Читать книгу Imminent Domain - SEAN KOPING - Страница 11

April 20^th 2021

0731 hours

Gossamer Muse Super Cruise-liner

Lido Deck

Advancing silently through the smoldering rubble they moved with a sickly gait. Their naked hair-less, paper-white bodies were covered with dark splotches and varicose veins from head to toe. They were mouth-less with large, lid-less yellow eyes and large gill-like slits on each cheek. Disproportionately muscular shoulders balanced over emaciated abdomens and powerful backward arching legs. The left arm of each podie from the elbow down were shaped like scythes made of bone; while the hands of their right arms were webbed fingers with tapered claws.

They looked disoriented and confused as they stepped out into the open. The head and chest of two Podies out in front exploded with loud wet cracks. A geyser of black blood spewed into the air as they went down. Further behind two small explosions flung Podies into the air. Priest’s artificial voice-synthesizer came over our Comm-link,

“Head-shot’s good.”

Then cougar reported, “Upper centre mass kill-shot confirmed, Sir.”

Acting as our snipers, Cougar and Priest hung from rope-harnesses attached to the rim of each of the two main stacks. Standing horizontally against the stacks, facing downward, they looked as if they were lying down in mid-air atop an invisible platform with their now modified Oicwv2 ‘modular’ assault rifles aimed down toward the main entrance past the pre-arranged fire-teams. The OICWv2 in its sniper configuration fired 50 caliber depleted uranium rounds that combined the penetrative power of a 50 caliber round with the impact of a frag-grenade. They both wore specially designed state of the art helmets that totally cover their faces and head. These helmets had HUD’s that were wirelessly connected to the scopes and gun-sights of their OICWv2’s. The use of these high-tech helmets increased the long range accuracy of the snipers by an expert calculated fifteen percent; making them devastatingly accurate at incredible distances. The only drawback was that the wearer was literally deaf and blind to his or her immediate surroundings. That and the fact that prolonged use, allegedly, increased the chances of cancerous brain-tumors in users automatically classified it an ‘expert’s tool.’

Colonel Bishop gave the order for the Fire-teams to open fire.

Before us a scene of utter insanity unfolded. Amidst the hail bullets and resounding cacophony of semi-automatic gun-fire the Podies silently fell by the dozen. But still they kept coming. Crawling and clawing past the bodies of their fallen with utter disregard. Pouring from the blasted entrance en masse the horde of Podies surged towards us unabated and un-deterred by the carnage we wreaked upon them.

I think it was at that point I realized what the Commander already had when he gave the order to start falling back to the second level: the Podies weren’t trying to get off the ship. They were trying to get at us!

The fire-teams began falling back. Reverse leap-frogging in the practiced fashion of ‘tapping-out’ and moving; we fired explosive rounds and tossed ‘frags’ into the crowd of on coming Podies.

Firing from opposing balconies Brody and Train were positioned strategically along the elevated walkways that ran the length of the inner perimeter of the ship’s open-air decks. Bullets flew mere inches above our heads as Brody and Train viciously ripped into the Podie front-lines with fire from their 269 Squad Assault Weapons (S.A.W.s). Still they kept advancing. For every one that went down three more would surge forward over their fallen comrade. This forced the retreating Fire-teams to have to pick and choose our shots more care-fully; considerably slowing the retreat of the fire-teams on both sides of the ship.

The Colonel gave the order to blow main supports that held the crescent shaped jogging track suspended over the main entrance. Nothing happened.

“Santos, Where’s my explosion?!” the Colonel yelled into the comm-link visibly annoyed at the non-event.

“Something is wrong, Colonel,” Santos returned, the usual husky Latin-timbre of his voice laced with un-easiness, “the remote detonators are not responding!”

“Fix it, Santos! Fix it- FAST!!”

“Y-yes, Sir Give me a minute…”

“All Fire-Teams HOLD THE LINE!!”

The Colonel’s order echoed across the deck, as every soldier repeated the command, halting the retreat in order focus their fire on the advancing Podie front-lines.

The seemingly endless onslaught of Podie-fodder sharply contrasted with the limited supply of our ammunition which was running out. Blade had just tossed me a fresh magazine when Santos came over the Comm,

“Madre de Dio!” Santos sweared. He need not have said another word. Among the members of team “alpha” it was a known fact that Santos in times of extreme stress would un-consciously lapse back into his native tongue. “Colonel, the detonators are screwed. The remote signals are being jammed! Get out of there!”

As Colonel let loose a barrage of profanity at Santos I could faintly hear Portly in the back-ground.

“Santos!” I yelled as the Colonel re-initiated the retreat of our firing line, “Give Portly your Comm!”

“Que?”

“Just do it!”

Just then Portly came over the Comm, “H-hello?”

“Portly, it’s Rabbit. What are you trying to say?”

The podies seem to be emitting some sort of field of concentrated static electricity similar to what we experienced in the lower decks of the ship. That’s what affecting the remote frequency of the detonators!”

“What? How’s that even possible?”

“Well the human brain works via electrical impulses. And the human body can generate more bioelectricity than a 120-volt battery of energy and over 25,000 BTUs in body heat alone. Who knows what kind augmentations lie within a Podie’s physiological make up?”

“Save biology lesson, Mr. Portland,” Colonel Bishop snapped. “If that’s the case why do we still have Comms?”

“That’s because Stevens and I boosted the signal frequency by converting it to an algorithmic burst data packet configuration and re-routing our Comms through the Thuraya satellite up-link transmitter located on the ship. That combined with our proximity to each other….”

“Could you do the same for remote charges?” Colonel Bishop interrupted dropping to one knee as he let loose with burst of gun-fire.

Portly hesitated for a moment then answered, “Possibly… we should be able to conve…”

“Yes or no,” the colonel shot back through gritted teeth.

“…convertthesignalbolean/mcgrenalgorithmre-routethesign…”

“Portly,” I yelled gunning down three podies stupid enough to run in single-file, “IN ENGLISH!”

“Y-yes,” he stammered hesitantly. “But I’ll need time,” he added quickly.

“I don’t mean to pressure you, Mr. Portland,” the Colonel’s voice was ice-cold, “but when we run out of ammo the bombs won’t matter anymore ‘cause we’ll all be dead…. Mr. Portland, We’re almost out of ammo.”

“Uh yeah,” Portly squeaked his voice cracking. “N-no pressure at all. I’ll get back to you.”

The Colonel looked around for a moment. Assessing the situation he spoke into the Comm,

“Cougar. Priest. From your angle you should have a visual of the charges set on the jogging track.”

“Affirmative, Chief. We have visual.”

“Then make it go boom, Cougar.”

Suddenly the sound of two loud distinctive cracks rose above the din of gunfire and the both ends of the crescent shaped track exploded. Lurching awkwardly to one side at first it smashed violently into the deck; crushing the small raised swimming pools and Jacuzzi along with most of the Podies that had already emerged from the entrance. Water from the now broken pools washed across the entrance knocking the ass over elbows like grotesque bowling pins they tumbled across the floor.

Seizing the opportunity to get some more distance between us and the podies the Colonel ordered us to retreat to the first of our two makeshift defensive fall-back positions.

As the fire-teams ran across the glass –tiles that comprised the ceiling of the atrium Colonel Bishop stopped at the center. Covering the rear I watched as he planted two fist sized blocks of symtex plastic explosives on the glass floor side by side.

“Priest. Cougar. New target.”

While Cougar continued her task of sniping the podies at long-range Priest’s robotic synthesized voice answered on the Comm,

“Affirmative.”

Suddenly, from the balconies over looking the deck, Brody and Train opened fire again. The Podies had started climbing past the broken debris of the jogging-track and Jacuzzis. The fire-teams were already firing past the Colonel and me when we rejoined the fire-team behind the make-shift fortifications several metres past the glass floor.

Like ants invading a picnic more podies swarmed over and around the debris as they erupted from the entrance in countless numbers. Surging toward us like a living flood the podies scampered across the glass floor oblivious to the explosives at their feet. The Colonel ordered Cougar and Priest to take their shots. Once again the distinctive cracks rang out. But this time no explosion followed.

Cougar’s voice came over the Comm,

“No joy, Chief! We don’t have a visual. Too many damn Podies are around the explosives!!”

The Colonel swore beneath his breath.

Without thinking I leapt over our barricade and sprinted toward the on-coming Podies. Behind me the Colonel called for covering fire. Reaching the edge of the glass-tiled deck I put aside my rifle and dropped to one knee. Drawing my USP46 I focused through the moving forest slender deformed legs and fired.

The explosion rocked the deck and bathed the advancing podies in flames. Several were thrown clear by the violent explosion. The glass-tiled floor cracked white with hair-line fractures, to my surprise, remained intact. Recovering quickly the podies charged past the charred remains of their brethren with renewed vigor. Stunned, I knelt there as they came right at me.

Suddenly the Colonel appeared at my side with Matilda. The horde surged towards us. He looked at me angrily,

“While I appreciate the initiative, Son, if we survive this…,” the Colonel growled softly, “You and I are gonna have a little talk.”

Pulling me to my feet and out of my stupor he shoved me back toward the barricade. Glancing over my shoulder I realized that he wasn’t following. As a matter of fact he stood his ground at the border where the glass tiles ended and the steel deck floor began.

Before I could yell a warning the sawn-off Maverick-88 12 gauge pump-action shot-gun let out its signature ‘Crack-Clack’ as the Colonel chambered a shell and looked away. Without aiming he fired into the cracked glass-floor. About second after the deafening blast, the glass floor which comprised the roof the fourteen deck atrium, shattered and collapsed instantly swallowing up the horde of podies.

For the moment we had stopped the podies. A few of us let out shouts of victory and jeered at the podies as they gathered on the opposite side of the gap utterly confused.

“This isn’t over yet, People!” the Colonel pointed out wasting no time with celebration. “Train, Captain Li I want the adjoining port and starboard passages and balconies cordoned off. We’ll focus on containment till our back-up arrives. All non-combatants report to the heli-pad.”

Turning on his heel walked away from edge toward the others who were now emerging from behind the barricades,

“Mr. Portland, tell about my explosi-.”

Suddenly from the lip of the chasm where we were standing a podie sprang into the air as if shot from a cannon. Sailing over my head it slammed into the Colonel’s back and slammed his face into the steel plated deck. Straddling the stunned Colonel the podie raised its scythe-like arm and was just about deliver the killing blow when I did the only thing I could think of, I body-tackled it.