Genesis - the Battle Within (Pillars of Creation Book 1) (3 page)

Genesis had to laugh, remembering the days, decades ago, when he too had lumbered around in the bulky SED’s, military-issued, environmental-grade, Terithian Power Armour, with even the name now sounding cumbersome. Genesis continued, “Well you never know Rotas, today just might be the day you’re able to click over three hundred and get your own finely tailored suit …” Genesis glanced up as the rest of the squad joined them. “So what say we not stand round wasting good oxygen and kill some Skink heretics’
young
fella? Lead on Lieutenant Colonel!”

Rotas snapped to attention, “Sir, yes sir.”

“Rotas, what the hell did I just—” Genesis was cut short by a loud procession of orders.

“Delta 1 fallout, this is our camping ground now. Gauze rifles charged, armour to combat power, visors down, standard two by two talon formation, move, move, move ladies, secure your positions. You all know the drill, let’s hold these bastard Skinks and mow em down.”

Delta 1 squad, led by Rotas, fell into position, their standard metal plating of dull grey steel and the blue decorative pieces of Terithian armour looking excessively bulky as they moved in formation down the corridor. Their planet of origin, Seara, stood out clearly, sprayed across their shoulder guards, with the glyphs of the varying tours and battles reminding Genesis that this was no squad of rookies escorting him.

Their chest pieces also gave each marine’s official rank, name and call sign, for which Genesis, like their enemies and many aspiring SED marines, knew well of these men.

Genesis took it all in, observing with a hint of nostalgia as the often normally gleaming plates of nano-steel now showed the amount of action each of these soldiers had seen. His favoured squad, the Delta 1 boys, were riddled with gauze and plasma scars, and their armour was aged to its now dull, grey colours; these men knew the religious war almost as well as he did.

He watched, trying hard to remember a time when he was so vulnerable. The squad was by the book, and they fell into easily defendable positions, with their ionised shields drawn into extended and forward formation above their shield arms. He also noted their blade-arm blades were retracted so their rifles could do the initial hard work of holding back the enemy, which soon would be trying to overrun this position. They knew, as he did, they weren’t even in the beginning of this battle, but each man had a resolve Genesis had long since forgotten since becoming Immortal.

Genesis, lingering on the thoughts of mortality and always desperate to remember these portions of his most distant self, briefly checked in with Rotas, who confirmed that so far their infiltration had been on time and was in its designated location. They all knew Delta 1’s job was to hold this loading area above the hangar so as to give the squad a good vantage point and a few options if things got too hot and they needed to pull out.

They were digging in hard, all so he could play his part in this less than ideal situation. Which he guessed, if was ideal wouldn’t be needing an Immortal such as himself to tag along. Genesis muttered a sentiment towards the squad, hoping they would be okay without him, and before anyone had time to take a double look, Genesis slipped away silently, becoming once again the ghost in a hostile land. His only solace was in the foreign sounds of his enemy – a place Genesis unfortunately remembered better than his own mortality.

Her rifle was capable of firing over six hundred compressed ionised rounds per minute into the conflict of any battle, which, even after all these years and being slightly outdated, made for good support when downing large groups of her enemy.

If this failed, and she needed more of a punch for closer calls, she had her five-kilogram ion pistols, which when wanting to get really personal, delivered in measure.

She stopped in the hallway; she wasn’t sure why, but she did this every mission. She always went through the long inventory of munitions that would protect her from her cunning enemy, checking them for battle fatigue and readiness – she wasn’t going to stop today. She was a woman of routine and this routine had kept her alive till now. She knew others in Delta 1 thought she was slightly obsessed with the various weapons and models that were available, but in truth this knowledge gave her and her men an advantage on the battlefield; simple, often overlooked, but the effective edge they needed.

Rotas, as most in the SED had come to call her, allowed herself the indulgence as she absently ran her fingers over the pistol’s grip, thumbing the safety to give her, her required sense of security as she checked it for the third time that mission. As a Lieutenant Colonel of special-ops in the SED, she knew this current situation well. The sound of enemy boots ringing down the hallways, greatly outnumbering her squad, yet her enemies unknowingly and unwittingly bearing themselves towards their hour of judgment. A religious war was always the worst, and when beliefs got muddled with honouring this or that divinity, or taking the
true
word into a campaign, men simply got fanatic, and this she knew brought violence and primal instincts to a level well beyond survival. Rotas had forgotten how many years this war had been going, but the religion’s records certainly would not.

“Ha,
the witless will of the unbeknownst. These heretics are just as stupid as we are, it never seems to disappoint if one meets these heretics prepared and ready for violence,” Rotas snorted to herself half-heartedly.

Still, she did feel more than a little unnerved this mission, more so than most, as she clicked a new mag into her ion-gauze rifle; had she detected concern in the Immortal’s voice, or was it pity? She wasn’t sure. But she knew one thing – the Immortal was sloppy to miss the extra guard and turret … considering what he was.

Rotas knew she was being too harsh, but she was on edge and simply looking out for her squad. She also hated the ability the Immortals had to simply disappear, like Genesis just had, and likely was a little jealous,
Here one second and gone the next
,
that’d be right, leave the grunts to do all the hard work old fella
, she thought sarcastically.

Rotas didn’t take much mind of her jealousy though. She knew being in touch with her humanity was something Genesis had once said he craved, and was why the Immortal was often aloof. This absence was why Rotas never quite knew how to take Genesis; she liked him, but he was hard to read.
Far too much going on in that infused mind of his,
she thought, genuinely concerned.

The Immortal class always had their double side, one was a cold-blooded assassin, the other a remnant of a concerned human like herself. Rotas made sure she always stayed on the right side – she couldn’t imagine how the Immortals could manage such a burden, and for this reason she forgave the few mistakes she ever saw in the one she was assigned to. Also, she’d grown as fond of Genesis as she had of all her long-standing troops.

Rotas felt her pistol again, dragging herself back into reality and continuing to check that she was at peak capacity.

Ignoring the fact of how goddamn heavy her armour felt and her disposition towards the damned suicidal missions of late, she looked at the armour she knew down to the last weld and scar and was as much her home now as any other place she’d resided. The distinguished marine nodded at the thick-plated nano-steel strapped all around her, satisfied with its placement.

The standard military-grade Terithian Power Armour, or TPA for short, stood at two hundred centimetres, and weighed in at over three hundred kilograms. The armour, powered by an ion battery, relied on only two fuel cells to keep it functioning efficiently, which
if undamaged can stay charged for over fifteen Earth years before needing a re-charge
, the manual played back in her mind. The assisted engineering of the suit increased a marine’s strengths and mobility, enough to make the armour fairly mobile at all times.

Yet, the armour – often used primarily in the first line of defence for SED operations – was still a rather heavy unit, as Rotas often complained, largely due to the excessive amounts of thick, nano-forged, Grade 2, sheet-armoured plating,
which was exactly what made the shit so hard to lug around,
she thought with a feigned snort of laughter.

Nevertheless, with her retrospection almost over, she finished her inspection, checking over her men as well.

With a full centimetre of nano-steel covering each marine’s entire body, Rotas knew the TPA could withstand a variety of small arms’ fire. This made it good for heavy combat situations, and a highly durable defence against a numerous style of attacks. Of course, there were a few weak spots, such as where the armour was sparse for the function of mobility, like the knees and elbows. But regardless, if treated right and looked after well, the TPA did a proficient job and was responsible for saving hers and countless thousands of marine lives.

Rotas ordered her last squad member into position, taking note how much of the armour was sticking out of cover. She was still hoping to one day finally take this armour off for good, and maybe become a resident of the Eden Colonies as a civi, or better still, replace it with the Apocalypse amour’s advanced engineering and join the Immortals like Genesis
; That is if only I could get to my three hundredth kill
.
Only seventy-two to go to be eligible for the Immortal program and a Mk 6 Apocalypse suit like Genesis’. If I’m even compatible and my Rieft abilities can be tapped into enou—

The first of the Skinks rounded the corner. With her eye snapping down her gun’s sight, and before the Skink could even get the slightest fix on what he was looking at, Rotas took a well-aimed shot. With a loud crack the gauze round tore into flesh and bone, and ion particles melted in between the unlucky trooper’s knockoff, strap on breast plate and shoulder guard. Sprays of red accompanied a high-pitched scream as the body and arm disappeared back down the corridor on different trajectories.

“A good start,” Rotas murmured calmly to herself. She opened up her comm, speaking steadily and fast, “Delta squad stay frosty; let’s smoke these sons-of-bitches.”

Her command was confirmed by her HUD, the four winking blue lights on her heads up display signifying an affirmative response from her men. The handpicked squad dug in as the next two targets rounded the corridor, this time with shields in place. Shots began ringing out of Delta’s rifles, barraging the two enemies in a maelstrom of gauze rounds. Rotas cursed as she saw they’d find no way through the protective coverings.

Her mind quickly inventoried her other munitions as her shots joined the fray, with the high-frequency, compressed ionised-gauze rounds not good enough to dislodge her enemy. In dismay Rotas saw that each shot left a clear blue glow as it belched from her rifle and collided heavily into the Skinks’ advancing defence; they were clearly going to need something more powerful.

Acrid fumes engulfed the corridor as shots ricocheted off shields and bit deeply into the nano-grade walls, roof and floor. Soon the two shielded targets were joined by several more. A blockade presented itself, leaving limited options for Delta’s shots. The Skinks slowly began to advance in unison, a tactic Rotas had seen effectively demolish troops before.

Scanning past the wall of shields, flicking over each attacker with practiced eyes, Rotas checked their weapons for weaknesses. The enemy mainly had lower-grade gauze rifles, but the occasional Skink had a military-issued weapon the same as their own, posing a bigger threat. The enemy’s shots were a lot less disciplined though, and the few that did hit her men’s positions either dissipated on impact or crackled unceremoniously on their shields.

Rotas took little comfort in this, knowing their own shields wouldn’t hold forever. This thought and the predicament of also being overrun spurred her to action the only plan she could see working.

“SQUAD, hold your ground,” Rotas yelled, as her voice fought to be heard clearly over the squad’s HUDs. The intensity of the battle was growing, and Rotas knew she needed to end this confrontation now, before the Skinks overwhelmed her position. Rotas clicked her comm to the closest of her men.

“Stiggs switch to your nade, let’s see what those shields can
really
do.”

Stiggs, the youngest member of Delta 1, stepped forward, selecting his high-yield negative-ion grenade from his internal HUD’s interface, the rest of the team covering as he aimed his blade arm over his commander’s right shoulder.

“FIRE IN THE HOLD!” Stiggs yelled.

The pulsating nade catapulted from his armoured arm towards the wall of shields. Rotas clenched her teeth and turned her face away slightly. With a loud pop, the explosion sent the blockade and the men behind it flying into a chaotic mess. For a split second the explosion seemed to hang suspended, with chunks of bone, body, metal and shrapnel flying into the depths of the corridor to join their previously dismembered comrade.

Rotas looked on in disbelief at the magnitude of the blast and its aftermath. It kicked with enough force to knock the remaining few Skinks painfully to the ground, reverberating all the way back to Rotas and her own squad’s position. She held her ground, absorbing the blast as she leant into it, her armour trembling.

Taking the opportunity to its fullest advantage, Rotas quickly stepped forward, breaking cover. Her boots clanging heavily against the steel as she ran, Rotas utilised her blade, flicking her rifle into its holster.

The metal on metal scrape of the one-metre sword was unmistakable as it slid cleanly out from its inbuilt sheath above her armoured hand, however still affixed to her wrist. An impressive thirty centimetres in width, and standard issue for all troops of the SED Marine Corps, it was a reputable weapon, well proven for Rotas. The knowledge of its speed and efficiency in penetrating armoured troops was mirrored in the fear-stricken faces of her enemy.

Rotas recalled her training manual:

A marine’s blade is an easy-to-use innovation of Terithian Power Armour, always located on the opposite arm to a marine’s preferred shield arm
—

Rotas sliced through the first Skink and blocked the incoming butt of a rifle with her shield. Sliding her blade under the shield, she penetrated the Skink’s abdomen, spilling his guts over the floor, the words of the manual running through her head, becoming a chant for her battle flow—

When deployed your blade will make for an impressive display; but more than equal to this will be its functionality and impression when used for delivering the heretics to the SED. Indeed a Sacred blade is, and will be, the showcase of our superior weaponry; a fully retractable, Grade-one, self-sharpening nano-steel sword which is made for practicality, virtually unbreakable when striking against a solid object
.

Another Skink struggled up from the blast and Rotas dove on top of him, her sword’s broadness severing the scrambling troop’s spinal cord and lungs—

This is why it is the number one choice for a marine’s armament, and when penetrating even the strongest suits of power armour it should be used as a primary weapon in hand-to-hand combat. Where even ionised gauze or plasma rounds fail, your blade will almost always prevail. Take good care to never lose it, as they are exorbitantly priced and will be docked from salary if the loss is due to negligence.

Rotas pulled his blood-coated blade free from the next strike, due to it being a physical attachment to her arm, requiring her to use some effort to pull it back. The chant had given her confidence in her attack, but looked down in disgust – she hated getting such pretty weapons tainted with infidel blood.

Rotas was now well within the enemy’s position and she saw movement behind her in her HUD’s rear-vision warning. It was unlike her to take risks like this, but she knew she had to if it meant victory for her squad. Her TPA whirred noisily as she spun with all her strength, the hit cleaving in a backhanded upward slice, scoring the top half of the recovering Skink’s head and helm heavily, bringing him to his knees.

Rotas was running short on time as more enemy Skinks were recovering. With enough momentum from her initial strikes to penetrate through the last few quickly, she landed her blade through the final man’s half raised rifle and into his lower ribs.

Rotas watched closely as the blade bit fatally, pinning the Skink’s rifle against his chest. Quickly repositioning herself, she pushed the blade further within the armour, finishing the job, as the Skink’s eyes bulged—

With a start, Rotas saw movement in the corner of her eye,
sooka,
she cursed in her native tongue,
I missed one!
One last Skink had remained unnoticed underneath a fallen comrade, and was pulling himself free. Rotas knew she was in a bad spot, the blast effects having worn off and she had taken too long on her last kill, thinking it was the final one.
Sooka!
She cursed again for her stupidity.