Chapter 4: Four Letter Agencies

They made their way through the ruined trenches, sticking to cover. This area had already been hit pretty hard, so they weren’t expecting much resistance, but it was still nerve-wracking to be separated from the rest of the company. It was somewhat difficult to go undetected with Sunny’s ten-foot frame walking along beside them, but she was at least much more resistant to small arms fire than the average Marine. The IFV was driving some distance off to their right, keeping them covered with its blister as they advanced.

“There are so many bunkers and gun towers,” Hernandez mumbled as they trudged through the shell of a ruined structure. It had been reduced to chunks of resin and mounds of loose earth by artillery fire, the massive cannon that had once sat in its dome now lying twisted and warped, buried in the debris along with the bodies of its operators. “You ever make mud castles as a kid?”

“Mud castles?” Evan repeated, giving him a sideways glance through his visor as he swept his rifle across the room. “Hernandez, where the fuck did you grow up?”

“You fill a bucket with mud and upturn it,” he continued, ignoring the question as he gave a partially-buried Drone a tap with his boot. “If it’s sticky enough, it’ll stay that way. Me and my brothers would build castles, but they’d always fall apart after a while. That’s what this reminds me of. I feel like a toy solder walkin’ through one of the mud castles we used to make.”

“Was this before or after you were killing gophers with grenades?” Evan asked.

“You ain’t got no respect for country livin’, Evan.”

They were interrupted by a flash of light and a loud bang, the squad ducking reflexively, readying their weapons.

“It’s alright,” Simmons said, rising to glance at the sky warily. “It’s just lightning.”

Evan turned his visor to the roiling clouds above, seeing another bright fork dance between the ash clouds. A droplet of water landed on his helmet, then another, rain starting to spatter the shattered blocks of resin that surrounded them.

“Great,” Hernandez grumbled. “Just what we need – a rainstorm.”

“It’s because of all the ash and dust that the orbital strikes sent into the troposphere,” Jade added. “The particles are creating static electricity and attracting moisture.”

There was another thunderclap, the rain coming down in sheets now, Evan feeling it pounding against his armor. Now, he was glad to have an environmentally-isolated pressure suit. Small puddles were already forming, their boots splashing in the mud.

“Keep up the pace,” Simmons ordered, waving them on. “I don’t want to be wading through flooded trenches for any longer than I have to.”

“It’s fucking Kruger III all over again,” Hernandez sighed.

“Look on the bright side,” Evan replied as he marched along beside him. “If we find you a bucket, you can make some mud castles.”

They emerged from the ruined tower and into yet another identical trench. Evan noticed that despite the downpour, there was no flooding. The ground was muddy, but the water wasn’t collecting there as he would have expected.

“Check it out,” Brooks said, gesturing to the base of one of the resin walls with the barrel of his rifle. “Looks like the critters built drains into their trenches.”

When Evan looked more closely, he did indeed see a series of small drainage holes, barely large enough for a man to push his finger into. Even the simplest of Bug designs seemed to have hidden complexities when one took the time to appreciate them. They did nothing in half-measures.

“What is this?” Aster asked, kneeling to check the body of a Drone.

“What’s wrong?” Simmons asked, pausing beside her to glance down at it. “There are dead Bugs all over the place.”

“This one was killed with a blade,” she replied, turning the limp body onto its back. There was a deep cut across its abdomen, separating the plating on its chest to reveal pale meat. “It was metal – the edge would have been too sharp to be chitin.”

“I’m starting to have some idea of who placed that call,” Simmons sighed. “Keep moving, and watch out for friendlies. Someone is clearly fucking around out here.”

As they moved through the trenches towards the coordinates, the spotter drones that were loitering above alerted them to the presence of a large signature, heading towards them from the direction of the mountain. They couldn’t do much more than tag it as a red blob, their sensors perhaps impacted by the dwindling atmospheric conditions. Evan glanced out over the top of the trench to see an ominous, dark shaping moving their way, the sheets of rain lashing against it.

“Something big coming in from the right flank!” Simmons warned, ordering the squad to take cover. They lined up, aiming their rifles at it, struggling to get a clear visual through the storm.

“That’s a troop transport!” Sunny warned, hunkering down behind her shield.

It was a Pangolin, the crab-like vehicle marching its way through the muddy field, its clawed feet splashing in the water-filled craters. Its forelimbs were raised to protect itself, the armored panels that ran down its bulbous body extended to provide more cover to its payload of Drones. As it neared, its passengers began to disgorge from their handholds on its abdomen, dropping down into the mud with a splash. They had already spotted Sunny and the IFV, beginning to spread out, firing their rifles as they used the craters for cover like foxholes. The defensive gun turret mounted atop the Pangolin’s hull opened up, laying down withering suppressive fire on the trench, the glowing bolts of plasma sizzling as they turned the raindrops to steam.

“God damn it, why did they have us come out here with no armor support?” Simmons growled as he ducked under a stream of burning projectiles. “Those stupid assholes are gonna get us killed!”

“You’re gonna need to task some artillery or something,” Sunny added, the railgun on her shoulder joining the blister on the IFV to harry the Pangolin with gunfire. Even the thirty-mill wasn’t doing much to its frontal armor, carving deep furrows in the chitin but failing to reach anything vital. “I don’t have anything heavy enough to penetrate that armor!”

She raised her left arm, extending her lobster claw, the gun barrels that were nestled between them radiating an emerald glow. She loosed a stream of plasma fire at the enemy vehicle, but the superheated gas splashed harmlessly against its shell, doing little more than melting the spiky protrusions that jutted from it. It returned fire, and she had to duck behind her shield again, the bolts hammering the wavering barrier of energy that was projected from its studs.

The Puma fired off a burst of grenades from its MGL, one of them landing in a shallow crater, the three Drones that had been using it as cover scrambling to escape. Before they could get clear, it exploded, throwing up a shower of wet mud as it lifted them off their feet to deposit their torn bodies near the rim.

The enemy squads were advancing now under the cover of their Pangolin, the crab tank directing its rapid-fire plasma turret at anyone who dared raise their heads, shielding its charges with its armored hull.

“We’re gonna have to pull back to a more defensible position, or we’ll be overrun!” Garcia yelled.

The first wave of Drones was nearing, two dozen of them charging in fast, readying blades and handguns. The two Borealans lifted their bayonets, Sunny stepping over their trench, putting herself between them and the oncoming Bugs. Simmons was on the radio, his hand to his helmet, trying to call in whatever support they could get.

A bright beam of light lanced out from a hill on their right, so brilliant that Evan’s visor went almost completely black to protect his eyes, the glow still bleeding through. It was like staring at an acetylene torch through a welder’s mask, its color a faint, ghostly green. It wasn’t one uninterrupted beam but rather a stream of pulses, throbbing like a strobe. It hit the Pangolin in the side, the thing lurching as smoke began to billow, parts of its thick carapace that were near the impact point seeming to vaporize. The beam only persisted for a few moments, then went dark, the Pangolin wheeling around to put its frontal armor towards this new threat. A hail of XMR fire came from the same direction, cutting down the Drones that were out in the open, fragments of shattered carapace flying as they were sent tumbling to the wet ground.

“Fire, fire!” Simmons suddenly ordered as he realized that they had an opening. The squad joined the engagement, the Bugs now caught between two battle lines, unable to suppress them both at the same time. Sunny’s thirty-mill turned its targets to bloody confetti, the XMR fire taking fist-sized chunks out of the Drones and severing limbs, a couple more grenades landing in their midst to perforate them with shrapnel. In a few moments, the charge had been broken, and some two dozen Bugs lay dead. Those that remained crowded behind the Pangolin for protection, the vehicle spraying the unseen targets on the hill now in a bid to dissuade them.

Again, that strobe of light struck it, glittering as it reflected off the airborne raindrops, blasting a perfectly round hole clear through its hull. It was some kind of laser, Evan realized, like those employed by some ships for point defense purposes. This time, the Pangolin appeared to take serious damage, one of the shovel-like claws that it used to protect itself going limp, some of its legs giving out on the same side. A third burst finally felled it, the laser blasting through its prow like a cutting torch, cooking the thing’s insides. It dropped to the ground, crushing an unfortunate Drone beneath its weight. The rest tried to take refuge behind its smoking carcass, but were quickly mopped up by Evan’s squad.

“Cease fire!” Simmons ordered, rising to his feet. He turned to look up at the nearby hill, where three figures were making their way down the incline. They didn’t have IFF signatures, Evan realized, his HUD failing to pick them up.

“I take it that you’re the guys who called us?” Simmons asked, Evan hearing a hiss of static as the strangers tapped into the local ad-hoc network. “Why aren’t your IFF tags transmitting? You realize that we’re in a war zone, right?”

“We were running in zero-emissions mode,” one of the men replied. “The roaches can pick up your EM signatures at close range.”

As the men drew nearer, the strange situation started to make sense. Evan had seen people dressed like this before – they were SWAR operatives. Their unconventional gear, prosthetic limbs, and painted helmets were unmistakable. One of them stepped forward, his sleeves and pants ending at the knees and elbows to reveal skeletal cybernetics, the visor on his helmet painted with a stylized decal of a crow. There was a weapon resting on his shoulder that Evan had never seen before – what resembled a rocket launcher with a large, dome-shaped lens on one end. It was about a meter long, with a bulky housing, a battery pack the size of a lunchbox hanging off the back. It looked uncomfortably heavy, but the man showed no sign of strain.

“I think I’m gonna keep my IFF on,” Sunny said, the operatives eyeing her suit warily.

“What do you need?” Simmons asked, getting straight to the point. He was visibly irritated, but they clearly outranked him, so there wasn’t much that he could do about the situation.

“We were dropped in behind enemy lines to disrupt key infrastructure and take down comms equipment,” the one with the crow decal replied. “We’ve taken casualties, and we need reinforcements if we’re going to move on our next objective. Your squad was the closest.”

“What’s your objective?” Simmons asked. “My team is attached to a mechanized infantry company – we don’t have any special expertise that would be of use to a wetwork team.”

“You’re warm bodies that can hold guns – we’ll find a use for you,” another added. He was dressed much the same as his counterpart, wearing modified armor with an extended collar to protect his neck, his helmet sporting an array of aftermarket sensors and lenses. He had no visor, perhaps relying on its many cameras instead, and the armored faceplate was decorated with a stenciled number seven.

“Our next target is an underground comms relay,” Crow continued, ignoring his squadmate’s comment. “It has a direct hardline to the Queen, and it’s being used to transmit orders to the Bug forces in the area. We took out a couple of radio Scuttlers that were bouncing the signal, but if we can sever that connection, her ability to coordinate the defense will be diminished. It’s protected by a fortified bunker, and after the hits we took on the way here, we don’t have the manpower to take it out. That’s where you come in,” he added, gesturing to Simmons with a prosthetic finger. “We need people to help us clear the bunker and secure the perimeter while we do our work.”

“We’ve cleared bunkers,” Simmons replied with a nod. “Just put us where you need us, and we’ll do the rest.”

“Good,” Crow replied, waving for them to follow as he turned back to the hill. “Fall in.”

Evan hung back a little, matching pace with Jade and her two counterparts, switching to a private channel to avoid being overheard by their new friends.

“Watch your back around these guys,” he warned. “If they’re anything like the ones we encountered at the refinery, they’re not going to think twice about putting Jarilans in harm’s way.”

“Simmons will look out for us,” she replied confidently. “And, in a worst-case scenario, I can sick my big sister on them. Just don’t punch anyone, okay?”

“No promises,” he chuckled.

“What the hell is that gun?” Hernandez asked, jogging ahead to catch up with Crow. He was as outgoing as ever, even though it was obvious that these guys weren’t interested in casual conversation. “I’ve never seen anythin’ like that before.”

“It’s an experimental weapon called a Scalpel,” Crow replied, keeping his eyes on the hill ahead. “It stands for Soliton Crystal Pumped Electron Laser, or SCPEL. It fires a series of rapid laser pulses using solitons to extend its effective range and focus the beam. This thing’ll vaporize the armor right off a Scuttler,” he added as he gave the weapon’s polymer casing an affectionate pat.

“I guess that’s where the Special Weapons part of the name comes in,” Hernandez added. “You guys sure like acronyms, don’t you?”

“Yeah, acronyms let you covey information very quickly without having to rely on long conversations,” Crow replied with a pointed glance at the Marine. Hernandez knew when he wasn’t wanted, backing off to walk beside Simmons.

They climbed up the muddy incline, where two more SWAR operatives were waiting for them, putting their total number at five. Evan had no idea how many there had been originally, but it was an odd number. One of them was wielding an assault rifle variant of the XMR, while the other had a long rifle with a high magnification scope.

“Good, we got some madcats,” one of them said, glancing up at Tatzi and Borzka as they passed. “And, whatever the hell that is.”

Sunny lumbered up the hill behind the rest of the team, giving the man a friendly wave with her lower arm that contrasted starkly with her intimidating appearance.

“Alright,” Crow began, turning to face the ragtag group as they assembled. “A short walk North of here is the comms bunker. There are two levels – an above-ground section that houses the antennae and defensive guns, and an underground section that protects the actual electronics. We need to crack the bunker, take out those guns, then fight down to the lower level where we can plant our charges and take out the transmitter. The moment we open fire, they’re going to call in any reinforcements in range to protect the asset, so we’re on a time limit. We stick around too long, and we’ll be swamped by roaches.”

“We’re going to split up into three teams,” the one with the long rifle added. There was a bulky rangefinder jutting from the side of his helmet, and his visor was decorated with a decal of an owl. “The overwatch team is going to set up on a nearby bluff and watch for Bug patrols, the assault team is going to clear out the bunker, and the guard team is going to secure the perimeter while the charges are set.”

“Why not just hit the bunker with an artillery strike?” Collins asked.

“That’s a good way to collapse the structure and ensure that nobody can reach the lower level,” Crow replied. “Unless you really like digging holes, the quickest way to take this thing out is to do it manually.”

Simmons and Crow discussed how best to partition up the team for a few minutes, eventually arriving at a consensus.

The overwatch team would consist of Brooks, Garcia, Collins, Foster, and the SWAR sniper known only as Owl. The guard team would be made up of the squad’s heavier assets – the two Borealans and Sunny. Joining them in a supporting role would be Aster, Cardinal, and Donovan. There were two SWAR guys who would be staying with them as well. It wasn’t lost on Evan that most of the aliens had been put in the position where they were most likely to take fire. The team that would actually be entering the bunker consisted of Evan, Jade, Simmons, Hernandez, and the two SWAR members who were referred to as Crow and Seven. As much as the operatives were clearly leery of the Jarilans, they at least seemed to acknowledge that their ability to sniff out Bug pheromones would be useful in the tunnels. They insisted that the IFV stay behind, as the vibrations and engine noise that it created could alert the Bugs long before they arrived, costing them the crucial element of surprise.

Their plan now in place, they began to make their way towards the bunker through the blasted terrain.

“There it is,” Owl said, training his scope on the bunker. He had crawled up to the top of a bluff that overlooked their target on his belly, lying prone as he sighted the domed structure in the distance. Evan watched through his camera feed as the man zoomed in on a squad of Drones that were loitering around the entrance. Loitering might be the wrong word. Where humans would have been walking around and chatting, maybe sitting down to rest, the Bug sentries stood as still as statues. The only movement came from their helmets as they turned their heads to scan the surrounding terrain, their resin rifles held at the ready. There were two dozen that Evan could see – maybe four squads – and there were certainly more of them inside. The round structure was heavily defended, with visible gun barrels jutting from the ports in its walls.

“How are we supposed to get past those?” Hernandez whispered as he hunkered down beside Evan. The rest of the team was waiting at the base of the bluff, out of view of the guards.

“Just let the cyborgs deal with it,” Simmons replied.

“Alright,” Owl began. “Overwatch team – start moving up to my position. Stay low, and don’t fire until I give the order. The rest of you – approach from the South. Crow, hit those guns on the near side with the Scalpel. We don’t need to take them all out, just the ones that have a bead on us. You can do the rest from the inside. We’ll start hitting them before you move in. Taking fire from two different positions seems to reduce their reaction times.”