Hell to Pay - a sci fi action series

 

HELL TO PAY

 

 

"A Trooper is virtuous. He never denies battle, even when he is outnumbered. A Trooper is poor, chaste, kind to women."

The Templar Creed

 

 

 

Paying Hell

 

Ralph stared across the hardpan surface of the alien planet. It was covered in dust and rock, a dry desolate plain spread out in front of them, bordered by a rock wall on one side and a sea of sand so fine, it was like sinking in water every time someone took a step on it.

They had lost several transports that way, the first on accident, the next two a test of sorts, a test that failed, and cost the life of one Trooper.

The others they had been able to rescue.

"How goes it?" a voice interrupted his reverie.

Ralph pointed to the instant structures at the far end of the plain. They were faded from sunlight and use, but still functional in the Martian atmosphere.

"No one has been in or out in two hours."

"You've stood watch that long?"

Ralph didn't answer, nor did he have to.

The man beside him had seen him do longer. He had once picked him up from a sniper hole after three days where the soldier lay in hiding, picking off the enemy from long distance.

"What do you think they'll decide?"

Ralph played with his blaster rifle, checking and rechecking the charge and load, adjusting the strap, as if he longed to place the reticule next to his helmet and blast holes into the tent far beyond.

"Whatever they decide, we know who will pay hell for it."

That earned him a grunt.

Paying hell was what he and the rest of his squad did best.

Captain Richards wiped a thick glove across the dome aperture of his helmet to try and clean off some of the ever present red dust.

It mostly smeared, and he wished for a canister of air just to clear off the rest.

Even though his body was ensconced in an EVA Battle Suit, he felt grungy.

He supposed he would. All of his bodily needs would be taken care of inside the Suit of Troop Armor, but none of them had bathed in months.

There was hardly enough water to drink and maintain the army in the pass behind them, let alone waste it in the starving red dirt with something as simple as a shower.

"I'm going down there."

"I'll come with you."

Richards held up a hand.

"If it's a trap, if they've killed the Commander, I need you to sound the alarm."

"What if they kill you? Two of us can cause a hell of a lot more damage than you by yourself."

Ralph didn't add that he was the better killer of the two.

He didn't have to. Richards knew it. Everyone in the squad and more than half the Army knew it. The man lived to slaughter their alien enemy.

Which was why Richards wanted him to stay behind.

If it was a trap, if the overtures for peace were false, if the enemy set up an ambush to take out the Commander and Richards was caught up in it, the rest of the men would need Ralph.

Not as a leader, but a protector.

"Just cover me," he said and grunted an approval as Ralph plopped down in the red dirt and set the sniper scope up on his blaster.

Overwatch in place, Richards made fast work of the distance to the impromptu peace talks in the instant structures thanks to the low Martian gravity.

Each leap carried him closer. He studied the plains at the bottom of the canyon where the two sides were to meet.

His advice to the Commander had been to set up artillery along the top of the wall and rain laser hell down on the enemy as they advanced for the pass.

But powers higher up took that battle to another part of the red planet and left the ground forces for both sides here to pound it out.

Yet they hadn't.

Peace overtures were made first.

If they could reach an agreement, they could avoid a lot of dead bodies.

If it was a trap, then his might be one of them.

Richards paused in front of the airlock.

The instant structures looked like inflatable kid toys at birthday parties, he always thought. Perhaps it was because that's how fast they went up. Four corners and chambered roofs were created with air canisters, which pressurized a reinforced membrane for a wall.

They were fast, up in an instant, and safe for short term occupation.

Richards thought adding a force field barrier to the interior would make it even safer, but his suggestion had been met with a few scoffs.

Barriers were more expensive than trained soldiers, even in their Suits.

Besides, the Suits could act as a shelter too.

At least in the short term.

There were no guards posted at the outside of the structure, but he could see a hoverjet parked behind it.  It was little more than a platform, like a massive floating table that hovered four feet over the Martian dirt.

But each hoverjet could hold two dozen aliens, and that made them formidable.

He wondered if there were that many inside and slipped his finger into the oversized trigger guard on his blaster rifle.

The LED above the airlock door blinked from green to red before he could move.

Richards stepped back and aimed the blaster at the doorway.

When the light flashed to a solid red, the door opened and a nine foot dragon stepped through.

That's what Richards thought of them, what most of the earthmen he fought with agreed they looked like.

Kamodo dragons walking on two muscular hind legs, short blunted snouts behind thin clear helmets, forked tongues flicking in and out constantly, enough so that the alien invaders earned a nickname.

Licks.

This particular Lick looked down at Richards. His reptilian yellow eyes kept moving, stopping on the blaster.

It held out it's hands to show it was unarmed and Richards moved the tip of his weapon away.

Just slightly.

"That action would not bode well for the conversation I just left," it hissed.

A small square box strapped to the thing's neck translated into robotic English, but Richards thought he could detect the hint of an accent.

The voice came from a speaker near it's neck, and carried to a radio speaker in his helmet.

He didn't have to wonder how the alien had access to the radio wave codes.

It would have needed them to communicate with the Commander and his staff inside.

The Lick studied him for a few moments more as two more came through the airlock, towering over Richards.

They turned at some unheard command and marched toward the hoverjet. The four foot distance would be a hop for any human, but for the aliens, it was a simple step up.

One of them assumed the helm, a rectangle box bolted to what would be considered the front. It lifted up in silence, blowing a wave of dust, silt and grit across Richards where he stood.

He watched it float away toward the far side of the plain and his breath caught in his throat.

He'd read the reports, received the updates, and imagined in his mind what a horde of advancing Lick soldiers looked like.

None of them prepared him for the reality of it.

He could only see the front portion, the vanguard, and at this distance he couldn't even make out individual bodies.

Just a mass of squirming movement, a wave of alien soldiers held back as if by an invisible wall.

He knew that wall was a simple agreement to remain there, at least until the talks were done.

An agreement that could be shattered.

He could step inside the structure and find dead bodies, and hear the thunder of thousands of Licks running toward battle.

They would wash over the structure and pound it into the Martian dirt, pound him into the ground, and pour over the rest of the Army with the intent to do the same.

Not yet though.

So far, the agreement held.

He wondered if that would change. If they had any time at all.

He went inside the airlock to find out.