Sigma (War for New Terra, Book 1) Page 14

  Ginger peered up at the giant bronze keep looming over the rest of Rhinegarde. It was no more than half a dozen streets away from their position, but there was no telling how infested those streets would be. A few flying roaches circled the keep’s highest balconies like vultures.

  “Yes, sir. We can make it.”

  “Good to hear. There’s a breach in the north wall – some of the other battalions used it to enter the city following the Inner-Orbit Bombardment. You should be able to get out that way, if the bugs haven’t taken it.” More crackling. “But be quick, Sigma. Command has ordered…”

  All Ginger got was static and a few sharp pops. She smacked the side of her helmet in frustration.

  “Goddammit. Cheap UEC tech!”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Duke, getting ready to move. “We got our orders, and I don’t much fancy hanging around here anyway. Want me to take point, Sarge?”

  She nodded then snapped her fingers in front of Bradley’s face. He’d gone back to staring at the cobbles.

  “Hey. Hey! Are you dead?”

  Suddenly alert, he turned to her with a bemused look on his face.

  “What? No?”

  “Then keep two things,” she replied, pulling him up. “Moving, and your wits about you. We’ll get you back home yet, Private.”

  He nodded eagerly.

  “Yes, Sarge. You got it.”

  Duke led them along the row of semi-demolished shop fronts. There wasn’t time to wonder what goods and wares those stores may have stocked only a few years before, nor had the bugs’ attack left much evidence to go on. A mill here, a loom there, an overturned forge half-visible in a darkened back room. All glimpsed through a thumping red haze that shook with every terror-stricken beat of Ginger’s heart.

  One wrong move – a step out into the street too soon, or a trigger not pulled quite quickly enough, or to simply be stood in a bad spot when a sac from a bug cannon came crashing down – and it would all be over.

  A billion light years travelled, all for nothing.

  Her mouth was dry. Her palms weren’t. Duke stopped at the intersection where their street crossed with the next and held up his fist. Ginger’s anxiety rose. There was barely enough cover for all four of them.

  One of the mutant bugs with cannons fused into the twisted carapace of its arms stomped past their position, escorted by a small crew of chittering roaches. One of them stopped near the wooden stand Sigma was crouching behind and clacked its mandibles as if detecting something… a scent, perhaps, or a faint vibration in the air… and then frantically scuttled onwards.

  They all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  “Follow me,” said Duke.

  They crossed the street with their heads down and didn’t stop until they reached a narrow and deserted alleyway on the other side. Catching her breath, Ginger looked back the way they came and witnessed a bunch of marines trying to hold their ground near the top of the main steps. They had a Challenger tank with them – it blew a hole right through a giant, cannon-wielding beetle, which in turn exploded, taking out a good few dozen roaches in its wake. But there was no stopping the swarm. A few seconds later, both the tank and the squad were swallowed under a wave of thrashing insect bodies.

  “Keep going,” Ginger said, hurrying her fireteam down the alley. “We’ve got to move. And move quietly,” she added.

  “We’re clear,” Duke whispered, checking the next path along.

  They pushed north.

  The base of Rhinegarde’s keep was no less spectacular than the keep itself. Blossom trees scattered their pink petals in the breeze. Bronze statues, ten metres in height, guarded each side of the central thoroughfare. Giant banners waved, but their proud insignias had long since faded to white.

  All the splendour of the Roman Empire or feudal Japan, only built from metal rather than marble or wood. And this was just one city – what other wonders did New Terra hold?

  Ginger fought to suppress a cough as she reached the top of a winding staircase hidden in the narrow crevice between a tight clump of stone houses reinforced with beams of thick, dark oak. Fires were spreading through the city, and all their smoke seemed to rise to the summit.

  Getting even that far had already taken Sigma almost fifteen minutes. It had been a while since they last saw a fellow marine. Or even heard one, for that matter, besides the occasional and short-lived rattle of a rifle far off in the distance.

  Either they’d been left behind, or everyone else was dead.

  Ghost collapsed against the wall of the house at the top of the steps and groaned.

  “Well, that’s not good.”

  The keep’s central boulevard swarmed with bugs. Mostly the grounded, gunless kind, but legions more than Sigma could ever hope to take on its own. Its eastward lawn boasted the biggest bug-hole yet. Huge boulders of concrete and stone lined the edge of the tunnel – they resembled broken teeth around a screaming mouth.

  “No,” Ginger wheezed. “That’s not good at all.”

  She jumped as Baker’s voice crackled over her headset. Finally. They must have climbed high enough for his signal to get through.

  “…yet? I repeat: Fireteam Sigma, are you clear yet?”

  “Baker, I read you.” Ginger kept her voice barely above a whisper so the roaches wouldn’t hear them. “We’ve just reached the base of the keep. Our way through is blocked, but—”

  “What? Are you telling me you’ve not even left the city yet? Jesus, Rogers. Get the hell out of there!”

  At first Ginger thought Baker sounded furious. Then, with a creeping chill, she realised he was scared.

  “Overwhelming enemy forces between us and the exit point,” she gasped, still out of breath, “Need to find an alternate—”

  “Command’s talking about nuking the city,” Baker snapped. “Rhinegarde’s lost, Ginger. It’s sitting right on top of a goddamn bug nest. Stop talking to me and hustle!”

  Everyone in Fireteam Sigma heard the message over comms. They stared at one another in disbelief.

  “They’re dropping a nuke?” asked Bradley. He sat down hard on the floor. “Like, a nuke nuke? How long until it gets here?”

  “Doesn’t sound like they’ve launched it from the Invincible yet,” said Duke, staring blankly at a point just past Ginger’s left ear. “But I’d put it at between ten and fifteen minutes. Depends how they deliver the payload.”

  “Even if we find a way past those bugs, we’ll never make it out of the city in time.” Ghost shut her eyes. “We’re screwed.”

  Ginger felt her rifle arm go limp.

  “All that fighting. All those deaths. I can’t believe it’s all going to have been for nothing. Again. They could have just nuked this site from orbit in the first place.”

  “Huh.” Duke laughed without humour. “Remember back on the Invincible when Baker said Command didn’t want the Ministry’s help because they’d just ‘glass the planet’? That’s kinda ironic.”

  Ghost chuckled and shook her head.

  “Yeah, and it’s not like the rest of New Terra’s gonna be any different, right? This whole world will be a radioactive wasteland by the time they’re done with it. Real great place to raise the next generation of humanity.”

  “So, which is it gonna be?” Ginger crossed her arms and sighed. “Charge out at the bugs and die in a blaze of glory, or sit here and wait for the end as friends?”

  “Sit and wait to die? Pfft.” Ghost climbed to her feet. “Screw that. I never liked the two of you that much anyway.”

  “Hey, guys?” Duke had opened one of his larger satchels and was turning a block of C-4 over in his hand. “What if it didn’t have to all be for nothing?”

  Ginger and Ghost shared a hesitant look.

  “I’m listening,” Ginger said. “But if you’ve got something to spill, you’d better make it quick.”

  “Well… they’re nuking the city because of the nest underneath it, right? But what if somebody had already destroye
d it? Do you think that would be enough to get the bomb called off?”

  Ginger looked at the single block of C-4 in Duke’s hand.

  “Maybe. But do you really think you can destroy a whole bug nest with just that?”

  Duke sheepishly pulled a much larger pack off his back.

  “No,” he said, undoing its ties, “but maybe this would do.”

  “Oh my God,” said Ghost, peering in. “Where the hell did you get all this?”

  “One of the marines back at the munitions ATV we passed had it on him,” Duke replied. “He… well, it wasn’t like he was gonna use it any time soon. Didn’t want it to go to waste.”

  “Christ, Duke.” Ginger pulled her head from the sack. It stank of motor oil. “There must be more than a dozen demolition blocks in here. I’m surprised you can even carry it. I still don’t know if it’ll be enough to clear a whole nest, though. Maybe it needs a nuke.”

  “Isn’t it worth a shot?”

  All of them stared at the large pack of plastic explosives except Bradley, who remained sat on the floor staring wordlessly at the stone steps instead. Ghost broke the silence first.

  “Sod it. I’m game. We’re basically dead anyway.”

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” said Ginger, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. But there’s still one major problem.”

  “Them,” said Duke, nodding at the horde of roaches scuttling about past the end of their alleyway.

  “Only way we’re getting past that lot is with some kind of distraction,” said Ginger. “But that means…”

  “That means one of us has to stay behind,” sighed Ghost, “and I don’t much fancy their chances. Can’t be Duke – he’s the only one who can work the C-4 properly. So I guess it’s either you or me, Sarge.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Private Bradley.

  Everyone turned to look at him, stunned.

  “I’m sorry,” said Ginger. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’ll do it.” Bradley rose shakily to his feet, clutching the strap of his rifle tight with one hand and adjusting his helmet with the other. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not trying to be a hero, or anything. There’s just no way you’re getting me to go down into that nest.”

  “It’s still brave though, buddy.” Duke squeezed Bradley’s shoulder. “You sure?”

  “The way I see it, it gives me the best odds of surviving,” said Bradley, laughing nervously. “Besides, do any of you know how to drive?”

  “I do, sort of.” Ghost bobbed her head from side to side. “Well, not really. I know how to fix a vehicle, I guess. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

  Careful not to be seen by any of the roaches, Ginger poked her head out the end of their alleyway. It was a weird question for Bradley to ask, given that few of their generation ever had much opportunity or reason to learn how to drive since the solar flares started battering Earth. But then she saw the armoured ambulance around the corner, parked amongst rubble only ten or eleven metres from where they stood.

  “Don’t tell me you can drive that thing,” she said, impressed. “Can you?”

  “I think so. My dad was a collector of vintage cars and let me take the Bentley around the estate sometimes. Even showed me how to operate an old harvester once. From back when you could still grow crops outside,” he added as way of explanation.

  “Jesus Christ,” said Ghost. “Who is this kid?”

  “If I can get inside the cab without being seen,” Bradley continued, “I should be able to lure all the roaches away from the hole. Far away. The noise from its engine might be enough but, if not, the PA system on the roof looks intact, too.”

  “Nice work,” said Ginger. “Much better than my plan.”

  “Wait, what were you thinking of doing?”

  “Running down the street in the opposite direction to the rest of you, screaming my head off and waving my hands in the air. I hadn’t given it all that much thought yet, to be honest.”

  “I don’t mean to spoil anything,” said Duke, glancing anxiously at the sky, “but if we don’t get moving soon, we’re likely to still be stood here chatting when the bomb hits.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Ginger asked Bradley.

  “Yeah. I think so? And hey, maybe I’ll even drive right out of the city. Get free of the blast zone entirely.”

  “Good luck, Ice,” said Duke.

  “It means cool this time,” Ghost added with a smirk.

  “Heh. Thanks.”

  Private Bradley crouched down at the end of the alleyway with his left hand splayed against the stone wall, waiting for the right moment to dart across. There were some overturned med crates between the alley and the vehicle; their cellophane-sealed contents had spilled across the cobbles. They didn’t make for great cover but, if he moved between them quickly, they might do.

  Bradley turned back around.

  “Maybe I should…?”

  “Go!”

  Ginger gave him a helpful shove forward. After an initial stumble, Private Bradley made it to the first crate unseen. Ginger worried he would remain there, hugging his knees and whimpering so loud the bugs would come and bite his legs off, but he kept moving from one crate to another until he reached the side of the med-transport.

  He glanced back at their alleyway. Ginger nodded and encouraged him to keep going. With his back pressed hard against the side of the vehicle and his rifle clutched just as hard against his chest, Bradley inched towards the cabin at the front. He stepped up to the driver’s side window and peeked inside. From the relief on his face, Ginger guessed it was empty. He opened the door, hastily clambered inside the cab, and then quietly shut the door behind him.

  “Yes, Bradley!” whispered Ghost. “I can’t believe the little nerd actually did it.”

  The med-transport vehicle’s engine grumbled and popped as Bradley hit the ignition. Almost all of the roaches lurking around the central boulevard snapped their heads up in the direction of the armoured ambulance. A few let out enraged screeches.

  And then the engine stalled.

  “No, no, no,” said Ginger, anxiously digging her fingers into the crumbling mortar of the alley wall. “I knew this was a bad idea…”

  The roaches scuttled towards the med-transport en masse, clacking their mandibles together like chefs sharpening their knives. One of the closest bugs leapt up onto its roof and started furiously slashing at it with its front claws.

  “Oh, this is gonna be a whole different type of distraction,” Duke groaned. “I can’t watch.”

  “Whatever happens,” said Ginger, who unlike Duke was unable to tear her eyes away from Bradley’s vehicle, “get ready to run for that hole. We can’t let the poor kid die for nothing.”

  The exhaust spluttered nothing but black smoke again, and then suddenly the engine roared back to life. The whole ambulance seemed to vibrate with power. Then it rumbled over the surrounding debris and trundled off down the street, slowly at first before picking up considerable speed.

  The roaches, furious that their latest meal was now on wheels, chased after it. Their mood hardly improved when, much to everyone’s surprise, Bradley started blasting loud music out of its broadcast system.

  “Wow.” Ghost watched the vehicle disappear down the street with her mouth open. “The son of a bitch actually did it. Huh.”

  “The tunnel,” yelled Ginger, ushering them out of the alley. “Now! Before any of them come back!”

  They sprinted across the empty clearing, deftly clearing the various piles of rubble and fallen statues in their way. A few flying roaches still circled around the keep but were too high to notice them. They clambered up the rocky precipice of the bug-hole and stared inside. The tunnel was dark and wet, but not so steep that they couldn’t climb down it safely. Whether they could climb back up it again, on the other hand, only time would tell.

  “Christ almighty,” said Ghost. “Are we actually doing this?”


  “Command’s gonna bollock us for sure,” said Duke.

  “If they can find my body when this is over,” said Ginger, “they can court-martial it all they like. How long we got, Duke? Ten minutes?”

  Duke snorted.

  “That’s a bit optimistic, Sarge. But I guess right now we need all the optimism we can get.”

  “Then let’s stop wasting time. We’ve lost too much to the bugs already – I’m not about to lose this city, too.”

  They dropped down the other side of the rocks and raced towards the nest.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The soil squelched and churned beneath their boots as if it were a writhing, living thing. A syrupy brown liquid dripped steadily from the earth overhead. Not water, from what Ginger could tell. Some sort of mucous or ooze – a sticky residue left by the bugs that kept the whole tunnel from collapsing in on itself.

  It stank like fruit left to rot in the sun.

  No light followed Fireteam Sigma past the first twenty or thirty seconds of their descent. Without night-vision, they had to risk using the flashlight attachments on Ginger and Duke’s rifles. Not only did this mean that their sight was limited to the path immediately in front of them, but they risked attracting the attention of the bugs inside the nest as well.

  Yet they couldn’t navigate the tunnel blind, and there wasn’t time to consider anything else. It was do or die – in all likelihood, the best they could hope for was both.

  “How long has it been?” Ginger asked. Even though she kept her voice to a whisper, the words echoed tirelessly ahead of her.

  Duke held his watch close to the beam of his flashlight.

  “Just shy of two minutes,” he replied. He suppressed a dry cough with the inside of his elbow. “Eight minutes to go, I reckon.”

  “As if,” Ghost whispered. “We spent too long talking about the plan up top instead of actually doing it. Knowing our luck, we’ve probably only got eight seconds left before the bomb hits, not minutes.”