The Rask Rebellion

"Cooper, focus on the trucks!" the Sergeant shouted over the din. He began to fire his turret, churning up the sand, the belt-fed MGL on the blister hammering the advancing line with fragmentation grenades. The dune was starting to look like the fields of goddamned Verdun, smoking craters pocking the sand.

Cooper fired the main gun, turning one of the trucks to scrap metal, a few nearby Rask knocked off their feet by molten debris. Without the muzzle device, the sheer speed of the sabot turned the air around the barrel into a plasma discharge, a bright flash of electricity like a fork of lightning leaping from the muzzle to the ground for a brief second. The superheated plasma created tubular fulgurites, eerie towers of vitrified sand, reaching up from the ground like the branches of petrified trees.

"Pretty sure that isn't supposed to happen!" Barry said, no doubt getting a good look at the sand formations through the forward cameras.

Cooper switched to the gun pod, laying down more suppressing fire as he loaded another sabot. There were too many targets, there was no way they could kill them all before they reached the tank, even with dozens lying dead or dying on the slope.

One of the troop carriers was flanking to their right, his next shot punching a glowing hole in its hull, the slug throwing up a cloud of sand as it hit the ground somewhere behind it. A dozen Rask raced out from the far side of the wrecked vehicle, they had been using the APC to cover their advance, now falling victim to another burst of tracer fire.

"Batteries are running low!" Barry warned.

"They're reaching the hull!" the Sergeant added, "I can't hit them at this angle!"

There were a series of thuds as the first of the Rask made it to the front of the Kodiak, beginning to climb up onto the engine housing. At this rate, they'd start trying to pry the hatches open.

"I got this!" Cooper yelled, loading a fresh round. He fired the main gun, the tank rocking on its ruined tracks once more. He wasn't aiming at a vehicle this time, however. As the sabot left the barrel, it created another plasma discharge, electrical fingers spreading from the exposed muzzle like it was a Tesla coil. The resulting arc flash made contact with the Rask who were climbing up their hull, charring their flesh, and sending fragments of burnt clothing floating through the air. Some of them were thrown clear, while others were reduced to scorched husks, their stiff bodies tumbling off the chassis.

"That'll make the bastards think twice!" he added with a triumphant laugh, watching the survivors scurry away.

The commander's turret suddenly went silent, the monitors flickering off and back on again, plunging them into darkness for a brief moment.

"We're bingo on juice," Barry warned. "We've switched to the reserve battery, it can't power the guns."

"Fuck!" Cooper snarled, slamming his polymer fist against his console. There was a second bang, and then a third. It was coming from the commander's hatch, the Rask were trying to find a way in. He switched back to the external cameras, seeing that they were surrounded. The enemy vehicles had pulled up nearby, the aliens using them as cover, peeking out to get a look at the wounded behemoth as they comrades swarmed it like angry fire ants. A few of them had climbed up on the forward hull, slamming the butts of their rifles down on the driver's hatch. They tugged at the handle, trying to pry it open with their bayonets, but they wouldn't be getting through without cutting tools of some kind.

"What now, Sarge?" Cooper asked.

"We need to get out of here, pronto," he replied as he began to unbuckle his harness. "They can't get those hatches open, but they might have anti-material rifles, or maybe explosives of some kind. A few good shots from an AMR or a well-placed breaching charge will fuck us. They know that the armor on our right flank is vulnerable."

Almost as soon as the words had left his lips, something struck the right side of their hull like a sledgehammer, shaking the entire tank.

"Speak of the bloody Devil," Cooper muttered as he began to climb out of his seat. "Toss me one of the PDWs."

The commander passed him a cut-down variant of the XMR, a bullpup with a shortened barrel and a lighter frame that was designed to be wielded in close quarters. There was a forward grip to help control the recoil, and it had a reflex sight for fast target acquisition. It had the same copper coils seen on other variants, albeit far smaller and less densely packed. It was still a railgun, and although it lacked the range and penetration of its larger cousins, it would chew through enemy personnel with ease all the same.

He slammed in a magazine, loading up with a couple of spares, slotting them into pouches on his belt. His helmet synced up with the weapon wirelessly, displaying an ammo count and a charge level, along with targeting data on his HUD.

"Load up, Barry," the Sergeant said. "We'll go out the troop hatch at the back, toss a couple of frags to clear the cunts out."

"They've got a whole army out there, Sarge," Cooper warned as they climbed out of their seats. They shared a glance for a moment, the Sergeant's brow furrowing.

"What choice do we have?" he asked. "We can sit here and wait to get pasted when they breach the hull, or we can make a break for it, take a few of those cunts down with us."

Cooper hesitated, then gave him a solemn nod.

"Wait!" Barry yelled, the two men glancing at the deck. "Something's happening! Up on the crest!"

Cooper reached up to tap at the touch panel on the side of his helmet, opening the rear camera feed in a window on his HUD. There was movement atop the dune, a squad of Marines laying down fire, lying prone in the sand as the coils on their gun barrels glowed red with heat. The Rask scattered, taking cover behind their vehicles, their attention turning to the newcomers.

"Boys in blue to the rescue," the Sergeant laughed, his relief palpable. "Now's our chance, while they're distracted!"

Barry met them in the troop bay, his XMH handgun clutched in his hands. There was a cramped compartment at the rear of the Kodiak that would seat a squad of Marines on squat benches, intended to be used as a medivac or as an emergency stand-in for an IFV. Cooper patted him on the shoulder with his left hand, his PDW clutched in his right.

"Chin up, Bazza. We've gotten out of worse situations before."

Barry nodded, steeling himself as the commander began to open the clamshell hatch at the rear of the vehicle. He primed a pair of grenades, then tossed them through the widening gap, the explosions blowing dust into the bay.

"Go!" he shouted, the three men racing out of the narrow hatch one after the other. The wind pounded Cooper's visor with airborne dust, buffeting him as he emerged from the hull of the vehicle, the loose sand making his footing unsure. The skid on his prosthetic leg kept sinking, it didn't have the surface area to handle this kind of terrain. The noise outside was deafening, the sounds of explosions and railgun fire echoing through the dunes. The Marines on the crest were firing down on the Rask, who were returning fire as best they could, the splashes of slug impacts in the sand resembling droplets of rain disturbing the surface of a lake.

When the Marines noticed that the crew were making a break for it, they moved to provide covering fire, pinning the aliens behind their vehicles. There was nowhere else for them to go, there was no cover in the open desert. The two sides must have a fairly hard time seeing one another, making many of the shots inaccurate.

"Go around the dune!" the commander said, his voice coming through clear on the comms despite the noise. "If we go straight up the slope, the Rask will pick us off!"

They trudged through the sand like it was fresh snow, every step a struggle. Cooper looked back over his shoulder at the wreck of their tank, seeing that some of the Rask were now using it as cover, popping up to fire over its pocked hull at the Marines. The vehicle was trashed, it looked like it had been through hell and back. He hadn't imagined the damage to be so severe.

One of the Rask began to gesture to them, turning to shout at his companions.

"We're about to have company!" Cooper snarled. Barry turned to look back, but he waved the frightened driver on. "Keep going, Barry!"

Cooper watched as one of the APCs began to open its troop ramp, a Rask who was dressed in thicker leather than the others holding onto what looked like ropes as he struggled out of the vehicle. He was dressed like a damned hockey goalie, the thick leather padding on his arms and legs limiting his movement. The sand was too thick to see what he was wrangling, another billowing cloud rolling in to obscure Cooper's view.

Barry was lagging behind, Cooper taking him by the arm as he caught up to him, helping him through the sand. They weren't far from safety now, they just had to put enough of the dune between them and the Rask that they'd lose sight of them, then they could rejoin the Marines on the crest and get some payback for old Sheila.

Barry glanced over his shoulder, a cry of fear that made Cooper's blood run cold escaping the driver's lips.

"What the bloody hell is that!?"

Cooper spun around, his stomach knotting as he saw what had Barry so terrified. The Rask in the thick leather armor had been an animal handler, and his charges were now bounding their way across the sand towards them. They were running low and fast, not easy targets for the Marines to hit, if they could even see them at all. They were grotesque creatures, four or five feet tall at the shoulder, maybe six feet long from their snouts to their rope-like tails. The beasts looked like the product of an unholy union between a hyena and a warthog, vaguely dog-like, with massive heads the size of a man's torso. Behind their hanging, fleshy lips were ivory tusks like those of a wild pig, their beady, black eyes fixed on their prey. The coat of sandy fur that camouflaged them against the desert backdrop was coarse and wiry, a razor-like crest of darker quills running down their spines. Upon their backs was a wobbling hump of what must be fat, not unlike that of a camel, bouncing obscenely as their four splayed paws churned up the sand. There were six of them, each one wearing a leather collar that was studded with rusted metal.

"Dogs!" Cooper yelled, taking a knee as he braced his PDW against his shoulder. Barry hesitated, but he waved the driver on. "Fucking go, Barry! Get out of here!"

His weapon jumped in his hands as he loosed a burst at the lead animal, the one with the biggest hump, dark blood spraying as the creature was sent skidding to the ground in a puff of dust. Its companions were unfazed, closing fast enough that Cooper scarcely had time to turn his sights on the next target.

"Get your arse moving, Cooper!" the commander shouted. There was another series of loud cracks as the Sergeant fired on the beasts, but it was too late. One of them came straight for Cooper, barreling into him with the force of a linebacker. He was knocked off his feet, his back hitting the sand, the slavering jaws of the alien snapping at him as it pinned him beneath its weight. Its dull claws scrabbled at his flak jacket, its hot breath misting his visor, droplets of its saliva falling to the glass as he was given a view of its mouth that was too close for comfort. Its tusks were as long as his fingers, its sharp, yellowed teeth like those of a hog. Only his prosthetic arm was holding it back, his forearm pressing into its throat, the motors whirring as it struggled to reach him.

There was more gunfire, more shouting on the comms, but he couldn't focus on anything besides the alien warthog that was trying to tear his face off. The creature lunged, breaking free and closing its jaws around the black polymer of his forearm, its teeth sinking deep into the housing. It began to yank violently, like a pit bull with a rope, growling and huffing as it attempted to snap what it thought were bones.

Cooper didn't know where his PDW was, he had lost it in the scuffle. Instead, he reached for the knife on his belt, pulling it from its holster with his left hand. The alien lifted him off the ground by the arm, only to slam him down again, very nearly making him drop his blade as well.

"Get off me, cunt!" he growled as he drove the knife towards its throat. It penetrated, dark blood staining the thing's coarse fur, but it was built like a tank. Its muscles were so thick and wiry, its skin so leathery that it didn't even flinch. He drew the blade back and began to stab repeatedly, shanking the thing, but it wouldn't let go.

A furry hand reached down to grip its collar, struggling to pull the beast off him, Cooper looking up to see a leather-clad Rask standing over him. The alien was wearing what looked like a biker's jacket over a ceramic chest piece that had once been a component of Shock Trooper armor. His opaque helmet and the long rifle that he held in his hand were also of UNN design. The feline dragged the attack dog back, the beast still lunging and snapping, more Rask rushing past him. They paused to fire at something, one of them dropping as a round went straight through his chest piece, his eight-foot frame slumping to the sand to lie beside Cooper. They were engaging his friends, they were still alive.

All he could do now was provide a distraction, keep the Rask focused on him so that Barry and the Sarge could escape.

"Down here, you fuckwits!" he shouted as he swung his knife at the nearest Rask. The alien skipped out of his reach, then lifted its XMR above its head, bringing the butt of the rifle down on his face.

CHAPTER 9: CAPTIVE

"Wake up," a gruff voice said, its rolling accent unfamiliar. Something hit Cooper in the shoulder, rousing him, and he slowly opened his eyes. He had a monster headache, and there was the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, his blurry vision gradually coming into focus as he blinked groggily. Where was he? He couldn't remember what had happened. Most of his gear was gone, and his helmet had been removed.

He was sat on a bench in a dingy troop bay, surrounded by tall, shadowy figures. The rumble of an engine made the seat beneath him shake, the motion of the vehicle jostling him. It all came back to him in a flash. The battle in the dunes, the alien war beasts, the Rask.

A dozen pairs of reflective, yellow eyes peered back at him, their feline pupils dilated into dark circles. There was a whole squad of the aliens, all dressed in a blend of leather and ceramic armor, their long rifles stowed beside them as they bounced in their seats. One of them was cleaning a massive, crudely machined revolver with a rag, pausing to return Cooper's stare.

He was in one of their outdated personnel carriers, had to be. The cab was to his left, the troop ramp to his right, the metal deck vibrating beneath his feet. The Rask had managed to make a retreat, and they had taken him with them. Why? Was he to be a bargaining chip? A hostage? Were they going to eat him?

When he tried to move his arms, he discovered that they were bound behind his back, a hairy rope burning the skin on his wrist as he struggled. How damaged was his prosthetic arm? He couldn't see it, but it looked like his leg was still attached to him.

"I told you he would live," the Rask who was sitting to his left said. She was a female, by the sound of her. Cooper was sandwiched between two of the aliens, there wasn't much room in the bay, their leather-clad thighs pressing up against him.

"I still say you hit him too hard," another hissed, this one sitting on the adjacent bench. He was a large male specimen, his shoulders twice as broad as any human's, his posture hunched as he ducked beneath a low ceiling that hadn't been designed for his stature. "These ones are fragile, slow to heal. It would not do to bring the Admiral a damaged prize."

"Oi!" Cooper grunted, the aliens turning to look at him. Their round ears swiveled, tracking him like little radar dishes. "Where the fuck are you taking me?"

"He is more than fine," the female chuckled, reaching over to mess up his hair with mock affection. "As lively as ever, this one."

He shook his head angrily, warding her off, alien laughter filling the troop bay.

"You will find out soon enough," another Rask replied. "For now, keep still and stay silent."

Cooper felt the vehicle mount the crest of a dune, sending him bumping into the alien to his left, the creature hissing at him angrily as if he could help it with his hands tied. Where had the vehicles launched from? There was no way that they had driven so far across the desert in these poorly-maintained relics. This APC was probably fifty years old, it looked like it might shake itself apart at any moment. The lighting strips in the ceiling were off, likely because they didn't work anymore, motes of dust dancing in the sunlight that bled in through the narrow windows in the cab. Cooper leaned forward to get a look out of them, but he couldn't see much. The storm must still be raging outside.

"Where's my crew?" he demanded, glaring around the bay.

"If you mean the two whelps who fled the battle, the only injuries they suffered were to their pride," the female sneered.

"Aren't you fleeing the battle too?" he said, giving her a smirk. "You idiots could barely scratch a half-dead Kodiak, no way you took out the whole column. Maybe try bringing anti-tank weapons to a tank fight next time, dickheads."

The female snarled at him, her ears flattening against her straw-colored hair.

"Hold your tongue, ape, or I shall pluck it from your head."

"Do it, then," he said as he laughed in her face. "You went to a lot of trouble to take me alive, you're not going to kill me now."

"Kill, no," she hissed as she brought her feline nose down to within an inch of his. She bared her sharp fangs, her pupils dilating like those of a cat watching a bird from a window. "Hurt, yes."

"You talk a lot of shit for someone who just got sent running with their furry tail between their legs," he whispered. "How about you give me my knife back, and we see who comes out on top?"

"Do not tempt me," she muttered, sitting back on the bench. "I know better than to damage the Admiral's property."

They continued on for what must have been an hour or more, the silence punctuated only by the Rask conversing in their strange language of spits and hisses. Finally, he felt the troop carrier come to a jolting stop, the ramp at the rear beginning to open with a creak of aged pistons. Sand blew inside, Cooper turning his face away, unable to shield himself with his hands bound. He was pulled roughly to his feet by the female, who seemed to be the one in charge of him, her iron grip on his arm as she steered him out onto the hot sand. The aliens donned helmets and goggles, protecting themselves from the storm.

"Put his helmet back on him, or he'll lose his eyes," she muttered. One of her comrades dropped it unceremoniously onto his head, Cooper blinking through his faceplate, now cracked. He had expected to be traveling in a column with other vehicles, but the APC was alone save for a single technical that must be their escort. The Rask who was manning the gun on the back watched him as he was led around the troop carrier, their destination coming into sight.

They had parked in the shadow of a truly titanic vehicle. The four sets of dual caterpillar tracks upon which it rested were each larger than a Kodiak, every link in its heavy treads approaching the size of a dining table, the sprockets taller than a man. As he craned his neck to look up at it, he saw that the tracks were holding aloft a hull the length of a soccer field, rising at least fifteen meters off the ground. The platform was overengineered, industrial in its design, all support struts and reinforced beams. It was ringed by a gantry, and he could make out doors that must lead inside. It had been covered in riveted armor plating in places, painted over with crude desert camo, just like the other Rask vehicles in their hodgepodge fleet. Upon its hull, he could make out what looked like prefab buildings through the haze, as though the aliens had dropped a colonial settlement atop it.