrier. The Marines dove behind it, popping up to fire their XMRs at the enemy. White clouds rose up from the column ahead as some of the vehicles deployed their smokescreens, the wind carrying it.

“Cooper, target those Rask on our left!” the Sergeant shouted. “Bearing three-hundred. Load HE and set the fuse to airburst!”

Cooper gripped the joystick and swung the turret to put his crosshair over a group who were nestled in a cluster of boulders, the motion jostling him in his seat. He reached up to hit one of the switches on his console, a mechanical clunk echoing through the compartment as the auto-loader slid a sabot into the breech, the computer dialing in the correct voltages. The immense recoil made the entire vehicle rock back on its tracks as he pulled the trigger, the pair of electromagnetic rails that ran the length of the barrel accelerating the projectile to several times the speed of sound in a fraction of a second. It created a shockwave as it tore through the air, kicking up a wall of dust, the high-explosive round reaching its target before its armature had even had time to properly separate.

It exploded a few feet above the huddling Rask, forming a donut-shaped cloud of hypervelocity shrapnel that tore through everything in the vicinity like a gigantic shotgun blast. Their limp bodies dropped to the ground heavily, partially obscured by the cloud of dust that the explosion had kicked up. A solitary survivor scurried clear, his rifle clutched in his hands, but the commander gunned him down with the cannon on his remote-operated blister.

There were hundreds of them, coming from both sides of the riverbed, more of them throwing off their disguises as they joined the assault. Every vehicle seemed to be firing in a different direction now, turrets and blisters spewing tungsten, the tanks pounding the rocks with airburst shells. There was a thunk as the mortar mounted on the commander’s blister above him fired a round, the explosive landing amongst the boulders a few hundred feet away, scattering the attackers.

If they’d been equipped with anti-tank mines, or rocket-propelled grenades, or anti-material railguns, then the convoy could have been in serious trouble. The ambush was tactically sound, but the Rask seemed to be under the impression that their weapons could penetrate vehicle armor, which was not the case. Cooper could hear the slugs hitting the tank, they weren’t even concentrating their fire on specific areas. The only real danger was to the Marines, but with the cover of the vehicles, it was hard for the Rask to get a clear shot at them.

Something heavier hit them, the distinctive sound of a ricochet reverberating through the hull.

“What the fuck was that?” Barry shouted.

“Bug buster!” the Sergeant replied. “It bounced! There, at fifty degrees!”

Cooper swung the turret around, taking a moment to spot the target. Up on top of the hill were a pair of Rask, lying prone on the sand side by side. One of them was shouldering a far larger rifle, the other carrying its massive battery pack, connected to the weapon by thick power cables. It was an AMR, an anti-material railgun, its long barrel packed with dense magnetic coils. They were scaled-up cousins of the XMR platform, firing larger caliber slugs at far higher velocities, designed primarily to take down Betelgeusian warriors and light spacecraft. He didn’t want to give them time for another shot, firing the main gun at them, the pair vanishing in a shower of sand and pulverized rock.

There was another loud crack as a second AMR team scored a hit on the IFV ahead, the round punching clean through the side armor. There was a flash of light as some of the material was instantly vaporized, a spray of molten metal erupting as what was left of the slug exited the other side of the vehicle. The Marines who were taking cover behind the deployable wall were showered with flecks of glowing slag, but their armor protected them, the tungsten projectile digging a deep crater in the ground a short distance away. It was hot enough that the splash of sand froze in the air, turned to glass before it had even had time to fall. It was a good job that the squad had exited the IFV, if they had been inside the troop bay when that slug had ripped through it, they would have been torn to pieces.

Before the Sarge could even call out the new target, a mortar hit the hillside, sending one of the broken bodies of the gunners wheeling a good ten feet into the air before it was dashed on the rocks below.

From behind a rock formation came a bayonet charge, two dozen of the aliens leaping over obstacles on their long, spring-like legs as they raced down the incline towards a group of entrenched Marines. They were deceptively fast for their size, covering ground quickly, coming within a mere ten feet of their quarry before the defenders’ guns turned on them. The Marines fired from behind their deployable cover, the thirty-millimeter gun on the IFV’s remote blister above them chewing through the advancing aliens. The barrage of railgun slugs cut the Rask down, the thirty-mil severing limbs, and leaving fist-sized exit wounds.

“What the bloody hell are they thinking?” Cooper wondered aloud, turning his sights on another squad. He engaged the gun pod that was mounted on the side of the Kodiak’s turret, a stream of caseless rounds harrying the aliens, tracers painting a glowing trail through the air. “Attacking armored vehicles with small arms, bayonet charges, it’s like they don’t know what they’re doing!”

“Maybe they don’t,” the Sergeant replied, hunched over his console as he used a joystick to control the blister above them. “Just because they have access to UNN tech doesn’t mean they’ve been trained to use it properly.”

The Rask morale seemed to have been broken, they were retreating now, moving back up the hills towards the safety of the ridges. They weren’t fleeing in panic, despite the chaos erupting around them. They were remarkably disciplined for a force so outmatched. They stopped to cover each other, taking refuge behind the rocks, but that was another tactic unsuited to their current predicament. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, their numbers thinning until only a handful were left, the survivors making it over the ridge and out of view.

“You’d better run, cunts,” Cooper muttered as he flopped back into his chair. “Got no more targets on my scope, Sarge.”

“Looks like we’re clear,” the commander replied.

“Barry!” Cooper yelled, stamping his boot. “You alive down there?”

“Stop fucking stamping!” a muffled voice replied.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

He flipped down the visor on his helmet, patching into the Kodiak’s hull cameras, taking a better look at the carnage that surrounded them. There were a lot of enemy casualties, but it was hard to give a ballpark estimate given that so many of them had been ... forcibly disassembled. The hills were scattered with craters, the wind carrying away the smoke, making it drift slowly across the battlefield.

“Don’t get too comfortable yet,” the Sergeant warned, “they’re calling in artillery strikes to mop up the stragglers. Brace for danger close.”

After a moment of tense waiting, the ground began to shake, the artillery company pounding the terrain beyond the ridges with a salvo from miles away. Just like the airburst rounds, the shells exploded above the ground, creating rings of dark smoke as they sprayed the retreating Rask with shrapnel. It was over quickly, a dozen of the dark rings floating over the ridge as the wind caught them, more smoke rising up from out of view.

“That got ‘em,” Cooper muttered. “What are our casualties?”

“Lost a couple of Marines, some light damage to vehicles, but none reported disabled so far. They’re flying in a dropship from Elysia to medivac the wounded, keeping it low altitude so that the MASTs don’t tag it. I suppose that’s the last one we’re going to see for a while, no way they can fly in that sandstorm.”

“What are we supposed to do when the storm hits?” Cooper complained. “Do we give the walking wounded a canteen and tell ‘em ‘happy fucking trails’?”

“The Yagda has an onboard infirmary, that’s all we’re getting until we take out the Rask launch sites.”

“Does it have a bloody hot tub, too?” Cooper grumbled. “Fucking Martians.”

He watched through one of the camera feeds as the crew of the IFV ahead of them dismounted, inspecting the damage to the troop bay. Good job that round had gone through the bay, and not through the cab. Teams of Marines were fanning out, securing the hills, and checking for wounded. He was surprised to see some of them crouching over the bodies of fallen Rask, it looked like they were attempting triage.

“What the hell are they treating them for?” he grumbled. “Doubt those shitheads would do the same for us.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Sergeant replied, “we’re required to provide care to the wounded if the circumstances permit it. Looks like we’re gonna be stuck here for a while, that blockage will have to be cleared away.”

The lead Kodiak had already deployed its bulldozer prow and was beginning to push aside the rocks and sand, a couple of squads climbing the inclines to its left and right to check the other side.

A sudden crack rang out, Cooper snapping his helmet around, the external cameras giving him a view of a Marine who was standing over a newly slain Rask. The man holstered his sidearm before continuing on, his companions trailing behind him.

“Fucking cats are still resisting,” he marveled. “Can’t even patch them up without them trying to claw your face off.”

“That one looks like he’s had enough,” the Sergeant added. “Bearing one-twenty.”

“Oh yeah,” Cooper chuckled, watching as a wounded Rask who was leaning against a rock was treated by a Marine whose comrades still had their weapons trained on him. The alien’s thigh was leaking dark arterial blood, the Marine sealing the wound with a canister of expanding foam from his medkit. Another gunshot rang out, it sounded like somebody else was being uncooperative.

“What do you reckon the other Borealans think of this?” Barry asked, Cooper turning his gaze to a pack of the armored aliens who were milling about near their IFV.

“The Elysians probably hate the Rask more than we do,” the commander replied. “They wouldn’t even share a table in the mess, and that was back when they weren’t shooting at each other. This planet isn’t unified, there’s no United Nations equivalent here. This is a war of one territory against another, not Borealans against humans.”

“Let’s hope they all see it that way,” Cooper muttered.

It took several hours for the blockage to be cleared away, the medivac dropship finally arriving, swooping low over the convoy on its stubby wings. The wind was picking up now, the sandstorm closing in, darkening the sky to the West. Cooper watched the craft touch down on a rocky plateau nearby, Marines ferrying the wounded up the hill and into its troop bay, the idling engines blowing clouds of dust. Next came the critically injured Rask, their stretchers carried by the Shock Troopers, as even four humans couldn’t lift them. Last was a procession of only half a dozen PoWs who had survived the ambush, their clawed hands bound behind their backs with sturdy cable ties, their round ears flattened against their bowed heads. They looked suitably cowed. They would probably be handed over to the Elysians, and he had no idea what the aliens would do with them. Prison? Execution, maybe?

“Here’s hoping the Rask have learned their lesson, and that was their last attempt to stop us,” the Sergeant said as he watched the vessel lift off. “It’s hard to take pride in a massacre.”

“They only have themselves to blame,” Cooper replied with a shrug. “This whole situation is entirely their own fault.”

The Marines returned to their vehicles, the damaged IFV now patched up, the convoy finally starting to move again. The troop transport ahead of them jolted to life, the Kodiak’s engine shaking the hull as Barry drove after it, leaving the scene of the battle behind them. They had recovered what few Marines had fallen, but there was no practical way for them to dispose of what must be a couple of hundred dead Rask. They had left them behind, mostly out of necessity, but partly as a warning.

The suns had set hours ago, but Ben couldn’t see the stars. The looming sandstorm was finally upon them, blotting out the sky, a dark wall of swirling dust rising over the sand dunes in their path. Flashes of lightning arced through it, illuminating it for scant moments, creating dark shadows that picked out its details. It made him feel like he was slowly falling into the atmosphere of a roiling gas giant.

“Can’t keep the drones out for more than a couple more hours,” he said, scowling at his displays. “The winds up there are getting too crazy, we’ll lose them.”

“What’s our plan when the storm hits?” Mizi asked with an uncertain flash of purple plumage. “We won’t be able to see more than fifty or sixty meters in any direction.”

“Our orders are to chart a route to the Rask territory, so that’s what we’re gonna do. We’ll have to pay close attention to our instruments, rely on the mapping software and the digital compass to keep us heading straight. Don’t worry about that, though, that’s my job. Just concentrate on driving.”

“It is already becoming difficult to see,” Lozka complained, “the air is hazy with flying sand.”

“Got a message coming through from Charlie,” Ben said, Lozka turning to peer at him as she waited for him to elaborate. “It’s about goddamned time, it’s been almost a day. Report says ... they encountered Rask, just like we suspected. Your instincts were spot on, Lozka.”

She nodded her head, watching him with her green eyes.

“I knew that the Rask would not pass up such an opportunity. If the column is reporting in, then am I to assume that they prevailed?”

“More than prevailed,” Ben chuckled, “it sounds like they wiped out a whole raiding party. Minimal casualties on their side, a couple of hundred dead Rask.”

“That is ... efficient,” she added, struggling to contain her surprise.

“They gave the Matriarch a black eye, maybe she’ll think twice about trying again.”

“I would not be so certain,” Lozka warned, her furry brow furrowing. “They are as stubborn as they are violent.”

“Hold up,” Ben added, tapping at one of his touch screens. “We got something coming up behind us, picking it up on the drone cam.” He took manual control, zooming in on the object, struggling to make it out through the growing haze. “What the fuck...”

Lozka switched to his view, narrowing her eyes.

“Sandship,” she spat, her ears flattening against her head. Ben could make out the massive sails now, the vessel coming into focus as it neared. It was surprisingly large, perhaps approaching the size of a Spanish Galleon. If he had to guess, it looked about fifty meters long and maybe half that wide. It was shaped like a catamaran, with two narrow hulls that were spread far apart for stability. They were bridged by a wooden deck, which was built up, probably housing cabins and cargo space. It was streamlined, despite the primitive construction materials, gaining ground on them as its long hulls carried it over the dunes. Its pair of tall masts were high enough that the camouflaged sails were always catching the wind, knotted ropes, and tangled rigging connecting them to the deck below. As it neared, Ben noted that it was flanked by a pair of skiffs, not unlike the one that they had encountered previously.

“They’ve gotta be doing seventy or eighty k,” he said, “they’re gaining. Where the hell did they come from?”

“The survivors of the battle in the massif,” Lozka suggested. “They flee towards the Rask territory with the remnants of their raiding fleet. There should be more sandships, I have never seen them travel so lightly.”

“Look at that!” Ben exclaimed, “beside the big one. Is that a fucking truck?”

There was a wheeled vehicle cresting the dune beside the mothership. It looked like a pickup with an enclosed bed, its chassis crudely painted over with desert camouflage. It was clearly of human origin, a civilian vehicle that the Rask had modified with large tires and shocks. The cab, too, looked strange. They had likely rebuilt it to accommodate the larger stature of the aliens.

“The Rask obtained those vehicles from your people,” Lozka explained, “they have been using them to carry troops far deeper into our jungles than they could travel on foot. There are many such conveyances rusting in my territory, we let the trees reclaim them once their crews are slain.”

“What’s our course of action?” Mizi asked, interrupting them. “We need a new plan, the situation has changed.”

“Lozka, are those ships armed?” Ben asked. “I’m not too worried about the skiffs and the truck, but I don’t know anything about that big one. Might be time to keep our heads down.”

“It is too late for that,” she grumbled, swinging her turret to face behind them. “If they are in sight, then they will already have seen the tracks that we have left in the sand. Seeking out trade caravans to pillage in the desert is their livelihood.”

“Think they’re gonna attack us?” he asked. “You made it sound like they were limping home with their tails between their legs.”

“Three support vessels and a sandship against an isolated target?” she scoffed, gripping her joystick in her furry hand. “They are predators, scavengers. Their Crewmaster will not pass up such an opportunity.”

“Mizi,” Ben snapped, “prepare for evasive maneuvers. We have no idea what their armament is like. Lozka, fire at will. We’re throwing tungsten, and they’ve got wooden armor. I don’t care how big that thing is, I want it reduced to driftwood.”

“Yes, Commander,” they replied in chorus. His stomach lurched as Mizi kicked the Timberwolf into gear, veering off-course.

“Their escort is breaking off,” Ben warned, “they’re matching our heading.”

“Hold on!” Mizi grunted, the vehicle lurching as she let it slide down the side of a dune.

“They’re gaining,” Ben said. “They haven’t seen my drone yet. Mizi, keep us between these dunes. Lozka, open fire when the first skiff comes over that crest.”

A moment later, the vanguard shot into view, getting a few seconds of air before landing in the sand. It was identical to the one that they had faced prior, a small, canoe-like craft with two occupants, the pilot gripping the sail as he angled it into the wind.

Lozka wasted no time, opening up with the mounted gun as her target raced down the dune. The sand around them erupted in splashes as the slugs dug into it, Lozka narrowing her grouping, firing in full-auto at the little wooden skimmer. It stood no chance, its hull cracking and splintering, the mast snapping as it began to roll. Its crew were thrown clear, one of them already partially dismembered by the gunfire, the other skidding to a stop to lie limp in the sand.

“Fucking good shot, Lozka!” Ben exclaimed. “Another skiff coming around to our left.”

The engine revved as Mizi spun the wheel, mounting another dune, their tires spraying sand behind them. As they rose higher, the second skiff’s sail came into view, the vehicle speeding along the top of the adjacent dune a good fifty meters away. The enemy was ready this time, a shot ringing out as the gunner fired his XMR. The round penetrated one of their rear tires, Ben hearing it impact the hull with a clang.

“Keep me steady, Mizi’pal’otl!” Lozka demanded as she lined up the crosshair. She squeezed the trigger, her first burst impacting the slope just beneath the skiff, kicking up an obscuring wall of sand. The Rask scout veered away as the dust cleared, Lozka cursing in her native tongue, spitting like an angry alley cat.

“Any damage, Mizi?” Ben asked.

“Our tires are a polymer honeycomb, they can’t be popped,” she replied.

“Stay the course,” he added hurriedly, bouncing in his chair as he manipulated the drone’s camera. “They’re coming around for another pass, bearing three-thirty, Lozka!”

“What!?” she demanded, not understanding the reference.

“Fucking ... North West of you, coming up in front of us now!”

The Rask skiff sped into view, the wind filling its sail as it slid along the sand, another XMR round ringing their hull. It was coming straight at them, almost as though they were going to ram. The pilot leaned hard at the last second, dragging his skiff out of the way, his gunner tossing something off the side of the craft.