Queen of Jarilo

The other hive ship fired at the incoming gunboats, but they were maneuverable, scattering to make themselves harder to hit. One of them was none the less splashed with plasma, starting to drift as its internal systems were fried and its hull warped under the searing heat, the UNN's first casualty in the engagement. Its fellows harried the larger vessel with railgun fire as they circled it, the hive ship's turrets unable to track them.

The Bug ship that was coming at the Thermopylae from below spun on its axis, letting momentum carry it as it fired a broadside spread at the carrier, and this time they felt it. The ship quaked around Stavros, making all kinds of worrying noises, metal screeching almost like a voice as the vessel sustained a wound.

"Breach on one of the lower decks," the helmsman announced, "closing blast doors to seal it off."

"Did we lose anyone?" Stavros demanded.

"I don't believe so, Cap'n, looks like it hit a cargo compartment."

The hive ship now presented a larger target to the Kartikeya, and the battleship hammered it with another salvo, its fire almost continuous save for the need to let the magnetic coils cool lest they melt under the stress. So much kinetic energy was transferred to the Bug vessel that its ascent was slowed, reeling under the force of the firepower. The green flares of its engines flickered, then died, gravity capturing the massive ship as it began to fall back towards the planet.

The Martians swung back around towards their original targets, satisfied that the third hive ship was sufficiently dead. Thrusters spaced along the angular hull flared brightly to push the behemoth into position, and almost immediately it began to fire again. There was only one hive ship left now, and it was turning to face away from them, Stavros recognizing the maneuver as a jump prep. It was pointing at its destination, probably somewhere that it could call for reinforcements. Stavros was not about to chase the damned thing across interstellar space.

"Kartikeya, do you have a clean shot?"

Knowing what he meant, Captain Chopra sent a reply, his crackling voice dripping with anticipation.

"Affirmative fleetcom, the target is sufficiently high enough that the slug will not impact Jarilo. Magnetic accelerator charging."

Stavros walked past his command console, standing closer to the viewport as he watched the weapons on the Kartikeya stop firing, the barrels of the railguns retracting into their stowed position. The torpedo tubes closed their hatches, the main engines at the ship's stern petering out, all power diverting to the enormous magnetic coils that lined the barrel of the weapon that the battleship was built around. It was like a giant revolver, a cylinder that held three of the roughly one thousand ton tungsten projectiles rotating into place, too large to load through more conventional means. Firing it was a calculated risk, not only because of the potential damage that it could cause to a planet, but because the weapon drew power from the same source that the superlight drive did. The vessel would have to charge all over again if it wanted to jump away. The six nuclear reactors that powered the battleship could build up enough of a charge to fire only one round at a time, so they had to make it count.

The entire vessel maneuvered as it aimed, the giant railgun was static and built into the hull, the thrusters flashing as it made minute corrections. The hive ship was rising away from the curve of the planet, not a wise move, the remaining gunships calling off their attack as they scattered to get clear.

There was no sound in space, no medium for it to travel through, but Stavros could have sworn that he heard the titanic gun fire as the Kartikeya shuddered under the impact. The giant rings glowed red, they would only last four or five shots, after that they would need to replaced in drydock.

The projectile traveled too fast for the human eye to track, but Stavros watched the enemy vessel through the telescope feed, momentarily obscured by a flash of light as bright as a star that caused the viewport to tint. As it faded, he saw the hive ship, barely more than a cloud of expanding debris and molten slag. Everything around the impact point had been vaporized, and the two remaining halves of the ship were drifting apart, split down the middle as if dashed by the hand of God.

The gunships returned to the formation, helping to mop up what was left of the fighter craft, their plight hopeless without their support vessels. One hive ship drifted, the second was little more than a cloud of dust, and the third was burning up in Jarilo's atmosphere as it fell towards the planet.

"Skies are clear, Captain," the helmsman announced. "Nothing on the scanners."

"I want a full damage report, and get some tug Drones out there to bring in the damaged gunship, there's a possibility that some of the crew survived."

Stavros clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at the blue planet beneath them, a touch of vertigo making his stomach churn as he picked out clouds and land masses. It was contaminated. There were likely two hive ships worth of Betelgeusian soldiers crawling around on the surface, digging tunnels into the planet's crust and making themselves as difficult to root out as possible. The orbital battle had been the easiest part, the real war for Jarilo was yet to come.

CHAPTER 2: PLANETFALL

Walker made his way towards the dropship, Kaz following behind him. The hangar bay of the Thermopylae was bustling with activity as the ground invasion force loaded up. The bay was cavernous, open to the darkness of space save for a flickering, almost transparent force field that contained the atmosphere. There were squads of UNN Marines clad in their black, ceramic armor, carrying XMR modular rifles that could be configured for various battlefield roles and users. There were Borealan packs, groups of six or seven of the eight-foot-tall aliens that were clad in similar body armor save for their conspicuous lack of boots, their rifles customized with long barrels and tipped with wicked bayonets that made them resemble spears. Hulking Krell lumbered head and shoulders above the crowd, wearing heavy ponchos whose purpose was more to serve as supplemental armor than to preserve their modesty, the crocodile-like aliens having no external genitalia to speak of. They wielded XMRs configured as light machine guns, larger and heavier than a human could have hoped to carry, thick riot shields strapped to their arms to make them even more capable of absorbing enemy fire.

The Borealans were shock troopers, the tip of the spear, using their exaggerated strength and their penchant for violence to excel in breaching operations and close quarters combat. The Krell were linebreakers, whenever a stalemate or a bottleneck occurred they would break through like bulldozers, charging enemy positions and shielding their squads from incoming fire. Together they made up the Coalition, a multi-species alliance that had banded together to fend off hostile species like the Betelgeusians. Only the Brokers were absent, the mysterious founders of the Coalition, alien benefactors who were rarely seen.

The soldiers were loading into landing craft, vessels with stubby wings for atmospheric flight that could hold a dozen marines, a pack of Borealans and a couple of Krell. Under normal circumstances, the small craft would be housed in recesses along the carrier's hull, but those were full of fighter-bombers as the fleet had anticipated far more resistance. The hangar was instead packed with dropships and personnel.

The mission briefing had outlined their task on Jarilo, establish bases and secure territory, scout for Bug tunnels and call in enemy positions wherever possible. Fighting Betelgeusians on the ground was a reactive affair. You just had to wait and see where they would emerge, weather the attack, and then do your best to respond before they vanished again. As a scout sniper, Walker's job would be to search for tunnels and enemy patrols, exploring the alien landscape and mapping as much of it as he could.

He was glad to have Kaz with him. Her keen nose would detect the scent of Bugs long before his eyes did, and on cold nights in uncharted territory, it was a welcome luxury to have someone to share a sleeping bag with.

He checked the XMR that was slung across his chest, configured as a semi-automatic scout rifle. It had a railgun receiver and a long barrel lined with magnetic rings for increased velocity and accuracy. Flechette slugs with machined fins for stability ensured that the projectile would travel straight over long distances, with almost no drop off until the round traveled far beyond any range that he might be engaging at. Having become acquainted with traditional firearms at a young age, using .22 rifles to hunt rabbits on his family's country property, railguns almost felt like cheating. The slug would leave the barrel at five thousand meters per second, almost fifteen times the speed of sound. As long as his target was within about three miles, then it would be hit almost instantaneously.

Kaz carried a similar rifle that was scaled up for use by Borealans. Her people seemed to universally favor single-shot weapons, however, and they would tolerate the hit to accuracy if it meant using a bayonet. The way that she sharpened that blade was almost sexual. Mad Cats liked nothing more than getting up close and personal, licking the blood from their furry hands like a cat with butter on its paw.

They mounted the landing ramp of their dropship, buckling into crash couches that were bolted to the walls, stowing their weapons between them and sliding their heavy packs beneath the seats. The interior of the cramped troop bay was spartan and functional, a tin can of dark metal and red warning lighting with a checker plated floor, the splash of yellow from the seating the only thing that stood out.

Their comrades piled in, more scout sniper units, the Borealans ducking into the vessel and strapping into larger and more reinforced chairs that had cutouts for their tails. There were four squads that consisted of human spotters and snipers, two that were Borealans alone, and only one other human and Borealan pairing. Personality conflict was a big issue. The aliens were hard to get along with, but when an equilibrium was found, they made a formidable team.

While the standard-issue UNN armor was black and lined with ceramic plates to protect vital areas, the scouts wore camouflage suited to whatever environment they would be operating in. The landscape of Jarilo seemed to be comparable to the Pacific Northwest, remarkably uniform across most of the planet, with lush forests and mountainous terrain. Forest camo was the order of the day, splotches of green and brown decorating their armor, some of the Marines opting to wear ghillie suits. Many of the Borealans had natural camouflage, their fur and skin colors more diverse than their human counterparts. Some of them chose to leave the striped or spotted fur on their forearms and lower legs exposed, masking any uncovered skin with camouflaged paint.

"Touching off in three," the pilot announced over the intercom, the cockpit secured behind a door towards the front of the ship. "Strap yourselves in and get ready for a bumpy ride. Fleetcom doesn't expect anti-air fire, but we'll be taking an evasive route to the landing site all the same."

"You looking forward to setting foot on a newly discovered planet?" Walker asked, leaning closer to Kaz and nudging her with his elbow. "We might be some of the first people to land on Jarilo. Got any inspiring words prepared?"

"Yeah, welcome to Jarilo, no Bugs allowed."

"Wouldn't it be great if insects hadn't evolved here? No flies or mosquitos, no roaches, no wasps and no ants to screw up our picnics. Some careless colonist would probably introduce them by accident at some point, but we might go a few precious years without having to wear insect repellent."

"Even Hades has insects," she replied, "and that planet barely has any life."

"A man can dream," he said as he checked the clasp on his harness.

They felt the rumble of the engines beneath their feet as they spun up, the dropship preparing to lift off, the troop bay door closing and sealing with a hermetic hiss. There was a mechanical clunk as the landing gear stowed in the belly of the craft, then the shuttle lifted off the deck and slid through the force field into open space. Walker felt his stomach lurch as they left the artificial gravity field of the carrier. There was a brief moment of weightlessness before the dropship's AG field kicked in, securing his boots back to the metal deck. He watched the grey behemoth that was the carrier diminish through one of the small portholes, their dropship banking towards the blue haze of Jarilo, so much like Earth from this perspective that it gave him chills. It reminded him of home.

They were followed by a swarm of landing craft holding troops destined for other drop zones, along with larger cargo landers carrying segments of prefab bases and defensive structures that would be serving as their home for the weeks or months to follow.

Before long the dropship began to shake and rattle, buffeted by the planet's atmosphere, orange flames licking outside the portholes and glowing through the window in the pilot's door. Excitement swelled in Walker's chest. This was what he had trained for, this was his element. An uncharted planet, unknown fauna and flora to tangle with, and license to kill anything with more than four limbs on sight. He could feel the energy in the troop bay, the scouts were bristling, alert and ready. So many of the recent battles against the Bugs had been fought over muddy hellscapes, frozen ice worlds, and inhospitable deserts. For once they would be pathfinding in an ideal environment, it was practically a fucking vacation. There was no sand or snow to contend with and no rebreathers or pressure suits to make every movement and every breath uncomfortable.

Jarilo was like a planet that had been designed for hunters. With any luck, there would be large and tasty game to supplement their MREs. The Borealans were always good at determining what was safe to eat and how best to cook it. Now that they were on their way, he scarcely cared that their shore leave had been cut short. He lived for this shit.

The dropship broke through into clear skies, weaving to shed velocity, gliding down towards the surface on its stubby wings. The Thermopylae had cleared an area of forest where the base was to be erected, one of many that were scattered about the region where the third hive ship had emerged, using her railguns to strategically bombard the terrain until only splinters and cratered mud remained. Not exactly ecologically sound, but it got the job done in a pinch, and the pilot spied their target clearing easily. Walker couldn't see much through the portholes, they were too small, but he got the occasional glimpse of what looked like mountains cloaked in coniferous trees.

Before long their gear hit the ground, the vessel bouncing on its suspension as it absorbed the impact of the landing, the whir of the engines fading as the scouts unfastened their harnesses. The darkness of the troop bay was illuminated by a sliver of light as the landing ramp opened, growing until Walker had to shield his eyes against the glare, blinking as they adjusted to it. The scent of the planet assailed them, flooding in through the opening along with a rush of cool air, like a pine forest after heavy rainfall.

They stepped out of the landing craft into a cool breeze, Walker removing his helmet and fastening it around his belt to let his dark hair blow in the wind, breathing in the pristine air of the untouched world. He felt as if all of the grime and dirt from living in close quarters on a carrier for weeks at a time had been washed away, like a cleansing wind, leaving him refreshed. His boots sank into the mud, cratered by railgun rounds fired from orbit that had impacted like micrometeorites, smashing trees and tilling the earth. He turned his head to watch as more dropships landed nearby.

If only he had a flag to plant.

***

Walker and Kaz stood on a rise that overlooked the base, watching as one of the cargo shuttles acted as a crane to drop a section of fortified wall into place around the perimeter. The outpost was slowly taking shape. There was a twelve-foot wall ringed with razor wire, metal grates lining the floor of the compound to keep the Bugs from tunneling up beneath them, along with a comms center whose tower rose above the walls like a control tower at an airport. There were also a series of barracks and storehouses that weren't visible from where they were standing. It was the third of five such bases that were spaced around the valley where the hive ship had landed, designated Base C or Charlie. There were Bugs here somewhere, busy building their own brand of fortifications. A deadly game of hide and seek was about to begin, and it was Walker's job to see that his side got the upper hand. The Bugs would be sending out patrols just as the UNN did, searching for enemy bases and relaying their coordinates back to the hive. The scouts were tasked with beating them at their own game. If that meant tracking down the Bug patrols and killing them, or rooting out their tunnels before they could launch an attack, he would be happy to oblige.

Walker tapped at a console mounted on his wrist, bringing up a holographic display of the valley that flickered with amber light. The area was unmapped, but they had aerial photographs and height maps of the terrain taken by the carrier's sensors. Their patrol route was marked with a looping red line that covered about fifty square miles, their mission was to search for Bug tunnels and to survey the territory in order to inform troop movements. They had heavy packs on their backs full of enough MREs to feed them during their deployment and the tools that they would need to detect the Bugs. The most important of which was a seismic sensor that could pick up unusual activity, such as Bugs digging or moving beneath the ground, a device shaped like a stake that would be planted at intervals marked on his display. If enough scouts placed enough stakes, then it wouldn't be too difficult for Fleetcom to triangulate the source of any disturbances.

He leaned a gloved hand on one of the innumerable trees that made up the continent-spanning forests of Jarilo, the brown bark rough and textured, green pine needles from the coniferous branches littering the ground in the absence of grasses. It was so like Earth, uncanny, and yet the biggest difference was the absence of diversity. These pine forests blanketed every landmass, and he wondered idly if these trees had come to dominate a more biologically diverse environment over millions of years, or if this was a burgeoning ecosystem that had not yet undergone the intense competition of natural selection. The trees were somewhere between a redwood and a fir, massive, but not quite as large as a sequoia. He knelt and picked up a few of the needles, rolling them between his fingers. They looked like green plastic. The naked soil was populated only by something analogous to ferns. No, upon closer inspection they had cones. They were cycads, coniferous plants that were rare back home. They had round trunks with green fronds sprouting from the top, giving them the appearance of pineapples.

All things considered, this might have easily been mistaken for a Jurassic environment, it seemed that flowering plants and grasses had not yet evolved here. He didn't see many pine cones littering the ground, but there were red berries on some of the fallen branches and twigs. That must be how the great trees reproduced. That also implied that there was fauna to eat the berries, and where there were herbivores, there were always carnivores. This might be the basis of an entire food chain. He wondered if they were edible, but he wasn't about to do a lick test on a potentially poisonous fruit on his first day in the bush.