Hey guys, what follows is the prologue to my novel. just read it and give me your takes.
Prologue: Retribution
August 21st, 2678 (Military Calendar) 0135 hours, deep space patrol UESC carrier Retribution En route to Sol system, third planet
God. He hated graveyard shift. Nothing ever happened. Well, of course nothing happened. They were in the middle of deep space. Sometimes he wondered what he had done to deserve this punishment. Because no matter what anyone said, that’s exactly what it was. Punishment. The same damn rounds on the same damn deck night after night after night. What was the good of being posted to the flagship of the fleet if this was all he got to do? The UESC Retribution was on deep space patrol, and was making its way back towards Earth for a refitting and to give the crew some much needed R&R. They’d been out there for six months, which meant six months of the same deck, the same rounds. Sometimes he prayed to whatever gods were up there to be saved from this duty. And sometimes he just simply wondered if that Foster girl on Earth last leave was any relation to Vice-Admiral Foster…
He’d taken to counting his steps the last few nights, just as a way to relieve the boredom, at least a little bit. So far tonight he was up to 2,994. 2,995. 2,996. Sometimes he just wanted anything to happen, he was so bored. 2,998. 2,999. 3,000. If his previous nights proved true, that meant he was only a quarter done. His armor was getting heavy, and, for some reason, the climate unit in his suit was starting to short out, which meant that things were gonna get hot in that armor, really soon.
To make matters worse, his P-10 Gauss Rifle was starting to weigh on him. At least, he thought it was. The gears and motors in his suit made the 39 pound rifle seem as light as a feather. But to a tired and footsore soldier, that thirty nine pounds was starting to frazzle him.
It was just too much. He couldn’t stand it. He raised his booted foot and slammed it down. HARD. The servos built into his armor whined as the armor magnified his strength by a full 600%. Solid titanium decking bent under the boot as it crashed into the deck. He lifted his foot, examined the dent, and swore under his breath. This was gonna get docked out of his pay. And he was going to get bitched out by that S.O.B who called himself a lieutenant. Man… could tonight get any worse?
An explosion sounded from somewhere amidships, and the six hundred ton carrier rocked. The marine was thrown into a bulkhead, and stars exploded behind his eyes. Throwing a seven hundred pound marine, fully suited, especially with enough force to hurt his head, was not easy. That round had to have been something big. Bigger then anything he knew of. What the hell was outside?
He shook his head to clear it and pulled himself to his feet. He had to get to a porthole. He needed to know what was out there. Step after stumbling step, the marine forced himself towards the viewport. Finally reaching it, he scanned the utter blackness around him.
And what he saw froze his feet to the deck.
Outside the ship, an armada floated. But it wasn’t the armada that scared him. The United Earth Space Corp had handled thousands of threats before, and fleets and soldiers didn’t scare him. No. what scared him were the ships. Unlike anything he had ever laid eyes on, they were beautiful, but the soft curves spoke to the marine of malice. The smallest among them was easily twice the size of the Retribution. They were streamlined and gleamed in the faint starlight, looking almost like sharks in space. Along the side of the ships were lines of dimple-looking depressions. His trained eye made a guess that those were weapon emplacements. And the number of visible ships was staggering. There were easily thousands of them. A warp rift had opened up off the port side, and more and more ships kept pouring through the mouth of the rift.
His mouth dropped open, and his eyes darted back and forth, trying to comprehend the sight before his eyes. Eyes focused on the ship closest to the Retribution, and watched in horror as a streak of light curved from one of the dimples on the surface into the side of the carrier. He didn’t even think to brace himself.
The ship rocked again, and he left his feet. This time he tucked his head before impact so it didn’t get bashed again. But even so, it took him a second to climb to his feet, and even longer to summon the courage to work his way back to the viewport.
Alarms finally started ringing across the ship, and a voice rang across the intercom system. “This is the Captain, we are under attack. All hands to battle stations. Repeat, all hands to battle stations.” Under the dim, red, pulsing of the emergency lights, marines and sailors poured into the hallways, pulling on tunics or fastening armor. Muffled curses rang out across the deck as the chaos caused pileups in the corridors. But all this occurred in the back of the marine’s mind, his gaze and a major portion of his thoughts fixed on the scene in front of him. “I don’t think this is even poss…”
His thoughts were interrupted by a heavy hand that landed on his shoulder, and he spun to come face-to-face with a sergeant, a pissed-off look tugging his mouth and eyes downward. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING BOOT! GET YOUR ASS DOWN TO MUSTER FIFTEEN!! MOVE BOY!” A stern cuff to the back of his head sent him stumbling forward, his body taking over before his brain could register the actions. He sprinted through the corridors, straining to see through every viewport as he ran towards his duty station. The Retribution shifted on its axis as their own guns returned fire, but the rounds impacted against a shimmering shield meters above the enemy ships hulls. Something had detached from those monstrous ships, and was moving towards the Retribution. They were larger than the rounds had been, and were moving much more slowly. “What are those things?”
And then it hit him, “Troop carriers! Shit! Boarding parties!” His footfalls increased rapidly as he put on an extra burst of speed, willing his body to move faster then ever before. Boarding parties meant fights in the corridors, and those tended to get very bloody. He keyed the mike built into his helmet to transmit, and called the officer on duty. “Sir! Trooper QX932 reporting in! Need POE!” The reply was almost instantaneous.
“We’ve got you on deck six, section three. Move and set up there. Report to Lieutenant Callahan.” The voice was calm, controlled. Well, he was an officer. He was supposed to be. All the higher-ups had to know something the cannon fodder didn’t. After all, all that marines were supposed to do was be told where to go and fight and die.
Deck six, section three… that was docking bays. Fire would be pretty heavy. Lots of entrances down there, and that meant lots of areas to cover. But he could do it. They’d all been trained to fight. This was nothing new.
He reached the lift and threw himself into it. “Deck six!” his voice barked into the air, and he startled himself. “Get a hold of yourself man. Come on. Come on! You can do this!” A couple of deep breaths slowed his heart slightly, but it still threatened to break out from behind his ribcage. The lift whined as it moved swiftly through the bowels of the ship towards his assigned station. Slowing as it neared its destination, he braced himself for the trial ahead. Doors opened, and poured him into utter chaos.
Marines set up defensive stations, officers screamed commands, and pandemonium ruled. No one knew what they were supposed to do, and it set everyone on edge. A monstrous sergeant, made even bigger by his power armor, turned and noticed the marine step off the lift. “Where you been boy? Party’s just getting started!” A wide grin split his broad features, and he raised a hand to his lips, a lit cigar clutched between them, and the marine felt his hope rise a little, but immediately fall back down. A happy sergeant meant that things were going to get really bad, really fast.
A clang resounded throughout the deck, and everyone’s eyes shot to the point of origin. A dent had appeared in the meter thick Titanium battleplate. “That’s not good.” A spark lit up near the floor, and moved upwards, carving a line into the hull. Every eye watched with fear, and anticipation. The marine switched his comm system to shipwide tactical, and listened to reports coming in.
“Deck 5 secure! Setting up defensive positions!”
“Deck nine reporting, nothing up here. Yet.”
“This is Fire Team Delta in the reactor room! We’ll hold her for ya’.”
“Let’s do this boys! We’ll show ‘em why you don’t mess with the marines!” A small part of his mind, the rational part, listened to these reports with hope. But the side that had been trained to fight pushed them into the background. Now was not the time. Defensive positions were taken as marines moved into cover. But still all eyes remained locked on the line as it moved up. Higher and higher.
It was at least ten feet tall now, and just kept moving up. Finally the line took an abrupt turn and started to move sideways, outlining the top of a door. Every marine stared in horror, as the door was easily 12 feet tall, and the men all involuntarily took a step backward. “This is suicide, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Oh my god, what was I thinking when I signed up for this job. I can’t believe I’m gonna die like this.” But again that part of his mind was shoved to the background as his training took over. His rifle raised itself to his shoulder, and he automatically sighted down his scope. The door was almost finished. Just one more cut and whatever was on the other side would have access.
The line touched the deck again, and a huge door stood outlined in front of the marines. Long seconds passed. Suddenly, a sharp sound emanated forth from the outline.
BOOM!
With that sound, the plate moved in a fraction of an inch. The sound continued. Slow. Methodical. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. And with every beat, the door moved inexorably inward. Two meters of Titanium battleplate, moved as if it was nothing. Soon the only thing holding the hull up was perhaps an inch of metal. A few more hits, and the door would fall in. Weapons were raised to shoulders and every marine sighted in on the entry point.
BOOM!
The plate popped out of the fragile hold the hull maintained on it. It teetered for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not it should fall. And then, its mind made up, it fell forward, crashing into the deck. A fine cloud of dust rose from the impact site, momentarily obscuring the door. As it settled, the marine started wishing it had stayed in place.
Framed by the still-glowing metal and haloed by the settling dust, a monster stood. A monster that every man’s worst nightmares could take inspiration from.
Every inch of its ten-foot tall body rippled with muscle, straining as if they were trying to tear out of the thing’s skin. Its biceps were easily the size of a man’s waist, and its forearms were at least as big around as the marine’s thigh. Legs like pillars supported its massive bulk, and its head was placed to the front of its shoulders, giving it a pit-bullish appearance, the face hidden by a death head mask. From the eye sockets, two red lights peered out at the assembled force. For a single moment, marine and monster stared at each other.
The monster broke the standstill. It spread its arms and roared, took two steps forward, then reached over the nearest barricade and effortlessly picked up a marine, power-armor and all, and ripped him in half. The man screamed, and his hands groped uselessly at his exposed insides. He went slack as his blood coated the floor. The monster reared back and threw the two halves at another group of marines. They impacted, and knocked one off of his feet.
Finally, the sergeant found his voice. “OPEN FIRE!” It was as if a spell had been broken, and weapons began to spit blue death. Depleted uranium rounds were fired at near the speed of light, all aimed at the rampaging monster. The thing didn’t even slow. It just kept marching inexorably forward. As it cleared the hastily constructed barricade, two more of the things barreled out of the door. They each clutched a monstrous Gatling gun, and a slight whirring sound made itself heard above the chattering of gunfire and the roaring of the monster. The barrels began to spin, and rounds burst forth, as if eager to find the flesh of men.
Marines fell, their armor rended and their flesh torn apart by the red-hot death that poured from the monster’s barrels. Screams and cries filled the air as marines died. And still the monsters came. The sergeant who had greeted the marine as he stepped on the deck fell, his chest riddled with holes and his ever-present cigar clutched between his teeth. The monster that had punched him full of holes stepped over him, and its foot landed on the dead man’s chest. A deep rumble emanated forth from the creature’s chest, and it looked around itself, as if pleased with its handiwork.
The marine steeled himself, took aim, and let forth with a short burst. Blue flame thrust itself from the weapon’s muzzle, and the rounds flew towards the horror that confronted the man. They struck true, striking the monster just underneath its brow. It took a step backwards, and its head jerked around. But it didn’t fall. It slowly turned to face the marine, and the marine met its mismatched stare. One eye continued to glow red, and the other stared at him through a broken mask. Framed by broken red metal, a bloodshot, hazel eye stared. A human eye. An eye filled with anger, and hate.
The monster raised its weapon, and let loose at the marine. Rounds found their mark, and the marine felt the hot metal work its way into his body, searching out his heart, his lungs. The marine was propelled backward, and when his back met the wall, he slid down the unyielding metal to the blood slick deck. “I can’t breath, he must have gotten a lung. And my stomach is burning, a round must have found it. Oh man, this hurts.” He was cold, and his eyes were starting to close. But he forced himself to stay awake, to do his job.
His eyes wandered the bay, watching the monsters roam the decks, occasionally pausing to fire into a still moving form. As the marine watched, he heard a small voice ringing in his helmet. In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten to turn off his tac-channel. Reports were still coming in from all over the ship. “Oh my God! What are those things?”
“O’Brian’s down! We need a med team to...”
“We can’t hold ‘em! We have to fall…”
“Team 3 needs reinforcements on deck…”
“This is Delta, we have a reactor leak! One of those things put a round right into the containment chamber! We can’t hold these things, but well keep ‘em busy as long as we can! Evacuation code 13 is in effect!”
Evacuation code 13… That meant they had less then two minutes to get to the escape pods. The marine turned his head as much as he could, and rotated his wrist slowly, where a small chrono started counting down the seconds. One minute and 37 seconds left for anyone left after this mess to reach the avenues of escape. But where would the survivors go? They were light years from any planet, and the only thing nearby were those alien ships. So the choices were limited. Die here, or die out there. A wheezing cough escaped the marine, and one of the monster’s heads snapped at the sound. It began to move towards the marine, not taking any care to avoid the bodies that lie in its way. It either stepped on or simply kicked the bodies out of its path. When it reached the marine, it examined him for a moment, and then turned its body away from the man and snarled something to its cohorts. When it turned back again, it drew a pistol from the holster attached to its belt, and took great care in leveling it at the marine. The marine tried his best not to flinch, but failed. He could almost imagine a grin spreading across the things face…
“Halt!” A voice issued from the doorway, a voice of authority, and the being in front of the marine pulled his pistol up, and growled quietly at the interruption. It stepped to the side, and turned to face the owner of the voice. The marine, with great difficulty, turned his head so he could see his savior. As his brain processed the information his eyes took in, his mouth dropped open the barest fraction.
Walking towards him from the mouth of the boarding craft strode a young human male. His walk was precise, yet unhurried, and his aristocratic features bespoke arrogance. A neatly trimmed goatee decorated his pointed chin, and a black, short brimmed cap rested on a crown of brown hair. A black uniform, speckled with medals, covered a powerfully built body, and the man’s walk spoke of the power and grace contained within his limbs. He reached the marine, and crouched over the crumpled form.
“Now, now, now, you don’t want to deprive me of all my prisoners do you? We need a few alive to interrogate. And I believe this one will do nicely.” He stood up, and slowly pulled off his leather gloves, one finger at a time. When they were off, he placed them together and slapped them against his left palm. He addressed one of the monsters. “Take him back to the Scri’tar. He will prove very useful.” Despite the pain he felt, the marine managed a short laugh. Blood and foam touched his lips as his lung fully collapsed. His breathing became even more shallow as the pain in his chest intensified. But still he laughed, the barks of laughter issuing forth in short, painful bursts. The young man turned around and stared at the marine laying at his feet.
“There is nothing to laugh about, I assure you. Our interrogators are quite… thorough. You will tell us everything we want to know, and then die quite painfully.” But still the marine laughed, and slowly raised his wrist so the officer could see it.
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.
The man’s eyes grew wide, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but before a single sound could be uttered, the reactor blew, and the corridors were cleansed by a nuclear fire, and every living thing in them reduced to nothing. The fire boiled away hull plates and wiring, and ate its way out into deep space. When the cloud cleared, the once mighty flagship of the UESC fleet, the carrier Retribution, was nothing but a rapidly dissipating memory.