Gray Panthers: Dixie (9 page)

Dixie ship Atlanta, orbiting planet Dixie

1 November 2128

Lieutenant Lemons watched as the medical team cinched down the two stasis chambers. The shuttle for this mission was configured for rescue and extraction. The configuration would allow for eight patients and four medics. Four marines were augmenting the team for security.

Lemons would be in the chase shuttle, in the event anything happened to the lead shuttle and an extraction was needed. The chase shuttle only had fold-down seats from the wall. Only six marines would be on the shuttle with him. The configuration would make it easy to fit everyone from the first shuttle, in addition to the marines, if the first shuttle were damaged.

After reviewing the last-minute items with the two shuttle pilots, Lemons decided it was time. It felt weird having to plan a mission to their own planet’s surface.

“Okay, let’s go downtown. Medic One drops first. Medic Two will fly chase. Let’s do what we need to do, and everyone comes home.” Lemons worried about what more he should have planned, since like everyone else in both shuttles it was his first actual mission.

The mood in the chase shuttle was optimistic. Dixie had kicked ass saving Earth. Then they had headed back to Dixie and kicked ass again in orbit. Now all they knew was that they were playing it safe before coming home. Lemons worried about the risk of biological warfare being used against them all.

Scotty was the first to hear the shuttles coming in and wondered what they thought they were doing. He was impressed by the pilots’ formation flying as Sam dropped to his side.

“What are they doing? Semmes reported the danger. I listened to him give the report,” Scotty exclaimed angrily.

“I’m sure they want to send in a team to verify and get samples. No senior officer is going to say they did something based on what a lieutenant told them,” Sam replied.

As the first shuttle stopped in midair and prepared to drop down, a red laser beam from the city’s self-defense battery sliced it in half. Miraculously, it didn’t explode or catch fire. The two halves crashed to the ground, spilling out the occupants. The second shuttle dipped and charged toward the laser battery. Four lines of red lasers shot out from the shuttle and merged on the self-defense battery, causing it to explode. A huge ball of fire rose and filled the sky with dense black smoke. The shuttle made one more pass over the city before turning back to the downed shuttle.

Six injured survivors were trying to help each other out of the rubble, none of them realizing that the wobblers were almost upon them.

“Damn! What’s that smell?” one of the marines asked. Though the air already reeked of fuel, scorched metal, and burnt insulation mixed with blood and other bodily fluids, a thick new stench overpowered the rest—a putrid combination of excrement and rotten meat. Two of the injured marines looked up in time to see the horror in front of them. They reached for their pistols, since their carbines had been lost in the crash.

“I can’t do it!” The corporal reversed his grip on the automatic and punched a woman in the side of her face with it. As the woman fell, he stepped on her and swung again, making contact with an old man wearing a hospital gown. When the old man hit the ground, the corporal stepped on his soft stomach and propelled himself clear, congratulating himself for only getting a few bites and scratches in his dash to freedom.

The wounded medic pulled a metal rod from the meaty portion of his thigh and quickly tied off his leg with a rag bandage. Nodding to the remaining survivors, he picked up the metal rod and swung it in the air.

“Okay, you guys go the same way the corporal did and I’ll bring up the rear. since I can’t move as fast,” the medic shouted over the moaning sounds coming from the wobblers.

The first marine picked up the flight helmet that had rolled away from the dead pilot and pulled down the visor to cover his face.

“Follow me, you guys, and keep moving,” the marine yelled as he bent over and charged through the crowd, using his speed and power to make a trail behind him. The first wobbler in front of the powerhouse was a teen-age girl, who flew a half-dozen feet from the marine’s rush. The next wobbler, a heavyset man wearing a peacekeeper’s uniform, only slid a little to the side as the marine bulldozed through, blocking for those behind him. The next marine clubbed the peacekeeper alongside his head with his automatic, dropping him to the ground. The wounded medic was able to keep up but had to keep using the rod on those who had been knocked down and were clawing at his legs from below.

The survivors caught up with the corporal about a hundred feet farther away from the city. Now that his fight-or-flight instinct had subsided, the corporal’s training kicked in and he mentally kicked himself for his cowardice. He wasn’t going to fail his comrades again.

“Everyone, let’s bring it together,” he shouted. “We got the advantage on those things. We’re fast and can use our weapons. All we need to do for now is just stay tight and keep moving till the shuttle returns for us. Let’s clean up and patch those wounds. If you see something you can use as a weapon, grab it,”

He pulled his med kit from his belt, trying to keep an eye on the crowd slowly making its way toward them. He grabbed a wipe from the kit and cleaned his face and neck, ignoring the burning and stinging. After using the last of the wipe on his hands and wrists, he gave himself one last inspection, amazed that he had no serious injuries. Tossing the wipe, he went to assist the medic, who was trying to work on his leg and was in major pain. The corporal handed his med kit to the medic as he eyed the approaching crowd. The rancid smell was growing stronger, and the corporal decided to move another hundred feet out.

A harsh downward wind started to blow away the debris surrounding the survivors. Looking up, they could see the shuttle coming down almost on top of them. The marines from the shuttle jumped out and immediately provided a perimeter of safety, giving the survivors a chance to clamber into the shuttle as the wobblers continued toward them.

“We’re all aboard. Let’s get the hell out of here!” the corporal hollered at both the pilot and the marine detail outside. The detail returned and locked down the shuttle as the pilot increased power and the shuttle launched skyward.

The survivors were visibly apprehensive at the thought of being shot down again. The marine detachment from the shuttle used the ship’s medical supplies to continue providing medical assistance, cleaning and rebandaging wounds. Quiet pervaded the shuttle as the passengers realized they were safe and reflected on their losses.

The landing in the ship’s bay was anticlimactic. A medical team with marine guard examined all of the survivors, then released the marines and took the medic with the injured leg to the sickbay. The marines were ordered to take twenty-four hours’ downtime and then report back to the infirmary to have their minor injuries checked.

The shuttle pilot was glad to be back aboard the ship and knew she had to brief intel on the mission. She hadn’t even had a chance to return her sidearm to the armory or drop off her flight equipment when the XO stopped her.

“We need to go to intel to debrief. I knew you’d go, but I want to be there. The fresh intel is vital. Time’s wasting,” he told her.

“Yes, sir. I have a feeling things are not going to go the way we wanted,” the pilot replied. She hoped she didn’t smell as bad as she thought she did. After the short walk to intel, she found herself giving the post-mission briefing.

“Once we got down near the deck, everything was quiet. Threats were clean—nothing was being picked up. We identified no enemy forces in the open. The only civilians we saw were outside of New Mississippi.

“The laser taking out Medic One was the first instance we became aware of the enemy presence. The laser cut the shuttle in half when it was about fifteen feet high and was coming in to land. I was able to visually track the laser beam to one of our own self-defense batteries.

“There was no threat warning, which makes me believe they fired the battery manually. Either they didn’t know how to use it very well, or they were damn good. Since I’m here briefing you, I think they didn’t know how to use the targeting system and were having trouble executing a follow-on shot when I cleaned them out.

“When I did an over fly to access the damage, I counted a half-dozen dead Jacka in red uniforms. Numerous Jacka, as well as a high concentration of civilians, were on the streets around the battery.

“When we retrieved the survivors of Medic One, a large crowd of civilians was closing on them. I observed that they walked slowly and didn’t seem to be balanced right. Also, their retinas were all white, devoid of any color.” The pilot was trying to remember if there was anything else, when the question came.

“Did it appear to you that the Jacka were using the civilians as human shields?”

“The way the civilians were located, that was not my impression, sir.”

“What was your impression?”

“That they were lost and just milling around. They didn’t seem to give the Jacka any attention. I saw them walking by them and ignoring them.”

“Thank you, Captain. If you do not have anything else, you can go get out of your flight gear,” the intel analyst suggested.

Dixie ship Atlanta, orbiting planet Dixie

2 November 2128

Pandemonium was rife on board the ship. The survivors of the shuttle crash had been infected through the scratches and light bites they’d received on the planet. The more severe the wound from an infected individual, the quicker the victim turned. The lightly wounded had remained normal in appearance until they had gone to sleep. That was when the real nightmares began.

The surviving medic awoke in sickbay. He saw that he was alone except for the female medic, who was asleep at her desk, her head in her arms. He rose from his bed with difficulty. Everything was off balance. The room seemed to sway and he felt like he was a passenger in his own body as he closed in on the sleeping medic. Bending over her, he was shocked when he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. Disgust and fear filled his heart as he tore into the neck of his victim. She stopped struggling as her desktop filled with spilt blood.

The medic felt himself turning away, and he knew where he was headed next. He wanted to scream, to fight, to pull away, but instead he wobbled toward the sleeping berths.

Given his conduct after the crash, the corporal didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, and he was right. As he lay there, he began to feel nauseous, and then his body started to feel like it was frozen. He tried willing himself to get up, only to find he was trapped in a body that wouldn’t move. He attempted to shout out and waken his comrades for help, but all he could do was lie there in silence. After what seemed like an eternity, he was able to gradually rise from the bed. What happened next scared him more than anything he’d ever experienced. He felt his body wobble as it took him to the bunk next to his. In front of him slept the closest friend he’d had during his three years in the marines. He tried to close his eyes so he wouldn’t see what was coming as he leaned over his comrade, but his eyes stayed open as he latched onto his friend’s neck and tore out the artery, a stream of blood squirting into his face as he bit down. His friend’s body stopped shaking, and he felt himself rise and head for the next bunk. At the end of the huge cabin he could see other survivors wobbling among the bunks as the marines slept.

Dixie ship Texas, orbiting planet Dixie

3 November 2128

Captain Perkins again asked his communications officer what he was doing to resolve their inability to contact the admiral on the Atlanta.

“Captain, they’re just not answering our hails. There’s a network technician that transferred over here from the Atlanta. He might be able to bypass the ship’s security protocols. Then we could access the security cameras to see what’s going on, but we’d be breaking a dozen regulations. We might find ourselves making small rocks out of big rocks.”

“I don’t like what’s going on. If the technician is hesitant, let him know the orders are from me. That way it will be only you and me breaking rocks.”

Jones sat at his console watching as the secure node automatically connected with the Atlanta. Instead of waiting for authentication, he accessed a drop-down menu, selected “accept connection,” and typed in “administrator,” followed by “Ou812iC,” A new blank screen opened up and he typed in “Console AD006” and then “jonesj03” and the password “PassW0rd123.”

“Sir, I have access to my old network console. I don’t see any network activity other than the automated systems, but I can remote any console on the Atlanta from here,” he offered.

“See if you can access the admiral’s console on the bridge.”

“Yes, sir.” Seconds later, Jones stared at the screen in horror. The camera from the console showed the admiral sitting in the command seat, his face and uniform covered in blood. He now had white irides, which made his eyes look huge. Behind the admiral, crewmen could be seen wobbling around with no apparent destination.

Dixie ship Georgia, in Dixie space

3 November 2128

General Black had actually enjoyed the last five days stuck in a shuttle. There had been only a few reports of fights among the other shuttles and an attempted murder. It was the most peaceful spell he could remember since accepting the nanite therapy literally from his deathbed. It was time to get back on the clock, he reasoned.

“Dixie Command, this is Gray Panthers One.”

“Gray Panthers One, this is Dixie ship Texas. Stand by.”

“Georgia, this is Perkins on the Texas. I have assumed command of the fleet. What do you have to report?”

“Sir, I brought ground troops from Earth in case they were needed.”

“Damn. I wish you hadn’t. Unfortunately, we do need them. I would almost prefer to leave the planet and not look back than do what we will have to do.”

“Gray Panthers One, this is Dixie ship Texas. Can you report to my ship for a briefing, please?”