Planet Wrecker

-69-

“Stay here,” Marten told Nadia. He barely remembered to unhook his tether to her. Then he crawled up the slope.

On either side of his former position, space marines were crouched at the crater lip. Marten eased into position twenty meters from where the cyborg missile had struck. Using his helmet’s zoom, Marten scanned the domes and then the plain between them and him. His gut clenched as he saw twenty, no, twenty-three cyborgs charging toward them. The cyborgs used their trademark glide, moving four to five times faster in the nearly weightless environment than a human could do.

“Twenty-three of the aliens,” Omi said.

“Twenty-three cyborgs,” corrected Osadar.

“Sure,” Omi said.

Marten studied the enemy. Each cyborg carried a bulky backpack, with a line from it to his laser-carbine. Twenty-three of them were coming. Under normal circumstances, a cyborg was worth ten space marines. They were therefore badly outnumbered using that counting system.

More space marines crawled to the lip of the slope. Many settled their IMLs, aiming at the approaching cyborgs.

“Hold your fire,” Marten said.

“Isn’t this the perfect opportunity?” asked a space marine. “Our Cognitive missiles can easily take them out at this range.”

“Wrong,” Marten said. “The distance is far enough to give the cyborgs time to sight and fire their lasers, taking down our missiles.”

“They can’t be that good,” the space marine said.

“They are that good,” said Omi.

“Beside,” Marten said. “They’re sure to have other anti-missile ammunition in the domes. Think of the domes as heavy support stations.”

“Do we run for it?” asked Osadar.

“Negative,” Marten said. “We use our missiles, just not right away.”

“Ports are opening in the domes,” Omi called.

Marten waited two heartbeats before he shouted, “Down, down, down, crawl down from the lip!”

Most of the space marines listened. They had learned in a hard school that Marten Kluge had good instincts. Unfortunately, not all of them listened in time. Small cyborg missiles from the domes blew away two marines, and sent another two space-borne.

“Help us!” shouted a marine, as he failed his arms and legs, slowly drifting higher after the corpse that had jerked him into orbit. Tied to him was another flailing marine.

“Use filament line!” Marten shouted. “Shoot it to him. Hurry!”

Before anyone could uncoil filament line, another missile streaked into view, exploding and killing the two drifting marines.

“We’re dead men!” a marine wailed through the headphones.

“Shut up,” Marten ordered. “We’re far from dead. If we’re going to save Earth, we have to keep our heads, marine.”

“How do you defeat the invincible?” another space marine asked.

“First, by realizing that no one is invincible,” Marten said. “Second, by playing to our strengths. Omi, I want you set up fire-control teams. When you see those missiles coming, use antipersonnel gyroc rounds.”

“Got it,” said Omi, “shrapnel defense.”

“Right,” said Marten, afraid the cyborgs might send airburst missiles and end the fight before it could really get started.

“Ports are opening in the domes,” said Osadar. “They’re launching more missiles.”

Omi raised his gyroc rifle. So did twenty other marines. “Look at your HUD’s,” Omi said. “Fire into your vector—now!”

Rocket-propelled shells leapt out of the gyroc rifles. A nanosecond later, the shells’ mini-engines ignited. They flew at the cyborg missiles, exploded and sprayed antipersonnel shrapnel into the missiles’ flight paths. Some of the cyborg missiles exploded. Others crashed onto their side of the crater-slope, hitting like duds.

During that time, the twenty-three cyborgs gliding toward them rapidly closed the distance. Now red laser beams began to flash. A space marine visor slagged into a glob of ballistic glass. In other places on the lip, stardust melted into a dirty-colored glaze.

“Ready your Cognitive missiles,” Marten said, who lay out-of-sight of the cyborgs on his side of the slope.

“We’re losing too many men,” a space marine cried.

“We’ll lose more before this is through,” Marten said. “Now do as I say.” He crawled to the crater-lip and peered onto the plain. A cyborg about three hundred meters away swung his head around and lifted the carbine into position. Marten slammed himself prone onto the stardust. It puffed around him. He flipped a switch, heard the ping of lock-on, pulled the trigger and felt the blast of the missile whooshing away. Immediately, he ducked behind the crater-lip. A beam cut through the ground where he’d just been.

On top of the slope, other space marines were doing likewise.

“Now switch to gyrocs,” Marten said. He counted to five, and crawled back up. Many cyborgs lay sprawled in death. Too many—more than a dozen—kept gliding toward the slope, fast.

The surviving space marines opened up with gyroc fire, while lasers stabbed back. More space marines died. All the cyborgs then perished under the withering volley.

“Get under cover,” said Marten.

Most of the space marines knew what to do now. Three more didn’t, and they paid with their lives as missiles from the domes killed them.

“We’re losing too many men,” Omi said a few moments later as he lay beside Marten.

Marten’s air-conditioner-unit blew cold against his face. He was breathing hard, and he saw the still corpses on their side of the slope.

“We can’t win like this,” Omi added.

Nadia crawled near, entering into the two-way with them. “We have to reach the domes,” she said. “Otherwise….”

“We’ll never reach the domes on our own,” Omi said. “The cyborg missiles will cut us down if we try to charge across the plain. We need space support.”

“And how do we get that?” asked Nadia.

“We don’t,” said Marten.

“Then we’re finished,” said Omi.

“No,” Marten said. “There’s another way.”

“What is it?” asked Omi.

Marten told him.