Zaxon B: The Final Struggle (Galaxies Collide Book 4) Read online

  The cold seemed to intensify, the stone beside them almost exuding frost and low tentacles of mist from small cracks and openings, none seeming sufficient to provide a path through. As his exhaled breath became clouded, Tregan began to become frustrated, realising there was probably no way through, his pace slowing as his search became more futile. Then he stiffened, a low hiss from behind, the tone recognisable as Riaz, ‘There is a way through…narrow, but one soldier at a time…’

  Tregan spun round, his confidence rising as adrenalin surged through his chest, ‘Take me to it…then I will go back and get the others…follow my own footsteps in the snow.’

  They trudged back along the rock face, staring into the murk and falling snow, their assault rifles raised as Tregan inspected the surrounding terrain for mines or booby traps. Reaching the opening, he nodded confidently, glancing through and onto the narrow path, frozen bushes and branches extending from either side as he grinned, ‘The mission is back on…I will go and get the others…you stay alert and wait, anyone comes, run back towards us…’

  Riaz nodded obediently, watching as the Trevakian jogged away into the fluttering snowflakes, his combat uniform inflating slightly in response as a low freezing breeze swept through the opening. Moving to the side, he lowered himself down on the cold rock face, leaning his rifle against the stone and hunching downwards, confident the movement of the bushes would alert him to any potential enemy presence.

  Running his right glove across the surface of the snow, he stared at the grey iced water, the colour different from the occasional falls in London. Lacking in oxygen, the flakes seemed like flaking dust, falling from his palm as he raised it to inspect them. Gradually he drifted into thought, a faint smile sweeping across his face as he considered the comforting life he knew two weeks previously…his BMW and the recent service bill he had struggled to comprehend, the tyre prices that he had stressed about for hours…the cost seeming completely irrelevant now. He sniffed despondently as he thought of the girlfriend, her role in the centre of London preventing them meeting on numerous occasions, their last meal seeming so distant in time as she had stated confidently that he was perhaps not the man she should be seen with, her career prospects requiring a more professional companion. Grinning incredulously, his mind drifted, wondering what she would think now…the man she knew becoming a Red Leopard reserve millions of miles from earth…one of the first humans to meet an alien race and to bear arms against a deadly enemy.

  Thoughts of his mother drifted into his mind, her endless sacrifices for him as he grew up after his father had abruptly left. He smiled as he thought warmly of her cooking, always a meal available as he returned from work, even late into the night, her fussing in a beautiful dressing gown…his present to her a couple of years ago after he first joined Heathrow…a first pay cheque providing the funds and presented to her on the special celebratory meal she had cooked after his initial four shifts. Tears welled in his eyes as he recalled her later crying in pride, his hands shaking as he handed her a letter of commendation for his contribution in breaking a child smuggling ring, his initial suspicions upon witnessing the strange behaviour of a seven-year-old boy escalated and followed up by the authorities, the young male destined for slavery in a country abroad. He had sobbed then as she had slowly read the shaking piece of paper before her, his heart pounding as she looked up in awe and ultimate fondness, seeing her son had become a man that made a dramatic and positive difference to others. His mother had hugged him tightly, almost forcing the breath from his muscular frame in her admiration and happiness, the realisation they had perhaps overcome the challenges faced with a lack of a father figure clearly apparent.

  Riaz smiled briefly, remembering his first yearly review, the manager new and inexperienced, suggesting he apply for promotion and then raising his eyebrows as the officer before him had laughed out loud, stating he ‘loved the frontline role too much’, and ‘could make a difference’ to others. He had determined that promotion was something he would consider only after five years’ service, once he had learnt as much as he could about all operations in the world’s busiest airport. His smile widened as he considered the decision had been instrumental in leading him to this place and the experience of a lifetime.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, the weariness starting to engulf his frame as his thoughts moved to his colleagues, wondering where they all were. Several smiling faces swept into his mind, their laughter in the restrooms and silly practical jokes causing him to grin once more, the memories seeming isolated and those of another being…one he used to be only two weeks ago.

  Then he stiffened, his senses sharpening as he heard the crunch of footsteps approaching, his eyes straining as the visor showed several green dots, the reflective resin clear and sharpening as silhouettes appeared through the falling snow.

  Tregan dropped next to him, an adrenalin fuelled grin on his face, ‘Been lonely?’

  Riaz shook his head thoughtfully, ‘Nah…been thinking about what life used to be like…it seems so long ago now.’

  The Trevakian nodded grimly, patting his shoulder armour, ‘You will be back there one day…maybe together…then I can see your Heathrow and meet your earth family.’ The Trevakian smiled as Riaz nodded thoughtfully then jerked his head towards the opening, ‘Now let’s see what the Silaks have…destroy their base and transporter and save Rangara Outpost from attack!’

  Riaz smiled, forcing his back against the rock wall behind as his body rose slowly, his hand reaching for the assault rifle, ‘Time to strike then!’ His eyes widened as Tregan nodded reassuringly, the Trevakian dropping back and slipping between the rocks, his rifle rising.

  The soldiers cautiously slipped between the rocks one by one, Riaz awaiting Shino to emerge from the snowfall before proceeding in front of her, a brief grin passing between them as he whispered, ‘Stay with me and Debra…’ He glanced up and down her small frame grinning, ‘They will have little to shoot at anyway!’

  The petit Philippine grimaced playfully, pushing his back as he slipped between the rocks, her voice a low whisper, ‘Great things come in small packages…and from what I have heard, you should know that too!’

  Riaz gritted his teeth, smiling further, ‘Whatever you want to imagine!’

  Debra raised her eyes, hissing behind, ‘Cut it out you two, we are about to attack…stay together and keep low…no talking from now on!’

  They slipped between the high jagged stone, dropping onto the snow filled field below, the soldiers spread out before them all on one knee, their assault rifles raised in readiness as Tregan stepped between the lowered figures, his voice a hushed whisper, ‘See anything? Are the Silakians near?’

  The reserve troops shook their heads, one speaking to the side, ‘Nothing Sir! No signs on our visors!’

  The Trevakian glanced round pensively, checking all the soldiers had slipped through the rocks and were prepared, his tone an adrenalin fuelled hiss, ‘Very well…move forward slowly…combat formation.’

  The soldiers gradually rose, the snowflakes swirling around them as they cautiously advanced, their assault rifles nervously sweeping from side to side as they stepped cautiously forward, visors continually checking the terrain for signs of life.

  Advancing slowly, their visors swept across the grey whitened terrain, the sensors providing no signs of life as they cautiously approached the cave opening. Tregan dropped to one knee, the combat suits inflating slightly once more in the chilled air as the temperature decreased. Glancing round, the Trevakian gritted his teeth in nervousness, no lights in his clear visor, the landscape seeming clear.

  Then a brief fleeting smile spread across his lips, his hand rising to stop the soldiers behind, three figures surging onto the visor, the edges tinged with red. Lowering further, he raised the assault rifle to his eyes, the sight automatically deploying as the weapon sensed the distance at nearly one hundred metres. One hand extended to his side, indicating for the troopers to draw level, the figures
stepping carefully and silently forward and drawing abreast of him.

  The frontline of twelve soldiers extended to either side of Tregan, six figures dropping to their knees to the right and left, Riaz lowering next to the Trevakian. Shino dropped with Debra behind them, their weapons rising as their breathing became sharper, hearts pounding in their chests.

  Tregan glanced at the young asian officer next to him, grinning widely as Riaz strained his eyes with stress, his mouth dry as he whispered hoarsely, ‘Surely we are not just going to shoot them…’

  The Trevakian shook his head, whispering back, ‘Not whilst I am here…these are Silaks, they do not deserve to die mercilessly…if they were Morgons, we would have fired already!’

  Flashes suddenly burst through the swirling snowflakes on either side, screams filling the air as several of the bodies on the flanks crumpled, blood splattering across the grey-white surface beneath, Tregan gasping in shock, his words almost drowned out by the loud gunfire, ‘It’s a trap!’

  Riaz dropped into the snow, his right eye lowering to look along the sights of his rifle as he squeezed the trigger, the muzzles flashing around him as surviving soldiers fired out into the murk. The Trevakian lunged forward, firing towards the cave mouth as he shouted, ‘Follow me! All into the opening!’

  The three silhouettes ahead lowered instinctively, their own weapons raising as sounds of the bursts of gunfire echoed across the walls in the cave behind. Tregan raised the assault rifle to his right eye, the red pulsing sight surging as he aimed at the figures, the weapon jerking as he squeezed the trigger, a burst of fire sweeping forward through the falling snow.

  One of the silhouettes twisted round, the high calibre bullets cracking through the Silakian’s shoulder armour, his body spinning from the impact as a high pitched squeal of pain was cut short. Firing another burst, Tregan charged towards the cave mouth, a second figure propelled backwards as the front of the combat uniform was shredded, blood spurting across the entrance walls.

  Explosions erupted through the murk behind, the flashes tossing a number of soldiers with the blast waves, the chilling pained shouts and grunts cut short with the thuds of their bodies smacking hard against the ground as they fell.

  Riaz’s assault rifle kicked back into his shoulder, the third figure at the cave opening collapsing backwards as bullets fired uncontrollably from his weapon, several sweeping narrowly over Tregan’s head, the Trevakian ducking instinctively as he surged forward into the cave mouth.

  The asian officer scrambled upwards, bullets sweeping through the falling snow, the flashes of detonations and blast waves surging through the dim light. A couple of more screams as he spun round, his eyes widening as he glimpsed Shino firing to the right, her snubbed machine gun flashing as Debra struggled to her feet, firing a burst from her assault rifle to the left.

  Five figures lay across the snow, a couple attempting painfully to rise, their camouflaged uniforms streaked with blood as their comrades grasped frantically to pull them forward. Riaz’s visor surged red as he glanced from side to side, screaming desperately at the top of his voice, ‘All into the cave! They outnumber us!’

  Chapter Five: The Black Death Battalion departs

  The numerous transport craft rear doors lowered slowly, the mechanical whir of the rotors resounding across the large lower loading bay of the Black Star space station. Morgon engineers and Silakian loaders stepped across the shining metal resin floor, several carrying additional heavy ammunition cases and ordinance for the ground troops on the planet’s surface below.

  To the left of the bay sat a reinforced steel compartment, extending along the length of the transport area, the ammunition storage area for acid shells and grenades. Two sentries stood either side of the only opening, their dark grey armour glinting in the overhead lights as they inspected each silver case removed from their itinerary.

  On the opposite side of the bay, more standard ammunition was stored, the pulse grenades and high calibre ammunition as well as the few nano-shells, two further space station sentries tasked with guarding this ordinance.

  The bay held six transport craft in all, the area positioned at the base of the space station and used only for the deployment of more specialist forces and all ammunition to the planet below. This lower transport area was capable of being detached from the upper station along with six of the storage floors above, thus providing a mobile replenishment station that could remain in orbit around any hostile planet providing ample defensive measures were deployed.

  A further larger transport area was positioned further up the long, fifty decked construction but this was utilised for more standard troop movements and to house any repairing fighters, most of the black interceptor craft housed on small individual jetties near the summit of the Black Star space station.

  As the six transport craft were loaded with ammunition, the engineers made last minute checks to each individual craft, the shuttle runs providing some time to permit limited maintenance. The dishevelled grey uniformed loaders stacked box after box into the middle holds of the craft, filling any available space, their orders requiring the spacious rear passenger compartment to be left clear and the overhead stowage racks to be removed to provide additional space.

  Emerging from one of the end transports, two exhausted loaders stared across the bay, the low lights overhead gleaming across the floor as the large doors in the centre of the area slowly swept open, a senior Morgon commander in white armour emerging from the corridor beyond followed by a shorter, more hunched figure in seeming resin or rubber like overalls.

  The loaders stiffened, their stances nervous as they watched the two figures confer in the distance, black armoured troops marching from the corridor and forming two short lines into the middle of the bay. As the honour guard stiffened, the commander strode round to the side, staring into the corridor beyond. The Silakians eyes strained as more of their colleagues emerged from the other angled transports, their own glances beginning to rest on the two lines of soldiers in expectation.

  A distant thumps of heavy boots filled their ears, the squads of twelve soldiers each approaching the transport bay several metres apart. The Silaks stepped forward with intrigue, hands rising over their protective goggles as the clanking of metal boots got louder.

  Then the first large figures emerged into the lit loading bay, the Silakian loaders’ eyes widening in awe and trepidation. The bodies were heavily armoured, mechanised wide shoulders, arms and legs striding forward, the hydraulics whining as the heavy set frames began to line the transport area. Arms rose to point in fascination from the loaders as several engineers glanced across the bay, the new soldiers almost twice the width of a Silakian trooper, the thick armour and high powered weaponry requiring additional support from the main mechanised body.

  High density shining black armour shielded the numerous tubing and electronics, the brains of the troopers stretched, contorted and twisted by high powered narcotics and chemicals. Across the wide backs, each soldier had room for their long high calibre assault rifle, each one equipped with a grenade launcher. Alongside this fearsome weapon, there were several sheaths for blades, one a standard long double edged jagged ceremonial sword, two other smaller blades positioned either side.

  The shoulder armour and outer forearms were lined with jagged thick lines, rising approximately one inch from the high density plate, designed simply to tear through weaker frames as the soldiers advanced, leaving horrific injuries in their wake. On each inner forearm and wrist, the armour housed four explosive darts, designed to be fired as the troopers closed on their enemy, wreaking havoc in any defensive lines.

  Small pulse and high fragmentation grenades lined each soldier’s waist, so equipped for rapid deployment or a form of ‘self-destruct’ should a soldier become isolated or surrounded, the Morgons keen to prevent any of their new contorted inventions from falling into enemy hands intact.

  The black all-enclosing helmets were heavily armoured and sloped, the enha
ncements in an attempt to increase ricochets and allow for the silver serrated lower sides and temples, an addition for close combat fighting and to add to the effectiveness of the similar blades on the upper and lower arms. Emblazoned across the chest and back armour, the white gleaming skulls with red eyes seeming to sparkle as the soldiers finally completed forming two lines.

  One hundred and eight figures regenerated from the fallen across the galaxies stood before the white armoured Morgon commander, his tongue running across scaled lips in excitement and the thoughts of what his new unit could achieve. Next to him, the bent and rubber clad figure’s goggles glinted in the light, gloved hands rubbing together in excited relish as he glanced up and down the two lines before him, the full face visors silver and reflectively mirrored, preventing any assailant from knowing what the almost entombed soldier was or had been.

  The commander’s voice rose, the clicks and cracks of his tone resounding across the tall soldier before him. Reaching the end of his speech, he saluted formally, the metal boots crashing together as the soldiers responded instinctively. Turning on their heels, the boots clanked forward across the landing bay floor, the squads parting and approaching individual craft. Slowing automatically, they began to line up for their prospective transports, the Silakian loaders stepping away in nervousness and apprehension as the heavy soldiers stepped past, none seeming to even comprehend the existence of the grey uniformed smaller bodies next to them.

  The heavy armoured troops gradually filed into the back of the transports one by one, slowly and mechanically lowering to assume crouched positions in lines along the rear bays. The Silaks backed away wide eyed, staring at the heavy armour and white identification numbers etched on each shoulder, small sensors set into the high density plate to ensure the soldiers were continually monitored.