Chapter 4: Express Elevator to Hell
"Leonard! Are we ready for drop yet?" asked General Malone, sitting in his second row seat of the Marvel's drop ship. All the men were armed to the teeth with grenades, acid proof knives and body armour, helmets with xenomorph detection goggles, ammunition backpacks and pistols. However, that was where the similarities ended. Mort carried three shotguns; the two strapped to his back were double barrel, pump-action shotguns, whilst the one resting on his lap which he primarily used was a semi-automatic. Leonard, as he had in all his missions, carried two acid-resistant swords, both strapped to his back in an 'X' pattern. Julius wielded a smartgun, whilst Dawkins went solely with a pulse rifle. Finally, Malone was armed with an automatic shotgun and pulse rifle, with secondary grenade fire, complete with cigar in mouth and about fifty others stored for later in his front pockets.
"Yes, sir," replied Leonard. "Awaiting the go."
"Then take us down."
"Aye, sir."
"WOOOOO!" roared Mort, smiling from ear to ear. "Roller Coaster time!" Before anyone could reply, the drop ship detached from the Marvel, accompanied by the G-Forces commonplace in all drops. However, each of these men had experienced this many times, and it had lost its nauseating effects after about twenty drops.
After about fifteen minutes of silence, the G-forces subsided.
"We're entering the planet's atmosphere now, sir," yelled Leonard from the front.
"Good," yelled Malone in reply. "Punch in the coordinates from the transmission."
"Aye sir. Punching in now…we are heading there as we speak."
More silence and rumbling of the ship happened before they finally arrived at the location of the mining vessel.
"Sir, we are currently hovering directly over the mining vessel."
"Stay here," ordered Malone. "I'm coming to have a look." Malone unbuckled his safety straps and made his way to the cockpit so that he could have a look at the ship and the surrounding area himself. What he saw when he looked out the cockpit window, however, was not at all what he expected. Lush forests surrounded the clearing where the miners had set down, with trees almost as high as they were hovering. But it was not the vegetation that caught his eye; it was the ship.
"It's fucking crawling with xenomorphs," he said, pulling his cigar out of his mouth so he could puff smoke.
"What do you want to do, sir?" asked Leonard, looking up from the drop ship controls.
"How far away would you say is the edge of the clearing from the mining vessel?" asked Malone.
"About one kilometre."
"Good. Land at the edge of the clearing. If there are any xenomorphs on the ground obstructing us from landing, use the rockets. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes sir."
"Good," said Malone, putting the cigar back inside his mouth, before heading back to where the others were waiting.
"Okay, Marines, listen up; we've got a major xenomorph infestation on our hands here. When we land I want Julius and Dawkins out first to fend off any oncoming xeno. Mort, you, Leonard and I are going to grab every machine turret we have on this drop ship and create a circular perimeter around this bad boy. This ship is our base of operations. I want…"
Malone's orders were interrupted by the thump of several rockets leaving their launchers, followed closely by the sounds of explosions on the land below.
"I want all of you with motion trackers and I want your xeno-detection goggles on. Is that clear Marines!?" screamed Malone, the other xeno-slayers leaning in closely so that they could hear him over the thud of rockets.
"Sir, yes sir!" they yelled in reply.
"General, sir!" screamed Leonard from the front. "I've cleared a space. Want me to set her down?"
"Go for it," yelled Malone. "When we're secure on the ground, I want you back here grabbing turrets. Got that, Leonard!?"
"Aye, sir."
Each and every one of them was pumped and rearing to go. Each of them had done this sort of thing many times, and so were all on the edge of their seats, ready to jump into action as soon as they touched down. All save Malone; he was a veteran, a badass motherfucker who had done this more times than all the others combined. He was cool, calm and collected, smoking his cigar and lounging in his chair as if he was having a family barbecue back on earth.
The ship shook violently as they hit the ground, before gaining stability on the landing gear. The roar of the engines died down to nothing as Leonard cut the power, and the xeno-slayers went into action. Julius and Dawkins threw open the door facing the mining vessel (and, subsequently, the waves of oncoming, curious xenomorphs) and jumped out, running to get into the most advantageous position from which to fend off the onslaught. Leonard ran from the cockpit to join Mort and Malone, who were in the back grabbing remote turrets and opening laptops. Soon, gunfire from outside flooded the area, coupled with the hellish screams of dying aliens, and the dangerous hiss of acid blood sinking into dirt.
The remote turrets were put up one by one in a complete circle around the drop ship, so that any attack, whether it be from the clearing ahead of them or the forest on the other three sides, would be repelled. Ammo trailed from each turret back to the ship, for in the rear there was a massive supply of ammunition. Julius and Dawkins systematically held off the oncoming waves, pumping a combination of grenades, armour piercing rounds and smartgun ammo into the xenomorphs. Soon, each and every turret was in place, and Malone, Mort and Leonard ran inside the drop ship to arm them on the laptops.
"Dawkins! Julius!" screamed Malone from the open door of the vessel. "Retreat! Sentries are in place!"
After several more bursts into the alien waves, they retreated.
"ACTIVATE NOW!" roared Malone to Mort and Leonard, as Dawkins and Julius jumped inside, Malone slamming the door shut behind them and locking it. Aliens ran full tilt at the ship over grassy terrain, now unhindered until the turrets were active.
"All active, sir," said Mort, as he and Leonard hustled up to the General. As if to affirm what was said, the turrets kicked in, the wail of gunfire from the machines drowning out any and all other outside noise.
"There's a fuckload of em' out there, sir," said Dawkins, panting and sweating. "At least 250 of em' and more kept streaming out of that mining vessel."
"Yeah, sir," said Julius, who was also panting. "If those turrets fail, we're in for one hell of a fight."
"I know," said Malone, calmly. "I saw them. The turrets WILL hold. We've got enough ammo for each turret to fire a day and a half continuously without running out of ammo."
"I hope so," said Julius quietly.
"Anyway, good work, Marines," said Malone, popping a fresh cigar into his mouth and lighting it, great clouds of smoke nearly fully covering his face. "Now, we wait."
/ | \
It was half an hour later when the sound of turret-fire finally died away to nothing. In that time the xeno-slayers had cleaned and polished every weapon and their boots.
"What's you count, Julius?" asked Dawkins.
"I'd say around 90. You?"
"105," said Dawkins, a victorious grin spreading his face.
"Bastard," said Julius. "I'm the one with the fucking smartgun, and somehow you still manage to beat me."
"It's called grenades," replied Dawkins.
"You two killed almost 200 xenos? I'd say the turrets have you both beat," said Mort, his thick Scottish accent making the statement even funnier.
"Yeah, well, shove it up your ass, Mort," replied Julius angrily.
"Knock it off," said Malone quietly, finishing off his third cigar.
"Sir, have you ever encountered so many xenos at once?" asked Leonard, polishing his swords and re-applying the acid-proof polish, even though he hadn't fought yet.
"Yeah," said Malone. "When an infestation pops up in a really populated colony, such as that on LV-204…"
"I heard about that from the news," whispered Mort to Dawkins.
"…you have no choice but to nuke every human settlement, just to be sure."
"Shit," said Julius softly.
"That's exactly what I felt like," said Malone. "Now, Dawkins, why don't you grab a smartgun, open the hatch and see if we're clear to head over to the ship."
"Yes, sir," replied Dawkins. He grabbed his smartgun and headed to the door.
"Mort, would you mind…"
"No problem," said Mort, getting up and heading to the dropship door. He grabbed the handle and pulled, the shuddering open.
Sunlight from the outside world streamed in, a welcoming breeze ruffling the marine's hair. Dawkins poked his head outside, scanning side to side with his smartgun. Hundreds, maybe thousands of dead xenomorphs lay in front of the turrets. Dawkins saw no movement, and so turned his head to look back at the others.
"I think the coast is clear, but we should pump a bunch of grenades into them to be sure."
"Double check," ordered Malone. Dawkins looked at the general with obvious confusion; he had never doubted him before. Yet an order was an order and must be obeyed. So he turned around...
HISS! A xenomorph stood in front of him, drool parading like rain into a puddle on the ground, its lip quivering. Before he could react, it grabbed his head in its hands and brought its face close to his. Its lip quivered upward, revealing sharp silver teeth. Its bottom jaw opened all the way, whilst its second jaw opened and closed in anticipation.
'I'm fucking dead,' thought Dawkins. 'I'm one of the best and I'm still going to die.' The xenomorph's second jaw started forward.
'Oh, god!' thought Dawkins, shutting his eyes tightly. Suddenly he was jerked sideways by a tremendous force, falling on his elbow and bruising it badly. But he was alive.
When he opened his eyes, he saw in disbelief that General Malone had tackled the xenomorph. 'What the fuck?' thought Dawkins. 'I knew the General was ballsy, but this goes beyond anything I've ever seen.'
"You don't get to touch MY men!" roared Malone, punching the xenomorph in the face. His armor protected his body from any scratches the xenomorph tried to inflict upon him. Finally, after several more punches to the face, the General stood up, grabbed his shotgun, and systematically shot off its arms, legs and tail. Acid hissed on the floor and his clothes, melting the fabric until all he had was body armour on his upper body. All the while his cigar still puffed in his mouth. The xenomorph shrieked its hellish cry as it bled, unable to do anything to alter its predicament.
"Now, motherfucker, I'm gonna enjoy watching you writhe," said Malone, who had knelt down to be at eye level with the alien. It hissed and tried to bite him with its second jaw. Yet, with the practiced hand of a man who had done it thousands of times, Malone grabbed it before it penetrated skin. He unbuckled his knife with his other hand, and quickly sliced it off. Acid blood spewed onto the dirt and created more smoke than Malone's continually puffing cigar. He threw the jaw away angrily, and yet stayed crouching, listening with intense pleasure as the xenomorph screeched and writhed. Finally, he stood up, placed his foot on its head and pulled out his shotgun. He placed it on its head, beside where his foot was.
"Oh, wait," he said, "I forgot to put out my cigar." He slowly leaned down and, with the fiery side of the cigar, burned a hole into the front of the xenomorph's skull. Before it could screech any further, he shot the front half of its head off with the shotgun, killing it instantly. Then, as if nothing had happened, he pulled out a cigar and lit it, placing it in his mouth and drawing several deep breaths.
The other slayers were silent until Mort spoke.
"Holy shit, sir," he said, awe evident both in his facial features and in the tone of his voice. "Is that how you got…?"
"My burns? Why yes it is," he said with a smile, before frowning and reaching up to his face. The skin on his cheek was peeling away slowly. "God Damn it," he said. "I got some on my face."
"Do you want some bandages?" asked Julius.
"No. Now saddle up, men. We're going to that ship."
As they left, none of them noticed the four pair of yellow eyes in the treetops behind them that disappeared, accompanied by the faintest rustling of leaves.