Resistance: The Gathering Storm

A sudden jerk caused him to brace himself as the motorized tug towed the Betty Boop out onto one of four large elevators located at the center of the mech deck. Then, freed from the transport, the little tractor hummed away. There was a loud clang as machinery engaged, a door whined open high above, and the platform began to ascend. The light dimmed as they entered the shaft, away from the artificial suns.

A loud clatter was heard as the VTOL’s starters went to work, quickly followed by a throaty roar as both of the radial engines came to life, and the entire ship began to vibrate. Light and cold air flooded into the cargo compartment as the lift delivered the Betty Boop to the surface.

Operating under the top secret charter conceived by General Arthur L. Pratt, Senator Robert Crowe, and Dr. Fyodor Malikov in 1934, SRPA Base 6 had been constructed near the original site of old Fort Niobrara in Nebraska. Hundreds of thousands of tons of soil and rock had been taken out of the ground to make room for the underground base, and rather than being trucked away, the material had been used to construct a fifty-foot-tall wall that surrounded the base and was home to all manner of defensive weapons.

Recently, in response to SRPA Directive 1140.09, work had begun on an outer moat. A deep ditch that could be flooded with Avgas and set on fire should it become necessary. It didn’t take a whole lot of imagination to figure out why.

The VTOL’s engines were tilted upward for takeoff, and as the pilot fed them more fuel, the plane began to shake with greater intensity. Then, as the landing gear parted company with the ground and snowflakes blew in through the side doors, Hale caught a glimpse of the meager surface base as the Boop rose. But not his last glimpse, he hoped, as the engines tilted forward and the plane pulled itself north with a lurch.

Bear Butte was about 120 miles away, so given the VTOL’s top speed of 300 miles per hour, Hale expected to be boots on the ground in about half an hour. With a low ceiling and poor visibility the Boop was fairly safe from above, but the need to fly low over an area the Chimera had already begun to infiltrate meant the ship would be vulnerable to ground fire. It was a chance they’d have to take, since there was no other way for them to reach the butte quickly enough to beat the enemy to the punch.

As it was, he hoped they weren’t already too late.

Hale peered across the center aisle to where Captain Nash was sitting, saw the other man’s eye close in response to an involuntary tic, and hoped none of the men would notice. The VTOL shuddered as a crosswind hit the fuselage, the port door gunner wrapped a long scarf around his neck, and the seconds ticked away. The mission clock was running.

It was clear that Hale didn’t expect much from him. In a way that was better, since it meant he wouldn’t need the type of supervision Nash couldn’t provide.

Rather than dwell on his own lack of military expertise, the scientist chose to focus his thoughts on the mission. They were going to secure technology that would help the United States win the war.

And if they found what they expected to find, it wasn’t just any technology. Judging from what they could see of the downed craft, they hoped to scavenge what SRPA called “alpha artifacts,” Chimeran equipment that would help the scientists in New Mexico unravel the secrets of nuclear fission, perhaps even fusion, thereby paving the way toward unbelievably powerful new weapons.

Such were Nash’s thoughts when he was startled out of his reverie by an unfamiliar voice that spoke to him via the plug in his ear.

“This is the pilot speaking… We’re five from dirt. Be sure to take everything with you, the obvious exceptions being women of ill repute, and any cases of Schlitz beer which may happen to be on board.”

The announcement elicited laughter, a few catcalls, and some loud whistles, until Kawecki and Alvarez reined in their men, then ran through the checklist to make sure they were combat-ready. Having found everything to their liking, they reported to Hale.

“The first squad is ready, sir,” Kawecki said crisply.

“Ditto Squad Two,” Alvarez reported.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Hale replied. “Let’s lock and load.”

A series of clacking, clicking, and hissing sounds followed Hale’s order as a variety of human and Chimeran weapons were readied for combat. They had been doled out to take advantage of each individual’s skills and the team’s need to cope with a wide variety of potential adversaries.

That thought weighed upon Nash as he checked the carbine he had propped, muzzle up, between his knees. Would he have to fire it? Would he even remember how? There hadn’t been time for him to receive anything more than the most basic training. He lifted the weapon, worked a round into the chamber, but left the safety on as he put it down again.

Nash peered across the aisle at Hale, and thought he saw an almost imperceptible nod, the beginning of what could have been a smile. It might have been taken as a sign of condescension, but Nash didn’t think it was meant that way. The other officer didn’t seem to work like that. So he responded with a boyish grin.

Suddenly, for the first time, Nash felt like a member of the team. But his blood ran cold when he heard the pilot’s next words.

“Uh-oh, it looks like the stinks got here first! The top of the butte is swarming with Hybrids.”

Nash released his harness and came up off his seat without really thinking about it. As the VTOL entered a wide sweeping turn, the starboard door gunner made room and Nash stuck his face into the frigid slipstream.

He could see the snow-covered butte, the point where the aircraft had slammed into the rocky slope, and the large group of Chimera rappelling down to it as quickly as they could, given the conditions. The shuttle had come to rest in a spot that offered no easy access point. There was no sign of whatever aircraft had delivered them to the top of the butte, but it seemed safe to assume they had one on call.

“Put us on the ground directly below the wreck,” Nash instructed, and he was surprised by the certainty in his own voice. “Next to that cluster of trees.”

Hale peered over Nash’s shoulder and nodded. The VTOL couldn’t land on top of the butte, and it couldn’t land on an incline, so the instructions made perfect sense. The problem being that the Chimera not only had the advantage of arriving first, but they currently held the high ground, which would allow them to fire down on the Sentinels with near impunity.

But it couldn’t be helped, Nash realized, as the Chimera opened fire on the VTOL. They sent long strings of tracers up in the attempt to find the aircraft and bring it down.

Meanwhile, the pilot was dropping toward the landing site. Projectiles began to ping and bang off the fuselage as the VTOL’s engines went vertical and it fell into place. All of the Sentinels had released themselves from their harnesses by that time—and hurried to disembark the moment they felt the landing gear hit solid ground. Kawecki was there to urge them on. “What the hell are you waiting for?” the NCO bellowed. “A frigging invitation? Let’s get off this bucket of bolts and find some cover.”

Nash was about to follow the rest of the team out onto the frozen landscape when he suddenly realized that he couldn’t move. His legs knew what they should be doing, but it didn’t matter. They refused to obey his commands.

He watched helplessly as the men just ignored him and passed him by. As the last one exited, a Chimeran projectile slammed through the VTOL’s skin and passed within an inch of Nash’s nose. That scared him even more, enough to start his feet moving, and get him out the door.

But not before he had grabbed a heavy duffel and thrust it out ahead of him.

Hale was one of the first troops through the door. He crouched and took a quick look around as projectiles kicked up geysers of dirt around him. Spotting a cluster of trees, he gestured to the men. “Over there!” he shouted, pointing to the tightly bunched evergreens. “Take cover!”

One member of the team, a private named Lang, took a hit, and was half carried, half dragged into the relative safety of the trees. A medic immediately went to work on a leg wound that had already begun to heal.

Hale was about to make a dash for the trees when he saw Nash throw a bag out of the VTOL’s cargo compartment. Instead of being one of the first off the plane Nash was the last to leave, and Hale swore angrily as he ran over to grab the heavy bag and escort his commanding officer to the cluster of trees.