William Dietz - Resistance - The Gathering Storm

Nash was about to follow the rest of the team out onto the frozen landscape when he suddenly realized that he couldn’t move. His legs knew what they should be doing, but it didn’t matter. They refused to obey his commands.

He watched helplessly as the men just ignored him and passed him by. As the last one exited, a Chimeran projectile slammed through the VTOL’s skin and passed within an inch of Nash’s nose. That scared him even more, enough to start his feet moving, and get him out the door.

But not before he had grabbed a heavy duffel and thrust it out ahead of him.

Hale was one of the first troops through the door. He crouched and took a quick look around as projectiles kicked up geysers of dirt around him. Spotting a cluster of trees, he gestured to the men. “Over there!” he shouted, pointing to the tightly bunched evergreens. “Take cover!”

One member of the team, a private named Lang, took a hit, and was half carried, half dragged into the relative safety of the trees. A medic immediately went to work on a leg wound that had already begun to heal.

Hale was about to make a dash for the trees when he saw Nash throw a bag out of the VTOL’s cargo compartment. Instead of being one of the first off the plane Nash was the last to leave, and Hale swore angrily as he ran over to grab the heavy bag and escort his commanding officer to the cluster of trees.

Engines roared, and the Boop’s propellers created a momentary blizzard as the ship lifted off.

“Let me know when the fun is over,” the pilot said in his ear, “and I’ll come back to get you.” Then with a tilt of its engines, the VTOL was gone.

Hale and Nash finished their sprint to the trees. By then the rest of the team was busy setting up defensive positions.

“What’s in this thing, anyway?” Hale demanded, dropping the bag next to Nash. “A load of rocks?”

He didn’t bother with the honorific “sir,” but Nash didn’t seem to notice. Rather than correct Hale, he chose to answer the question. “Tools,” he replied. “Chimeran tools. If we find something valuable we’ll have to disconnect whatever it is from the shuttle, and as quickly as we can.”

That made sense, Hale thought, and he felt stupid for asking, but pushed the thought aside and assessed the situation.

The wreck was about eight hundred feet above them. The Chimera were damned near on top of it, and pretty well in charge. There was a loud crack as a large-caliber projectile hit the tree Hale was standing next to, spraying him with splinters of wood and showering him with snow. “Sergeant Kawecki… Sergeant Alvarez,” Hale said, using the radio now. “Let’s put those Fareyes to work. Or do you like being shot at?”

That produced some chuckles, and the team’s best marksmen went to work. Within moments the enemy barrage was being countered by the steady crack, crack, crack of outgoing sniper fire.

Hale went forward to get a better look at the butte, and Nash followed. Once there Hale discovered a long line of boulders that marked the bottom of a scree-covered slope and offered good concealment. Bringing his binoculars up to his eyes, he followed the slope up to the wreck and its debris field. Already half a dozen dead Chimera lay sprawled on the bloodied snow. The surviving Hybrids had taken cover by then, but every now and then one of them would pop up to take a pot shot at the humans, and most paid a high price for their audacity.

“So,” Nash said, from his position next to Hale’s right elbow. “You have experience at this sort of thing… What do you think we should do?”

Hale bristled at the question because Nash was wearing the railroad tracks, and it was tempting to force him to lead. But that would be suicide, and there were the men to think of, not to mention the mission, so he chose his words with care.

“I don’t think we have much choice,” he said deliberately. “It looks like we’ll have to fight our way uphill. It won’t be easy though—and we’re going to take a lot of casualties.”

Nash flinched as a stray projectile hit one of the rocks and made a zinging sound as it whipped past his ear.

“You know best of course,” he said, lowering his own binoculars. “But there might be another way.”

“Really?” Hale said sarcastically. “And what would that be?”

Nash’s eye twiched spastically and he battled to keep his voice steady.

“You’ve seen the wreck, Lieutenant… It’s sitting on a bed of snow-covered scree. The snow is slippery, as are all those chunks of loose granite, which could work in our favor. What if you had the men fire those LAARK things at a point immediately below the wreck? That could precipitate a landslide which would bring the remains of the shuttle at least halfway down the slope.”

Hale just stared at him. There was a moment of silence, broken only by the intermittent crack of a sniper rifle—and the occasional ping of an incoming projectile. He wrestled with the idea for a full five seconds. “It seems like a long shot, sir,” he said tentatively, “but it’s worth a try.”

Nash smiled weakly as another involuntary muscle contraction caused him to wink. I wish he’d stop that , Hale thought.

“Good… I’m glad you think so.”

The team was equipped with two L209 LAARK rocket launchers. It took the better part of ten minutes to collect the soldiers who were in possession of the weapons, position them at the foot of the slide area, and give them their instructions. It was snowing more heavily by then, which made the already misty crash site even more difficult to see, so Hale felt a sense of urgency as he knelt between the men.

“Aim for a spot fifteen feet below the wreck,” he told them, “and fire on the count of three. Once the first rockets are on the way, reload quickly—and prepare to fire again. But don’t do it unless I say so. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” both soldiers responded, their voices overlapping.

“Good,” Hale said. “Now acquire your targets… Tell me when you’re ready.”

About ten seconds passed as both men took careful aim.

“Ready, sir,” the one on the left said, quickly echoed by the soldier to the right.

“On the count of three, then,” Hale said. “One, two, and three.”

There was a loud whoosh , followed by another just a fraction of a second later, as two rockets sped uphill. Moments later they struck the slope. Twin explosions produced what sounded like a single boom , geysers of snow and pulverized rock shot up into the air, and Nash felt the resulting vibration through the soles of his boots.

But once the smoke cleared the scene was unchanged.

Hale glanced at Nash, saw the look of uncertainty on his face, and turned back again.

“Let’s try again,” he said levelly. Both men had already reloaded. “Same spot as before—on the count of three. One, two, and three!”

There was another stereo whoosh as two more rockets roared away, followed by overlapping explosions. But this time Hale heard another sound as well.

It began with a throaty rumble, followed by the clatter of loose rock, which increased to a muffled roar as the entire hillside began to move. And not just the hillside, but the Chimeran wreck as well, which was beginning to edge downhill. Metal screeched, rocks exploded as additional weight bore down and pulverized them.

A reedy cheer went up from the Sentinels when their objective came down as if to meet them.

Hale lifted his glasses to watch the shuttle’s progress, and was just in time to spot one of the Hybrids who had been hiding in the rocks downslope from the wreck. The creature popped up and tried to run, but seconds later it threw its hands into the air and mouthed a silent scream as it disappeared under the advancing beetle-shaped wreck. Instantly it was lost from sight altogether.