COUNTERPOINT
CHAPTER 1: THE SOLDIER
PART 7
By Mya Thevendra
As the scouting party walked onto the baking ground, the base stretched away behind them. Ian looked back; shuttle tubes high overhead glinted in the morning sun, and the dry air was disturbed by the soft thrumming of power generators. Almost two kilometres in front of them lay the edge of the wide basin in which Fort Sunderland had been built. The plain around them slowly cooked in the sunlight, the distant ridge shimmering behind a surging curtain of heat.
The growing noise of approaching engines caught Ian's ear, and he looked over towards the west side of the base. Two vulture bikes were wheeling around the base's perimeter, heading towards the marines. As they drew up, the rumbling whine of their hover engines cut through the air, and sunlight gleamed off their forward canopies. The bikes skidded to a stop atop a cushion of air, sand and dirt swirling underneath, and one of the riders pulled his goggles up onto his forehead and saluted.
"Sergeant Bill Gleason reporting for escort duty, sir, and Corporal Fargas Pryce," he said, nodding over to the second rider.
Ian returned the salute and looked the two of them over. Both were wearing lighter versions of the standard Vulture riders' leathers, on account of the temperature, with rolled sleeves, and coloured beige to reflect the heat. Their bikes were mostly unmodified, each sporting twin auto-cannons, fixed on either side of the front canopy. Gleason himself was a rugged looking man, and seemed as though he was generally more at home hovering a foot and a half off the ground than walking on top of it.
Ian searched over towards the ridge.
"Should take us about twenty minutes or so to get to the cliffs; can you get your bikes up to the top?" he asked.
Gleason brushed his chin with a gloved hand.
"Sure, no problem. We've been out on a few patrol runs before this; we use the same place to climb up as the marines." Gleason looked over at Commander Murello.
"That's right," said Murello, "there's a shallow slope that runs up a crack in the ridge. It's the one we always use, easiest place in the whole basin."
"Very well." said Ian, turning back to the riders, "Get up to the top and scout the route north-west for the first two miles, then report back."
Gleason pulled his goggles down, and gripped the bike's handlebars.
"You got it."
Revving their engines, Gleason and Pryce shimmied round, before accelerating towards the ridge. Clouds of sand billowed in their wake, and as they shrank quickly into the distance, the scouting party started off towards the basin's rim.
The sandy ground crunched beneath the marines' boots as they walked, and to their right, the Widow sun crept slowly above the line of the ridge, and into the pale blue sky. One of the massive, rocky spires within the basin stood close to their path, and wandering by on it's left, the marines were granted brief shelter from the sun as they passed under its long shadow. Shortly after, they arrived at the edge of the basin, the ridge in front rising up some sixty feet above. As Murello took the lead, the party cut right, skirting the ridge for twenty metres or so, until they came to a break in the cliff, which lead through into dusky, rocky gloom. The trail beyond was fairly wide, enough for three men to walk abreast, and ran diagonally into the ridge, sloping gently up and disappearing around a left corner. Murello gestured into the path, and Ian ventured through, the party trailing behind. This ragged passageway was in essence a curving fissure in the ridge, and as such was totally sheltered from the sun. The air was considerably cooler inside, and the marines found it easier going, even though they were travelling uphill. Along the centre of the path, sand and dirt were driven to the sides; the 'tracks' of the two hover bikes that had passed through some fifteen minutes before. As they neared the top, the dimness receded and sunlight began to diffuse back into the stony corridor from above. The marines walked back out into the sun, and made their steady way up onto the plateau. For as far as they could see, the bleak, arid wilderness of the Widow plains stretched flatly out in front of them. Away to the north ran the faint grey contour of a distant mountain range, to the south, a seemingly endless expanse of yellow earth.
Ian led the scouting party northwest, and they began along the route towards the caverns. As they walked, Ian spoke into his headset.
"TacCon from Latimer."
"Go ahead, sir." Came O'Hanlan's voice.
"Give me a sensor report."
In the background, Ian heard a series of electronic blips from a computer console, as status screens were accessed.
"Sir, the main array is online, all base sensors are active. We have you on the scope."
"Good. What about the objective?"
"The caverns were mapped at seven point four kilometres northwest of your current position. Stay on your present heading, and you should reach them in an hour."
"Fine."
As the party carried steadily onwards, Ian glanced round to check on the others. All twenty-four Spider Monkeys looked in good stead, and Sgt. Sheppard kept a watchful eye as she led them. In front, the Jackknifes, led by Sergeant Davies and Murello, walked surely and with familiarity, having covered this ground many times before.
A rasping in Ian's earpiece brought the voice of Sergeant Gleason.
"Gleason to Commander Latimer, do you copy?"
"Go ahead Sergeant," replied Ian.
"It looks okay so far, nothing to report. Do you want us to carry on to the objective?"
"Affirmative. Once you've found the entrances and checked them out, try and find some shade, and then wait for us to get there. We shouldn't be more than another hour or so."
"Copy that, see you in an hour. Gleason out."
Ian shifted the weight of his backpack, and walked on.
The hour did not pass quickly, by any means. As the morning drew on, the sun rode up into the eastern sky, and threw its full might onto the marines below. Even with tinted goggles, the bright light reflecting off of white sand made it hard to walk without squinting. Trekking gradually on towards the northwest, the party passed by a jagged dolomite mountain range, perhaps a dozen miles away on their left, their reaching slopes cast in sandy brown against the cerulean sky. The sound of their footfalls was rhythmic and consuming; a steady crunching beat against a near total silence. As they hiked on, the ground sloped downwards slightly, and the sand became littered with lumps of rock. Here and there were boulders, some over ten feet in height, set into the sandy shelf like ancient guardians. Above, the sun was nearing the crest of its arc, and after an hour of walking in the blistering heat, the marines had covered a little under four miles.
The ground continued to slope downwards as the marines walked, and in the distance, about a hundred metres in front, there lay a small gathering of boulders and rocks; from where the marines walked, the stones bore the look of some gathering of shadowy travellers. Some were quite tall, almost like pillars that had been thrust out of the sand, and it was from the shadows of two of these pillars that Gleason and Pryce rode out into the sun, and towards the scouting party. Ian saw no hint of any caverns, nor even of any breaks in the sand which might lead underground. As the riders approached, Gleason waved his arm and shouted out.
"Hey! Glad you could make it!"
Ian stopped the party and turned to face Sgt. Gleason as he drew up.
"What's your report?" he asked.
"Good news, we found them." Said Gleason, beaming.
"Where?" asked Ian, glancing around.
Gleason gunned his engine, spinning his bike back around to face the rocks ahead.
"Come on, I'll show you. You're gonna like this."
Setting off again with the vulture bikes slowly leading the way, the marines walked up to and through the gathering of rocks. A dozen yards or so beyond, the ground rose up sharply, and then suddenly dropped. Walking up to the lip of the ridge, Ian looked down. Below was an enormous, round pit, about fifty metres from side to side, and about thirty feet deep. The walls around were encrusted with rocks and rough stones, and these were also cast about on the floor of the pit, along with yet more large boulders and rocky pillars. Close to the centre of the pit were two gaping openings in the ground, the floor of the pit running down into the holes at an angle. A third aperture cut into the wall of the pit on the western side, and a fourth at the far, northern end, set into the ground.
The pit had a strange, almost storybook quality about it; isolated, half cast in shadow and decorated with strangely shaped gleaming rocks. A brief murmur rose from the marines behind.
The walls of the pit were quite steep, but the rocks on the sides provided effective, if slightly jagged handholds, and with Ian leading the way, the marines descended down into the pit. Gleason and Pryce circled around a few yards to where the slope was less steep, and carefully guided their bikes down. Touching down onto the floor, and then walking to the centre, the marines were confronted by two of the cavern entrances. The ground rose up around the far end of each hole, giving each one a short canopy, and the impression of some enormous, yawning mouth. Inside, light dissipated quickly and after a few feet lay a thick, suffocating darkness.
Ian turned around to face the others.
"All right. Four openings, four marine officers, so that works out. I'll take squads one and two of my unit into this one," said Ian pointing to the hole on the left, "Sergeant Sheppard, take squad three over into that one in the side. Commander Murello, if you'd be so kind as to take two of your squads into that opening away over there, and Sergeant Davies can take the last squad into this one." Ian pointed to the second hole in front of them, on the right. As the marines dispersed, Ian turned back to Sgt. Gleason.
"Get back up top and keep your eyes open. We'll contact you if we need you, but take a look down every now and then, just to make sure."
Gleason nodded, and then he and Pryce steered their bikes back towards the side of the pit. Ian watched as they climbed back up to ground level, and then tapped his microphone.
"TacCon from Latimer, do you read?"
"Go ahead Commander."
"O'Hanlan, we've located the cavern entrances. Are we still on the scope?"
"Affirmative sir, you're coming through clearly."
"Good, it's time for you to earn your pay check. We've split into four teams; keep track of each one and keep a continuous scan going on the caverns, we may have to refer to you for direction, use some of the tactical staff if you need to."
"Understood, sir."
A few yards over to the right, Sergeant Davies was getting ready to lead his squad of Jackknifes underground. High wattage torches stowed in their packs had already been taken out and fixed onto the muzzles of their rippers, and behind Ian, the Spider Monkeys did the same. With cautious steps, Davies and his squad descended below ground, and out of view.
Ian flicked on his torch, now attached firmly to his rifle, and aimed it down into the black aperture in front. The thin beam penetrated into the darkness but was quickly stifled. While the marines behind switched on their torches, Ian gazed upwards at the pale sky. The blazing sun continued its ascent, and below, the shadowed portion of the pit receded slowly towards the eastern side. Ian motioned for the two squads behind him to follow on; and shining his torch into the gloom, he stepped forwards, and downwards into darkness.