Spooker
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Grass Eaters 3 | 48 | Ascent
🕑 Added 2025-02-12 16:47:00 +0000 UTCState Security Munitions Base 4, Grantor
POV: “Mark”, Terran Reconnaissance Office
Click click click click click.
The Geiger counter in his suit clicked urgently as Mark scanned the internal contents of the opened storage box. About a dozen large, enclosed warheads were stacked on top of each other, each about the size of a small Znosian, labeled with colorful alien symbols on the side.
Kara looked at one of the bomb casings with alarm. Is that…
Yup. This is not a place of honor. Nothing of value is here, Mark quoted.
This must be what they plan to use to sterilize the planet on their way out. We knew this place was important, but… wow.
Mark glanced around at the dozens of identically stacked crates around the room. Doing a quick count, there was enough down here to start a new ice age on Grantor. In fact, if his quick math was right, there were about as many warheads down here as Republic intelligence thought was on the entire planet.
I suspect… given what’s stored here, it’ll be a little harder to get out than when we came in. How do they even get these in and out? I didn’t see a cargo elevator on our way down.
Kara pointed up towards where the ceiling of the hangar should be. Instead, there was a dark shaft leading up hundreds of meters into the blackness. That way, probably. My guess is they lower stuff down here with choppers.
Mark stared at it for a few seconds. On his sensors, he could see the circular opening was covered by a thick, heavy-looking vertical door. Huh. This must be that big hole in the ground up there that we thought was the vent. Think we can go out that way?
Kara rummaged in her backpack for a second before taking out the explosives they’d brought on the mission. She looked around the cargo hangar for the concrete pillars. I’m not sure if we brought enough to bring down this whole chamber, much less blow open whatever that is up there.
And they’ll just dig this up afterward if we don’t blow them, Mark speculated. Maybe we can—
The answer is right in front of us, she pointed at the stack of warheads. She bent down to one of the warheads and pulled off her combat gloves.
Is it— is it possible to detonate these in place? he asked skeptically. I don’t know…
With a few deft presses, the maintenance panel popped off the casing with a click. Kara nudged her head back to the hangar entrance. Go take care of the entrance and buy some time. This might take me a while.
A while? he clarified in his thoughts.
A few hours. My suit is going to have to reverse engineer the whole Bunny nuclear weapons program. We only need to blow one; that should take care of the rest.
Mark considered it for a few more seconds, then nodded reluctantly. Do what you have to do.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
There were sounds of gunfire, this time from far away. Mark could barely hear it, even with his implants. He directed his attention to the combat robot’s cameras up in the base facilities above, only to see a mess of dead Znosians at its mechanical feet.
I took care of one of their squads up here, but my position is untenable in the long term, Flowers messaged.
Understood, Flowers. Fall back down to us.
Roger. On my way.
Taking the rappelling cables they’d used, Flowers descended into the elevator shaft, reaching the bottom in seconds. Luckily, the enemies had cleared out of the staircase and Flowers made its way to the bottom floor where the squad of operators was in no time.
Go clear and watch the staircase, Flowers.
Yes, Director.
It backtracked up the staircase, aiming its gun up through the railing gaps.
Another notification popped up in Mark’s vision.
What is it? John asked.
Their QRFs. Our overhead cover just found one of them.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Grantor City State Security HQ, Grantor-3
POV: Krelnos, Znosian Dominion State Security (Position: Administrator)
Krelnos stared at her pawheld radio set in uncontained rage. “Where did you guys hop off to?”
The sound in the background of the other end could only be described as pitiful. Several Znosians groaned and shouted in panic. “Station Director, we’ve been delayed! I take full responsibility—”
“Where are you, Six Whiskers?!” she demanded.
“Our convoy is twelve kilometers from the base coordinates we were given… I think? I can’t find it on our maps. I take—”
“That’s because it’s not supposed to be on your maps, you stupid defect!” she screamed. “Twelve kilometers?! That’s only a ten-minute drive! What are you waiting for? Get in there and stop the Great Predators from doing… whatever it is they’re in there for.”
She could only imagine what they were doing down there right now with her precious weapons.
“Yes, Station Director,” he huffed. “But their flying machines took out our vehicles. Several of our platoon have rejoined the Prophecy, and the rest of us are hopping there now. My spotter says there are still a few of their flying machines just flying around above the target area—”
“Just get in there!”
“Yes, Station Director, it will take us a few hours, so I recommend…” his words trailed off into static.
“What now?!” Krelnos shouted as she looked around the room wildly. Her attendant was cowering behind his desk, giving her every appearance of working as hard as he could. “Where did they go?!”
The attendant typed commands and query inputs into his console for all he was worth. “Station Director, the Digital Guide says they’re being locally jammed by the Great Predators. We can’t re-establish connection and get a message out to them!”
“Useless! Where’s our other quick response forces? I thought we specifically changed our procedures to prevent this from happening after that idiot Navy fleet commander almost got himself captured last time!”
“Two are on their way, ma’am. Another three are still mustering up.”
“Useless,” she repeated. “Swarm the critters! And get me Marine aviation on the line! The hardline!”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
State Security Munitions Base 4, Grantor
POV: “Mark”, Terran Reconnaissance Office
Their stock of Coyote drones overhead depleting rapidly as additional Znosian response units converged on their location, Mark could only watch as more and more vehicles drove up to the base, unloading their infantry around and into the building they knew their enemies were holed up in.
There were the pawsteps of Znosian Marines as they stepped down the staircase. This time, the stepping of their boots was more organized, more confident.
Defending low ground was never easy, but Flowers could see the paws of the Znosians coming down the stairs before they could see the top of its head. And while the Znosians had grenades and rockets, the confined space and their uncertainty about their targets made it harder for them to employ those. Flowers had no such issues. Its computer-precise grenades chewed through squads and squads of enemy infantry trying to fight their way to the bottom where the operators it was protecting were.
When it ran out of grenades, it used its gun. And when its own ammunition ran dry, it picked up one of the many Znosian rifles left lying around all over the place. The good news was they weren’t going to run out of ammo to scavenge anytime soon. The bad news was there were a lot of Znosian Marines.
Rat-at-at-at. Rat-at-at-at. Rat-at-at-at-at.
The sounds of dueling gunfire in the staircase echoed into the cargo module.
How much longer? Mark asked impatiently.
Kara gritted her teeth, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. My suit intelligence says it’s going to take another few minutes. It’s now analyzing and reverse engineering the control module code. They’ve got some kind of State Security tamper-resistance module thing we’re still working through—
That’s what it said like half an hour ago!
“Would you like to try instead?” she snapped and asked audibly.
Flowers can’t hold them forever!
As if to emphasize his point, there was a fresh burst of gunfire in the staircase.
Still with us, Flowers? Mark asked in the lull after.
Still operational, it messaged back. Total cumulative damage: 2 hits to chest plate, 2 to right arm. Right arm inoperable. Remaining essential combat systems operational. Low on ammunition. Collecting additional ammunition from enemy… Setting grenade trap…
See? It’s doing just fine, Kara added absentmindedly. Almost there…
John, get ready to move.
John tapped into the few remaining Coyote drones overhead, designating high priority targets on his implants. Which of their vehicles are we taking for the egress?
Whichever ones can fit our fat asses. Have you seen how small their—
The transport truck it is, John decided, picking out a blue cargo carrier among the mess of vehicles upstairs. It looked like it could carry half a platoon of Znosian Marines, or just enough to fit the trio.
That driver’s seat will be a tight fit though.
Another burst of gunfire sounded in the staircase, around the fourth floor if Mark’s auditory implants were accurate. (They were.)
Rat-at-at. Rat-at-at.
With a deliberate thought, Flowers’ view appeared on his helmet interface. It effortlessly took out two enemy Znosians hopping down the stairs at him with its machine reflexes.
A third Znosian came flying towards Flowers, and oddly enough, she looked—
Ah, shit.
It wasn’t the first time Mark had seen the tactic. Not by far. He was surprised it took the Buns this long to figure this one out.
The Red Zone Special.
The third Znosian Marine was apparently unarmed, which added an additional half millisecond to Flowers’ reaction time as it observed and assessed whether the target should be apprehended before its TRO aftermarket programming shut down that irrelevant query. She might not be carrying any weapons, but she was wearing a thick coat and a small backpack. And that half millisecond hesitation was just enough of a delay for her legs to leap at Flowers.
The combat robot identified the threat and urgently unloaded its weapon at her chest, and she was dead before she left the floor.
The fragmentation explosives concealed around her waist and in her backpack, however, mostly survived the bullets.
Rat-at-at-at-at-ka-boooooooooom.
Flowers!
There was no reply for a second.
“Flowers!” Mark yelled into his helmet radio. “Status?”
I am now combat ineffective and irrecoverable, Flowers messaged. Self-destruct activating… Goodbye, team.
There was a smaller secondary explosion from the staircase as the remains of the robot self-destructed.
Crap! We just lost Flowers! Kara, we have to go—
I’ve got it! she yelled back in her head as she collected the array of gear she’d spread around the work site. Timer set!
About time. Let’s get out of here, Mark thought as the trio half jogged to the staircase. He looked up at the ninety flights of stairs above him, the sound of enemy boots descending echoing through the confined space. I’ll take point. Watch the doors.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Grantor City State Security HQ, Grantor-3
POV: Krelnos, Znosian Dominion State Security (Position: Administrator)
“Station Director, the Marines on site have finally set up the laser communications system.”
Krelnos snatched the radio from her attendant’s outstretched paws. “What in the Prophecy is going on?!”
“They’re still coming, Station Director!”
“Who is this?” she seethed angrily at the voice.
“Station Director, I am Company Leader Five Whiskers—”
“Never mind that. I don’t know why I even asked. I don’t care. What is still coming?”
“The Great Predators! They’ve chewed through the entire company we sent down to get them, and now they’re coming back up towards us! They’ve already taken out my Platoons Angora, Binky, and Cottontail! Last platoon reported they were only fifteen floors down from the surface—”
“You incompetent idiots! It’s three predators! How can you not deal with this?”
“Station Director, my Digital Guide recommends we withdraw our remaining troops and call-in air support to bomb the structure to seal them down there—”
“Shut up, Five Whiskers!” she raged at him. “Those munitions down there are worth more than your entire division combined! Send the rest of your people down there. If they prove inadequate, our other forces are closing—”
To her astonishment, the idiot actually dared to interrupt her. “Hold on! There’s something going on at the structure entrance— Oh, by the Prophecy, it’s them! Four Whiskers, let the Skyfangs know— Over there! Get it! It’s right there!”
There was a burst of gunfire in the background… then radio static.
Krelnos’ attendant huddled at his console, busy with— whatever it was on his screen.
She fixed her frosty glare on him. “Where are the Marine aviation assets?”
“Three of them are on station, and another should be entering the airspace shortly.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
State Security Munitions Base 4, Grantor
POV: “Mark”, Terran Reconnaissance Office
Mark couldn’t see the trio of enemy choppers hovering low over the base surface with even his neural implants — out of his line of sight, but the Coyote drones had no such problems. The last of them — saved for this exact situation, dove down on the helos. The sounds of their simultaneous explosions echoed to his ears a few heartbeats later.
Director, let’s go!
He held onto John’s shoulder, grimacing as he did.
You have been shot. Evacuate to a safe place or medical facility immediately, his suit warned him again.
Mark looked down at his stomach. He’d taken several hits on the way up the staircase. The layers of ceramic plates that made up his body armor were cracked, useless. And at least four of those hits were penetrations around his vitals. His suit sealed the open wounds to stem the bleeding and keep him combat effective, but even in his heavily modified state, it was taking a toll on his mobility.
He gave his neural implant permission to cut off pain to the damaged body parts.
Did you get their truck unlocked? he asked, gritting his teeth as the odd sensation of the nerve painkillers propagated through his spine.
Kara didn’t reply. She didn’t have to. The blue Znosian transport truck roared to life. Get in!
Mark watched her try to squeeze her body into the Znosian-sized front cabin. That’s a tight fit, he noted dryly. Are you going to be able to—
John half-threw him into the back. I’ll take care of it. He pulled out his laser cutter, and within seconds of field remodeling — bits of scrap metal flying off, the alien truck cabin became a convertible with an exposed roof. Not the best thing for the vehicle’s structural integrity, but it’d have to do. Kara slid into the driver’s seat with some more fiddling.
Good enough. Drive!
Are you alright back there? Kara asked as she gunned the accelerator. That shoulder wound looks painful.
Just get us out of the open and back into the city! We’ll lose them in there!
Comments
Thomas McCubbin
On the edge of my seat with that one!
M
Holy shit that was epic! Poor Flowers, he was a good robot...
Valdis Trautmanis
Oh noes! Hang in there, Mark! 😱
