This one is a little different than most of the stuff I find myself writing
lately, in that I mean that it is not for a college class and I have some
real desire to do it. That being said it is also a bit different in that I
am going to try a new approach at introducing some of the characters.but it
may not stick, so be alert. And lastly, I, sadly, own nothing of the Aliens
or Predators including the movies, comics, video games, or characters
concepts. However, I do own, by right of intellectual property, the
following story, including events, original characters, etc. Hmm, and now
that that is finished and I have decided to stop rambling, please enjoy the
story.
Squad 112: Exo-Brigade
Chapter 1
The sound of gunfire outside the heavily reinforced door was light, but somehow managed to remain constant for the past hour or so. And it was that sound that allowed the stocky gentleman who rested against the wall on the interior side of the building to slip into a sort of deep thought. Twenty months ago the first group of migrant workers and USMC (United Space Marine Corp), under the direction and guidance of the Corporation (Weyland-Yutani) of course, came to the farthest, most barren outpost known as LV-879 where they were to begin mining operations and terra-forming operations to prepare for the next wave of workers and their military escorts.
Everything was working well and according to plan until fifteen months ago. That was when the first casualty occurred. A miner was late in reporting back to camp, and upon investigation only blood and fragments of clothing could be found in the shaft. It was initially ruled as some sort of freak accident and operations continued. Two days later, however, all hell broke loose. The miner who was previously missing was discovered, or at least his body was. It was hanging in an odd room, which contained numerous other indigenous life forms also plastered with an odd, black, mucus like substance to the walls and ceiling. The workers who discovered the horrific site barely had time to notice that there was a hole in the miner's chest before they, too, were attacked and slaughtered by a group of creatures. Only two of the workers escaped, and relayed their tale to the Marines and other workers in the camp. They described their attackers as "sleek, black bugs" with "elongated heads" who attacked in swarms.
That was all the military had to hear of the situation to know exactly what they were dealing with. Unlike other incidents involving these creatures, the military was now very well informed about the alien, known scientifically as Xenomorphs, threat. At roughly the same time that the Marines were planning a massive strike into the center of the alien stronghold, known as the hive, they themselves were the victims of an ambush by those very aliens whom they sought to eliminate. It was a horrific battle that saw the Marines lose half of their respective forces to the relentless, wave after wave assaults, of the extra-terrestrial attackers. That was when the call went out to both the USMC and the Corporation for reinforcements, as the Marines issued all civilian workers to take shelter inside the hastily constructed military base.
There had been no response from either the USMC or the Corporation until two months later, at thirteen months past, when, instead of the notice that help was on the way, the Marines got the command to pull out and head back to meet up with the main bulk of the USMC fleet. The official reason given was that the USMC had spread itself far too wide, far too quickly and was now suffering from very similar attacks on all fronts of newly acquired territory. For that reason it was deemed necessary that the USMC pool all of its resources in one area and began a planet to planet counter-offensive in the hopes of putting down the new alien resistance once and for all, in a concentrated effort.
This had put a very real strain upon the Marines, as it stuck them between their collective conscience and a direct order from USMC headquarters, the epitome of the phrase "between a rock and a hard place." Since the order was very explicit that the workers must be left behind on the planet, how could the Marines on site actually abandon those that they had lived and worked with for the past seven months, and leave them to die on this barely habitable hunk of rock on the edge of regulated space?
Of course it was conditioned in all soldiers that they must obey every order, no matter how off the wall and bizarre, so there were those amongst the remaining ranks that had no visible qualms about leaving the planet. This was when a plan had to be formed, since the division of soldiers was roughly fifty-fifty as to what to do. It was eventually decided, at twelve months past, what exactly they would have to do. It was an overly elaborate, and inherently dangerous, plan that involved the construction of a second, mock, military compound on the edge of the alien territory. A tunnel system was then devised and constructed beneath the structure that lead from the mock site back to about half a click northwest of the real base. Ten months ago, at just about the maximum amount of time that could go by before a response to USMC headquarters would be required, a massive battle was staged in the mock facility. Drawn to the faux base, by quite a number of herded, cattle-like animals within it, the aliens swarmed and overtook the base quickly. The Marines then, of course being filmed the whole time, began to fight off the swarms of aliens, and during the ensuing firefight simulated extensive "damages" to the bases systems, of which included, extensively, the self-destruct system. As the call to pull back was sounded, the group of Marines that intended to go back to USMC headquarters did just that, as their compatriots, whom were intending to stay behind on the planet, became "cut off" from the main group as the ceiling began to collapse around them.
In what many at the headquarters of both the USMC and the Corporation would later call a very emotional scene, the "trapped" squad continued to fight and hold back the ever-advancing alien swarms while the others managed to "escape." It was a calculated risk.and one that just happened to pay off. The resulting explosion of the facility drastically thinned the numbers of existing Xenomorphs, while at the same time gave the Marines who left a dramatic story to tell, and, most importantly, the "deceased" squad a reason to stay behind on the planet.
The well-muscled Marine who now leaned against the inner wall of the true military compound on planet LV-879 was one of those "deceased" soldiers. At times during those remaining past ten months it had felt like he had really died in that explosion. Died and went straight to Hell. Of course he and the twenty odd soldiers who felt compelled to stay behind still felt that they had made the right decision, to protect those helpless workers who even now lived away their days inside the compound alongside the military, but it had been a very hard ten months. Of course at first the aliens were easy to deal with, because of the explosion that had crippled their numbers.but it was also a time that the Marines had suddenly found themselves at a loss for numbers as well, and for that reason the massive raid that probably could have ended the alien threat on the planet once and for all never occurred. So using the native creatures the aliens repopulated the planet, gaining numbers, and a new purpose: the extinction of the invaders and the continuation of the hive.
It had taken nearly seven of the past ten months to reach a sort of equilibrium on the planet. Many soldiers had died since, about half of the remaining numbers, in the attempt at creating and maintaining a safe zone around the base. Because of the increasingly bad situation, the civilians who were able to help were recruited from the ranks of the workers. Many became herders, keeping a healthy supply of the native cattle-like species, now known as Oswocs, inside the base to use as a food source, or farmers who worked hard to produce some sort of edible vegetation on the newly terra-formed patches of the planet. There were a few civilians, however, that found a different job waiting for them. They were mostly younger, between the ages of 18 and 25 who had been hand selected by the remaining military to help supplement the massively downsized Marines. Of those individuals, who were about fifteen in number, six of them were chosen to assist the stocky Marine himself. While all received the basic firearm and armor training, those six were needed as what would become the last line of defense for all those who remained on this forbidding world. They were picked to operate heavily modified variations of the labor units known as Exo-Suits.
While the normal model was a robotic suit of humanoid stature, with an open cockpit, used to move heavy objects with large claw-like hands, the new ones were completely enclosed in armor to protect the operator, known as the pilot, and had the claws replaced with dual "chain guns." There were seven of those suits made, with six of them being piloted by the civilian recruits, while the seventh, as well as the entire squad, was under the command of that thoughtful, muscled Marine: Colonel Lunden James of the USMC.
But of course, all of this was the past, and was agonizingly picked over by Lunden as he listened to the sound of gunfire that had not defined their existence, but had very perfectly mocked it for the past ten months, and even longer, while they lived on this planet. Or at least it was picked over, until Lunden was roused from his thoughts by a voice coming through his earpiece. "Colonel, we have pretty much taken care of the few advancers out here, but Johns went a bit overboard and got himself hurt about a click north of here. We have him on the radar, but there seems to be a swarm heading his way, and we can't risk all of our men out here to go get him, sir. If you don't mind my saying, this seems like a job for you and your men, sir." The breathless voice relayed to Colonel James over the headset.
Lunden frowned internally for a moment. The infantry relied heavily on the Exos to get them out of trouble.so much so that they had begun to take unhealthy risks that jeopardized everyone. But, a reprimand would have to wait, because for the time being, action was warranted. Lunden tossed his faded blue eyes over the men who populated the hangar in which he was located. Four of them were playing cards at a nearby table, while the other two were apparently tinkering with one of the Exo-Suits on its pedestal.
"Suit up boys," Lunden spat at them almost jovially. "we have to go make a pick up." And even though the command was not given in the typical military yell, it was still issued by a superior, whom the men in company greatly respected, so they immediately broke from what they were doing and began to run to their assigned suits, lifting the heavy front pieces and hopping inside, fitting themselves into their protective shells. Lunden, too, found his suit, distinguished by its color, it was red were as the others were a dull green and gray mixture, and made his way within its confines with the grace that comes with a lifetime of practice.
The completion of the suit-up process was signaled by the hiss of the respective hydraulic lifts, or pedestals, that each suit was located on as they descended to the floor and began the heavy, metallic plodding,(which was actually, but not noticeably, faster than normal human pace) toward the bay door that echoed throughout the entire hangar. As the hangar door opened, light flooded inside and caused most of the men to squint momentarily as it poured through the reinforced glass panel that served as the only way to see out of the large, armored suits. Their eyes, however, quickly adjusted and with a single command from their leader that echoed through the head of each Exo, the squad began the trek into the odd mesh of wasteland and terra-formed earth that made up this hunk of rock, as they began their search for a wounded comrade and, what each secretly hoped for, the chance to blow some Xenomorphic ass to acidic Hell. However this time it would be different. This time they were being watched.
Squad 112: Exo-Brigade
Chapter 1
The sound of gunfire outside the heavily reinforced door was light, but somehow managed to remain constant for the past hour or so. And it was that sound that allowed the stocky gentleman who rested against the wall on the interior side of the building to slip into a sort of deep thought. Twenty months ago the first group of migrant workers and USMC (United Space Marine Corp), under the direction and guidance of the Corporation (Weyland-Yutani) of course, came to the farthest, most barren outpost known as LV-879 where they were to begin mining operations and terra-forming operations to prepare for the next wave of workers and their military escorts.
Everything was working well and according to plan until fifteen months ago. That was when the first casualty occurred. A miner was late in reporting back to camp, and upon investigation only blood and fragments of clothing could be found in the shaft. It was initially ruled as some sort of freak accident and operations continued. Two days later, however, all hell broke loose. The miner who was previously missing was discovered, or at least his body was. It was hanging in an odd room, which contained numerous other indigenous life forms also plastered with an odd, black, mucus like substance to the walls and ceiling. The workers who discovered the horrific site barely had time to notice that there was a hole in the miner's chest before they, too, were attacked and slaughtered by a group of creatures. Only two of the workers escaped, and relayed their tale to the Marines and other workers in the camp. They described their attackers as "sleek, black bugs" with "elongated heads" who attacked in swarms.
That was all the military had to hear of the situation to know exactly what they were dealing with. Unlike other incidents involving these creatures, the military was now very well informed about the alien, known scientifically as Xenomorphs, threat. At roughly the same time that the Marines were planning a massive strike into the center of the alien stronghold, known as the hive, they themselves were the victims of an ambush by those very aliens whom they sought to eliminate. It was a horrific battle that saw the Marines lose half of their respective forces to the relentless, wave after wave assaults, of the extra-terrestrial attackers. That was when the call went out to both the USMC and the Corporation for reinforcements, as the Marines issued all civilian workers to take shelter inside the hastily constructed military base.
There had been no response from either the USMC or the Corporation until two months later, at thirteen months past, when, instead of the notice that help was on the way, the Marines got the command to pull out and head back to meet up with the main bulk of the USMC fleet. The official reason given was that the USMC had spread itself far too wide, far too quickly and was now suffering from very similar attacks on all fronts of newly acquired territory. For that reason it was deemed necessary that the USMC pool all of its resources in one area and began a planet to planet counter-offensive in the hopes of putting down the new alien resistance once and for all, in a concentrated effort.
This had put a very real strain upon the Marines, as it stuck them between their collective conscience and a direct order from USMC headquarters, the epitome of the phrase "between a rock and a hard place." Since the order was very explicit that the workers must be left behind on the planet, how could the Marines on site actually abandon those that they had lived and worked with for the past seven months, and leave them to die on this barely habitable hunk of rock on the edge of regulated space?
Of course it was conditioned in all soldiers that they must obey every order, no matter how off the wall and bizarre, so there were those amongst the remaining ranks that had no visible qualms about leaving the planet. This was when a plan had to be formed, since the division of soldiers was roughly fifty-fifty as to what to do. It was eventually decided, at twelve months past, what exactly they would have to do. It was an overly elaborate, and inherently dangerous, plan that involved the construction of a second, mock, military compound on the edge of the alien territory. A tunnel system was then devised and constructed beneath the structure that lead from the mock site back to about half a click northwest of the real base. Ten months ago, at just about the maximum amount of time that could go by before a response to USMC headquarters would be required, a massive battle was staged in the mock facility. Drawn to the faux base, by quite a number of herded, cattle-like animals within it, the aliens swarmed and overtook the base quickly. The Marines then, of course being filmed the whole time, began to fight off the swarms of aliens, and during the ensuing firefight simulated extensive "damages" to the bases systems, of which included, extensively, the self-destruct system. As the call to pull back was sounded, the group of Marines that intended to go back to USMC headquarters did just that, as their compatriots, whom were intending to stay behind on the planet, became "cut off" from the main group as the ceiling began to collapse around them.
In what many at the headquarters of both the USMC and the Corporation would later call a very emotional scene, the "trapped" squad continued to fight and hold back the ever-advancing alien swarms while the others managed to "escape." It was a calculated risk.and one that just happened to pay off. The resulting explosion of the facility drastically thinned the numbers of existing Xenomorphs, while at the same time gave the Marines who left a dramatic story to tell, and, most importantly, the "deceased" squad a reason to stay behind on the planet.
The well-muscled Marine who now leaned against the inner wall of the true military compound on planet LV-879 was one of those "deceased" soldiers. At times during those remaining past ten months it had felt like he had really died in that explosion. Died and went straight to Hell. Of course he and the twenty odd soldiers who felt compelled to stay behind still felt that they had made the right decision, to protect those helpless workers who even now lived away their days inside the compound alongside the military, but it had been a very hard ten months. Of course at first the aliens were easy to deal with, because of the explosion that had crippled their numbers.but it was also a time that the Marines had suddenly found themselves at a loss for numbers as well, and for that reason the massive raid that probably could have ended the alien threat on the planet once and for all never occurred. So using the native creatures the aliens repopulated the planet, gaining numbers, and a new purpose: the extinction of the invaders and the continuation of the hive.
It had taken nearly seven of the past ten months to reach a sort of equilibrium on the planet. Many soldiers had died since, about half of the remaining numbers, in the attempt at creating and maintaining a safe zone around the base. Because of the increasingly bad situation, the civilians who were able to help were recruited from the ranks of the workers. Many became herders, keeping a healthy supply of the native cattle-like species, now known as Oswocs, inside the base to use as a food source, or farmers who worked hard to produce some sort of edible vegetation on the newly terra-formed patches of the planet. There were a few civilians, however, that found a different job waiting for them. They were mostly younger, between the ages of 18 and 25 who had been hand selected by the remaining military to help supplement the massively downsized Marines. Of those individuals, who were about fifteen in number, six of them were chosen to assist the stocky Marine himself. While all received the basic firearm and armor training, those six were needed as what would become the last line of defense for all those who remained on this forbidding world. They were picked to operate heavily modified variations of the labor units known as Exo-Suits.
While the normal model was a robotic suit of humanoid stature, with an open cockpit, used to move heavy objects with large claw-like hands, the new ones were completely enclosed in armor to protect the operator, known as the pilot, and had the claws replaced with dual "chain guns." There were seven of those suits made, with six of them being piloted by the civilian recruits, while the seventh, as well as the entire squad, was under the command of that thoughtful, muscled Marine: Colonel Lunden James of the USMC.
But of course, all of this was the past, and was agonizingly picked over by Lunden as he listened to the sound of gunfire that had not defined their existence, but had very perfectly mocked it for the past ten months, and even longer, while they lived on this planet. Or at least it was picked over, until Lunden was roused from his thoughts by a voice coming through his earpiece. "Colonel, we have pretty much taken care of the few advancers out here, but Johns went a bit overboard and got himself hurt about a click north of here. We have him on the radar, but there seems to be a swarm heading his way, and we can't risk all of our men out here to go get him, sir. If you don't mind my saying, this seems like a job for you and your men, sir." The breathless voice relayed to Colonel James over the headset.
Lunden frowned internally for a moment. The infantry relied heavily on the Exos to get them out of trouble.so much so that they had begun to take unhealthy risks that jeopardized everyone. But, a reprimand would have to wait, because for the time being, action was warranted. Lunden tossed his faded blue eyes over the men who populated the hangar in which he was located. Four of them were playing cards at a nearby table, while the other two were apparently tinkering with one of the Exo-Suits on its pedestal.
"Suit up boys," Lunden spat at them almost jovially. "we have to go make a pick up." And even though the command was not given in the typical military yell, it was still issued by a superior, whom the men in company greatly respected, so they immediately broke from what they were doing and began to run to their assigned suits, lifting the heavy front pieces and hopping inside, fitting themselves into their protective shells. Lunden, too, found his suit, distinguished by its color, it was red were as the others were a dull green and gray mixture, and made his way within its confines with the grace that comes with a lifetime of practice.
The completion of the suit-up process was signaled by the hiss of the respective hydraulic lifts, or pedestals, that each suit was located on as they descended to the floor and began the heavy, metallic plodding,(which was actually, but not noticeably, faster than normal human pace) toward the bay door that echoed throughout the entire hangar. As the hangar door opened, light flooded inside and caused most of the men to squint momentarily as it poured through the reinforced glass panel that served as the only way to see out of the large, armored suits. Their eyes, however, quickly adjusted and with a single command from their leader that echoed through the head of each Exo, the squad began the trek into the odd mesh of wasteland and terra-formed earth that made up this hunk of rock, as they began their search for a wounded comrade and, what each secretly hoped for, the chance to blow some Xenomorphic ass to acidic Hell. However this time it would be different. This time they were being watched.