Jean Preston - Sledgehammer

Though it was pitch black, through the lens of the soldiers’ helmets – the material world was perfectly legible, though tinted green. The drones split their formation, 1 flew above the canopy, 1 went ahead and two guarded the flanks of the thin line of advancing soldiers. Loma saw through the eyes of the drones, and of the soldiers via their helmet cameras. Their visions were projected onto a great screen in the cockpit. A light rain pitter-pattered on the plastic window.

They had been advancing for some time when one of the trooper’s icons lit up: “Loma take a look at this,” he said over static. Loma pressed his screen and enlarged it to prominence.

“Everybody hold,” Loma called out. Looking through the trooper’s eyes, she saw the soldier digging up something half submerged in the mud, spherical and pale, he held it up to his helmet, brushing away the dirt – it was a human skull, missing all its teeth.

“Alas poor Yorick.”

“What’s the holdup?” crackled a voice.

Loma puzzled over the screen. She snapped to attention. “Santiano found the remains of a native, long deceased. Keep me informed if you find anything else unusual, let’s keep going.”

“Aye Aye Cap’n.”

They paced forward, a half kilometre from their destination.

“Uh Cap’n?”

“Yes, trooper Bayern?” she enlarged her screen. Wedged into the elbow of a branch was another skull, its jawbone missing, it was stripped clean, staring down at them.

“Captain you gotta see this,” said another voice.

“Everybody hold positions,” Loma ordered. She pulled up the latest screen. The camera shook slightly as trooper 2 approached a large amorphous blob in her path. It was an earthen grotto. Two skulls, sans jaws decorated the entrance, it was a mound of earth and twigs, leading into the side of a hill infested with tree roots. The entrance was guarded by a scrap of fabric, held in place by rocks.

“Everyone form up on troopers 1 and 2.”

She ordered the drones to do likewise, making sure they stayed out of earshot. “Surround the hut. Troopers 1 and 2 will breach on my mark.”

She counted down and ordered the breach.

The first trooper lifted the cloth over onto the roof and stared into the room a moment, then plunged in, rifle drawn, the second trooper followed.

It was a small dirty enclosure, more like an animal den. There were exposed roots all along the walls, Intertwined in these were animal and human bones, hundreds of them, ribs, hips, skulls, empty black sockets staring into space.

“Hostile sighted,” whispered a voice in Loma’s ear. Loma darted to her screen. Saw the world through her eyes.

In the distance there was an obscured figure, observing her, hiding behind a tree. It was humanoid in shape, but not much more could be said of it. Its eyes shone bright in the infra-red light.

Loma inhaled sharply, then in a robotically calm voice made her announcement. “Troopers 1 and 2, exit the hut. All troopers: There is a possible hostile to your south east, I am adding his co-ordinates to your maps. He has visual on trooper 5. Approach with caution.”

“Why the fuck didn’t the drones find it?” spat a trooper.

“I – I don’t know.” Loma paused. “There must be some sort of malfunction. I’ll work on it, proceed in silence unless something new comes up.”

The figure’s head retreated behind the tree. The troopers advanced to its last known position in a thin line, weapons primed. Loma studied the drone cams – they should have picked up the figure’s heat signature and warned her, yet they proceeded as if everything were normal…

“Hostile spotted!” screamed a trooper.

It was too tall, it’s head too small. It shambled through the trees, its form obscured by the swaddling of cloth and twigs around it, it limped away and wailed horribly, inhumanly.

“Light it up!” screamed a trooper.

Jets of thin blinding light erupted from the rifles. They ripped through bark, singing trees to the core and tore up sandy earth, turning it to glass. A number of beams hit the creature – it burst into flame, its inhuman scream divided into two tones, then the thing ruptured horribly, leaving charred melting remnants on the trees and ground.

“Hostile dispatched,” muttered the first trooper.

That was first contact with the natives . After a moment Loma spoke up again. “Proceed to original destination, keep your eyes peeled, there’s some kind of malfunction with the drones’ thermal imaging.”

“Roger that.” Replied a few scattered voices.

The rain was starting to leak down the Chrysanthemum’s windows. On the ground, the rain fell in streaks, visible through the cameras of the drones and troopers, limiting long range vision.

“So does anyone know what the fuck that thing was?” crackled a voice.

All communications fell silent.

“Probably just some inbred mainlander”

“Prolly a mutant—”

“We’ll save the speculation till after the mission,” said Loma. “It was… hostile, you destroyed it, that’s all we need to know right now.”

With all the joy extinguished in them, they proceeded, out of the forest, to a steep hill that overlooked a plain. Across a concrete road there was an imposing building, large and angular. It was made of smooth grey stone.

The generals had dubbed it the Citadel, and it was a building of great interest to them. Digging through scraps of records, they found evidence that hidden beneath the Citadel was an ancient factory powered by its own miniature fission power plant.

Satellite imagery had implied the place to be inhabited by a primitive group of agriculturalists, living blissfully unaware of the invaluable tech lying just beneath the soil they toiled. Then, gradually the population dropped off to nothing. Most likely due to a radiation leak from the long-neglected power plant. With the grounds uninhabited, and the local powers still ignorant of its importance, now was the perfect opportunity for Avalon to explore the ancient ruins, and collect the treasures that no doubt lay there.

There were signs of recent habitation, rows of trenches surrounded the building, and there was large swathes of disused farmland nearby. A few huts and a few single-story concrete buildings dotted the grounds. But the place was totally abandoned now, tools lay scattered, no lights burned, not a soul stirred.

Two of the drones zoomed over the troopers’ heads. These explored the grounds of the Citadel while the remaining two entered it directly. The troopers held position on the hill overlooking the facility, waiting for the go-ahead from Loma.

In two rows they marched forward, crept through large holes in the fences, hugged the walls, till at last they made it to the facility entrance, its doors long since destroyed, one by one they climbed the steps and entered into the building, following the drones.

Kirwyn knelt in the chapel, his hands bound behind him. He looked to the other munks, some were glassy eyed, some haunted, some stoic. He pulled at his plastic shackles but they were unyielding. In the adjoining room he could hear muffled speaking. A sort of sing-songy language he couldn’t understand. He heard a crack and he flinched. One of the munks lowered his head and began to whisper-chant to himself. A sad old moan drifted through the door. It was the Mother Superior. Kirwyn had never heard her speak before, she’d never uttered a word as far as he knew.

Another smack and Kirwyn flinched again. The munks lowered their heads. The Mother Superior began to weep. The strange voices got louder – there were two of them, asking questions, getting no answers – she’d never speak – surely. Kirwyn’ chest began to heave. He pulled at his bindings again, pulled so hard his wrists stung maddeningly, but it was useless.