Pinwheel Remastered

"We could go back with them," one of our human companions said, shifting his weight nervously as he watched Blackjack and the Marines walk away. "I don't know if I want to go looking for another fight."

"You can go if you want to," Harry replied, "nobody's stopping you."

His tone wasn't accusatory, but the recruit seemed to take it that way, steeling himself as he clutched at his rifle. He swallowed conspicuously, then seemed to come to a decision.

"N-no, I'll stick with you guys."

"It sounds like most of the Bugs still on the station are barricaded in the hanger," I said, waving for our mismatched squad to follow me as I set off. "We might yet see the end of this."

***

We arrived to the scene of a battle. The first thing that we came across were medics tending to wounded Marines, taking cover behind whatever they could find as they treated burns and stab wounds. We passed by two medics who were trying to stabilize a wounded soldier from behind the safety of a barrier, his uniform soaked with dark blood. They wore white coveralls beneath black combat armor that looked as though it had been hastily thrown on, they might not even be combat medics.

The wounded had been ferried to the fringes of the battle, out of the line of fire. Ahead of us, I could see what the Marine that we had met had described.

There was a massive cargo door that led to the hangar, wide enough that any manner of freight could have passed through it, and as tall as the torus was high. Much like the hangar that we had used to enter the station upon our arrival, beyond the doors was an expansive bay where shuttles and other varieties of vessel could dock. The planters and kiosks still lined the middle of the walkway, but there were no barriers extending from the floor here, and there were no sculpted facades nearby that could provide refuge. Instead, there was a barren no man's land of whitewashed metal leading to the open hangar doors, the shimmering force field visible beyond.

The doorway was plugged by what must be a hundred Bugs or more, forming a shield wall from one side to the other, the colorful light from the shifting ovals of plasma blurring together as their glare left afterimages in my eyes. It looked like the three hundred Spartans defending the Hot Gates at Thermopylae, if they had shields made from technicolor energy, and if their armor had been made from iridescent plastic.

There was a steady stream of fire traveling in both directions, lighting up the otherwise gloomy torus like a deadly rave, the Bugs sending volleys of seemingly random plasma barrages toward the Marines who were taking cover on the other side of the torus. It was downright terrifying, the sound of gunfire was constant and uninterrupted, making me wish that we had been given helmets so that I might make use of their sound dampening functions.

There wasn't a tree or shrub left intact, they had been turned to ash, the planters now serving as little more than metal trenches. There were just as many Marines, well over a hundred, spread out all over the place. They harried the shield wall with plasma and tungsten, but there were so many Bugs. Every time a shield collapsed and one of the insects fell, it was quickly pulled away, replaced with a fresh Bug and an intact shield. I had no idea what the Betelgeusians hoped to accomplish, they had no way off the station, and they were cornered. Perhaps there had never been a plan, the Drones might be expended like ammunition, their only purpose to cause as much chaos as possible before their inevitable deaths.

We threw ourselves into cover, joining a squad of Marines, our remaining Krell immediately opening up above our heads as he sprayed the enemy formation.

"Who's in charge here?" I shouted over the din, the Marine who was hunkered down beside me turning his visor in my direction. He tapped the controls on the side of his helmet, perhaps switching from an active comms channel so that he could hear me. The Marines were not being deafened by the gunfight, the sound would be dampened, and they would be communicating via radio.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

"We're here to help," I replied, "tell us what to do."

"Our orders are to take out the Bugs blocking the hangar bay door," he shouted, which was obvious enough. "Concentrate fire, try to bring down their shields!"

We joined the other Marines, emptying our magazines into the Betelgeusians without any immediate effect. Slugs turned into showers of sparks, and plasma bolts were absorbed by the crackling fields of energy. Their numbers were being slowly whittled down, and they eventually began to close ranks when one of them fell, rather than replacing it. They had nowhere to run, and they couldn't withstand this for much longer. I had seen for myself that they weren't dumb animals, they were sentient creatures capable of tactical thinking, and so their situation only perplexed me further.

"Are they just going to stand there and take it?" Raz asked, popping out of cover for a moment to fire off a shot from her rifle.

"Maybe they'll surrender?" one of the human recruits asked, but I doubted that such concepts were even known to the Bugs.

"Wait, what are they doing?" Harry asked. "Look!"

The line of Bugs was shifting, a tremor passing through them as if they were reacting to something as a single organism would. Their overlapping shields suddenly separated, the aliens breaking formation as they charged forward, the roar of their chitinous feet impacting the deck audible even over the gunfire. It sounded like someone was tipping a giant rain stick, or like a monsoon on sheet metal. They unsheathed their daggers, keeping their shields raised as they fired wildly around them with their pistols, forcing many of the Marines to take cover.

The Bugs knew that they had the advantage in close quarters, they were making one last-ditch attempt to close, intending to inflict as many casualties as possible in a brutal last stand. I had seen what those knives could do, the desire to flee almost overpowering me. No, I had to hold fast, what would Raz think of me if I ran?

"Cut them down!" I shouted, taking a leaf out of Harry's book as I rose from cover and unloaded into the incoming Bugs. I channeled my fear into anger, my squad joining me, Krell and Borealans firing alongside their human counterparts. The Marines weren't about to let a bunch of recruits outdo them, and more automatic fire joined ours.

The Bugs were fanning out, not focusing on where the defensive line was weakest, but intending to sow as much disarray as they could. Their casualties were high, dozens of them dropping to the deck, their legs cut out from under them as they broke ranks. They had the numbers to push through, however, leaping over the planters with alarming speed and agility as they neared our position.

One of them blew through the charred remnants of a shrub ahead of me, its knives glinting in the muzzle flashes of my comrades. I swung my weapon toward it, but too late, the Bug launching itself through the air in my direction.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the sting of its blades, but they never found their mark. When I opened one eye, I saw the Drone suspended in the air, its insect thorax pierced by a wicket bayonet. Raz had driven her blade through its chest, the serrated weapon piercing its hard shell, pus-colored ichor leaking from the wound as the Bug flailed its many limbs. She had used her XMR like a pike, and she pushed the creature back, lifting it effortlessly.

She pulled the trigger, the Drone that was impaled on the end of her barrel exploding into a shower of gore and shell fragments as she blew a fist-sized hole in it. The force of the impact threw the Bug back, its ruined body landing on the other side of the planters.

"Charge!" Raz roared, her loud voice carrying over the clamor of battle. Her pack joined her in a war cry as they powered forward on their long legs, wielding their XMRs as spears, meeting the incoming Bugs head on. Seeing them unrestrained was almost frightening, their muscles rippling as they waded into the smaller insects, jabbing with their bayonets and delivering devastating kicks. They were like furry, orange demons, snarling and spitting as they scattered the enemy. They knocked aside the energy shields, leveraging their reach to spear the Bugs before they could close into knife range, throwing their weight around to knock their assailants off kilter.

I watched as a Bug leaped onto the back of one of the Borealans, stabbing at her with its blades. She spun, reaching behind her and tearing it loose, throwing it to the ground and beating it into a bloody pulp with the butt of her rifle. The insects tried to leverage their numbers to overrun the Borealans and drag them to the ground where they might be butchered, but the felines had reflexes that equaled those of the Bugs, and it seemed impossible to get the drop on them. Their ears swiveled, their eyes wide, their heads snapping back and forth as they locked onto new targets. It didn't matter if the Drones came at them from blind spots, or from behind, they were always met with a bayonet or a vicious strike from a heavy stock. The felines were so massive and powerful that the smaller aliens could do little to block or parry. Their shields couldn't stop the bayonets as they could a slug, the plasma visibly heating the metal as the pack drove their weapons through the crackling plasma fields like javelins.

There were flashes of green light, some of the Bugs daring to use their pistols in the melee, despite the risk of hitting their comrades. One of the Borealans took a shot to the thigh, the plasma melting through her uniform and burning the flesh beneath. They might be more resistant to knives, but they seemed to be just as susceptible to plasma as humans, the alien yowling in pain. Rather than retreat to safety, the wound only seemed to redouble her fury, the red-headed feline casting aside the Bug that she had been grappling with in order to pounce on her assailant.

It was hard to see what was happening outside the microcosm of our skirmish, but the Borealan pack had scattered the dozen or so Bugs that had charged us, it seemed that the Drones had no idea how to deal with the felines. They were forming a new strategy, backing away and darting out of range of the bayonets as they resorted to their pistols. The greater the distance between them and the pack, however, the safer it was for us to fire on them. They couldn't defend against both the Borealans and the incoming fire, some of them succumbing to our rifles while others were felled by the bayonets.

Our Krell stepped over one of the planters, lumbering into the fight and sweeping aside a nearby Bug with his powerful tail, as easily as swatting a fly. His LMG cut a swathe through the aliens, the Borealans pushing with him, forcing the enemy back. We had opened up a second front on the rightmost tip of the crescent-shaped line of Marines, and now the Betelgeusians were caught in a pincer, their attack losing its momentum as they fell into disarray.

A squad of Krell broke through to our left, sporting armored ponchos in the customary black, and wielding riot shields the size of an average door. There were four of them, and they joined the advance, using the massive slabs of metal and kevlar to help protect their allies from incoming fire.

My human squadmates and I remained where we were, supporting them from a distance, picking off Bugs who exposed themselves. As the Borealans and the Krell swept down the torus, the Bugs were caught between the defending Marines and the advancing aliens. They were gunned down by XMR fire, crushed by Krell, and torn apart by the savage Borealans.

Before long, we were mopping up the last of them, their numbers now reduced to only a few stragglers. Dead Betelgeusians practically carpeted the ground with their colorful carapaces, slumped over planters and barriers, lying in pools of spreading fluids the color of mucus. A few limbs still twitched reflexively, the Borealans stepping over the bodies, delivering mercy killings with their bayonets to any that were still obviously alive. Some of the Marines joined them, using their sidearms to finish off the aliens, and checking for survivors among their own fallen.

There were bodies clad in black armor too, Marines who had perished in the fight, but the ratio must have been twenty to one. In an odd way, the moans of injured soldiers were relieving, at least I could tell that they were still alive. It was the silence, the motionlessness that made my blood run cold. I saw the body of a dead Krell, too, rising from the heaps of Bugs like a mountain of green scales. I could scarcely believe that the aliens were mortal, they always seemed so immovable. The sight filled me with a strange sadness that I didn't feel for my fellow humans, it was more like seeing an elephant that had been killed by poachers, or a beached whale.

I left the cover of the planters, making my over to Raz, trying to step between the bodies of the Bugs. Now that I could get a closer look at them without being stabbed, I could see all kinds of strange features. Their eyes were like those of a fly, compound, bulging from their heads almost like the lenses of a helmet. They might well be helmets, I didn't want to reach down and touch one in order to find out. Their injuries too were odd. Rather than bullet holes and flesh wounds, their hard carapaces fractured when they were punctured. They were somewhat flexible, not quite as brittle as glass, but enough that the holes left by the slugs were surrounded by small cracks. Whatever they used for bodily fluids was thicker than blood, I could feel it sticking to my boots as I trudged through it. Now I could pick up on the smell that Raz had described, thick and heady.

"Raz!" I exclaimed as I approached her, pausing for a moment as I watched her jab her bayonet into the chest of a still twitching Bug. "Are you alright?"

She placed a clawed foot on her victim's shell, and pulled her blade free, then looked herself over briefly.

"Lots of blood, not much of it mine. I'll be alright. Did we lose anyone?"

"Everyone is accounted for, mostly thanks to you and your pack. If you keep saving my ass, I don't know if I'll be able to pay you back."

"Oh, I'm sure we can work out some kind of installment plan," she replied with a grin as she wiped the orange good from her blade on the leg of her uniform. "You handled yourself pretty well, monkey."

"I just...aimed and fired," I replied with a shrug. "Just like at the range."

"How do you like shooting at Bugs rather than paper targets?"

"It has its merits."

I glanced over and noticed that one of her packmates was limping. It was the one who had taken a plasma bolt to the thigh. Her uniform had melted away, leaving a nasty burn that went alarmingly deep, almost like a crater. All of them were covered in cuts, red blood joining the orange and green fluids from the insects, their coveralls shredded by the alien knives.

"You need medical attention," I said to the maimed Borealan, and she bared her teeth at me.

"This pain, I can endure," she replied in a low hiss.

"There are medics over there," I said as I turned and gestured to the other side of the walkway. "Go ask for some help, our medical facilities are probably better than anything you have access to back home. They'll fix you up."

She looked to her Alpha for confirmation, and Raz nodded, the alien hobbling off to find a medic. Our Krell came lumbering back over to us, crunching the prone Bugs under his scaly feet, seemingly indifferent to them. He too was peppered with cuts from Betelgeusian daggers, but only on the softer parts of his body where they had been able to penetrate his scales. The bony scutes that ran down his back were probably thick enough to stop a bullet. I was surprised to see that his blood had a blueish tint to it. There were a few plasma burns, he made for a massive target after all, but nothing that had done enough damage to seriously injure him.

Harry had followed behind me, and he jogged over to the Krell, giving the reptile a hearty pat on the thigh. The creature seemed none the worse for wear, just as aloof and as peaceful as if he was hanging out in the recreation center, or swimming in the pool at the gym. The gun shield on his weapon was scarred by plasma burns, those things really worked, it had blocked a fair few shots.

I turned to see my new friends approaching, patting each other the back, looks of exhilaration and cautious optimism brightening their faces. A wave of relief washed over me, the stress of combat, the uncertainty of battle melting away. I felt almost giddy in comparison. This was what we had trained for, why we were here. We had been tested, both as individuals and as a mixed unit, and we had passed with flying colors.

CHAPTER 8: SECOND CHANCES

Once the station was secured, and they were certain that no more Bugs were hiding out in service tunnels or air ducts, the state of emergency was lifted. The crimson glow was finally replaced with the warmth of the sunlamps, the barriers returning to their recesses in the deck, and the cool breeze once again rustling the leaves of what trees remained.

The damage to the station was extensive but mostly superficial. Besides for the breaches that the boarding craft had punctured in the hull, there was no serious structural damage. Just bullet holes, and plasma burns. The strange, alien vessels were still lodged in the deck, being inspected intently by groups of people wearing hazmat suits who had erected cordons around them. How were they even going to remove them? Perhaps they would need to be dismantled, or rather dissected, and carried away piece by piece. I didn't envy the guys who would have to clean up the mess. Casualty reports were still coming in, but the general consensus seemed to be that they were lighter than they could have been.

I felt elated. The battle had been both terrifying and exhilarating, a sweeping victory that had perfectly demonstrated the merits of mixed unit tactics. But more than that, the skirmish had postponed the Borealan exodus from the station, it had given Raz and I a few more precious hours together.

She loped along beside me, a jovial spring in her step. Borealans were apex predators, sculpted by evolution to be efficient killers, and fighting seemed to make her happy. The prospect of being permitted to stay on the Pinwheel for a little longer certainly contributed to her good mood, too. Her pack had seemed reluctant to leave her side now that she was the Alpha again, but she had shooed them away, and they were giving us some space. There were only two of them now, the third had been shipped off to one of the medical facilities to have her wound treated.

Our new comrades chatted, their spirits high as we made our way back to the armory, intending to return our weapons. After that, we were headed back to the barracks to get some much-deserved rest, while some preferred to celebrate the victory at the recreation center. Marines and engineers were still running around all over the place, and while the attractive décor was somewhat marred by the smoke damage and the charred trees, things were well on track to getting back to normal.

"I guess we can spend a little more time together, Stanley," Raz said as she took my hand in hers. She squeezed it tightly, her soft fur tickling me, and I felt my cheeks start to warm. She leaned down closer, whispering so that the other recruits couldn't hear. "You'll have to help me work off some of this stress while we have the time..."

The bite on my neck suddenly began to ache, and I quickly changed the subject.

"About that...we should talk to Vasiliev if he's still at the armory. I think I have an idea."