"What is the situation?"
Zhaojie had his Corporals marshalled on the ground floor of the captured communications structure. Outside, Jiayi's snipers were keeping the probing attacks of the remaining enemy garrison at bay. It appeared that the majority had departed with the vast ship and the strange escort ships. He'd heard the men refer to them as saucers - because they could imagine balancing a colossal cup of tea atop them, perhaps.
Corporal Essex spoke up first, "Situation to the south is shite, to be perfectly honest boss. Dust, fires, a fair few Mutons and those squirrelly human-like bastards. And that walker is trying to get to the front of the dome."
Jacobs harrumphed, "Yeah and then we've got the bloody dead walking down the river, headed towards them. None come this way, so reckon most of the Martians are still on the perimeter up here, holding the line. Don't even know we're here, probably."
Zhaojie frowned, "No communication at all? We know they can…"
"So much going on, maybe thought the main assault is to the south. And looks like maybe their command element has gone. Nothing here looks dressed like staff, or officer-like. Even the human ones," Essex shrugged.
"We know not how their leaders attire themselves," murmured Jiayi. The men glanced at her, then back at Zhaojie.
"She is correct. We might not know a general until he outright admitted it. Except there is hierarchy. I believe we saw one such leader. That orb… the vessel departed as soon as it reached the ship. And we know the insectoid things follow one of their own. We saw it months ago, in London. Some of these… humans wear red sashes, perhaps this is a rank insignia also? But we are side-tracking. How can we assist Hackett?"
Jacobs frowned, "Can we at all? I hate to say it, but one of us needs to put the idea out there: We have the objective, securing that thing," he gestured at the crystal on the ruined table, "was our target, or part of it. If we die and lose it…?"
Essex looked furious, about to shout at his comrade but Jiayi murmured again, "He is correct. This is a war, not a novella. We die, the war could be lost. Hackett is doing his duty."
Zhaojie coughed before Essex could round on her, "Corporal. We are soldiers. Not heroes. We can try to save everyone, but if we die in the attempt, then what is the point. No, I don't think we can tip the odds too far in our favour from here. But that isn't to say we can't assist in some manner. Jiayi, anything in that… ship of theirs?"
The slight Chinese woman stood from where she was leaning against the wall and frowned, "We cannot use it, if that is what you are asking. I could identify no controls, no easy mechanisms. We found an insectoid aboard as well, which we captured. Gives us two live ones now. I believe they may be the pilots, similar to how they appear to drive the walkers, zhu."
Zhaojie nodded, "A likely deduction. So, can we persuade them to fly the thing?"
She shook her head and the ghost of a smile played on her face, "Not unless you have learned to read their minds."
Essex looked back at Zhaojie, "So how can we help? Time's a wasting even if you just want us to cut and run."
Zhaojie fixed him with a stare and the man had the good grace to flinch and look away, "Mr Essex, I have known Sergeant Hackett longer than you. Our priority is securing a fast escape for as many of us as we can. But we must secure this crystal and any devices we can. We need room to breathe. I am in command, so these will my choices to bear. Your freedom comes from the fact you will be alive to hate me afterwards."
Jiayi was watching him and he waved at her. She stood a little straighter, "Zhu?"
"Take the snipers closer to the south. Harry their rearward flank, but do not expose yourself. Corporal Jacobs, we need to secure access back to the river, to fall back to where the good Captain has moored up. He and the sailors will have secured a position for us to retrieve a vessel. That is our easiest escape route; I have no desire to walk south. And I very much doubt that British Rail is accommodating at this time."
That drew a chuckle, even Essex managed a grin. The young man heaved a sigh, "So, plan is we harry and retreat then?"
Zhaojie nodded, then laid it out on the crumpled map he produced - Jacobs to identify a route to the river via reconnaissance, Jiayi to harry the enemy's northern flank to buy Hackett some breathing space. And Essex to keep the men here to secure the site. The latter didn't look happy, "Keeping me back, boss?"
Zhaojie looked him in the eye, "Right now I do not know if I can trust your judgement, David. I need to know you have our back, so I am giving you that to watch. This is a defensible point, an area of interest for the enemy; we can retreat here and hold the line enough. Once we know the ground, we can regroup, then withdraw. Hopefully Hackett can fight through. He knows to retreat back to the river, to the Captain. Now, all of you, get to it. Jiayi, we need to signal to Hackett. Green flare, remember?" She nodded, then jogged out, a pair of snipers following. Zhaojie gave his small band a last look, "Into the breach, my friends."
Dogs dinner. More cock ups than a Soho whorehouse. Pratfalls to rival a Brighton pier show. So many descriptions, so little bloody time.
He was down a quarter of his men, mostly wounded and in cover. The civvies were definitely helping at least. The widening pools of red showed that some of his lads had bought it, though. That rat-bastard of a floating scorpion was a pretty damn good shot. Add to that the gunfire from the corridor to their rear showed that his lads hadn't been able to seal it shut.
But they were making the bastards pay for every inch. Smoke and dust obscured the gap for the most part, but he knew there were a solid twenty enemy dead on the other side, along with a good fifteen insectoids this side. Fifty of the crab-spider bastard things to their rear. Maybe more by the gun fire.
Dead orbs, two dead scorpion disc bastards. So many bastards. He chuckled to himself, knowing the wound in his leg wasn't helping and his adrenaline was likely making things a bit woozy. He couldn't tell if the thump in his head was the repeated fire of guns or his own blood thundering through his veins. Then the ground shook and he cursed.
Carefully he leaned out of cover and groaned. The smoke had cleared enough to show that there were still a pair of Mutons and at least six of the human-horrors standing across the gap. One of the snake-eyed bastards was with them as well, but they were all hanging back. And who knew how many more were trying to break down their rear flank. Or were just skulking outside those huge doors.
As if the universe wanted to answer his query directly, a huge silhouette lumbered into view through the half-opened double doors. Hackett groaned as a tripod moved forwards. The doors were damaged, however, so the thing had to half squat, half sidle. It was eerily graceful for such a massive machine as it looked to shoulder its way through the gap.
Around him Hackett could hear his men cursing and fire switched to the machine. He saw sparks fly off its metal hull and chip away at the dromed green canopy of its cockpit, but nothing struck true. A mortar could maybe dent it, but short of it falling over, they had no…
Hackett's thoughts trailed off as he risked another look.
Most of the floor in front of the doors was just… an elevator. Like a mineshaft lift, it had maybe a lip for people to walk across in front of the doors, meaning the roundel of the main room was uninterrupted. But the machines they'd seen coming up had been built at the bottom, raised up and just walked out. No space to manoeuver around the edges, at least not easily. And certainly not at full height what with the slope of the dome.
His exhausted mind sprinted through ideas. A lift. A slip of metal, supported by, what, a cog? A rail? Some sort of weird science bollocks?
The machine lumbered fully into the dome and managed to elevate itself, the body rotating slightly as it tried to identify targets through the smoke. Over the crack of rifles and thrum of their purloined auto-weapons, Hackett could hear the monsters shouting. No, not shouting. Cheering.
Bit premature, you bastards. Wait til final whistle at least…
The sergeant cast about him and saw his demo-men, huddled behind a stack of metal. He heard a thrummm and further along the walkway he saw a group of civilians explode into flame, their weapons exploding along with them. A wave of heat washed around them as the machine dragged its heat ray across the walk-space, forcing men into cover. He heard the hiss and pop of metal heating to a ridiculous temperature in seconds flat.
"Lads. When you get a mo, mind checking range to the lift. I want rockets on target below it."
The men stared at him, "But… that's mad sir!"
"Any other clever ideas? We know unless you fire fifty rockets at one of them, it does bugger all. Got a fifty pounder in your back pocket? Can you direct fire into the lift mechanisms?"
One of the men popped his head up briefly then ducked back down as a hail of yellow and green bolts flew his way. The man looked pensive, then nodded and whispered to his fellow, the back at Hackett, "Can you keep them off us, fifteen seconds?"
The Sergeant frowned and looked around. He saw his mortar crew, wounded or dead, nearby. He couldn't tell, the men were slumped against steel, eyes closed. One had far too much blood around him to be responsive… or alive, "Fifteen seconds… right then, lets give these bloody arsing bastards a show,"
He dove out, pushing with his good leg, and rolled into cover next to the discarded mortar. Behind him, the tiled floor hissed and bubbled as the heat ray lanced, barely missing him. He felt his moustache crisp, the hair on his face singeing, then took stock. One phosphorus round. One high explosive. One shrapnel. What a banquet!
He looked at his remaining men, maybe fifteen enlisted and twelve civvies, all hunkered down, "Right lads. We wait for another sweep. Then I want everyone just keeping those bastards heads down. Big bucket of bolts there takes a few seconds to recharge its gun. Maybe ten seconds, maybe a minute depending how much it wants to melt things. On my mark…"
He hefted the morta, took a quick glance out of cover, then hefted the tube and rammed the phosphorous shell home, swinging the tube at an angle. There was a phluup as the shell launched and he rolled back, feeling a swell of heat as the machine bathed their side of the vast hall with its ray. He heard a couple of men scream, their voices suddenly cutting off as they died. Then there was a crash and a shriek from the other side as the white cloud enveloped the aliens. He saw the human-monsters stagger, clawing at their faces as the concentrated phosphorous burned at their skin. The Mutons were staggering, irritated, but mostly unbothered. But the snake man stood tall and glared straight at him.
Right until a rifle round blasted its head into green mulch.
His men popped out of cover and rained hell - rifles popped, gauss guns rattle and the gathered aliens scrambled to cover. A few rounds struck the fighting machine as it squatted down. Hackett saw hatches open on its dome and knew that they were out of time. He swore and popped the HE round into the mortar. It arced through the air and burst on the dome of the fighting machine which rocked back; black smoke billowed from a tube, but it straightened up and levelled its main weapon his way.
A pair of shrieking rockets flew from his left and slammed into the rails below the lift. The fighting machine rocked gently. For a moment, the world seemed silent.
Then there was the sound of tortured metal. A groaning, keening wail of steel and alien alloys under stress. The tripod let out a strange warble, perhaps of surprise as the elevator platform lurched. It slid slightly, but its managed to brace a leg and stopped tis tumble. Hacketts heart fell as the thing began to straighten.
Then, with a clang, the elevator collapsed. The whole thing just buckled, then folded up, like a trap door.
The tripod fell, its main gun firing as it did. The line of heat sliced up at an angle, carving a white hot line through the building to Hackett's right. It tumbled down the vast pit, then slammed at the base, where it exploded in a cloud of blue-green fire. The explosion triggered something else down below and the derricks erupted in green fire - methane and other gasses suddenly superheating. The building rocked.
Across the way, the double doors shuddered and collapsed, blocking the entry-way.
Silence fell as dust drifted down. Peering through the smoke, the Sergeant realised their aggressors were all down - the mutons perforated by twenty men deciding to focus fire. He didn't care how tough your armour was - physics has a way of having words with enough force applied. The floating scorpion was down, the glowing line of the wild heat-ray shot having completely bisected the thing. Friendly fire that was not.
Hackett slumped as his men cheered. How the hell had they pulled that off. Open terrain they'd have been toast five times over. His reverie was interrupted by running feet. He struggled his way to his feet and blinked as a group of men made it inside - his gunners and snipers. And a sailor from the boat? The man spotted him and jogged over.
"Sergeant. Davey, we met on the boat?" it was like a fellow catching up a church. The Sergeant just blinked at him, shock finally starting to kick in. The man continued, either not noticing or being pressed for time, "We got the civvies out, along the coast, once your boys knocked down them crawly things. Captain sent me and the crew shadowing, he brought the boat a little further up - them dead-uns got those fighting machines on the ridge. Or they did a runner, moving north. Can't tell. He's moored up half a mile. But, trick is sir, with them civvies… we're low on space."
Hackett looked around at his men, mind racing. "Any other boats ship worthy?"
The man shrugged, "Maybe. Blew a load up, took out a tripod. Rivers all clogged with broken shit. So, best bet is north shore. No big boats though. Maybe a fisher boat here or there."
And they didn't know what was going on up north… and then the universe seemed to hear him again. Through the smashed roof he saw something arc into the sky and explode - a green flare. He grinned, stupidly.
"Right, well, priorities. Rear way clear?"
One of his men answered, "Had some of those trench-coats try to sneak in. Took them out, as well as a muton. All clear for now. Seems they're fighting the Lost on the bridge at the moment."
"Ok, Wounded first. Let's get out of here. This place looks fit to fall. Police our dead, we'll leave their side alone. Anyone who can't walk, carry. Anyone who can, grab a person, weapon or both. Let's get the arse out of here!"
They withdrew to the rear and emerged into the open air ruins of Gateshead to a massacre - dead Cryssalids and aliens littered the open space. The Sergeant glanced up and his Maxim gunners here waved back down. To their left they could hear the growls and squeals of the Lost in the distance, coupled with alien shouts and curses, as well as gunfire. Now and then he heard a crack that he realised was on of those Afghan rifles. Some overwatch happening clearly!
One of the remaining lance corporals marshalled the survivors together, then looked to the Sergeant, "Orders sir?"
"Green flare, up. We need to let them know we're drawing out. Get on the roof, signal that Jiayi girl if they're there. Tell 'em we're heading down river. Then move like the devil is on your arse. Get the wounded aboard. And if we run out of space... Well… let's cross that bridge, alright?"
The man grabbed another soldier and relayed the orders, then sent him and another off at a trot to climb a building to get the message out. He saw the Lance-jack heft the flare and fire it, then follow the retreating crowd down the road. He limped along, helped by another squaddie. They made good time, managing it in thirty minutes. They found the boat moored at a shitty fisherman's dock near a ruined collection of houses and he watched the civvies load aboard. And he realised there would be no room at the inn for most of his lads. He turned to his wounded men.
"Get on boys. Can't walk, can't fight. Get back down south. Report. We'll have to make our own way. Boss man and me…"
"You can't walk sarge!" protested one man with a bandage covering a bloodied face.
"I can limp with a fuckin' vengeance. No back talk. After all, can't be letting the rupert get all the credit. Now, aboard and you, Captain, get the bloody hell out of here, you understand?"
The seaman was stood on the deck of the clunky vessel and he nodded, "God speed to you, Sergeant."
"You too. And… bloody job with that distraction. Make a soldier of you yet."
The Captain grinned, "I bloody hope not! You'd make me shave."
Hackett chuckled and waved him off. He stood there, leaning on a rifle like a crutch, as the vessel pulled away, with ten men still standing next to him. The boat the Captain had purloined was a decent sized steamer, but they'd evacuated a goodly number of civvies, more than he'd realised. They'd have needed a liner to get everyone out. And it was too big a target to loiter if they had to wait for Zhaojie and the rest. They'd have to make do another way.
Movement across the bank caught his eye and he felt a grin cross his face. On the opposite bank a pair of figures were waving at them.
Crossing had been a simple matter of finding a few row boats and serviceable sail-boats. They'd crossed the river relatively unnoticed - the aliens were occupied with the horde on the bridge and the Lost it seemed had cleared this stretch of river and were just focusing on their area around the dome.
Hackett clambered awkwardly from his temporary ferry and gripped Corporal Jacobs' wrist, "Good to see you lad. So, lead the way, debrief later."
The man nodded and led his small troupe of men up through the ruins of Newcastle, avoiding the scant Lost. The patrols, it seemed, were bogged down on the perimeter and at the bridge, so traversal was easy. Another half an hour and they were safely at the command centre.
"This commuting lark, not bad with no other buggers around to ruin it," chuckled Hackett as he and his men limped into the ruined compound.
"But where would be the sport?" rumbled an answer as Zhaojie stepped out of the strange metal building. The Sergeant drew himself up and gave a salute. Zhaojie returned it and surveyed the men, "A little light, it seems. I'm sorry. Many casualties?"
The Sergeant swallowed a lump, "Less than I'd feared… more than I'd like. These bastards have a fair few tricks. But, saved the civvies, got my wounded off."
"Jiayi reported a steamer heading off. No room for yourself?"
The Sergeant shook his head, "We maybe could've squeezed on. But, well."
Zhaojie nodded slowly, "Not wanting to leave us in the lurch. Corporal Essex seems to be taking after you. Your arrival is timely. We had plotted extraction to the river, but your movements ahead of time have made that moot. For the best reasons," he smiled, showing he wasn't irritated by the initiative. That surprised Hackett - he knew a fair few officers would've expected him to fight all the way back to HQ to ask permission for a latrine break, let alone sending off their main evacuation plan.
"Ah, heat of the moment sir. Think I'm running on fumes…"
"Indeed. Corporal Jacobs, get these men inside, fed and watered. We need to plan where we go now."
Time whirled and Hackett found a tin mug in his hand, the smell of soup wafting up from it. Around him men slumped and dozed, the sudden action catching up with them. A medic checked his wound and applied more gauze and the strange gelatin. Already he felt the soreness abating, the muscles seeming to knit together faster than possible previously.
He slept. When he awoke, it was night and men were hunkered down in the window frames. Silence was all around and he saw Zhaojie hold a hand to his lips in the gloom - there was no fire now, no heat. Carefully, Hackett moved to join his Lieutenant and peered out of the broken door frame to gaze outside.
A solider, one of the alien human monsters, was limping into the compound, past the ruined wall. He was clearly bleeding and the only sound was the limping scrape of his movement. The Sergeant realised there was no gunfire, no sound of destruction. Just the cold air and the scrape of the man's boots on the ground.
The soldier collapsed, whimpering. It was such a human sound. The fear etched in the noise. The despair. He glanced at Zhaojie and saw the man frowning. The the large Chinese man gestured to a soldier, one of the medics and pointed at the soldier. The man blinked in surprise, then grabbed the fellow next to him. They dashed out, half running half creeping and snatched up the fallen soldier. The medic dragged him backwards, a hand clamped across the soldier's face, the other trooper hefting the enemy troopers legs.
They bundled the man inside and laid him on a table. Another trooper gagged the alien soldier with a rag, whilst the medic checked wounds, "Bite and claw marks, superficial. Some burns. Yeah, probably caught in an explosion after encountering the Lost."
"So where are they all?"
The small platoon exchanged glances, those who weren't peering out into the night at least. Zhaojie watched, impassive, as the medic treated the creature's wounds. Hackett opened his mouth, paused, then spoke, "Why we helping him?"
The Lieutenant frowned and tilted his head, "A feeling. These are human. Or nearly. They seem to feel despair. Fear. And a thing that feels fear, that has responses…. Maybe they can be spoken to."
"Interrogate it?"
"Maybe. Doctor Vahlen has gleaned information from our previous captives, but they are strange… incomplete images from drawings, or via our broken understanding of their languages. Some people with supposed telepathic abilities recruited by Exalt have been able to speak to the grey-things. And the Tall-Men have been very co-operative when we do break them. These are… new. We captured another up here, but he is still out cold. Our voltage seems to completely stun their nervous system. He appears to be in a coma, whilst the Insectoid grey-ones are at least awake if… passive."
The Sergeant gave his boss the side eye, "Practically a sermon, Zhaojie."
The Chinaman grinned, "I am known to wax lyrical. Ask Jiayi."
"Rather not. She gives me the unmentionable shivers."
Zhaojie arched an eyebrow and a small voice came from behind Hackett, "Good or bad?"
The Sergeant jumped a little and glared back at the small woman, "Always the bad kind. But it's why I like you as someone who puts rounds down range. Share the pain."
The woman gave a brittle smile and nodded, "Thank you." Hackett looked back at the alien trooper then back at the Lieutenant.
"So, what do you want to ask him that can't wait for Vahlen?"
Zhaojie shrugged, then pointed at the wall beyond which Hackett dimly recalled seeing a strange saucer thing sat on a platform, "They have strange machines out there."
Hackett nodded slowly, "Want to make sure they aren't going to wake up and blow us to pieces?"
The Lieutenant grinned, "No. I want to see if he knows how to fly it."