Zaxon B: The Final Struggle (Galaxies Collide Book 4) Page 3

  The Heathrow volunteer soldier gritted his teeth, forcing himself upwards and dragging the flight leader by the rear of his uniform collar, his gasped words going unheard, ‘I am not dying here at the hands of this vermin…and neither are you!’ The combat uniform inflated, pumping adrenalin into his frame once more as he heaved forward, spittle splattering from his teeth with the strain and pain that swept through his arms and legs.

  Explosions rocked the terrain behind, the Morgon infantry’s advance becoming more rapid as their commanders’ shrieks intensified, Rees glancing back once more as his stomach twisted in fear, the shadows and red dots surging through the smoke and dust. Screaming at the top of his voice, he stumbled on, the words shaking in rising terror and exhaustion as sweat seeped into his eyes, ‘How much ‘effing’ further?’

  He dropped to his knees, gasping as shock waves shook their frames, the mortar rounds dropping just behind them as covering fire. Machine guns chattered in the distance, Rees straining his eyes as the muzzle flashes became just visible, his stomach churning as further shadows moved through the smoke ahead, his terrified mind struggling to consider the Morgons were in front of them.

  More smoke swirled around them, a blanketing shroud blinding Rees’s view as tears flowed uncontrollably down his cheeks, his body slumping backwards in submission to await the merciless enemy. Anjara rolled on to his back, coughing violently as his chest heaved for air, exhaustion overcoming him as his eyes closed to blank out the horror of what was about to occur.

  The muzzle flashes intensified, bullets flying past as Rees sobbed, rockets soaring overhead with more mortar rounds, the detonations flashing in the smoke as shock waves engulfed their bodies, seeming to tear the oxygen from the air. The stench of acrid burning earth filled their nostrils, numerous shells detonating behind as the smoke intensified, dust and debris crashing against Rees’s back and shoulders as the combat uniform struggled to protect him.

  Then numerous figures surged through the smoke, two passing on either side and dropping to their knees, the cracks of assault rifles filling their ears. Rough hands grasped Rees’s shoulders, his startled mind struggling to comprehend what was happening as his body was jerked painfully forward.

  Shrieks of hatred seemed to fill the swirling murk, their boots bouncing painfully off the obstructions and terrain, Rees’s mind unable to comprehend the direction, his thoughts withdrawing into the terror that gripped his chest, his body submitting to the inevitable. The combat uniform’s response was exhausted, pain and aches spreading through his body from the jarring and vice like grip that pinched painfully at his biceps and shoulders.

  Human screams from behind as high calibre bullets swept through combat uniforms, the Morgons firing blindly into the smoke, two of the defensive soldier falling. Rees jerking physically as his mind swept back into reality, an intense pain surging though his lower right leg, his ability to understand gradually returning as a Royal Marine shouted desperately at him, ‘Help us for heaven’s sake…push your body you dick! Our men are dying to protect your escape!’

  Frantic shouts from behind and in front, more shadows surging through the swirling smoke, a figure standing upright and shouting determinedly as an assault rifle was raised, the muzzle flashing, ‘Royal and US Marines, hold the ground! Concentrate your fire…force the enemies heads down in front of us!’

  Rees struggled upwards, his shins scraping across the ground as his boots struggled to gain traction on the ground, his right leg now excruciatingly painful and seeming unable to respond. The tight grips loosened on his arms and shoulders with the screaming behind as the two wounded were dragged away, chilling shrieks filling the air as the Morgons began to close on the recognised small number of isolated figures, the enticing and exhilarating sense and aroma of blood becoming almost overwhelming.

  The Heathrow volunteer then felt his body lighten, propelled rapidly forward as his senses swam once more, a feeling of almost floating as he swept through the air…then falling, his frame twisting in the thin air as his hands instinctively swept out to protect the natural descent.

  The Royal Marines turned away, raising their rifles as the thrown body descended towards the trench before them. Rifles raised, the two figures spun round and fired, bullets sweeping through the smoke past the other shadows and figures and they dropped to a crouch.

  Rees’s chin cracked against the inner wall of the trench, the side of his face trailing downwards against the frozen earth, his body shaking and jerking backwards as he slumped into the defensive position, the pain surging through his frame as he glanced downwards, his eyes widening briefly as he glimpsed the blood pumping from his right leg. Then his sight drifted, a mist spreading across his vision as he briefly saw the left leg contorted at an extreme angle, shock beginning to engulf his conscious thoughts as he drifted into unconsciousness, a brief shout filtering through the confused haze, ‘Medic! Now!’

  Chapter Two: Alexion One

  Sixty rubber soles slammed in unison against the shining metal alloy floor of the sixty sixth deck of Alexion One, Admiral Shadian walking briskly towards the two lines of earth soldiers as they brandished their assault rifles across their chests. Grim determined stares looked out towards the outer wall, the troops fascinated by what sights would be beyond…of looking into the depths of space. The commander of Alexion One glanced across the weapons and black shoulder armour of the troopers before him. Startled, he briefly glanced upwards, the muffled gunfire and explosions echoing across the shining walls, the battle for the upper floors now becoming ever more desperate.

  The resin space station suits bore thin lines of dark and light grey camouflage as the men and women stood apprehensively before him, their heads encased in atmospheric helmets, darkest grey with jagged silver alloy lines along the jaw and temple armoured plate.

  The deep breathing was exaggerated by the suits protection, the helmet oxygen supplies as yet unused, the suit adjusting the air from within the station to compliment what the human bodies required. Thin silver lines ran along the uniforms on the outer arms and legs, the combat suits suitable for use both inside and outside the protective walls of the space station, the issued boots enhanced with gravitational grip.

  The admiral smiled briefly as one of his security detail stepped forward, the woman slamming her fist to her upper right chest plate officially and eagerly, ‘Section One ready for combat Sir! We will drive the Morgons from the station!’

  Nodding approvingly, he stepped back, glancing back and forth along the line, the shoulder armour now displaying the snarling face of a leopard, beneath it the wording, ‘Alexion One Garrison Battalion’, a small national flag moulded into the armoured resin. The admiral’s own suit was complimented with gold lines indicating his rank, his hands grasping the new snub barrelled machine gun.

  Breathing deeply, Admiral Shadian glanced upwards, another detonation on the upper floors seeming louder than before as he stared back along the line, his voice edged with determination, ‘You and the other two sections are the last of the soldiers your planet can offer us…your earth is now under direct attack. This adversary is probably the most brutal you will ever face…they take no prisoners and devour their enemies…their shock troops hold several of the floors above us and we…and you have to drive them from this space station.’ He adjusted his stance, observing a couple of the soldiers before him glance furtively in his direction as he raised his voice, ‘On your planet it is customary to offer a defeated enemy quarter…to take prisoners. This will not happen here! Any Morgon soldier that is wounded should be executed, any unarmed soldier killed…we have considerable experience of these combatants attacking and murdering any personnel that have offered mercy in the past, awaiting a suitable opportunity to slaughter the soldier that gave quarter.’ He stared in determination at the lines of troops, ‘This may seem rather unsavoury or barbaric to you, but let me assure you that in the mind of the Morgon, you are nothing but weak sustenance…your head and skull a trophy…d
o not hesitate as they will not if provided with an opportunity. Do you understand?’

  There was a slight delay as the translators in the helmets responded together, then a unified response resounded loudly across the walls, ‘Yes Sir!’

  The admiral continued, ‘The enemy weaponry will consist of high calibre rifles and acid guns…the slime that these secondary arms fire will eat through your uniforms and flesh…if you are hit or come into contact with this green substance, you should remove the article of armour immediately to survive…any hesitation will result in your death.’ He gritted his teeth, glimpsing a couple of soldiers’ eyes widen in shock, ‘This is a war of extermination…they are attempting to wipe our…and your species from existence. Show no mercy…Your time is Now!’

  He spun round, another muffled explosion above as the rattle of gunfire broke out. Slamming his fist to his chest, the admiral nodded to the two expectant security commanders, ‘Take them up! We must drive he enemy back before they break into our upper gun batteries!’

  On Deck 74 above, two Morgon commanders strode forward, their thick soled magnetic gravity boots clanking against the blood splattered metal grilles beneath. Sixteen black and silver armoured soldiers lined either side of the oxygen deprived curved corridor, their helmets facing forward as forked tongues ran across scaled lips, the anticipation of mutilating the prone defenders tantalising the victors’ senses.

  The silver-grey walls were smeared with blood, scorch marks burnt against the corridor from grenade detonations and the laser cannons. Shattered equipment lay scattered between the bodies of Morgons and Trevakians alike, broken armour with cracked helmets and visors scattered across the walkway as one of the commanders neared the bend ahead. Sparks flew from broken overhead lighting sections as he neared the section that had seen some of the heaviest fighting, stepping over outstretched limbs and discarded rifles, some bent or contorted from their original shape from the sheer force of the blasts.

  Four soldiers stepped in behind the commander, their helmets turning to study the prone lifeless figures below, a distant sickening crack spreading through the corridor from behind as gunfire resounded from the lower levels, shrieks of hatred echoing from the stairwells.

  The number of bodies increased, the area having been the site of bitter and desperate hand to hand combat for the final conquest of Deck 74. The Morgon commander kicked out at a human arm lying across his path, a deep crack as the bone splintered, his disgust at losing so many troops for the control of just one floor clearly apparent.

  Glimpsing a figure slumped against the wall at the end near an opening, the Morgon commander stepped forward, kicking a leg to one side as his eyes glowed red in anger and hatred, an outstretched arm adorned with sharp silver blades indicating for his soldiers to follow.

  Staring down at the prone figure, the Morgon’s silver jagged unit marking on his helmet glinted, seeing the transparent front of the Trevakian helmet was fully condensed, the suit now virtually devoid of air. The figure coughed, a wheeze of breath coming from the helmet as the shoulders and chest shook, the dust smeared suit scratched and scorched with several tears of the outer protective material across the legs and arms.

  With the hands clasped across the stomach, next to the right elbow an assault rifle lay discarded, its amber ammunition counter flashing zero. The Morgon commander crouched down before the figure, reaching out and clenching the defeated soldier’s shoulder tightly, the defeated man jerking slightly in half unconscious agony as the grip tightened. The scratched armour began to warp inwards from the intense pressure as the red eyed black helmet moved from side to side, seeming to study the fully condensed angled transparent cracked resin, droplets of condensation running down the interior of the visor.

  The prone figure coughed slightly, chest heaving for the last particles of air as the Morgon helmet drew to within a couple of inches of the steamed resin, the grip on the shoulder armour tightening further as the commander hissed in hatred.

  Rising to his feet, the Morgon commander’s arm swept across his shoulder, the sound of a long blade being unsheathed from the back armour preceding the glinting of the sharpened steel and alloy. The ceremonial sword was lowered, preparing to cleave the dying soldier’s head from his body, the armoured shock troops behind stepping forward in eager anticipation of the execution.

  The prone figure jolted once more, the last of the air leaving its frame as a muffled whisper drifted from his lips, ‘I come from the land of the free…we will never surrender…’ The body shook as the hands parted in death, a cylindrical object dropping from the corpses grasp, the pressure on the upper button released as the chest jerked for the last time.

  The Morgon commander’s red eyes widened in horror, the faint beep becoming continuous as a red light flashed briefly on the small cylinder, then the glow becoming continuous. The pulse grenade detonating and tearing across the narrow corridor, the intense blast wave searing and smashing through heavy duty armour and shattering bodies.

  Trevakian reservists on Deck 67 stared into the smoke, their assault rifles raised pensively as distant crumps indicated the seals on deck separation hatches were blown. On the two barricaded staircases to the level above, the security details armed the mines placed on walls and steps, preparing to retreat from the advancing enemy shock troops as they heard the last of the defensive gunfire from the floor above, screams of pain and terror ending what last resistance the Morgons had experienced.

  One of the bridge console operators turned, the fearful faces of the soldiers around her staring out over the makeshift barricades that filled the outer corridor circling the station. Having set numerous fall back positions, she was confident the Morgon advance could be slowed if not halted for the time being, her heart pounding as she glanced across the startled full facial visors. Beginning to regret her recent promotion to reservist captain, she drew breath and screamed at the top of her voice, ‘Make ready! As soon as the security detail is back amongst us each section target one enemy soldier only…aim for the head and cut them down…break their morale!’

  She glanced back as the first security engineer turned to sprint from the stairs, two others following as they gestured to the top of the steps, indicating that the Morgons were about to progress downwards. Lifting her remote console, the image flickered, the space stations internal communication network now suffering interference. Tapping furiously across the screen, she glanced up, glimpsing the pulse mines set against the walls begin to commence their arming process, green lights flashing across the oval silver surfaces, the colour designed to match the space stations internal walls in an attempt to avoid detection.

  Gradually the flashing lights became constant, then flicked to red, the numerous mines armed. The reservist captain having placed the devices to permit their withdrawal to the next defensive position, the arming codes for each section different. Further back along the corridor, the third defensive position was set before the next set of stairs, a laser Gatling gun armed and provided with numerous power cells as support. She glanced round once more, further gunfire from above and a muffled explosion, the Morgons targeting any remaining mines on the deck above.

  The explosion rocked the corridor, the defenders ducking as shrapnel, shattered boxes and clamps were blown from the staircase. The shock wave swept over the makeshift barricades, helmets rising once more and straining their eyes into the dust, their visors glowing as Morgon shock troops readied to advance on the floor above.

  The reservist captain glanced round nervously, her soldiers gritting their teeth as shrieks echoed from the deck above, the smoke and dust billowing from the staircase as they raised their assault rifles pensively. Shrieks of hatred resounded across the walls, dust slowly being drawn back up the stairwell towards the hull breaches far above as the red dots appeared across visors, several reservists gasping as their bodies tensed.

  The clank of boots echoed ahead, bullets spraying down the staircase as the defensive soldiers ducked back in terror. Pu
lse and acid grenades bounced down the stairs, the eruptions shaking the walls as green sludge splattered across the floor and barricades. One reserve soldier fell back screaming, his body convulsing as the visor melted back onto his face, colleagues averting their eyes as toxic steam billowed across them, the soldiers screams now becoming gurgles and the legs below twitching as the reservist died in excruciating agony.

  Armoured bodies charged down the staircase, metal gravity boots slamming against the metal grating as the black, grey and camouflaged bodies surged towards the barricades. Bullets poured from the stairs, the defenders ducking back once more in terror as the first pulse mines armed and detonated. High shock waves swept across the black armoured figures in the front of the advance, their armour and bodies shattered as the high powered explosives tore through the forward shock troops.

  High pitched screams of agony and hatred filled the corridor, the reserve captain shouting frantically, ‘Fire into the next wave! Cut them down!’

  Camouflaged tall armoured frames surged down the stairs, their boots crunching on top of shattered armour beneath as the assault rifle muzzles of the defenders flashed, bullets ricocheting off the plate of the advancing Morgons. Several fell, their muscle tensed frames replaced by others behind as the reservists’ weapons bucked and recoiled into their shoulders.

  Smoke grenades puffed against the walls, acid shells cracking against the floor as the red hot projectiles swept into the advancing wave, shrieks and explosions resounding along the corridor as the defenders poured fire into the Morgon second line.

  Further mines detonated, the smoke and dust billowing over the defenders as they fired frantically, their visors surging red as the views filled with numerous figures advancing. Exploding grenades threw shrapnel and destroyed defensive boxes across the walls, a number of reservists thrown from their positions under the impacts, the Trevakians struggling upwards against personal pain and terror to fire once more, some desperately reloading, their hands shaking.