K-3. The Third Great Surge

October 8, 2052Day 1 of the Third Great Surge

When Lydia described ‘waves of flesh washing over the Martian landscape’ I thought she might have indulged in the slightest bit of hyperbole. Now, looking upon the massed Sarcophage swarm that inexorably advanced towards us, I realized the horrific truth of her words.

This pattern had played out twice before. A decade ago, humans had grown complacent. For eighteen years they had assumed the primary front of the war was on Mars, and that the almighty Almaz stations which safeguarded the Earth from further asteroid bombardments would be enough to repel any attack. The Primary, Secondary and Tertiary lines were undermanned and undersupplied as a result. When Mars finally fell in 2045, the Sarcophage turned their alien eyes to Earth, and in 2046 came the First Great Surge. Humanity’s outermost fortifications at the Primary Line were swept aside in a mere two days, and only the emergency reinforcement of the Secondary Line, not to mention the valiant sacrifices of millions of soldiers, stopped the onslaught. It was a crushing lesson in the folly of hubris.

Then, in 2049, came the Second Great Surge. This time around, humanity’s fortifications were significantly hardened and better manned. It made a small difference; we held out for four days, instead of two.

I hadn't witnessed either of these, being reborn into this world in 2050, but the records and accounts were clear enough. And now, three years later, we were on the cusp of a Third Great Surge. As the stars began to wink out, and even the light of the sun vanished behind the alien swarm, a popular sentiment had spread among the soldiers. I heard it discussed in hushed tones in the hanger bay.

“You can’t fight the ‘phage. They’re a natural disaster. You might as well try to punch a hurricane.”

“When they attack, we should just get out of the way. When a tidal wave breaks, you don’t stand against it. You evacuate. What we’re doing here is pointless.”

The prevailing mood was one of despair. As we launched to the battlefield, I saw Lydia’s hands shaking. I had sung to her every day and night for the past two months, and she had summoned a well of courage within herself to face what was coming. Even so, in the moment, she could not contain her fear. I imagined the other pilots were the same.

How could I help? My support role was indirect, and I was a mere spectator to these battles. But there is one thing I could do, better than anyone else.

I could sing.

I opened up a comm channel to the whole fleet, every ship and squadron within range of my meager antennas. Lydia’s eyes widened.

“Kometka, what are you-?”

Instead of answering her, I began to sing.

"An unbreakable union of free republics,Humanity has welded forever to stand.Long live the creation of the will of the people,The united, mighty Soviet States!"

There were mutters of confusion from the other pilots. People asked who was singing, and why. A few commanders groused at the inappropriate use of comms. I ignored them and continued.

"Be glorious, our free Mother Earth,A reliable stronghold of the peoples' friendship!Banner of the Soviets, banner of the people,May it lead from victory to victory!"

The confusion died down. One voice joined me in singing the national anthem of the USSE. Another followed. Then ten voices. One hundred. One thousand.

"We grew our army in battles,We will sweep the vile invaders out of the way!We shall in battle decide the fate of generations,We shall lead to glory our Mother Earth!

Be glorious, our free Mother Earth,A reliable stronghold of the peoples' glory!Banner of the Soviets, banner of the people,May it lead from victory to victory!"

I suppose you could call this song naked propaganda. It originated in the aftermath of the Great Patriotic War, and the lyrics directly referred to the Soviet struggle against the Nazis. Those lyrics had been rewritten slightly to become more generalized after the establishment of the USSE, in theory referring to the many battles for freedom humankind had fought over the centuries. But their original meaning rang true here; the Battle of Moscow, the Battle of Rzhev, these too had seemed like hopeless struggles. The Soviets had traded two or more lives for every Nazi killed. Yet at the end, through great loss and sacrifice, they had emerged triumphant.

Just as we would emerge triumphant.

My song was meant to convey that courage to the soldiers. Even if I wasn’t feeling particularly courageous myself.

*****

“You know,” Lydia lectured me, “that was pretty stupid of you. If they trace that transmission back, it’s as good as announcing your presence to the entire world.”

I shrugged. “I stripped the metadata off the comm channel and bounced it around several proxies. And even if they do discover me, we can worry about that after the battle.”

Lydia grimaced, not entirely satisfied with my answer. However, I noticed she had stopped shaking.

“Well, let’s both make sure we live, then. So I can keep hearing you sing.” It was her solemn wish on the eve of battle.

“Of course, my dear pilot. I will happily sing for you every day for years and decades to come.” That was a promise I fully intended to keep.

*****

The array of Almaz space stations, mighty assemblies of nuclear-pumped positron artillery, were located on the Absolute Line behind us. If the battle went poorly, massed fire from those stations would annihilate everything, friend and foe alike. Command considered that to be a last resort, as it would push humanity back to its final fortification. There were many artillery, resupply and production space stations located on the Tertiary Line which were incapable of moving under their own power; abandoning the Line to retreat behind the Almaz array would mean losing a significant amount of productive and warfighting capacity. It was the calculus of human lives against war materiel, and for the moment the latter was unbalancing the equation.

However, just because the Almaz array was our ace in the hole doesn’t mean they were sitting this battle out. Throughout the Tertiary Line, command had designated several ‘hot zones’ where no fixed stations existed. Those areas would be saturated with positron fire from the very beginning of the battle, while the Gravity Frames and carriers focused on defending the ‘safe zones’ where the stations were located. It was a two-pronged approach, designed to maximize the effect of both our artillery and our soldiers.

Our own little grouping consisted of four carriers; SGFC Ephedra, SGFC Chiroptera, SGFC Asertu and SGFC Mary Shelley. We were protecting a production station known as DOS-1952, which was responsible for the repair of Gravity Frames. The station itself was armed lightly, with about half the firepower of a carrier, so it was our responsibility to guard it from the oncoming swarm. For that purpose we had established supply lines, primarily to bring new positron rifles and ammunition to the Gravity Frames who would be doing the bulk of the fighting. There would be no relief pilots or shifts, as every pilot and unit was committed to the desperate battle ahead. Pilot fatigue would be staved off by stims, as fighting was expected to last for days.

Because Lydia had distinguished herself in the past three months, with no small assistance from me, she had been placed at the vanguard of a squadron. Thus, we had front-row seats to the enemy surging towards us.

“You know,” she remarked dryly. “I wish we stood out a bit less. I’d rather be on the back-line sniping with shoulder cannons.” She gripped my controls tightly.

“Nothing for it, except to distinguish ourselves even further.” I responded.

The vanguard of the Sarcophage was the typical mixture of Spineballs and Clawteeth, immediately followed by a scattering of Defiled cruisers. Behind them, I saw even greater horrors; Beelzebubs, Leviathans, even Belphegors. As the writhing mass of flesh crossed the line, the beginning of combat was marked by the Almaz stations lighting up the hot zone. Blue streaks of light blasted to our left and beneath us, slamming into the wall of flesh and evaporating it into nothingness.

“That’s our signal.” Lydia twisted my throttle to full, and my drive fins shuddered as gravity distortions propelled us forward.

“On behalf of the human species, as well as this lonely little AI from another world… I pray for your glory in battle, my pilot.”

And so, it began. With both my shoulder cannons blazing, and my positron rifle blasting a curtain of rapid fire, we charged into the swarm.

*****

October 11, 2052Day 3 of the Third Great Surge

A Beelzebub’s chitin is tougher than diamond, and it takes massed artillery fire from multiple ships to even damage one. But they do have a weak spot, located where head joins the thorax. If you ram it with a plasma blade about thirty-seven times, you can break through.

That’s what we were doing right now.

“C’MON! BREAK OPEN YOU PIECE! OF! SHIT!” Lydia screamed as if her words might shatter the insect's armor.

At her direction, I was using the plasma blades on each of my arms, smashing them into the chitin at a staccato pace. Simultaneously, I was threading my drive fins to counteract the powerful gravity field given off by the creature’s wings, which deflected incoming fire and tore ship and Frame alike apart. As an AI, I could perform the intensive calculations required to modulate my gravity field precisely. The other pilots couldn’t get up close and personal like we could.

Finally, the chitin broke. A small hole, about three meters across, opened up. Lydia brought one of my shoulder cannons to bear and blasted into the hole, delivering shots directly into the insect’s flesh. We weren’t going to do enough damage to kill it, not with such limited firepower, but at the very least we could stun it for a moment or two.

It worked. The Beelzebub shrieked a blast of electromagnetic radiation, and the gravity field around its wings faltered.

“NOW!” I cried.

Lydia began blasting the now-unprotected membranes of the wings. This soft tissue, which was usually shielded by gravity fields, was far more vulnerable to fire than the chitin of the exoskeleton. Shot after shot tore into its wings, and soon it lost the capacity to manipulate gravity entirely.

“MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!” I barked. Lydia throttled me up and we accelerated away from the Beelzebub. Simultaneously, I signaled the CIC unit of our squadron; they detached a comm drone and sent it back to our ships. A few seconds later, massed artillery fire tore into the crippled insect. A minute later, it was debris.

As the jamming cleared, our squadron leader opened a comm channel.

“Damn!” he said, voice filled with awe. “That’s the third Beelzebub you’ve taken out!”

Lydia played it off. “Just gotta know where to hit them.”

“So you say, but I’ve never seen anyone modulate their drive fins with that level of precision. You’re superhuman.”

Lydia looked a bit pained that she was being given credit for my accomplishments, but I didn’t mind. Instead, I was focusing on something else. I muted the comms so I could talk to Lydia.

“Hey, look at the trajectory of the surrounding Sarcophage units.” I outlined the incoming Spineballs and Clawteeth on the tactical display and added vector lines to indicate their heading. For the units located in the blind spot of her missing eye, I substituted audio cues with the same information, pings and bells.

Lydia drew in a sharp breath. “They’re heading for us? Not our squadron, but US specifically?”

I nodded.

Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose, moaning softly. “Urgh. This is why I was worried about standing out too much. If a unit or soldier is especially deadly, the Sarcophage will swarm them.” This was something she experienced on Mars many times.

Since we were at the vanguard of taking down three Beelzebubs, as well as a half-dozen Defiled, the enemy now saw us as a top-priority threat. Since their responses were animal instinct and not intelligent direction it took a few days for them to adapt, but now we were squarely in their sights.

Lydia pressed her lips together. “Looks like this battle is about to get a lot tougher. I might need another dose of stims.”

I reviewed her vitals via the Inertia Suit’s sensors. “Not just yet. You still have a high blood-saturation level from the last injection. Too much will send you into cardiac arrest.”

She groaned. “You got any coffee, then?”

“Regrettably not. I’ll ask the mechanics to install a coffee maker during my next overhaul.”

She chuckled. “Guess it’s just good old-fashioned adrenaline then.”

Three dozen Sarcophage closed on us. We greeted them with positrons and plasma.

*****

October 12, 2052Day 4 of the Third Great Surge

The turning point came when a Defiled slipped past our squadrons and pummeled the Asertu with spines. Before the other three ships and station took it out, it had eliminated over one-fifth of our artillery firepower. The Asertu had not even had time to launch a single escape pod before it was torn to shreds.

Our squadron leader was momentarily at a loss. “Fucking hell. All squadrons, regroup and-” The transmission cut out as a spine impaled his cockpit.

Half of our Gravity Frames were gone by this point. With the slow bleeding of our squadrons and the sudden loss of the Asertu, our defenses fell apart completely. Sarcophage surged through in a dozen spots. Our ships fired blindly at the oncoming swarm. With the airwaves completely jammed, artillery spotting became impossible. It was every ship and Frame for itself.

Even so, we fought on. The battlefield descended into chaos, and we stopped worrying about the big picture. The enemy in front of us became the most important thing, and surviving moment-to-moment dominated every thought and action.

Lydia was exhausted by this point. Every hour, I forced her to take a ten-minute break and took over piloting myself. I had observed her for long enough I could construct a reasonable facsimile of her techniques, although my skills were still far inferior to hers. She had protested, but I simply shut off the cockpit display and controls so she had no choice but to rest. If I hadn’t, she likely would have burned out hours ago.

There was a bright flash, then another. The Mary Shelley and Ephedra were gone. The one remaining carrier, Chiroptera, hugged the space station closely, and the dozen-odd surviving Gravity Frames fell into formation around our two remaining artillery platforms. Our ship and station continued to pour their limitless positron fire into the swarm, barely holding back the tide.

Now it was only a matter of time until we were defeated. We fought moment to moment, defying the inevitable.

*****

October 13, 2052Day 5 of the Third Great Surge

Somewhere, completely unnoticed by us, a clock ticked over to 0001 hours.

The station and Chiroptera were now destroyed as well. Only seven Gravity Frames remained; two from the Chiroptera, four from the Mary Shelley and ourselves. We cut through the flesh that pulsated all around us. No doubt us surviving seven were the most skilled, or maybe just the luckiest. We fought on, inviolable.

The end came when a Belphegor charged in, a trembling mass of spindly limbs and cilia attached to a body disturbingly remnant of two conjoined scorpions. Belphegors were not units the Sarcophage committed to battle lightly; they were the largest strain, dwarfing even an Almaz, and were something akin to a capital ship. They usually hung back, supporting from afar. Smaller Sarcophage would feed them raw materials, and they would hatch new swarms by the thousands. For whatever reason, this particular Belphegor had abandoned the order of battle and was charging right in and focused on attacking Lydia and myself.

This was an enemy beyond our ability to defeat. We had to run. The only problem was, there was nowhere left to run.

As two tails, four claws and countless human-like limbs lashed out at us, Lydia ignited my plasma blades and slashed in every direction. Belphegors were protected by the same hard chitin as Beelzebubs. They did have weak spots, but those were hidden behind arms and cilia. With no other option, we lashed out madly.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” Lydia screamed, spittle flying from her mouth.

Attacks came from every direction, more than we could possibly fend off. I lost one arm, then a leg, then another arm. I spun out of control, and one of the alien arms grabbed me, pulling me towards a writhing mass of cilia. As Lydia desperately tried to free me, jerking my controls so hard they almost broke, the gnashing appendages lashed against my cockpit and dissolved my armor plating.

As a last resort, I tried to eject the cockpit module. The latches were melted.

I looked on in horror as the cilia melted through the cockpit wall and wriggled straight for my pilot. All my control systems were offline, so I couldn’t even move.

“Lydia!” I cried out. “LYDIA!”

The cilia began to eat her legs. She screamed in unimaginable pain as flesh, muscle and bone were dissolved by alien acid.

“NO!” I shrieked. “LYDIAAAA!”

I can’t let it end like this! I CAN’T LET IT END LIKE THIS!!!