Lions in Blue and Silver

The story of EMP bursts, and lovely marches in the swamp

Ahern groaned as he came back to consciousness. He could smell smoke and something nasty and almost decaying, which immediately told him his suit seal was broken. His arm hurt, and he tasted blood in his mouth. He cautiously moved his limbs, feeling pain from his right thigh and some soreness in his neck and back.

He sat up straighter in his seat, noting the inside of the shuttle was almost completely dark, save for a single shaft of very weak sunlight coming in from a porthole. He reached for a flare on his belt and lit it off, grimacing.

A small fragment of metal had pierced his thigh armor, a slow drip of blood running down it to pool near his ankle. Equipment was flung about everywhere, and one of the drones lay crumpled near the front of the craft. The cockpit area door was askew, and through it he could see gleaming control lights faintly flickering in the darkness.

The rest of the team was in their seats, the straps had held during the crash. But several of them sported minor wounds, and an ugly dent on the shuttle hull near Kyle's head indicated he'd smashed his helmet against it pretty hard.

Even as Ahern looked around, Richards began to stir, groaning in pain. A moment later the big man grunted. "Anybody alive?"

Ahern nodded faintly. "I am, damn all the fucking luck. I think everyone else is still knocked the fuck out."

With another groan, Richards' massive hand wrapped around the harness holding him in place, since it wouldn't unbuckle, and literally tore it free of its moorings. "Goddamned piece of shit."

Ahern unhooked himself, stumbling unsteadily to his feet. The shuttle was inclined at a shallow angle. "Maybe, but it probably saved your life, you know. See if you can't get the rest of them awake while I check the piloting VI."

Richards nodded, and Ahern turned and stumbled to the front, wincing at the pain in his thigh. With a heave, he muscled past the hatch into the piloting area. "Computer?"

With no response, Ahern cursed, pulling a second flare from his belt to illuminate the darkened area. The windshield was mostly submerged, half in thick murky black mud and half in absolutely filthy water, a thin line of visible light above that. A heavy crack radiated from one corner of the shuttle, small droplets of water seeping in.

It took him a few minutes to find and trigger the emergency power switch and for a weak light to kick on, along with minimal lights on the control console. A quick status check confirmed his worst fears – the shuttle was shot. Power generation was offline, the VI was simply gone – no idea why – and the mass core was shut down. He glanced over the panel and finally found the radio, which he triggered.

"Any receiving, this is SA combined patrol downed in shuttle 534-A. Any receiving, over?"

A burst of static before a strong voice came on the line. "Shuttle 534-A, this is Alliance airspace command. Transponder shows your shuttle grounded short of target area, what is your medical and combat status, over?"

Ahern glanced out the front windows. In the narrow band of space not submerged under water, he could see a sludgy swamp spreading in all directions, surmounted by a rotting tree line and ugly thick clouds promising rain or worse.

"No hostiles in visible range, airspace. Be advised, we are partially submerged, visibility is near nil. Radar systems nonfunctional, VI is down. Still determining medical status."

He ducked back from the radio into the passenger area, where Richards had gotten most of them stirring. "Anybody fucking dead?"

Chu had taken off his own helmet and was in the process of removing some of Leng's leg armor. "No, but we have some broken bones, lacerations, and other issues." He pulled the piece of reinforced armor away from Leng's thigh, revealing a massive bruise and a shallow pressure cut, and sighed. "This was going to be hard enough healthy, Tradius. I'm already getting radiation alarms… more rads than we expected. And that crash probably ruined our seals."

Ahern nodded. "And we don't have a dedicated medic. Fucking great. I've got a hole in my suit, and my seal is definitely cracked."

Chu gave a thin, sardonic smile. "On the bright side, the mass core didn't explode."

Leng hissed as Chu began wrapping bandaging around his thigh. "Yet."

Ahern snorted. The man had a point.

Turning back to the cockpit, he sat in the seat and triggered the radio. "Airspace, this is… shuttle 534-A. We're all alive, but this shuttle is going nowhere and we have some injuries. Also, the mass core is down and we have no idea if it is stable or not."

The voice on the line had a grim tone to it. "Acknowledged. Be advised: EAGL forces detonated four primitive-construction low-yield nuclear EMP devices near designated landing zones. One hundred sixty-four shuttles have gone down with no reply, and over two hundred are relaying distress and requesting medevac. We are attempting to move units into the area overland, but ETA until arrival is over twelve hours. You are advised to dig in, treat injuries, and await pickup."

Ahern rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "And if we determine this area is not safe?"

The radio was silent for several long seconds before a harder voice spoke. "Per instructions from SA Command, discretion on the ground is up to the unit leader, soldier. If you're not in a good place, then obviously you should get to a secure location, but we are going to have to scrub this exercise."

Ahern sighed, clicking the radio off. Turning back toward the passenger cabin, he glanced around. "EAGL detonated four EMP bombs, which explains why the VI is fried. Since the VI manages the mass core, we have no idea if it will go up or not."

Kyle hissed as he wrapped his left wrist in an ACE bandage, along with a cold compress, and nodded. "I see. I heard the airspace coordinator tell us to dig in."

Ahern snorted. "Yeah, fuck that noise. All it takes is one asshole with a grenade to pop the hatch and toss it in and we're paste, or the core blowing up, or the shuttle sinking into this muck and trapping us inside. I need a GPS fix of where the shit we are."

Sanders pulled her GPS unit out of her supply pack, and glanced around, finally finding a data port to plug it into. While she did that, Ahern turned to Anderson. "We need a plan and decision on how to extract."

Anderson frowned, rotating his ankle and wincing. "That may not be wise, Captain. We've been ordered to hold position, after all. Given that the exercise is off, risking our lives in this swamp isn't smart."

Ahern sighed. "I couldn't give two shits about that right now. We stay here, we are fucking dead. Every shuttle that went down left a mess of a trail leading right to them, this one included. We can't see or do shit in this coffin. EAGL is going to be swarming this place soon, and we have no idea where other survivors are or any way to link up."

He pointed west. "Our main hope lies in getting the fuck out of here and moving towards the shuttles we're supposed to use for pickup."

Anderson's mouth tightened. "And how exactly do we do that when we're all injured with suits that aren't sealed any longer, sir? I don't want to be a target any more than you do, but we can at least make a perimeter around this shuttle and use it for cover and wait for pickup, rather than stumbling into the swamp with no clear destination."

Leng gave a whispery laugh as he glanced at his dosimeter. "The discussion is academic. They detonated a nuke in this area. If we don't move, we'll die long before relief gets here. That is assuming, of course, the mass core doesn't take out everything in a thirty-meter radius when it goes up."

Florez grunted. "I can fucking walk and shoot. I'm with Ahern; get me the fuck out of here."

Ahern held up a hand. "This isn't a goddamned democracy." He turned to Anderson. "Listen, Lieutenant. My squad is getting the shit out of here. I can't order you to follow, but given that we're better off working together than splitting up, it is my strong suggestion."

He tightened his jaw, waiting to see what Anderson would do. I swear to God Almighty if he looks at that Sanders girl for what to do I will leave them all to fucking rot.

Instead, Anderson frowned, and looked at Pellham. "Theo. Can we keep up in the shape we're in?"

The slightly bigger man shrugged. "Shit, dunno. I know sticking around in this dank fucking hole, begging some EAGL cracker to pop a slug in my ass is not happening. I figure if we get clear of the radiated area and onto some solid ground, we can set that tent Sanders brought and do some quick first aid, maybe even some battlefield sealing with tape and paste." He paused. "Dig in for the night, eat half our supplies before they get radiated, drink water, and force-march overland."

Kyle nodded thoughtfully. "That is a good plan."

Anderson sighed. "We'll see."

O-LiBaS-O

Ahern would remember the nightmare march through the swamp for the rest of his life.

Not forty-five minutes after they gathered their gear and shuffled off, their radio picked up frantic communications from SA Command in broken fragments. "All downed units, evacuate the area. I repeat, EVACUATE the area. EAGL forces picked up on incoming vector. Air support is still three hours out. Orbital units will be making overhead assaults, but we cannot guarantee your safety."

Pellham swore so viciously even Ahern was impressed. Leng was more placid. "Did they just tell us they were going to orbitally bombard us?"

There was silence, and then Leng's whispery tones again. "Ah, fuck."

The pace of the group picked up, struggling against the muck. The heat was beyond oppressive, the smell so rank and vile it nearly made Ahern throw up. The swamp was full of badly mauled and decayed wildlife, horrifically mutated small animals and toxins.

An hour into the march, and a series of explosions rocked the area off to the east, along with thin trails of smoke leading upwards. Sanders pulled up her binocs, squinting, and then sighed. "Jesus. They have some kind of missile launchers; they just shot down an F-61."

Ahern grimaced. "Where are the goddamned gunships? The new mass effect ones?"

Kyle glanced around nervously. "Most of them are deployed in the Middle East to deal with the Nepal riots and in the Australia Reef Protectorate against pirates. The rest are mostly in the big arcologies – even if they scrambled everything they had, Tradius, southeastern America is mostly deserted. The only major city is Miami, which is not a military base."

He nodded, even as Saracino held up a hand. "Incoming."

Chu tucked himself next to a rotting, massive oak, and pulled down the tiny flexible keyboard he controlled his drones with. "Direction?"

Saracino nodded to the north, as the rest of the two squads found what cover they could. "I saw a blur through the foliage in my scope. Couldn't make it out, something brown."

A drone hummed as it soared off to the north, while Chu watched the jerky, low-fi camera feed on a USB monitor strapped to his knee. "Shitty Wi-Fi linkage is better than none." He cursed a second later. "We're fucked. Four ABC war robots, headed right for us, along with a bunch of guys in plasti-camo ponchos and lots of guns and old American flags."

Pellham sneered. "Fucking EAGL." He turned to Ahern. "We're punching out, right?"

Anderson hissed. "We won't be able to move fast enough to outrun them for long, and we'll leave a trail if we aren't careful."

Pellham grunted, checking his shotgun. "Maybe, but fighting four ABCs is goddamned suicide."

Ahern was looking at Saracino. "How many can you drop?"

The man only smirked. "I'm unhurt. If Chu-Chu can distract them with his drone… and if Mr. Richards is willing to provide heavy cover-fire with his minigun, I think I can do this."

Ahern nodded. "Kyle, Rachel, Anderson. Flanking firing line, behind that fallen oak over there. Use flares to distract the ABCs if they start to close on us. Richards, tuck in where Chu is and provide long-range distraction fire."

He turned to Leng and Sanders. "Get back behind the further tree line and take the radio." He handed it to Leng. "If we buy it, call in an airstrike and try to get clear."

Leng arched one eyebrow. "Why us?"

Ahern sneered. "You two are the least useful in a fight with war robots and the most likely to get killed. Get moving." He ignored the hurt expression on Sanders' face, tucking down next to Saracino.

The man was in his own little trance, eyes closed, feeling the wind, and then opened one eye and put it to the scope. "Bang, bang, bang, bang."

The sniper rifle jerked, once, twice, again. In the distance, screams were heard. He fired a fourth shot, and after a second a loud mechanized voice spoke.

"TARGET SENSOR IMPAIRED. HOSTILES DETECTED. FIRING."

The unmistakable sound of flechette miniguns tore through the swamp, along with more firing. Ahern looked at Saracino. "The hell?"

The man only grinned. "Dropped what looked like the seniors, and then shot out the lead ABC war robots sensor package. It was an older model A. The rest are model B, sensors are armored to prevent that shit, but we made the odds better."

He winced as missiles exploded, and then a heavy crash sounded. "Fuck, they took the rogue one down… but they lost nine people, and one of the other robots is barely moving."

Kyle spoke, checking his rifle. "The odds are, if not good, at least acceptable now."

Pellham shook his head. "You people are fucking crazy, but what the hell. You only die once."

Ahern rolled his neck as the EAGL terrorists broke the tree line, looking pissed-off. "Hey, shitfuckers! Smile!"

The sound of his taunt was lost in the roar of Richards' minigun fire.