Atlantis Rising: Chapter 10
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Homepage: Atlantis
Also see: Reaper's First Drop
06:17 Hours, March 10, 2015 (Military Calendar), Orca Squad, approaching Firebase Bravo, Atlantis Mainland
The sensor beam broke as Jason's foot tripped the invisible laser. A heartbeat later, cameras swung into life, popping out of a tree-
Only to have its cords snipped by Daedalus. The machine whirred and dimmed, growing loose in its cradle.
"Clever." Daedalus breathed, examining the camera. "Motion and heat sensors are virtually useless in a jungle like this, but when they confirm it with cameras..."
Jason backtracked, crawling prone to find the sensor. Locating it, camouflaged beneath a bush, he snaked an arm around and disconnected it from the defense grid.
"This doesn't seem like the other Euro defenses we've encountered." Jason observed as he brought the cable into view. "It's a lot more extensive than usual."
"Maybe this is a high security base. Meaning they've got something valuable here. Maybe this is where their commander in the field stays?" Heracles asked in his deep bass rumble.
"Maybe, but I doubt it. Remember those Russians we saw earlier? Raptor squad overran a small encampment, nowhere near the size of this one. Probably about 50 men. And it had cameras linked to MGs, rockets, mortars, landmines, the works." Achilles remarked.
"So...?" Heracles asked.
"Maybe it's not Euro." Alexander pointed out. "We should call it in to confirm. We wouldn't want to accidentally screw with the Americans or British or something."
Jason looked to the last member of their team, Aaron, who was lugging the radio.
Brutus set off immediately while Aaron radioed to base. "What, you afraid or something? Don't want to tango with a few competent soldiers?"
Alexander turned and shot him the bird. "What's it to you? I'm not scared to die, but I don't think a seven-man team can take out an American encampment with these kind of defenses. Seems a pointless way to die, if you ask me."
"Yeah, you got a death wish or something?" Heracles asked, shoving Brutus. "Be my guest."
"Watch it." Brutus said through clenched teeth.
"Oh, feeling lucky are you, punk?"
"Shutup, all of you. Brutus, that's enough. You can get yourself killed later, there's plenty more war where this is going."
"Baseplate this is Orca. Come in, Baseplate." Aaron said into the mic. The radio was about 20 pounds and took up all the space on his lower back, although his combat pack was much lighter. The others shared the rest of Aaron's equipment out among themselves so they would have equal loads.
"Roger, Orca. State the problem, over." A female operator came on the line.
"We've encountered heavy preliminary defenses at the location. Request confirmation of the target, and recommend you inform Wolf and Rex teams to hold position and send reinforcements, over."
"Understood, Orca. Wait one."
Aaron lowered the mic and sat back, waiting for the operator to get back. Brutus took a swig from his canteen of Nectar, shivering as warmth spread through his body. Heracles unwrapped a vitamin bar, gnawing pensively at it. Jason took his combat knife from its sheath and began sharpening it, using a specially made piece of plastic with grindstones set in it. The plastic had two slots for the blade with handles on either side, and the grindstones were angled to grind a coarse edge in one slot, and a finer edge for more precise sharpening in the other.
"Orca team, this is Baseplate. Come in, over."
"Roger, Baseplate. Receiving, over."
"We have confirmed that the base is European. Scouts were there two days ago. Reinforcements are en-route, ETA 20 minutes. They're pulling in some heavy ordinance - you'll have armor and aerial divisions there presently. Command has selected you to lead, Orca team. Over."
"Thanks for the assist. Over and out."
"Alright, gentlemen. Sit tight for 20 minutes. Let's get some grapples out, up into the trees." Jason ordered. The team dug grappling lines out of their packs, slotted them into the barrels of their rifles after taking out the 7-round drums, and fired them into the branches of nearby trees. Jason went around and tugged on each line; satisfied that they all had secure holds, he nodded, and the men began to climb the trees using a retracting mechanism in their guns to pull themselves up.
They settled high in the trees, 40 feet above the ground. Jason took to inspecting his equipment and observing the surrounding landscape - anything to relieve the pre-battle tedious tension. 7-shot rifle, 12-shot magnum, 22-inch legionary blade, 6-inch combat knife, two flasks of Greek Fire, slab of plastic explosives (imported from the outside), all checked out. His armor, black titanium and orichalcum, blended nicely into the shadows of the jungle. He set about re-organizing his pack, taping anything that rattled overly much.
Then there remained nothing to do but lie against the tree and observe. He drank from his canteen of water; it was important to stay hydrated with the amount of water the jungle stole from them.
A few minutes later, the radio crackled.
"Roger, Baseplate. This is Orca, over."
"Reinforcements have arrived at the rendezvous point. They are now under your command; good hunting."
The transmission terminated, and Jason sprang up, adrenaline erasing his weariness. "Okay, people. Here we go. Aaron, get in touch with the reinforcement commander. I want the infantry up front to scope out the rest of the defenses. Tell 'em to move slow and keep on the lookout for pop-up cameras and such. Once we've breached the perimeter defenses, we hit them hard and fast with the gunships, then bring in the armor through the middle, with companies flanking either side to draw attention. Oorah?"
His team nodded, and Aaron hailed the company commander, relaying the instructions.
Jason jumped from the tree, one hand gripping his grapple cable to slow his fall. He hit the ground harder than he had intended, rolled to dissipate the force, and stood, ignoring the pain from his feet and legs.
Winding the grapple, Orca set off at a slow pace, constantly on the lookout for sensors and cameras.
After three minutes of crawling through the brush with only an occasional glance at his compass to orientate himself, Jason raised a fist, the signal for halt.
The team stopped and took up defensive positions, becoming nearly invisible in the early-morning light. Using slow, exaggerated hand-signals, Jason motioned and Daedalus moved up slowly. Jason indicated his eyes, then pointed with two fingers at a shadow that was denser and darker than the surrounding ones.
The two squinted, until Jason could just make out the outline of several turrets and a sophisticated array of sensors on constant sweep. Some kind of bunker.
With the rest of his team, Jason inched off slowly, making sure to give the dark bunker a wide berth. Once they were past, he stood up into a half-crouch, running in that manner to the edge of the jungle. Just ahead was the enemy encampment.
Achilles whistled low. Jason glanced back sharply, shaking his head. However, he agreed. This place was a fortress.
Watchtowers, trenches, MG pits and what looked like automated grenade launchers. Infantry on constant patrol, an airfield not far off that could put its entire squadron of gunships into the air in five minutes. This might not end well, for either party.
But the most disturbing fact was that it was obviously not Euro; Jason could clearly see an American flag waving proudly from the central courtyard of the camp, and all the watchtowers had its image printed on the sides. The men wore standard US Combat Armor and olive-drab fatigues, their weapons, obviously advanced. An Apache Longbow started its rotor.
Jason held up a fist. These weren't their targets. Technically, Atlantis was at a cease-fire with America, and he had no desire to be the cause of a new frontier to the war. Especially one that they weren't guaranteed to win. These guys were ready for action.
Carefully, slowly, he crept back into the jungle, intending to get back safely enough to radio in for halt. However, he never got that far. As they crept backwards, Brutus stepped on a dry twig, which cracked like a gunshot in the still morning air. The nearest sentry swung his head towards the sound, eyes growing wide.
Jason launched into a torrent of profanity in his head. He clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from screaming.
The sentry pointed wildly into the jungle, screaming in his language. Moments later, the soldier jumped onto a turret and opened fire.
40mm grenades punctuated the faster thrum of the .50 cal, tearing the jungle to shred around them. The grenades detonated and threw shrapnel everywhere, pinging off of armor as Orca hit the deck and opened their gauntlet shields, throwing them up to protect their faces. Luckily, the soldiers' rounds were off-target, for none of the numerous grenades directly struck any of Jason's team. The machine gun rounds, however, fired in much higher quantity. They stitched sideways across the ground, nailing Brutus into a tree with four shots. The heavy rounds didn't penetrate his armor, but they left deep dents the size of plums and left Brutus coughing blood.
Heracles jumped in front of Brutus, throwing up his shield to cover his fallen comrade. Jason raised his rifle and plugged rounds at the turret, which although armored, sent the American ducking behind its thick metal shields and provided them with a momentary respite.
"Fire!!" Jason screamed at the top of his lungs. "Open Fire!!" A moment later the command was relayed by Aaron. The rest of the strike force opened fire, suppressing the perimeter defenses with the combined onslaught of 300 men.
Alarms wailed inside the camp, and the thunder of feet could be heard above the din of explosions and gunfire as Americans leaped into the trenches, pouring out of doors in the ground, towers, and from the camp itself. Tanks started up by the dozens, aircraft close behind. Jason grimaced with reluctant respect for the enemy's commander; whoever it was, he was a smart officer. He had his tanks rotating clockwise, to share out the anti-armor fire the Atlantians were launching from their specialized bazookas among all the armor and let the tanks fire in an almost constant barrage. In response, he ordered his infantry on the flanks to move in - hopefully they could draw enough of the enemy forces to allow Jason's own armor to break up the middle, leaving it ripe for strafing by his aerial forces. As it was, he let his armor hang back, for the American technology was far superior and he had no desire to waste his tank divisions prematurely.
A grenade sailed through the air and landed in the midst of another squad advancing on Jason's right. One soldier attempted to kick the grenade away, but whoever had thrown it had cooked it off. It exploded virtually upon impact with the man's foot, completely obliterating two men and wounding three others.
Jason glared and followed the grenade's path back to its origin: a soldier at the top of the watchtower where the whole firefight had begun. The man wore a self-satisfied grimace as he returned both hands to the turret.
Jason pulled the slab of plastic explosives out and armed it. He tossed it to Heracles, who was busy laying down covering fire from a magazine-fed 50-round machine gun of new design. Heracles caught it one-handed, an eyebrow raised.
"Discus!" Jason shouted, pointing at the top of the tower.
Heracles's eyes sparkled as he nodded, understanding. He stood, half crouched, and tossed the five-pound slab backhanded into the balcony of the watchtower, where it tucked into the corner. Jason grabbed the detonator, allowing a feral grin to develop on his face, mouthing, "Payback," to the soldier who had thrown the grenade. His thumb closed on the detonator, and the tower exploded.
Matt reflexively jerked behind the metal wall as bullets pinged off the shield before him. From somewhere in the jungle came two words screamed in some alien language, and then the bullets really started flying.
Must've been 'open fire.' Matt decided.
"I'll hold 'em, go get the ZEUS!" Jamie yelled from behind the turret.
Matt ducked back inside the enclosed cabin, tore open the weapons locker, grabbed the ZEUS-MPAR rocket launcher, and ran back outside. Jamie took two hits in his shoulder plate but kept firing, laying down wide swaths of bullets and shrapnel. Matt raised the rocket and emptied the tube into the jungle. When it was gone, he tore a frag grenade from his webbing gear, cooked it off, and threw it at a jumble of moving shadows. A soldier tried to kick it away, but it blew virtually upon impact with the soldier's foot, obliterating two soldiers and wounding three others.
Matt grimaced with satisfaction, reloading his missile launcher with Napalm rockets.
Matt poked his head up just in time to almost get decapitated by a slab of flying plastic explosives. It stuck to the window.
"Echo squad, bail." Matt said calmly into his comm.
"What?!" Scar yelled.
"Get out! Bail, bail!" Matt yelled, running to the back of the tower. He snagged Jamie's collar and dragged him to the back wall. Jamie vaulted the wall, landing near Scar and throwing himself on top of her to protect her from the flying metal. Holly jumped, then Rob and Malcolm came next, and then Matt grabbed his rifle, dropping the missile launcher, and dived from the tower just as it exploded.
The tower was rent in half, spewing molten metal, smoke, and shrapnel into the sky. Matt's face was cut by the infinitesimal shards of glass and titanium flying past, most of them impacting against his armored plates.
Jamie looked down, meeting Scar's eyes. Something passed between them, and they rested like that for a moment, savoring the touch of eachother's skin.
Then Matt fell on top of him, accompanied by shards of razor-sharp glass and metal. Jamie diverted Matt to one side, gasping as a piece of metal embedded itself in his collarbone, punching through the seal.
"Perfect timing man. Really superb." Jamie said through clenched teeth as he tried to grip the piece of shrapnel in his shoulder. Blood flowed freely from the wound.
"Oh- Quit- WHINING." Matt shouted, yanking the metal shard from his brother's shoulder and quickly binding Jamie's wound with adhesive tape. Together, they picked themselves up, and with the rest of the crew just ahead of them, sprinted off for the central barricade. The thing about Matt was that he couldn't run worth a nickel in laps. Running in circles without motivation besides to run had never appealed to him, for one. Moreover, no matter how hard he tried, he could not get up to a full, flat-out run as fast as he could just running laps, or doing sprints. His coaches had always noticed it in football; he couldn't run fast until the ball was in his hands. Then he could sprint the entire length of the field with the rest of the guys. He needed some kind of goal to reach, a motive to propel him. Not getting shot in the back was incentive enough to ensure Matt ran just as fast as Jamie.
The Atlantian infantry poured through the breach in the defenses, firing at anyone trying to retreat back to the barricade. Matt felt a round hit his back; he stumbled, and Jamie swiveled and leveled the Atlantian offender with sustained bursts from his AR.
Matt got back to his feet, firing his carbine one-handed at the swarm of infantry. Holly and Scar threw themselves into a crater, twisted around, and covered the two as they sprinted forward.
A bazooka shell flew through the air, detonating in front of Matt and Jamie. They stumbled, fell, and twisted onto their backs as the Atlantian infantry caught up. Matt looked with mounting horror as one soldier drew a mace from across his back, raised it above his head, and swung, attempting to crush Matt.
Matt lifted his carbine and deflected the blow, jumping up to his feet. Jamie struggled onto hands and knees, ducking as the soldier threw a backhand blow at him. Matt took advantage as the soldier tried to bring his mace back up to bare, wielding his rifle like a club. The carbine arced through the air, nailed the side of the soldier's chest and left a dent in the silvery metal.
The butt of the gun was also crushed, breaking into fragments. Another hit to the Atlantian's groin served to snap the butt completely off, but by then Jamie had taken his gauntleted fist and rammed it home, twice. Matt gave one last punch to the Atlantian's middle, then opened up the clip on him at point-blank range.
A dozen rounds drilled into the Atlantian's armor, eventually punching through by sheer quantity and force. The soldier fell.
Breathing heavily, Matt emptied the rest of the clip, backpeddling into the barricade. The clip ran dry, he dropped it, turned, and jumped behind the protective cover, Jamie close on his heels and the rest of Echo Team already waiting there.
Runners came up and down the lines, sacks of shotguns tied to their backs. Matt grabbed one from the nearest pile and held the line, as swarms of Atlantian infantry moved up behind cover of their circular tanks.
This might not end well.
Jason ducked into a crater as MG pits opened fire, scattering his forces.
Jason fumbled in his pack, then withdrew a black, wool-lined box. Opening it, he withdrew the telescopic sights for his rifle, attached them, and started sniping the gunners. Daedalus joined him a second later.
Jason waved forward with his right hand, and Achilles and Alexander, both with 20-round SMGs, advanced in a half-crouch. Heracles pulled a 7-shot volley gun from his back and followed after them.
Aaron was crouched in another crater, binding Brutus's ribs. Jason took another shot, cursing as it bounced off the metal shields of the turret. The gunner swung around and drilled fire into the lip of Jason's crater, catching Daedalus in the side. They both withdrew, weathering the assault behind upthrown gauntlet shields.
Puffs of mud kicked up as the nearest Apache gunship opened fire, breaking apart squads and obliterating anything exposed with torrents of missiles and bullets. Two tanks advanced, alternating fire. Jason growled low in his throat as he saw a trio of Atlantians torn apart by the 120mm shells launched by the M1 Abrams. Growing increasingly frustrated, Jason laid aside his rifle and retrieved one of their anti-armor bazookas from a fallen soldier. Daedalus saw and grabbed the satchel of shells for it.
Taking aim through the sites, Jason pulled the trigger and watched the explosive shell hit the Apache's cabin, melting away a portion of the metal and knocking the gunship down. Daedalus loaded a second shell, but Jason was too busy gaping incredulously as the gunship righted itself and returned fire into the mud hummock they were hiding behind. Weathering the barrage, Jason crawled forward and snapped off a quick shot, barely aiming. The shell arced through the air and struck the Apache's tail rotor, sending the aircraft spiraling to the ground.
"Aaron!" Jason shouted.
Aaron looked up, yelling back, "What?!"
"Bazookas - target the tail-rotor!"
"What?!"
Jason pointed at the burning hulk of the Apache. "Helicopters! Bazooka - Tail Rotor!"
"Okay!" Aarond said, then crouched, advising all frequencies to shoot for the Apaches' tail rotors.
Jason then returned his attention to the ground. The Americans were holding the line with practiced ease. Shotguns were being distributed. Jason glanced around - almost a third of his infantry gone. They had to break the line before the Americans got settled in.
"All units, charge!" Jason yelled, lifting his sword to the sky and firing his sidearm as he ran. A great cry set up around him, and the remaining Atlantians stormed the trench.
Scores of men were cut down before they even reached the defenses, the machine guns thrumming. Heracles planted a foot on the embankment, leveling that section of the trench with his volley gun. Jason watched with disbelief as a soldier raised a hand, deflected a blast from the Atlantian shotgun, and rammed his own shotgun into Heracles's gut.
Jason sprinted forward, heedless of the two shots that hit his hip plate, and jumped into the air feet-first. He hit the soldier and they both fell to the ground, the shotgun's burst missing Heracles by about an inch.
They wrestled on the ground, neither able to get a secure hold. They stood up and began to grapple; The American wrenched a combat knife from his leg holster, holding it backhanded. He slashed up and then down, going for Jason's throat, but Jason sidearmed the knife and gripped the American's wrist, trying to wrest the blade out of the soldier's grip. The American resisted his efforts and instead clipped Jason's jaw with his fist.
Jason reeled back, working his jaw to relieve the pain. He stepped forward and wailed against the soldier, full-out smacking into him. Instead of falling over, as most people would have, the American twisted to the right and used Jason's momentum to swing him into the wall of the trench, bruising his shoulder.
Jason gripped the soldier's ankle and attempted to wrench it into the air, but the soldier grabbed his waist and hauled, dragging them both to the ground. Jason's foot fetched up against the American's face, which finally gave him the leverage he needed.
Jason drew his foot back and rammed the American in the face over and over again, until the American finally let go. They both twisted around and came face-to-face, going at eachother's throats.
Jason faltered mid-blow as he recognized the soldier from the tower. He brought his arm up and barely blocked the man's swing in time, retaliating quickly with a jab of his own.
It never reached the intended target - inches away from the American's chest, the guy slapped Jason's arm away with a backhand blow. The next thing Jason knew, he was being hoisted into the air from behind, by his collar, and then dropping through the air, landing with an 180 pound soldier on top of him. Jason's breath left him with a whoosh, and then he was gasping like a fish, being pummeled by the new adversary.
Jamie parried an Atlantian's sword thrust with his shotgun, swung around, and bashed the man's helm with the butt of the gun, pulling the trigger and giving a second guy a face-full of buckshot while he did so. They both dropped, and Jamie looked over to see Matt battling it out with an Atlantian. It seemed to be an even match: The Atlantians had been born and bred to use melee, while the Americans had only received hand-to-hand combat in their military training. Even so, Matt was born for close-quarters. He had a natural close-up skill most soldiers lacked.
Matt managed to wrestle the Atlantian to the ground, but the guy's foot ended up in Matt's face. The soldier rammed his boot home half a dozen times before Matt released him, and they both swung around, face-to-face. After that, they only got in a punch each before Jamie got there, grabbed the Atlantian by the collar, and piledrived him. He felt the Atlantian's breath leave his body, and Jamie proceeded to batter the gasping form in his clutches.
"Watch out!" Matt cried, both with his mind and voice. Jamie blinked, and the span of half a second was grabbed from behind and thrown into the wall of the trench.
Jamie jumped out of the man-sized depression in the sheet metal wall, shook his head, and prepared to defend himself. He looked up to see a great brute of a man swinging a 7-barreled gun at his head. Jamie raised his arm to shield his head, but it wouldn't have done much.
Thankfully, the gun never got there. Matt's eyes sparked blue, and a telekinetic shield popped into existence in front of Jamie. The gun hit it and snapped in half, utterly useless.
The brute stumbled back, surprised, and then Holly hit him from the side. Matt jumped back into the fight with his old enemy, wrestling around.
Holly was then hit in the back with the butt of a rifle, another Atlantian having climbed the barricade and taken it up with her. His lower back was covered by a bulky radio pack, which he promptly dropped to the dirt. Jamie socked that guy in the face, giving Holly a second's reprieve, then jumped onto the big guy and duked it out with him. Scar came running from the top of the barricade and hit another Atlantian apparently part of the squad, and they went tumbling into the dirt together. Malcolm dropped off from a turret he had been manning and engaged what looked to be his Atlantian counterpart.
A sixth Atlantian vaulted the wall. He might have spelled the end for Echo Team, except that Carter appeared, shotgun in hand. He pumped two shots straight into the Atlantian's chest. A couple buckshot pellets penetrated the guy's armor, throwing him back against the trench wall, coughing blood.
Then, the last member of the Atlantian squad vaulted the ramparts, a 20-round SMG in hand. Although he appeared to be already injured, the soldier leveled it at Carter and tightened his finger on the trigger.
Matt, distracted as he was, still managed to get a TK blast off in time to upset the Atlantian's aim enough for Carter's armor to deflect the solitary shot that landed, and then Carter was fending off both the injured Atlantians.
From then on, the Atlantian never allowed any of Echo Team to gather the concentration to use psi. Whenever their eyes began to cloud with color or they withdrew, the Atlantians pressed them, forcing them to abandon the attempt.
It was dead-set even. Matt ducked a punch, his Atlantian counterpart dropped beneath a high kick, caught Matt's leg. Matt jumped and jabbed in with his other foot, catching the Atlantian in his face, causing him to drop Matt's boot. But then, while Matt was on his knees, the Atlantian kicked out viciously and nailed Matt in the side of his head.
Spitting blood from his mouth, Matt stood back up, caught a kick aimed at his head, and drove his arm into the soldier's chest with all his strength.
Jason went flying from the strength of the blow. He landed against the side of the trench, bashing his head on a turret, and sank to the ground. His vision was fuzzy, everything out of focus, but when he looked down, he was positive the soldier had dented the orichalcum and titanium armor with his bare hands. Jason leaned his head back and blacked out -
- as Matt clutched his bleeding knuckles, eyes tearing up in agony. He stumbled around, cursing, and rested his shoulder against the side of the trench, weathering the barrage of pain.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Matt clenched his jaw, howled, and looked up in time to see Jamie get decked. Left-handed, Matt grabbed a UMP-A3 Sub Machine Gun and aimed at the brute.
Before he could fire, a heavy weight set on his arm, dragging it down. Matt fired into the ground, throwing up puffs of sparks and mud. Looking down, he saw the Atlantian stubbornly clinging to his arm.
The Atlantian used Matt's arm for leverage, drawing himself up. Matt shook him off, then turned and threw all of his weight and strength behind a punch with his uninjured hand.
As it turned out, this was not his most brilliant idea either. Jason wore a titanium helmet with solid orichalcum reinforcements. So when Matt hit him, he knocked Jason solidly unconscious, but also busted his other hand. Agony flared up his arm for a second time.
Pausing only for a second, Matt bent, retrieved his fallen SMG and leveled it at the giant Atlantian. Wincing in pain, he pulled the trigger just as the giant was about to plant a foot in Jamie's stomach. Dozens of round smacked the Atlantian in the chest, a few puncturing through the armor and the rest leaving crippling dents in the metal.
The giant stumbled back from the force of the 30 6.8mm rounds, allowing Jamie the time to get back to his feet, grab a mace from a fallen Atlantian soldier, and go to town.
Breathing heavily, Matt reloaded, moving on to Holly.
A sword swung through the air, arcing for Holly's head, but she deflected it with her gauntlet, and then Matt was next to her, pumping rounds into her opponent. This guy caved easier than the 7-foot tall Atlantian giant, so Matt gave him half the clip and let Holly take care of the rest, instead swiveling, crouching, and opening up on Scar's soldier. He took the rounds in the side, flinching, and received a solid punch in the mouth from Scar.
One of Carter's two opponents was sprawled in the mud, laying against the side of the trench. The last guy, however, was giving Carter a bit more trouble. Carter had a couple cuts on his face from the Atlantian's sword, and his armor plating was dented and cracked in a few places. In turn, Carter had bloodied the Atlantian's nose, on top of the dents stitching across the warrior's chest from a burst of machine gun rounds.
Dodging sword cuts and blocking them with his carbine, Carter lashed out with his leg. The Atlantian hopped nimbly inside of Carter's attack, swept it aside with his sword-arm, and clocked Carter in the face, sending him flying into the dirt.
Matt tackled the soldier, making sure to pin the sword securely in between them as they fell. They landed against the metal floor of the trench, their heads smacking into eachother's. Matt fell to the side, dazed both from the collision and the pain lancing up his injured hands. But then Carter was there, and the two Americans subdued the viscous Atlantian fighter by sheer force and numbers.
The various members of the Atlantian squad were all unconscious, splayed about in differing states of injury. The battle was over.
As the adrenaline left Matt's system, he cradled his hands against his stomach, bent over, and screamed silently from the pain.
"Here, let me see that." Scar said gently as she eased Matt against the side of the trench, rainwater beginning to pool at the corners as the skies opened up. Matt raised his face to the sky, raindrops hitting his thick visor and running off from the non-stick coating, as Scar tended to his busted hands.
"Oh." Scar said abruptly, uncertainly. Looking down, Scar's eyes flared icy-blue, and then Matt's hands released him from the embrace of pain. He shook his head, examining them. They were whole and sound once more.
"How did you...?" Matt asked.
Scar swayed, suddenly tired. "I-I don't know." She stuttered, then rose from her crouched position.
Matt had to jump up and catch her as she almost fell from lack of blood to the head. "Are you okay?" He asked worriedly.
"Uh-huh."
"What was all that about?"
"Psi healing." Malcolm spit out blood as he limped towards them. "Here, can you do my leg? It shouldn't take as much energy to heal mine - it's only a graze." Malcolm indicated a narrow groove in his hip where his cracked armor had fallen off, allowing him to take a bullet in his thigh.
"Um, how?"
"I dunno. You're the psi-medic. Just do whatever you did on Matt."
Scar frowned, concentrating. She placed her hand over Malcolm's bullet-wound. Her frown deepened, and then suddenly, her eyes flared again, her hand glowed white-blue, and Malcolm's hip healed.
"Sweet. Thanks." Malcolm said, nodding and inspecting his leg.
"Yeah, sure." Scar said a little faintly.
Carter came limping over, then, and said, "Let's get these soldiers bound and packed into a cell. Get all of the live soldiers into holding cells. These guys fought like animals. So many of us gone..." Carter's eyes grew unfocused, and he started off for the Ops Center.
"Why," Jamie said, panting, "do I always get the big guy?"
Matt smiled. "Maybe they're attracted to you."
"I mean, obviously I am gorgeous and all, but like seriously, everytime there's a huge 7-foot tall monster, he always attacks me. And they always feel like the best way to take me down is to completely deck me. All the smaller guys end up with their faces imprinted with a permanent tatoo of my boot, but then Sasquatch here finds me and decides to deck me."
"I'm telling you, they think you're cute." Matt continued.
"With nothing to speak of yourself..."
"Ha ha. I'll have to write that one down."
"You're just mad because you have a small-"
"Is this always going to be my job, to break this up?" Malcolm broke in loudly before Jamie could finish.
Holly smiled, shook her head, and kept walking. Matt caught her look and said, "What, you don't like the topic of our conversation? You're welcome to join, you know."
"I think I'll be okay." Holly grinned as she bent over to hog-tie one of the Atlantians.
Matt paused for a moment, staring, then Jamie walked by and smacked him in the back of his head before hauling the smaller Atlantian onto his shoulder. "Come on, stop daydreaming."
"Says you? That's what we refer to as irony, folks."
Jamie shook his head, but let that one pass uncontested. The crew proceeded to tie up the rest of the Atlantians in silence for a few moments.
Scar sighed. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm beat."
"Yeah, no kidding. Let's get the rest of these guys packed up into a cell, then go get some breakfast again. After that, I'm finding my bunk until the next shift."
"I like this plan." Malcolm said. "Sounds good."
Matt finished binding another Atlantian and climbed to the top of the trench. He stood with his weapon held loosely and surveyed the battlefield.
The rain began falling in earnest, casting the surrounding land in alternating rich shadows and bright sunlight. Matt sighed inwardly, depressed by the outcome of the battle. Of the 1,000 Americans, 200 were dead or severely wounded. Despite all the security measures and weaponry hoisted upon the perimeter, they had been ravaged by a unit of 300 Atlantians. Of those, most were still alive, maybe 100 dead, plus the wounded and incapacitated. This was a loss, no matter they had captured the surviving Atlantians and eradicated the rest.
Matt looked down the line to his left, watching as the American soldiers herded the survivors at gunpoint into cells that were hurriedly being constructed out of scrap metal and wood cut from the periphery of the jungle.
As the clouds of rain shifted, Matt's spirits rose as he reconsidered. This was hardly the last word. Eventually, they would strike back, go on the offensive themselves. And this battle had given him a score of ideas for him and Malcolm to work on. Remembering the pitched melee battles, both in the trenches and during the mad scramble to the line, Matt considered how much more effective the American infantry could be if they too were issued and trained with swords, maces, axes, and spears. And bayonets on the rifles would be extremely effective for the close-quarters rush attacks. And looking out on the open perimeter, Matt began to plan a concrete, metal-reinforced wall that should be constructed around the larger firebases. They would have bunkers on top, with 105mm and 40mm cannon integrated directly into the wall. It could continue around partway into the sea, to protect against any attacks from that quarter. They could also install wireless electric fences on the perimeter - one step and the Atlantian infantry would be as burnt popcorn.
They could plant landmines in the jungle, and install more bunkers linked to metal storms and sensor arrays. And they needed a new kind of tank. The current M1 Abrams were not going to cut it for the upcoming battles. They needed to enhance the armor, both for the men and for the vehicles. The Apaches needed a way to defend themselves from the anti-armor bazookas the Atlantians were using. They would do some research. Their gauntlets should be able to activate an electric pulse, which would certainly be useful in hand-to-hand battles. They also needed a light reconnaissance version of the armor, with more stealth capabilities integrated. And a heavy armor version. He couldn't wait to get to the lab and try some stuff out.
Matt hauled the last Atlantian out of the trench and loaded him into the back of a waiting flat-bed Humvee.
"Jolly-good show." Jamie said in a British accent. He picked up his rifle, motioning towards the Mess Hall. "C'mon, mates! Let's be off."
"Aye." Matt sighed, following. Breakfast and a hot shower had never felt so good.
Next Chapter: Atlantis Rising: Chapter 11
Homepage: Atlantis
