Chapter 5: Splash One

Evan had never seen so many tanks in one place before. His squad had just finished clearing out a fortified Bug position on an elevated outcrop that overlooked the trenches below, rising some 150 meters into the air. The closer they got to the hill, the more uneven the terrain became, more volcanic formations and foothills breaking up the flat expanse and giving the enemy more places to hide. The base of the Ant Hill was only a few dozen kilometers away now, and Evan could see the earthen fortifications that protected it, giant ditches and three-meter-tall walls made from mounds of soil that were designed to impede the UNN’s vehicles. The majority of the trenches had been cleared out now, the Coalition forces wiping out everything on the ground, then punching holes in the enemy’s AA network so they could land airborne troops to secure the fortifications behind them.

Formations of tanks stretched from horizon to horizon, even more visible due to the elevation, maybe three battalions each comprised of more than a hundred vehicles rolling across the expanse. The sound of gunfire was constant. The mechanized companies were destroying intact bunkers and exchanging fire with Scuttlers, the alien tanks popping up out of the ground or shooting from the cover of the volcanic rock formations, trying to slow the advance. Coalition infantry flooded into the trenches to clear out the defenders, engaging Drones in close quarters, supported by grenade and mortar fire.

The Yagda was still floating a few meters off the ground in the distance, defending a contested position with its sponsons, by far the largest thing on the field. It made a conspicuous target, but the Bug mortar fire and plasma bolts that were sent its way were intercepted by its plasma shield, the projectiles melting or dissipating before they got anywhere near the hull. As Evan watched, a salvo of mortar shells rained down on the repulsor, but a section of the tank’s shield activated to counter them. It was a form of reactive armor more than a contiguous bubble, pumping plasma into a magnetic field and shaping it into a rough circle, the wavering barrier disintegrating the shells such that only molten fragments reached the ocean-grey armor beneath.

Artillery strikes were hammering the structures ahead of the Coalition line, blasts sending plumes of smoke rising high into the air. Where the area had been cleared of AA Scuttlers, Penguin gunships were swooping in low to provide air support, drifting over the battlefield as they loosed cannon fire and missiles into the trenches. Far behind the front line to their rear, Evan could see dropships and landers breaking through the clouds like meteors, delivering reinforcements and equipment to the surface.

The Bugs were fighting them for every inch, but they were gaining ground, going trench by trench and bunker by bunker with practiced efficiency. Evan hadn’t ever really considered the possibility of failure, but seeing their gains with his own eyes still filled him with confidence.

Behind him, the rest of the squad were standing around a collapsed bunker that they had just cleared out, their idling IFV parked nearby.

“Get away from that edge, Private,” Simmons barked as he waved Evan back over. “You’re just begging to get hit by a sniper.”

Before Evan could comply, he was distracted by the sound of an engine. He glanced up to see a pair of Beewolfs screech overhead, low enough that he could have waved to the pilots, the two fighters descending towards a target in the distance.

“What the hell are they doing?” Simmons asked as he jogged over to get a better look, his prior warning forgotten. “This grid square hasn’t been cleared for aircraft!”

The rest of the team joined them at the edge of the outcrop, watching the two aircraft perform a low pass over the trenches, their cannons barking. They were aiming for a cluster of bunkers, Evan zooming in past the bright glare of their engines to see maybe ten or eleven Scuttlers advancing on the position, flanked by teams of Warriors. The Bugs were making a hard push to recapture it, pouring fire into the mostly collapsed fortifications. There were a couple of disabled IFVs nearby, plumes of smoke from their burnt-out hulls rising into the air, several that were still intact firing back at the encroaching enemy. It was hard to make out details at such a distance – even with his visor’s magnification – but it seemed as though there were Marines taking cover in the buildings.

The Beewolfs swooped in, strafing the advancing line of Bugs, explosive shells cutting a swathe through their ranks. Several of the Scuttlers collapsed, emerald flames erupting as their fuel and ammo stores ignited, one of the Warriors torn almost in half as the twenty-five-millimeter projectiles ripped through its carapace.

“Those guys are pinned down,” Garcia mused, watching the scene unfold. The two fighters banked up, breaking off as they prepared to circle around for another attack. “I guess they can’t call in artillery when the Bugs are right on top of them like that.”

“There could still be active AA in the area, so the Penguins can’t provide air support,” Simmons added. “They’re probably hoping that the fast-movers can get in and out in time. Those are either the bravest pilots I’ve ever seen, or all the blood that’s supposed to be in their brains is pooling in their feet...”

The planes came in for another pass, their cannons chewing through more of the Bug units, precise enough that they could fire within what looked like a couple of hundred meters of the friendly Marines.

“Looks like there’s a company of Kodiaks heading to reinforce them, but they’re still a good five minutes out,” Even added as he pointed to a formation of tanks that was making a beeline for them across the cratered terrain.

The counterattack on the UNN position had been soundly broken, the Scuttlers and remaining Warriors scattering, many of them too wounded or damaged to continue their assault. After another strafing run, the planes began to climb away, their noses pointed towards the clouds.

The celebration was short-lived, a stream of projectiles rising on plumes of smoke from somewhere out of view, fired by a concealed Scuttler. The anti-air missiles locked on after a moment, streaking after their targets, the two Beewolfs taking evasive action. They shot off in opposite directions, firing flares as they rolled and banked, the missiles closing. Several of them were distracted by the decoys, veering away to chase the falling points of red light, erupting into explosions of plasma in mid-air. One of the aircraft managed to escape unscathed, but the second was still being chased, a single stubborn rocket staying on its tail. The plane weaved and banked, but the missile was faster, able to make tighter turns without the limitation of having a pilot who was susceptible to g-forces.

Despite the impressive aerobatics of the airman, the missile closed into range, erupting into a spreading sphere of plasma. It engulfed the tail of the craft, stripping away the black stealth coating to reveal exposed metal, the structure slagging under the intense heat. Evan expected the plane to explode, but it didn’t, continuing on as it trailed dark smoke from its damaged fuselage. It seemed to have lost all engine power, and the two tail fins that would have given it rudder control had been vaporized, the pilot engaging the thrusters in an attempt to regain some control as the craft started to nose towards the ground.

“Come on, buddy,” Hernandez hissed under his breath. “Eject already!”

The Beewolf leveled out into a glide, its thrusters jetting blue flame as they struggled to help right it, the burning plane angling itself vaguely in their direction. It went down hard, digging a deep furrow through the trenches, more pieces of its hull shearing off along the way. It lost a wing, which made it wheel around, the burning craft sliding to a stop just in time to save itself from tipping over and rolling.

“Fuck, do you think he survived that?” Garcia asked.

Simmons put a finger to his helmet, receiving a transmission, Evan listening in on the local ad-hoc network as the battalion commander’s distorted voice came through.

“Delta-seventeen, the Rorke just lost a Beewolf over the hot zone, and you’re the closest team to the wreckage. They’re picking up an active beacon and life signs from the pilot, so get over there and extract him.”

“Consider it done, sir,” Simmons replied. “Saddle up, people!” he added as he turned back to the IFV. “We have a downed pilot to rescue!”

“Man, why does it always have to be us?” Hernandez grumbled as he hurried after him. “This squad gets passed around like a Marine on shore leave.”

“I got a soft spot for fellow pilots,” Sunny said, her suit rising from its crouched resting position beside the Puma. “Let’s get down there before the Bugs beat us to the punch and have themselves an endo sandwich. I’m usually all for that kind of thing, but it’s not a euphemism this time – they’re gonna kill him.”

“Yeah, I think we got that,” Hernandez replied.

They loaded into the IFV, then drove back down the slope of the outcrop, Sunny running alongside their vehicle as they headed out onto the battlefield. This grid square hadn’t been captured and sectioned off by airborne reinforcements yet, so there was a high likelihood of Bug troops being present in the area. In a way, it was like cauterizing a wound.

The IFV bounced through a crater, jarring Evan in his seat as he glanced out through the external cameras, the damage done by their earlier collision with a Kodiak still creating a blind spot in his field of view. The area surrounding the Ant Hill looked like a lunar hellscape now, craters of all conceivable sizes pocking the landscape, most of them partially filled in by the constant rain to form small lakes and ponds of ash-tinted water. Shattered Bug structures were scattered everywhere he looked, sparse pockets of burnt tree stumps reminding him that there had once been a forest the size of a small country here. The land was scarred by trenches, crisscrossing back and forth between the collapsed bunkers and towers, the odd scorched Drone carcass or burnt-out shell of a Scuttler rushing past their vehicle. Sunny was sprinting alongside them, leaping over ditches and skirting around the ruins.

“We’re about five minutes out,” Simmons said. “Be ready to disembark in a pinch because the critters are definitely going to be trying to secure the site, same as we are.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for backup?” Hernandez asked, bouncing in his seat.

“Not if we want to extract him in one piece,” Jade replied.

“I see the smoke!” Sunny announced. “It’s just over this next rise!”

Evan felt the IFV’s wheels leave the ground for a moment as it crested the hill, its suspension sagging as it landed, his harness digging into his flesh through his pressure suit.

“I think the driver is getting a little too accustomed to this low gravity,” Brooks complained. “This isn’t a fucking moon rover.”

“But we are technically on a moon!” the driver replied, apparently listening in.

Evan spotted the wreck some distance ahead of them, the torn fuselage lying at the end of the ditch it had carved into the ground, burning pieces of debris strewn all over the area. Despite the damage, the main body and cockpit area seemed relatively intact, suggesting that the pilot might still be alive. After a crash like that, mere minutes could mean the difference between life and death.

“We got bogies!” Sunny warned, skidding to a stop in the mud. The IFV hit the brakes, Evan turning his head to see a couple of squads of Drones making their way through the wreckage ahead of them. They had approached from the opposite direction, following the trail of debris. They were sifting through the twisted pieces of hull, making their way towards the fighter, hunkering down when they noticed the newcomers.

“Don’t hit the plane!” Simmons warned, rising from his seat as the troop ramp began to drop. “I dunno anything about Beewolfs, but it’s generally not a good idea to shoot at something that’s full of fuel.”

Sunny was already opening up with her shoulder cannon, the IFV’s blister joining her, laying down suppressive fire to force the Bugs into cover as the squad exited the vehicle. The IFV deployed its walls, everyone ducking behind them, Evan lifting his head over the barrier to get his bearings. The Bugs were retreating behind the wreck, seeming to realize that they were safe there, Sunny cursing over the radio as she was forced to cease fire.

“I gotta move around and get a better angle on them – try to flush them out,” she announced as she began to stalk around the left side of the wreck.

“We have to get to that pilot,” Simmons added, hissing through his teeth in frustration. “Every minute we waste fucking around is a minute they might not have.”

“Let me, Aster, and Cardinal climb up to the cockpit,” Jade suggested. “We’re lighter than a human – we’ll stand less chance of disturbing the wreck.”

“And have the pilot shoot you in the face because they think you’re Bugs?” Evan scoffed. “No way. I’ll go.”

“They probably aren’t even conscious after that crash,” Jade argued, but Simmons stepped in.

“Evan, Garcia, get your asses over there. The rest of you – cover them.”

Evan nodded to Garcia, and the two of them vaulted over the wall, ducking low as they crossed the open ground between the IFV and the Beewolf. It had landed sideways relative to them, listing at a shallow angle, its intact wing lifted into the air. It was much larger than it had looked now that he was up close – maybe fifteen meters long when it still had its tail, and a wingspan of ten or eleven meters. The pair approached the fuselage, Evan climbing up onto the angular paneling, most of it still painted with an onyx-black stealth coating. There were warning and no step signs all over the damned thing, but he paid them no attention as he hauled himself up onto the back of the downed plane.

He reached down to take Garcia by the hand, lifting him onto the wreck. The pair shouldered their rifles as they balanced on the smooth hull, making their way towards the cockpit near the nose. Evan stopped a few feet short, covering his counterpart as he knelt to try to get a look through the canopy.

“You see the pilot?” Evan asked, glancing around warily. He could hear Sunny firing from somewhere behind him, engaging the Bugs, the red outlines that she was transmitting to his visor blinking out one by one. They were very close, hiding just beneath the plane, only a few meters away.

“Nah, I can’t see inside,” Garcia replied. “Looks like it’s full of some kind of foam...”

“How the fuck do we get in?” Evan asked. “Sarge? Anyone know how to-”

“There,” Garcia said, pointing to a handle that was recessed into a panel beside the glass. “It says emergency release.”

The Marine reached for it, but he was distracted as a Drone clambered up the nose of the plane. It used all six of its limbs like some kind of giant cockroach as it scrambled up the fuselage, far more agile than they were, putting itself behind Garcia to block Evan’s shot. Garcia swung his weapon towards it, but the Bug reacted faster, delivering a kick to his chest plate that sent him toppling backwards off the plane. It was quite a fall, maybe three meters, but the low gravity and the soft mud cushioned the impact. It came for Evan next, dropping to all-sixes, scrambling over the domed canopy in a bid to reach him.

There was a loud pop, like a firecracker going off, a ring of small thrusters sending the entire canopy shooting violently into the air. The Drone had been standing on top of it, and the creature was sent hurtling head over heels, thrown clear of the wreck.

Evan turned his wide eyes to the open cockpit, the expanding foam that filled it starting to shift as a figure dug their way out. He glimpsed a flight helmet and a pressure suit, almost completely buried beneath a layer of the clinging substance, the pilot struggling their way up onto the hull. They stumbled to their feet, wiping some of the beige gunk off their reflective visor, the two oxygen tubes that trailed from their helmet dangling as they shook their head in an attempt to clear it.

Before Evan could ask if they were alright, two more Drones leapt up onto the wing to Evan’s left. He turned to aim his rifle at them, bringing one down with a burst of gunfire that chipped more of the stealth coating off the wing. The pilot drew a service pistol from their thigh, firing it from the hip, putting a trio of rounds through the second Bug’s carapace. One of the bodies slumped onto the wing, the other tumbling back down towards the ground.

“You good?” Evan asked, switching on his helmet’s external speakers. “Are you hurt?”

“Do I look hurt to you?” the pilot replied, a male voice coming through. “We need to get the fuck down from here. I armed a five-hundred-pounder.”

“What!?” Evan exclaimed. He had no idea what a five-hundred-pounder was, but he knew what the word armed meant.

“There’s a five-hundred-pound bomb that I didn’t drop yet still inside the bay,” the pilot explained, dropping to his butt as he slid down the smooth paneling. He dropped down to the muddy ground, where Garcia was brushing himself off. “It didn’t go off during the crash – smart bombs won’t until they’re armed – but it’s live now!”

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Evan asked, hurrying after him. “Garcia, you alright?” he added. Garcia nodded, straightening his helmet before running along beside him.

“I didn’t know I was about to be rescued!” the pilot replied, the trio heading for the nearby IFV. They returned to the safety of the deployable wall, diving back into cover.

“I got the last of the Drones, but we have a bigger problem!” Sunny warned as she came back into view from around the left side of the crashed Beewolf. She was backing up, her shield raised, plasma dancing between the studs on its surface. The pilot reacted with alarm when he saw her, but Evan put his hand on the man’s sidearm, pushing it down.

“It’s alright,” he explained. “She’s with us.”

“That thing is a she?” the pilot replied. He wasn’t patched into their ad-hoc network and couldn’t hear Sunny over the radio.

Evan didn’t need to ask what had Sunny so spooked – he could see the red outline that her suit was transmitting to the rest of the team, the unmistakable silhouette of a Scuttler. It was approaching them from behind the crashed Beewolf, out of view of the IFV, turning its cannon on the Jarilan Warrior. It fired, a massive bolt of plasma slamming into Sunny’s shield, sending her staggering backwards under the blow. There was a flash of light as the projectile met her plasma field, releasing all of its charge, too powerful to be completely dissipated. The combination of kinetic and thermal energy blew her shield apart, sending molten fragments of chitin spraying, leaving only a scorched chunk of armor attached to a limp arm. She regained her footing, then leapt out of its line of sight, her damaged limb dangling at her side.

“Sunny!” Jade exclaimed. She put a hand on the lip of the wall as though intending to vault over it, then seemed to reconsider, sinking back down into cover. “Are you alright?”

“I-I’m good,” Sunny replied, backing up towards them. “My shield took the hit. We don’t have anything that can scratch that thing, though! We need to hightail it out of here while we still can!”

“Back into the IFV!” Simmons said, waving them towards the troop ramp. “That Scuttler is going to roll right through us!”

“Wait, you guys don’t have an AMR?” the pilot demanded. “Where’s your armor support?”

“Our orders were to extract a downed pilot,” Hernandez replied as they jogged behind the Puma. “We didn’t come here fixin’ to fight Scuttlers!”

“Wait, wait,” the pilot said as he stopped to look back at his wrecked plane. “I got an idea. Tell your Warrior to lure the Scuttler closer to my wolf.”