The combat delivery vehicle vibrates beneath the squad of seven marines, retro thrusters firing on final approach to target.
Tactical Command speaks from aboard the destroyer Guangzhou, a calm voice heard by all. “Razor Team this is Decima, be advised: remote recon confirms that target resupply station is currently crewed. Threat Level Four, revised engagements rules are in effect. Clear to engage.”
The reply cracks open through the radio, Razor One speaking for his subordinates in cold order. “Copy all, Razor Team moving to engage.”
Fairings crash open as the cylindrical delivery vehicle reveals its lethal cargo to the black void: suited figures clad in bulky armor and strapped with zero gravity maneuvering kits extracting themselves from the beast of aluminum armor and kevlar.
Assault rifle bolts are charged, sound deafened in the nothingness of space itself.
Six hundred kilometers up from the Earth’s surface below, the relatively minuscule target structure five hundred meters away was exposed against an inky black. A pair of solar panels extends outward from the main cylinder of the unintimidating satellite body, its shape more reminiscent of some ancient space station than a remote pirate base.
“Contact on earth facing solar panel.” Razer Four spots as she exits the vehicle.
“Confirmed, maintenance possibly.” Razer Two adds.
The Squad Leader raises a gloved hand. “Seven, take him out.”
“Understood.”
The high powered armor piercing flechette is fired from the anti-material rifle in utter silence, the void consuming the sheer force of the round in a deaf note. For a split second the figure on the trailing solar panel remains engrossed in work, their form suddenly evaporating from a hit to center mass.
Frozen blood and gas spill in an expanding cloud of dust, the tethered body slowly separating from the panel’s handholds.
“Hostile down.”
“Razor Seven, cover our approach.”
“Understood.”
The six figures move, maneuvering packs releasing short bursts of propellant as they advance slowly towards the target.
Clearing the three hundred meter mark, Razer Five spots the white coloring of a space suit. “Unarmed contact, moving on station spine.”
“Engage.”
Four marines open fire, the desperate life crawling to cover annihilated by military precision. Rounds rip and tear, the squad continuing their approach.
“Razor, clear exterior.” Razor One orders his team.
“Copy.” The squad replies.
Beneath them the eastern seaboard of America rolls in; a coastline of blue and green darkened by the urban sprawl of humanity visible even this far from the surface.
Minds blind from trained experience and eyes focused towards current conflict, the view is barely noticed.
“Clear.” A member of the squad reports as he sweeps the station perimeter.
“Exterior clear.” Another confirms.
“Rear airlock opening!”
“Contact!”
Two armed astronauts exit from the bottom of the station, Razor Squad diving to cover. Submachine gun fire erupts, sprayed tracer rounds blasting past the hunkered marines. Razor Five takes a hit, the small caliber bullet impacting on the marine’s left shoulder as it tears through reinforced fabric.
“Razor Five suit breach.” Decima updates calmly from the safety of the command vessel.
“I’m hit!” Razor Five grunts as air pours from the three centimeter wide tear. “Shit!”
Razor Three peaks around the station’s cylindrical form, assault rifle raised as she sends an aimed burst of suppressive fire towards the pair of hostiles.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Seven you got an angle?!” The Squad Leader yells.
“Moving.” Razor Seven replies.
A single burst of reaction control propellant sends the marine across the black, rifle on target as they flank around the station.
Invisible against the void of space the squad’s sniper lines up a shot against the paired hostiles, heads up display highlighting in a pale green as reticles align. “Engaging.”
The nearest figure is hit, the flechette cutting clean through the man’s torso as it sends gore in a plume of frozen blood.
“One down.” Razor Seven reports as they cycle a fresh round into the weapon’s chamber. “Hostile moving down the hull, negative on shot.”
“Four, Three take them out!” The Squad Leader orders.
The two operators leap from the station’s main spire, rifles finding the scrambling figure as they drift away. SIlent warfare, death given without report. The snap of the bullet suffocated by airless vacuum, a last breath sucked out from flesh in explosive fashion as they gun the man down.
Marines track the drifting suit in gunsights, form still as the grasp of space freezes the exposed occupant into ice.
“Clear!” One yells.
Decima speaks up, voice raised slightly. “Razor Five, nitrogen fill tank at seventy percent.”
Suit brech billowing gas into an airless void, the soldier rips open the patch kit on his tactical holster. The emergency injector is found and activated, needle exposing itself as its sharp edge catches a distant sun. In a single motion the point is drived through the compromised suit and into flesh; pulsing wound chemically cauterized and armored suit firmly sealed by hardening resin.
“Razor Five suit breach contained.” Command updates.
“Copy.” Razor Leader acknowledges. “Squad, form up on primary airlock. Razor Five you cover our rear.”
“Understood.” The wounded man grunts.
Maneuvering into position on the half-open entry point, Razor Two removes the three meter wide explosive charge from her pack. Within the airlock mechanism a pair of eyes stare back through the tiny observation window as Razor Squad prepares to breach, the remaining member of the station’s crew watching as the breaching charge is mounted on the airlock door.
“Ready?” Razor Two turns.
“Ready.” The squad reports as they clear the entrance.
Razor Two raises her gloved hand, the countdown from three finished as she grips the detonation trigger hard.
Explosive force is spread across the metal, just enough to compromise the structure of the door. Air spills from tiny cracks, the entire surface area buckling like a crushed can. The sheet of metal blasts forth from its mounting as the station decompresses, the occupant within sucked out into cold space.
The marines riddle the half-suited body with flechettes, the kill confirmed as they begin moving into the station interior.
“Razor Squad be advised we are reading a decrease in network efficiency from an active burner script, data integrity is priority one.”
“Copy I’m on it.” Razor Six replies as he takes the tablet from his pack. “Cover me.”
Fumbling with wires through gloved hands the marine floats through the interior of the structure. Packed supplies mixed with exposed wiring, the resupply station built for the sole purpose of function and nothing else.
The Squad leader motions the rest in. “Razor commence SSE. Flip this place upside down.”
With the squad tearing through the station for intel, Razor Six strings their tablet into the server network, booting up dying infrastructure through an exposed terminal.
Operating systems start, the derivatives of open source code flowing across the tablet as the soldier executes his own personal software. “Decima this is Razor Six. I'm beginning data retrieval, recommend network isolation for the next fifteen minutes.”
“Copy that Razor Six, we’re cutting you loose. Good luck.” Command acknowledges.
On heads up displays the icon of Razor Six blinks out, electronic warfare quarantined against threats of software and silicone.
Terabytes are transferred, the icy grip of space slowly destroying the infrastructure held within the decompressed station. Razor Six works in utter silence, his breath audible as he races against nature through mountains of data.
The sun sets, casting a slow shadow across the earth beneath Razor Squad. Urban centers ignite the black, lights reaching through atmosphere in an orchestra of color. Highways and city blocks all interconnected in a single unified body of humanity.
//TRAN_ERROR
//FOLDER: BOUNDARY
Razor Six swears, tearing through file directories as he finds the offending section.
//BOUNDARY_PROGRAM
A single megabyte uncompressed, the thing seemed as inocolous as every other file currently stored within the remote drive. Razor Six makes the decision, forcibly reformatting the data within as he converts the folder into raw text for later reassembly.
For a moment the data transfers, a copy put into Razor Six’s tablet without error.
Razor Three freezes as they tear open a storage unit, turning back to the rest of the squad. “I got an unknown device!”
The Squad Lead nods as they spot the object: a metal cylinder the size of an EVA pack nestled within the locker. Waving forward the team’s explosives disposal unit, the man updates Command. “Decima be advised we have an unknown portable, Razor Two moving to inspect.”
“Copy that Razor Lead.”
Razor Two stops immediately as she reaches towards the object, frozen in recollection of a horror long ago. “No…” She takes out the scanner from her holster, watching as the needle on the sensor jumps.
Her voice echoes across the entire channel, deaf only to one. “SHIT WE GOT A NUKE!”
“Razor be advised we are reading a radiation spike in the A.O. please verify.”
Surprise meets shock, the Squad Leader grabbing the shoulder of Razor Six. “EVERYONE GET OUT!”
Eyes wide, Razor Six barely moves as he stares into the final message on the screen.
A single megabyte tips the scale, digital tripwire crossed as the cascade begins.
The day is January 14th, 2075.
A flash of aurora is seen in the evening sky above the eastern seaboard of America, a new sun igniting the world for a total of thirty nine point four seconds.
Officially reported as an unusual sunspot anomaly by the United Nations Space Administration, amateur astronomers across numerous forums and internet boards insist otherwise.
The day is January 14th, 2075.
A Solar System Defense Force Special Operations Team is declared missing.
The U.N.S.S. Guangzhou reports heavy debris damage.
And the boundary has become a battlefield.