Many people think that after two and a half centuries of interstellar travel, humanity would have figured out all the kinks to hyperdrives. Those people have obviously never met the unfortunate souls who design these things; there are saner minds in mental asylums. For understanding the black magic parading as science behind these constructs, you must warp your mind to fit the ideas of its sick inventors.
Hyperdrives are an affront to nature, logic, and physics itself. A manifestation of humanity’s unshakable intent to conquer the unconquerable, one missing ship and lost crew at a time…
—Doctor Blane Janakowski, Director of Scientific Advancement, United Nations of Terra
—
Victor woke up with a jolt, the entire vehicle vibrating around him.
The emergency jump had knocked everyone else out, save for the mechanic who’d slammed on the floor.
“What did I miss?” He asked the staff sergeant, who looked at him with wide eyes.
“We’re…alive, s-sir.” Staff Sergeant Jenkins, according to his nametag, replied. The sergeant winced, nursing a broken nose. “I think I can hear the thrusters firing, means we’re in atmo.”
Victor paused, focusing his hearing on the outside. A faint but powerful thrum came from outside…yeah, those were the engines working in atmosphere…but how?
“We’re in the air, probably descending.” He muttered. “What in the hells…”
Shaking his head, he dismissed the wealth of bizarre and lethal scenarios that a hyperdrive misfire could result in. They were alive…for now.
…
“Agh!” Jenkins groaned as the dropship crashed to the ground.
Its superstructure groaned around them, ill-tied vehicles crashing about within the expansive hangar. Victor’s heart ached as he thought of his precious aviation battalion; he could practically feel about a dozen rotor blades bend, twist and snap with the impact.
Then…silence. The four of them—including one puke-stained corporal who’d been with Jenkins when shit hit the fan— inside the vehicle looked at each other for several moments, not sure what to make of recent events…but not for long.
“How’s the face, son?” Victor asked the staff sergeant.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, sir. Some men would’ve sealed the door before we got in.” Jenkins replied.
He nodded, turning towards the crew compartment with a frown. “I need to contact the bri—”
Another sheer klaxon cut his words, followed by the announcer’s words.
“What the fuck?!” Jenkins exclaimed, while the rest of the crew stirred awake.
The thrusters’ hum intensified, while re-entry alarms blared from outside.
“No time, son. Wake up, Code Blue!” Victor shouted, reaching out to the nearby arms locker.
During travel, they stowed most weapons in the armory; however, at least two rifles and two sidearms remained in the armored vehicle’s arms locker. There were, of course, safety precautions against withdrawing them for ‘fun’ or sinister purposes.
He tapped a series of numbers on the keypad, and the vehicle’s horn and floodlights came alive outside while the lock disengaged. If they were hallucinating the Code Blue, a security team would soon have them dragged out full of tear gas and blinded by flashbangs. If they were not…they had just gotten their guns.
“How’s your shooting, Jenkins?”
After distributing the rifles and sidearms around his makeshift squad, Victor looked towards the vehicle’s rear ramp. Specifically, the tiny sensor interface next to. “Atmospheric pressure’s good, oxygen’s good. If the hull was getting breached, it would’ve happened by now. Let’s go!”
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With the gentle smashing of a button, the ramp lowered to the ground with a hydraulic hiss, and the four men rushed out, inspecting the chamber for damage. Vehicles were strewn about, as were equipment, and the rear hatch had dropped down but everything else looked…
‘Wait, what?’
The four of them looked on in disbelief at the pitch blackness outside the wide open main hatch, a gentle breeze flowing in from the world outside. Victor wondered how the air smelled without his oxygen mask, but dismissed the errant thought immediately.
“Keep your masks on and follow me.”
They moved up closer to the hatch before pausing behind a personnel carrier.
“Flash!” Victor called out.
“Thunder!” Several voices replied from various points around the garage.
“Come on, lads. We’ve got a hole to patch.” He ordered his impromptu squad, moving up to the hatch.
It was situated at the end of a vehicle ramp large enough to fit two panzers side-by-side, while two personnel walkways flanked its left and right, descending into their own little anti-slip ramps closer to the hatch. A collapsible metal fence, which hadn’t budged an inch from its upright position during the descent, blocked all three avenues off.
Halfway there, another two groups of around twenty lightly armed troopers, which seemed to have gathered just a little earlier, joined them. A pair of lieutenants thankfully led the somewhat organized groups. They saluted him the moment they recognized his face.
He saluted back, stopping them before they even spoke. “We’ll save the pleasantries for later. I see you both opened a few arms lockers, good. You,” He said to the blonde one leading the slightly smaller group. “Split your group between you and your senior-most NCO, take the two walkways. If anything that doesn’t look human moves out there, shoot it. If that doesn’t work, we were all fucked anyway.”
A few nervous chuckles escaped from the troopers, but the lieutenant quickly singled out a beard-faced sergeant and split his troops in two dozens. Severely understaffed for a platoon —and half of them were probably rear-echelon troops—, but they worked with what they had.
By the time he formed another thought, they had unlocked the fence gates and were cautiously moving along the walkways, flashlights and rifle barrels pointed at the great darkness outside. They were, at the very least, good at following orders. No trooper in the regiment could be expected of any less than that.
“What about us, sir?” The other lieutenant, just as blond yet donning a greasy beard, asked.
“I want four of your troops to go with the staff sergeant here—”
A howl from outside the hatch interrupted his words, followed by intense gunfire. He could barely make out shadowy figures beyond the ramp, gray fur and glowing eyes momentarily lit by flashlights and muzzle flashes before melting back into the pitch black night. That made no difference to the advance platoon, which was laying down fire with abandon.
“Four of your men, with Jenkins, and see if you can close the hatch through the control room.” He pointed to a cubicle nestled in the far starboard wall of the garage. “Quickly!”
“You, you, you and you.” Jenkins immediately picked out the closest troopers, rushing off with Corporal Puke in tow while they tried to catch up with him.
“The rest of you stay here; I suspect we’ll have a busy night.”
…
“On the double, people!” Lieutenant Nick Gray ordered his men from the front, the platoon rushing to the hangar from their barracks in what was supposed to be full combat kit.
Without looking back, he knew at least half his troops were missing something, and a quarter were most likely wearing only a pair of boxer shorts below their plate carrier. That was probably the best any platoon looked like in the squadron, maybe the entire battalion.
His men ran through corridor after corridor, passing unarmed logistics and maintenance personnel in plain uniform. They were likely headed towards the armories; the sound of gunfire alone coming from the garage told him they desperately needed ammunition.
They only ran faster as they entered the garage, dozens of armored vehicles; just one might’ve secured them a breather, if it was combat capable. Alas, they were all unfueled, unarmed and uncrewed. Maybe in twenty or thirty minutes that would be different, but right now, his unit was the greatest weapon the regiment had.
“QRF, coming in!” He shouted.
A gray-haired man holding a rifle turned to him from his spot in the ad hoc barricade that had become the ramp fence. Nick didn’t need insignia or nametags to recognize his colonel; the salute was instant and subconscious.
“Lieutenant Gray reporting, sir! Where do you need us?”
Steele took one look at them and spoke. “You’ve got heavy weapons, good. Split your stubbers and reinforce the two walkways, these monsters aren’t bulletproof, but they are damn hard to put down with anything weaker than a grenade launcher…wait, were briefed?”
Gray shook his head. “Only that there are hostile life—”
“Yeah, the folks I spoke with at the bridge were pretty confused themselves. Here’s the deal; we are in fantasy land. Last I heard there’s a thick forest outside, with all sorts of nasties from nature and nightmares skulking about. Five minutes ago we put down a spider the size of a truck, damn thing must be more lead than flesh by now.”
Somebody spoke up in disbelief, only for a dark arachnid silhouette to be lit up by a passing flashlight beam a good three dozen meters outside the hatch. Blood and ichor coated the ground, littered with carcasses of animals and bugs…big bugs.
Gray ordered the weapons squad’s staff sergeant to move out, trying to process the images in front of him.
“—the rest of you,” Colonel Steele’s voice barreled on, refocusing his attention. “I’ve got a few mechanics prepping a pair of IFVs for roll-off. As you can see, the hatch is still open, and will remain so until we can fix the hydraulics. For now, we’re establishing a perimeter in the forest outside.” He pointed behind them and to their right. “There should be a few 11Ms in your platoon, right?”
Eight hands jumped up from the crowd, and Steele nodded.
“Good, you’re our drivers and gunners. See if you can help the wrench monkeys get that number up to four, we need that perimeter ASAP or there will be spiders crawling inside the garage by tomorrow.”