Planet Genocide I (Galaxies Collide Book 3) (19 page)

The many contributories of the Neva River in northern Russia weave several routes through St Petersburg, the waterway only forty-six miles long leading from Lake Lagoda to the Gulf of Finland. The large city straddles the many branches of the river, steeped in a long chequered history from the Russian Royal family through the rise of communism and the Second World War to an example of modern day commercial success.

In warmer weather, the residents would relax on the narrow beaches, their skins absorbing the rays of a northern sun as they watched pleasure craft and tour boats navigate the many waterways. The city trams would glide past as workers and commuters busied themselves with their daily lives, the normality of existence now abruptly ended.

The severe late year frost now gripped the city, the ice cracking and moving along the river as the roads and thoroughfares filled with traffic. Horns blared across the city as the residents attempted to flee, the trams stationary amongst lines of cars in the southern parts of the city, drivers and passengers staring in awe as armoured personnel carriers and tanks clattered across the road surface next to them heading north.

Russian military helicopters hovered overhead as jets roared above, the distant cracks of gunfire urging the civilians onwards towards safety, a glow of fire spreading across the dark sky to the north. Tracers and rockets swept upwards, the flashes and explosions causing panic in nearby streets as police officers struggled to move people southwards, the abandonment of shops and apartments too much of an enticement to local gangs, the commencement of looting invoking vicious reprisals from the authorities in attempts to maintain control.

As cars and vans crawled along the many riverbank highways, some residents reluctantly chose to walk, their heavily padded jackets and trousers reinforced with scarves and other clothing against the bitter sub-zero cold and wind. Their thick gloved hands carried the briefest of possessions, the obvious fighting to the north dissuading most from expending time on planning or packing, a desperate urgency to leave spurring them on. Most trudged along the iced pavements next to the buildings, passing discarded belongings that the people in front had disposed of, their panic beginning to rise as the occasional nearby gunshot was heard.

The creaking and shattering of the river ice was a common sound, underwater currents and pressure causing the solid surface water to shift and grate against other iced formations. With car windows closed and heaters on full, the engines idling and rumbling from the north, the pedestrians struggled against the elements, their padded hoods concealing most of the sound from the waterways.

As the wind rose in ferocity, the bodies braced themselves against the cold, trudging forward towards the southern suburbs and potential safety, their moods despondent as they considered the exposed land south of the city. The loud cracking continued, ice breaking as intense heat was applied from below, the long cylinder torches melting through the thick surface as armoured gloves clawed at the obstruction from beneath.

Several drivers glanced upwards nervously as police helicopters swept low along the rivers, their pilots glancing down into the mirk, the lights from buildings and vehicles on either side preventing a clear sight of the ice. As the whirring rotors passed, dislodged snow and iced flakes surged across the cars and pedestrians, many turning their faces to stare to their front, horns blaring once more in frustration.

No one noticed the black figures scrambling from holes in the ice, the ice encrusted armour ducking low below the river walls as more and more silhouettes ran half crouched across the ice. Gradually, the Morgon infantry began to line the heavily iced wall, their assault rifles and swords drawn as they awaited the command to advance. The commander ran low along the back of his unit, over one hundred armoured soldiers now braced against the wall in readiness. Satisfied they were behind the main Russian units, he raised his hand, dropping it suddenly, the iced black armour surging over the walls and falling on the stationary traffic.

To the north, Russian naval infantry and special forces were fighting a bitter battle of retreat, attempting to delay their adversary in the hope of impending reinforcements approaching from the south.

Juri Medvedev glanced across his squad, their thickly padded uniforms offering comforting protection against the cold. The young officer grimaced as the roar of a jet swept overhead, the rockets sweeping outwards and exploding further down the long wide street. Stealing a look over the bonnets of the abandoned vehicles, he shook his head in disbelief, the burning vehicles and bodies filling the thoroughfare before them and stretching into the distance.

As the explosions tore at the building fronts in the distance, sporadic gunfire tearing through the air, he looked round once more, his voice grim, ‘Comrades…the enemy is at the end of the street…we will hold them in the north until help arrives. Every minute we hold this enemy gives our people time to escape and the army time to move up and reinforce our positions.’ His voice rose in encouragement, the young soldiers’ faces staring at him pensively, ‘This city is Russian…we are Russian…we will defend our homeland from this invader as we have done before…we will not retreat!’

Juri looked each of his soldiers in the eye, seeking their resolve and gaining comfort from the determined stares. Machine gun fire chattered in the distance, Russian Naval Marines launching a counterattack across the junction ahead, their distant cheers drowned out as heavy gunfire erupted in response. At twenty-seven, he was an accomplished unit commander, receiving a number of decorations for peacekeeping efforts in foreign lands and on behalf of the United Nations. With blonde hair and deep blue eyes, his unit of young soldiers respected their commander, most having now served with him for nearly two years.

He coughed, the cold air catching in his throat, ‘We move down the sides…keep low and push any surviving civilians to the rear…keep moving forward as our ancestors always have…we drive the enemy from our lands as history denotes!’ Glancing over the makeshift barricade, he nodded and rose up, his arm indicating to either side as the white flecked camouflage uniformed figures lunged forward, weaving between the abandoned vehicles and heading for each side of the thoroughfare.

The Russian marines moved forward cautiously at a half-crouch, goggles and mouth protectors covering their faces against the elements, their automatic rifles brandished at shoulder height as exhaled breath hung in frozen clouds around them. The street lights flickered against the frozen pavements and ice on either side, gunfire becoming louder as high pitched shrieks echoed across the wide street. Flames and smoke billowed from the high windows ahead, a number of cars burning along the street from stray gunfire and explosions. The tall office buildings at the end of the wide-lane thoroughfare were burning fiercely, the rockets from fighter jets having punctured and ignited the gas mains under numerous commercial blocks and apartment blocks.

Glowing tracer bullets swept into the night sky, explosions erupting in the distance as the camouflaged marines progressed, their helmeted heads glancing down at burnt and bullet ridden bodies as the flames reflected across their darkened goggles.

Bewildered shivering survivors emerged from vehicles and darkened side doorways, the marines indicating frantically for the people to move back down the street, the gunfire intensifying in the distance. Explosions erupted ahead, the civilians screaming as they cowered against the walls in fear, the marines surging forward as Juri shouted desperately, ‘Get to the junction!’

They ran down the iced sides of the street, a rocket sweeping through the darkness and exploding against one of the upper apartment blocks, debris and dust showering the ducking soldiers. Several fell, sliding across the frozen surfaces as they covered their heads, rifle cracks and automatic fire shattering across the intersection as Juri glanced round through the smoke and dust. Bodies lay across the intersection, several struggling to move across the ice for cover behind the abandoned and smouldering vehicles, the fire light glittering across the ice.

Then the commander saw them, the black armoured infantry advancing at a crouch through the billowing smoke. His gloved hand rising as he saw the last of the Russian naval infantry running in retreat, ‘Concentrate your fire…bring them down!’

The Marines rose up, muzzle flashes filling the flamed darkness as multiple weapons fired out, the surviving infantry lunging forward in a frantic bid for survival, their comrades lying dying as they passed, outstretched arms grasped and bodies dragged behind them.

The Morgon infantry ducked down, bullets sweeping over their helmets as they prepared to return fire. The remaining windows and lights shattered, flying glass bouncing off the armoured plate as weapons were checked, the clatter of grenades bouncing over vehicles towards the alien enemy.

Jets soared overhead, the sonic boom extended and bouncing off the burning buildings as black fighters pursued their enemy with lasers crackling, the newly arrived Morgon air support joining the battle. Eruptions to the south, flame and fire soaring upwards as three Russian jets crashed into the city below, infernos raging as exploding cars and vans were tossed into the freezing air.

Juri’s eyes narrowed as green wisped vapour trails soared above, the marines firing and then ducking back to reload as inhuman shrieks of hatred filled the air, the black armoured troops rising and charging forward. High calibre bullets poured from the leading guns, the infantry behind dragging swords from their back armour and surging after their shock troops.

The small shells shattered against the upper walls, green sludge splattering downwards as grenades erupted to the front, several of the armoured infantry propelled backwards or dropping onto the ice. Juri spun round, the screams behind blood curdling as his eyes glimpsed the soldiers of his unit writhing in agony, steam and acrid smoke rising from their uniforms as they dropped to roll on the ice in futile defence.

Juri screamed as one soldier rose briefly wailing, his helmet melting across his lower face as acid burnt into his skull, blood pouring from his mouth, his body collapsing behind a burning Renault. The commander turning to the remaining soldiers around him as a number fired out, two turning to run in terror as bullets flew around them once more. Pulse grenades clattered onto the ice, Juri spinning round in shock, his raised voice broken in defeat as he realised half his unit were gone, ‘Retreat! Run to the south!’

Sniper fire cracked as the surviving marines and naval infantry sprinted away, the Morgons picking off any soldiers that raised their heads above the stranded vehicles. Shrieks and defeated despairing screams filled the air behind the fleeing troops, swords flashing down on any wounded or survivors, the acid drenched bodies left to die from their wounds as several black armoured soldiers stared on in satisfied relish. Then the Morgons moved after their prey, glowing eyes surveying the devastation before them as they marched forward confidently.

Vice-Admiral Chergui stared at the red flashing light on his console, his finger shaking nervously over the screen. The shrieking and grinding of the hull filled his ears as he breathed heavily, the realisation the ship he had called home since its commission was now in the final minutes of its existence twisting his stomach into excruciating cramps. Startled from the grim thoughts, he glanced up as the doors to the command deck swept open, his eyes narrowing in irritation as the bridge security officer stood with his hand on his hips, ‘The last remaining crew are approaching the pods, Sir…it’s time for us to go too!’

The commander stared briefly at the blue uniformed security first officer, an automatic rifle slung across his chest. Slowly a grim smile formed on his face, the ship shuddering again as Morgon fighters swept past, the automatic defensive guns pouring laser light after the attackers. Two black fighters bucked, their hulls pierced by the flak cannons, the explosions throwing debris against the battleship hull as warning alarms spread across the ship, ‘Morgon vessels now within range…sensors jammed…enemy manoeuvres denote arming to fire…’

Vice Admiral Chergui flicked his fingers across the console, the automated voice filling the bridge once more, ‘All power diverted to forward shields…engines now on automatic surge…countdown in progress…’

He lunged from the console, the security officer beckoning urgently as he turned, the commander sprinting across the command deck, jumping over fallen chairs and obstacles. The officer before him grinned briefly, the adrenalin surging through him as he readied himself, his body keeping the automatic doors open for the oncoming commander. Then he turned, the blue uniform lunging away as the doors began to close, Chergui’s heart racing as he swept through the opening, jumping the five open stairs that dropped into the central ship’s corridor.

Lights pulsed along the floor as they ran, the electronic voice surging across the ship, ‘Ships engines will engage…’ Sparks flew across the corridor, the ship shuddering as the hull screeched loudly, Morgon lasers smashing against the reinforced plate as the defensive guns fired out sporadically.

Boots squealed on the floors as the officers sprinted along the deserted corridor, the overhead lights flickering as more explosions resounded against the outsides of the ship. The engines roared, the battleship jolting as both men fell to their knees unbalanced, scrambling forward, the security officer shouted, ‘Nearest pod is further down and to the right…we need to move!’

Sliding on the polished floor, they pushed forward, their hands sliding across the smooth surface for traction as they scrambled on. Warning lights started to flash across the corridor walls, the vessel accelerating as the two men slipped into the side corridor, the red chevron emblazoned hatch to the escape pod some one hundred meters away.

Chergui pushed himself to his feet, gasping as he grasped the security officers uniform, propelling them both forward. The ship shuddered once more, the Morgon fighters sweeping after their prey with lasers blazing as the Warship guns ahead glowed.

The two men’s bodies jolted and bucked with the vessel, their momentum…and rising fear pushing them forward. Sliding next to the hatch door, four hands grasped the emergency wheel tightly, spinning the locking mechanism in breathless panic. A gush of air as the seal opened, the circular door swinging towards them, Chergui pushing the other officer inside as he scrambled through, his hand pulling the automatic closing mechanism to the right.

Pushing themselves into the two seats, they both frantically tapped the overhead consoles, the computerised voice uttering a warning, ‘Ship velocity exceeding safe parameters to launch escape pods…enter override code…’ Chergui whined with frustration, his hands shaking as he tapped against the console, the relaxed automated voice resounding around them as the body shields lowered, ‘Override complete…pod release in 3…2…1…Brace!’

The men screamed in unison as the pod shot downwards dramatically, the force tearing through their bodies as the small craft gathered velocity. The outer hull shrieked as the small egg-like structure thrust towards the atmosphere, Chergui gritting his teeth against the intense pain sweeping his body as he tapped the shaking console above, instructing the boosters to surge.

The pod increased speed, a surge of power jetting from the engines as flames swept across the fuselage, the small craft shaking violently as it entered the upper atmosphere. Steam filled the enclosed space, the officers staring round in terror as lights flashed across the consoles, the craft bouncing violently as it increased the speed of descent.

Bouncing further, the security officer screamed, ‘Is it always like this?’ His voice shaking as his jaw shook.

Chergui grinned ironically through the pain sweeping across his muscles, his head jarring against the rest behind, ‘I don’t know…I have never abandoned my ship before!’

The security first officer giggled, the sound strained as the craft shuddered and shook violently, cold steam pouring into the compartment. Then suddenly the turbulence ceased, the pod continuing downwards as the stabilising jets surged, adjusting the angle of descent and trajectory.

Gasping for air, both men sighed, their hands still clenched on the side panels as the ice cold steam cleared, Chergui looking up at the console above, his eyes straining as he read the coordinates and brief map above. He glanced across at the security officer, his lips pursing in irritation, ‘We are landing near somewhere called the Yorkshire Moors? Why is that?’

The officer grimaced, ‘I directed United Kingdom…the system asked for north, south or middle…I typed middle and it chose southern midlands…I had no idea what all that meant…there were too many questions and offerings on the screen…I just touched one blindly!’ He smiled briefly, ‘There really was not that much time to check if you remember!’

The automated voice cut through the cabin, ‘Slowing descent for landing…emergency counter measures deploying to reduce velocity…Brace for impact!’