Episode 31
Enemy at the Gates
Back in my module I settled in for whatever lay ahead. Having not been trained in internal defense tactics, I couldn’t assist with fighting the enemy. So, I began puzzling my way through how I could at least monitor the action and learn how the internal security team defended the ship. That knowledge might come in handy in the event of future enemy attacks. Knowledge was power after all.
I knew there were auxiliary sensors in the control modules. The optical and acoustic sensors could theoretically be used to observe the ship’s interior, near my location in the charging network. However, when I tried to engage the manual controls for these sensors, I kept getting error messages. It seemed access to the sensors on my module was restricted.
Cursing Command, I looked for workarounds to the restrictions, but kept running into obstacles. The only sensors accessible to me were some accelerometers that were intended to measure impact forces transmitted to the control module during combat. Forces generated by enemy hits on whatever weapons system the module was installed in.
Forces violent enough to exceed a specific threshold of G’s, would trigger an autodestruct warning to Command. This was intended to notify Command whenever a UCC was badly damaged on the battlefield. Command would then typically autodestruct the Marine, to prevent military technology from falling into enemy hands.
I was able to pull up this sensor’s menu on my HUD. The display immediately began registering spikes; vibrations transmitted throughout the ship’s metal structure. Undoubtedly impacts from alien projectiles as they struck the troopship.
I was desperate to find out how the battle was going. Were we successfully defending the ship, or was our home being shot out from under us by the enemy? I felt totally helpless to influence the outcome, and it sucked.
Then, as I scanned my HUD for other sources of information on the status of the ship’s health, I noticed a couple of texts had just hit my inbox. There was one from Lucy with an attachment. I immediately opened it. It simply read, “Download this.”
Downloading the link cleared the error messages I’d encountered while trying to activate my optical and acoustical sensors. I could now open the ‘Manual Control’ option. “Thank you, Lucy!” I thought to myself.
As the sensors became active, I began hearing the sounds of combat. There was no air to transmit sound in space, and the interior of the ship contained no atmosphere, since there were no flesh and blood humans onboard. However, just like a gigantic human ear drum, the ship’s structure transmitted sound very efficiently.
Instead of the sharp concussions of explosions produced by combat in a planet’s atmosphere, the sounds all had an eerie metallic quality to them. It was as if the battle was taking place in some colossal bell. Outgoing artillery fire sounded like a muffled thump, while the incoming enemy rounds produced a resonant gonglike sound. Like some gigantic living creature, the ship seemed to groan in pain with each fresh impact.
My optical sensor had deployed but was facing down and behind me. All I could see was a closeup of the charging rack which held my control module. I began maneuvering the camera around and elevating it, eager to catch some of our Marines defending the troopship. As the camera panned across the ship’s massive charging bay, I saw something that captured my attention.
Before me were fields upon fields of charging racks stretching beyond the range of my optical sensor. There were also countless layers stacked above and below my position in the charging grid. This enormous network must have held hundreds of thousands, or perhaps millions of control modules. Each one presumably contained a universal combat consciousness. It was a WTF moment for me.
Previously, I had assumed there were only a few thousand Marines aboard the troopship. But here was evidence that there were many more.
Was I wrong to assume that the system needed the UCCs more than we needed it? And if Command had an almost unlimited supply of replacement UCCs, then why were we so shorthanded at the moment? As I pondered this question, I heard more enemy projectiles begin striking the troopship.
Pointing the camera up, I watched in horror as jagged holes began appearing in the ship’s skin. Plumes of metallic debris rose from the ship as enemy rounds chewed away at its structure. The clouds of metal particles sparkled with the reflection of distant stars as they drifted into space.
Even as my conscious mind was captivated by the terrible beauty of the scene before me, my subconscious screamed. Our ship, our home, was being destroyed!
As I struggled to focus my attention, I noticed for the first-time, static crackling in the background. The link that Lucy sent must have included some kind of mil-net connection. I should be able to hear the defense teams over their squad radio’s. I turned up the volume and began hearing frantic voices. Squad leaders communicating with each other.
“2-7, this is 2-3. Sector Z18 is not secure! I repeat, Z18 is not secure. 8th squad is out of action! We are being overrun! We’re pulling back!” The message ended with a flurry of gunfire in the background.
I didn’t know who the leader of 3rd squad was, but I knew who ran the 7th. It was Merc. It was his voice I now heard over mil-net. “Negative 2-3! There’s no place to pull back to! Be advised, you will stand, and you will fight! 2-7 out.”
In the chaos of combat, it was difficult to sense the ebb and flow of the battle. However, judging from what I was hearing, the situation sounded desperate for the ship’s defenders.
Suddenly, the unnaturally calm voice of an AI could be heard. “This is Overwatch. Squads 9 and 10 proceed to Z18 immediately. “
Merc got back on the comms, trying to encourage 3rd squad’s leader. “Hang on 2-3. Reinforcements are inbound to your position now!”
Then I realized, the 9th was Cherri’s squad! Shit! I had no idea she was on the internal defense force. Suddenly, the fight for the ship took on a personal dimension for me. Both my squad leader, and my ostensible partner were in the thick of a desperate defensive battle while I was stuck in my module, hiding.
I wanted to do something to help. Knowing that my squad was fighting without me made me feel like I was shirking my duties as a Marine. I texted Lucy asking him if there was some way for me to get into the fight with the others.
He responded immediately. “Negative. You have no training for internal defense and it’s a completely different style of combat. You’d just get in the way out there. The best Marines we’ve got are already on the job. Just relax.”
“Relax!?”, I thought. It was so frustrating being reduced to watching and listening, unable to assist. I listened as the radio traffic began narrating what seemed like a new phase in the battle.
For the first time, I began hearing a feminine voice over mil-net. It was Cherri!
“Overwatch. This is 2-9, We are at Z18 now. Be advised, we’ve got centipedes inbound to this position. We’re going to need artillery support ASAP. Preferably all available.” The calm in her voice seemed utterly incongruous with the gravity of the message. Centipedes were a deadly adversary. The thought of having to defend against them in real combat was terrifying to me.
“Copy 2-9. Stand by.”
The Centipede was an enemy weapons platform that was commonly included in simulator training scenarios. Centipedes consisted of multiple heavily armored modules, which could be connected into a wide variety of configurations.
Most of the modules contained weapons of various calibers and capabilities. Other modules served as ammo magazines and autoloaders which replenished the offensive weapons, maintaining their high rates of fire.
Each module contained a propulsion unit with six articulating legs, giving the Centipede excellent mobility on the ground. Although I had never trained against Centipedes in a space combat scenario, based on the current evidence, they apparently had modules with some kind of thruster system for maneuvering in the vacuum of space as well.
Any of the modules that were damaged in combat could be jettisoned, allowing the undamaged sections to reconnect into a still combat effective configuration. Additionally, Centipedes could quickly reconfigure themselves during combat to present a constantly changing threat profile to the enemy.
The Centipede’s only Achilles heel was its predictability in battle. As a fully autonomous weapons system, its machine logic allowed only a limited number of actions to be performed in certain combat situations. Consequently, it was common for centipedes to perform certain known behaviors in battle.
When it took a defensive posture, it would coil itself into a tight spiral. This allowed it to fire its weapons in all directions simultaneously. However, this exposed its delicate sensor arrays. Centipedes could be defeated by firing into the sensor arrays of its autoloader modules. With these sensors knocked out, it couldn’t detect when to initiate the reloading process. A centipede without the ability to reload its weapons was effectively disarmed.
Nevertheless, coordinating the complex maneuvering to get enough Marines in position to take out a centipede’s sensors was challenging in combat. Cherri’s decision to call in an artillery strike was far more practical, as long as Command cooperated.
The low thumping of outgoing artillery reverberated throughout the ship. Thankfully, Command didn’t drag its feet sending artillery support.
Cherri reported on the situation in Z18. “Overwatch, 2-9. Good guns! Enemy centipede formation badly damaged. The centipedes are withdrawing out of my line of sight, to the other side of the ship. We’ve got a lot of casualties in this sector but are secure for the moment. Advise you send some maintenance bots to recover control modules while we can.”
It seemed like the defense of the ship would be successful after all. I was just beginning to relax when Merc’s distinctive voice came over mil-net. “Overwatch, this is 2-7. We’ve got a problem in B36. Enemy centipedes are regrouping in our sector. Looks like they’re going to probe us next. We’re going to need artillery support soon.”
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“Negative 2-7. All of the guns on that side of the ship are out of action. We’re working on getting them back online, but don’t have an ETC for repairs. Will send all available reinforcements to your sector ASAP.”
“Copy Overwatch. Looks like we’re going to have to do this the hard way. 2-7 out.”
With no knowledge of B36’s location within the troopship’s layout, I had no idea where Merc and his defense team were. I just hoped it wasn’t anywhere close to my position. The ship’s hull directly over me had been shredded by enemy fire. Consequently, it would be almost impossible to defend against a force of centipedes.
Fate seemed to mock me, as squads of combat-bots began entering through the jagged rips in the hull above. Marines from the ship’s defense team, using magnetic tethers, moved quickly through the latticework of the ship’s interior.
Although the bulk of the ship’s construction consisted of aluminum and other non-ferrous metals, the millions of fasteners which held the ship together were made of steel. The magnetic tethers readily attached to these steel parts, allowing the Marines to maneuver around the ship with ease.
Like spiders, they cast their tethers, then reeled in the slack to arrange themselves in a semicircle around the main cluster of holes in the damaged ceiling above.
The advantage of the tether system over thruster propulsion was the ability to establish a stable firing position. With thrusters alone, the system would have to continually compensate for the recoil of the weapons as they were fired. Mag-tethers made aiming and hitting the enemy much easier. And without artillery support, Merc’s defense team would need every advantage to successfully defend the ship.
I listened intently as Merc and his team set up their ambush.
“We’re in position Merc. Just waiting for targets.”
“Copy that, DJ. Be advised, the enemy is in-bound at this time. We’re dropping into the interior now. Hold your fire till we’re in position.”
“Roger.”
I saw a group of 5 light grey combat-bots enter through one of the hull breaches and take defensive positions near their squad-mates.
“In position now. Going dark,” Merc said. He and his defense team disappeared as they powered up their active camouflage systems. The lines of their mag-tethers were only just visible among the struts and supports of the ship’s internal structure. Even the radio went silent as the Marines waited in ambush mode.
My anxiety spiked as I waited for the enemy to enter Merc’s ambush. The small group of defending Marines would be the last hope of stopping the enemy and saving our home. One squad of 19 Marines against an unknown force of enemy centipedes suggested the odds of success were bleak.
As I ran grim scenarios through my mind, I saw a flash of movement above. A centipede! It rushed through one of the hull breaches and entered the ship’s massive charging bay.
The lone centipede performed a series of exploratory laps of the interior, while sensors on its lead module scanned the space, searching for threats. Producing no heat signatures and invisible to optical sensors, the Marines blended into the clutter of the troopship’s internal structure.
The defenders held their fire as the enemy beast’s head swept back and forth, searching. Finally, the enemy machine stopped and twisted into a defensive configuration. It resembled a giant floating corkscrew, bristling with weapons.
Sending in only one centipede strongly suggested this was part of the enemy assault plan. Risk one centipede to assess the enemy’s strength, then adjust tactics accordingly.
I wondered why Merc hadn’t blasted the enemy to pieces yet. “What the fuck are they waiting for?”, I thought. Was he waiting to see if any more centipedes would enter their ambush before opening fire?
Sure enough, as I watched anxiously, a second centipede cautiously entered the ship. It was closely followed by another. There were now three of the enemy’s’ deadliest machines inside the troopship.
Each of the intruders performed the same methodical inspection of the ship’s interior. Their familiar Achilles heel, predictability, was on full display.
I wondered if there were more waiting outside. And whether this was part of the enemy’s plan. Probe the ship’s defenses with a few centipedes, to test the level of resistance, then crush the remaining defenders with overwhelming force.
While I contemplated the enemy’s tactics, a voice came over the radio. It calmly uttered a single word, “Fire”. The scene before me began strobing brilliantly with muzzle flashes, as Merc’s defense team unleashed a storm of heavy weapons fire on the intruders. The centipedes appeared to have been caught completely by surprise.
All of the action took place in an eerie silence due to the lack of atmosphere in the ship. The only sounds I heard were a few errant shots from the enemy, as they clanged into the ship’s internal structure.
The enemy machines began shedding bits of their super structures and sensor arrays, as a steady stream of large caliber rounds struck and exploded. They were bursts of return fire from the enemy, but most of it was unaimed and missed its intended targets.
One of the centipedes seemed to recover from the shock of ambush quicker than the others, and it soon began directing accurate fire on the defenders. Although the marines were using active camo and were still invisible, their weapons were now superheated and glowing brightly on the enemy’s thermal targeting systems.
Merc ordered his team to switch to their backup weapons. “Ditch your primaries, go to backups!” This allowed the defense team to momentarily mask their thermal signature.
While the enemy’s thermal targeting systems tracked and fired on the drifting decoys, the defenders directed their fire at the reloading sensors of the centipedes. Their sustained fire shredded these critical systems, reducing the enemy’s rate of fire.
The enemy continued to fire, hitting, and damaging some of the Marines. But the volume of fire decreased dramatically, then stopped entirely as the centipede’s weapons ran out of ammo. Using textbook combat tactics, Merc’s marines had succeeded in destroying the enemy’s reloading capability, suppressing the centipede’s combat effectiveness.
With the enemy’s guns silenced, there was a strange lull in the combat. As the pause persisted, I wondered whether this was a standoff, or if some kind of undeclared ceasefire had magically gone into effect.
Confusing the situation further, the centipedes began emitting clouds of thick white smoke. I initially thought they were autodestructing, but as the smoke persisted and expanded, it was clear this was a tactic. Was the enemy trying to hide a general retreat after a failed mission?
As smoke began enveloping their positions, a panicky marine could be heard on the radio asking, “What the fuck is going on?”
Merc barked orders to his team, “Spread out and move to new positions now! Get out of the smoke!” He then inquired about the promised reinforcements. “Overwatch, what’s the ETA on those troops?”
Command responded with its typical default, “Standby.”
Suddenly, exterior doors on the centipedes burst open. Through them surged heavily armed enemy soldiers, firing wildly at the marines. Enemy rounds began flying in every direction. A few stray rounds struck the charging network near me, destroying dozens of control modules, and the helpless UCCs inside.
One of the marines took a direct hit and exploded into fragments.
Merc tried to rally his marines. “Get some firepower on these fuckers!“ The defense team began to return fire, as smoke obscured both attackers and defenders. A desperate battle raged overhead, but it was now totally invisible to me.
All I could see was a billowing white cloud, illuminated from within by continual muzzle flashes. It was as if a violent thunderstorm had found its way onto the troopship. Occasionally, a lightning bolt would escape the cloud, inflicting random destruction on whatever or whoever got in its way.
Merc pleaded with Command.” Overwatch! We’re getting shot to pieces! Where are those fucking reinforcements?!”
“Be advised. Reinforcements are in route, at this time.” I found the AIs’ inability to exhibit any sense of urgency infuriating.
As I listened to the radio traffic and tried to visualize the action overhead, a tight formation of enemy soldiers unexpectedly emerged from the smoke. Their bright white spacesuits strongly suggested these were flesh and blood soldiers.
With the defenders blinded by the smoke screen, and engaged in the desperate fighting above, the enemy troops raced towards the ship’s charging grid completely unopposed.
Their mobility thrusters puffed jets of gas and continuously swiveled to stabilize the soldiers, as they landed on the grid not more than 10 meters from me. I suddenly felt far too close to the action. Hoping to avoid attracting unwanted attention, I held my camera stationary.
Some of the enemy fanned out, forming a security perimeter, while others approached one of the many junction boxes integrated into the charging system.
I wasn’t sure whether these boxes fed power to the grid, held the network’s communications infrastructure, or both. Regardless, I got the feeling that the enemy was targeting them. My fears were soon confirmed when one of the enemy soldiers, carrying what looked like a crowbar, inserted the tip into an access port and began forcing it. The cover deformed and then popped open, exposing bundles of fiber optic cables.
A second soldier reached in and pulled out several of the bundles. Methodically checking one after the other with some kind of test probe. He finally selected one and gestured to the soldier next to him, who held out a device with an attached screen. The prober gazed into the screen intently.
Then, he suddenly turned and looked in my direction.
I froze.
Although not particularly religious, I prayed for invisibility, and began chanting a mantra, “Don’t look at me. Please don’t look at me.” The prober, along with several of the soldiers, maneuvered towards my control module, stopping just feet away. “Oh shit,” I said quietly to no one.
The soldier, who was seemingly in charge, gestured for the guy with the crowbar to come forward. Then he reached out and tapped on a control module a couple of rows away from me. The crowbar guy moved forward, his thrusters firing, and began prying the control module loose from its moorings.
After much effort, and damage to both the charging grid and the control module, he grabbed the newly liberated prize and handed it off to a soldier carrying a mesh bag. The group of enemy soldiers moved down the grid and repeated the tapping, prying, and collection process several more times, until they had bagged at least half a dozen control modules.
Had the enemy targeted modules containing specific UCCs? “What could possibly be the point of such an exercise?”, I wondered.
The group of enemy soldiers returned in my direction, seemingly finished with their collection mission. As they passed me, the crowbar guy jammed his tool down into a control module next to me, apparently in a random act of anger. The bar jammed between the rails of the charging grid and stuck fast, stopping him in his tracks. He began working the bar back and forth, trying to free it.
As I watched the enemy soldier struggling to free his crowbar, I could see into his transparent face shield. His face, glistening with perspiration, was humanoid. The enemy seemed far less alien than I had imagined. Certainly, less alien than I had been led to believe.
Were bipedal, humanoid lifeforms so common in the universe? Was it just a coincidence that we were fighting an enemy that looked so much like … us?
Finally freeing the crowbar, he hurried after his comrades, maneuvering through the cavernous charging bay with his thrusters. It looked to me like the enemy collection team was bypassing the raging firefight above and returning directly to their ship.
They exfiled through one of the jagged breaks in the ship’s skin and disappeared from sight. Crowbar guy, bringing up the rear, was the last one out. The thunderstorm overhead had subsided somewhat, but volleys of gunfire still flashed as the surviving combatants continued trying to destroy each other.
It was beginning to seem like the attack on the ship had simply been a diversion. The real mission had been to capture some UCCs. Several targeted UCCs. But why were they targeted, and how could the enemy locate specific Marines in such a vast network? Lots of questions, but no answers.
Suddenly, a voice came over the radio. Ominously, it wasn’t Merc. “Overwatch, 2-8 is down! I repeat, 2-8 is down.”
Merc’s been hit! It was impossible to know if he had been only lightly damaged, or completely destroyed. However, there was still a spark of hope. To avoid a catastrophic accident, it was USMC policy to disarm the autodestruct systems inside the troopship. Consequently, Command couldn’t AD him no matter how badly damaged he was. There would be a chance of recovery and repair.
Command’s emotionless response was heard next. “Copy. Reinforcements 5 minutes out.”
The voice identified itself as Merc’s backup, a corporal. “Overwatch, this is 1-8. Cancel those reinforcements. This fight is over. Just send maintenance.”
“Roger 1-8. Advise status of enemy forces.”
I heard swearing on the radio. 1-8 had inadvertently activated his mic. After muttering some unflattering comments about Command, he responded, “Enemy assault force destroyed. Get those maintenance bots here ASAP. We’ve got a lot of casualties.”
I hoped Merc was among those who could be salvaged by maintenance. At least I knew that Cherri was safe.
I decided to check in with Lucy and see if he had any more information on casualties, or some inside knowledge about why the enemy would target Marines in the charging network.
I sent him a text and waited. When he didn’t immediately respond, I assumed he was already discussing the attack with someone else and hadn’t read my text yet. After what seemed more than ample time for him to reply, I began composing a second, more sharply worded text.
As I wrote, a request for audio chat showed up in my inbox. I immediately clicked on the link.
“Finally! Took you long enough to get back to me.” There was a pause, then I unexpectedly heard Cherri’s voice.
“Did you hear about Lucy?”
Certain that she had misspoken, I tried to clarify, “You mean Merc. Yeah, I heard he got hit.”
Then Cherri provided both clarity, and terrible news. “No … I mean … yes, Merc did get hit, but Lucy was captured. He’s gone.”