Aliens Vs. EXOTROOPERS!

By David N. Brown

2044: The elite warriors of a renegade nation must earn the ultimate body armor of the EXOTROOPERS. Led by the saintly Princip and the psychotic Zaratustra, two squads of these armored warriors are considered a match for any of their foes. But all bets are off when they find themselves in battle with a race of fearsome extraterrestrials. For even the most powerful machines can fail, and even the mightiest warriors are still ONLY HUMAN!

• Language: English
• Publisher: David N. Brown
• Release date: Aug 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465803801

David N. Brown

David N. Brown is a nearly lifelong Resident of Mesa, Arizona, with longstanding interests in science and technology,folklore and disability issues. He earned a bachelor's degree in paleontology from Northern Arizona University in 2005. His first books, Worlds of Naughtenny Moore and Walking Dead, were originally published in 2006 and 2007 by Open Page Publishing, a venture with Brandon Willey, Kara Willey Warren and syndicated cartoonist Tony Carillo. In 2009, he began self-publishing through Amazon, and also created the autism resource site www.evilpossum.weebly.com. He has contributed to sites including fanfiction.net, ravendays.org, and leftbrainrightbrain.co.uk. This biography is INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY of the author. Reposting AS IS is permitted. MALICIOUS ADDITION OR ALTERATION WILL BE TREATED AS INFRINGEMENT.

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Aliens Vs. EXOTROOPERS!

By David N. Brown

Smashwords edition copyright 2011 David N. Brown

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Battle Room

This ring proved to be the last. The next portal led them into a central chamber 15 meters wide and ten meters high, with a domed ceiling and curved walls rather like the inside of a pumpkin. Seven lobes projected from the walls five meters into the room, and at the end of each lobe there was a spherical Sleep tank. Each held a parasitoid of great size. On their left was a tauroid, larger than the one they had seen before; it had been incubated in an aurochs, the wild and centuries-extinct ancestors of domestic cattle; a parasitoid with wings; and a freak with two heads and a stunted third arm sticking out of its chest. On the right was a parasitoid with an exoskeleton of translucent crystal and a strikingly angular form, down to an almost rectangular head and hexagonal limbs and vertebra (this incubated in a silicon-based extraterrestrial), one that could only have been incubated in a wild pig, and a very stout individual whose crest curved forward to mimic the horn of its dwarf rhinoceros host. Directly across from them was the largest of all, a quadrupedal form two meters tall at the shoulder. It had massive jaws and protruding cheeks, and its crest was a stout, slightly curved spike. Its limbs ended in massive paws, each with five toes that ended in raised sickle claws, and its tail was tipped with a spade-shaped blade. Its host could only be a cave lion.

There’s nothing here, Princip said. Fall back!

I don’t think we can, lieutenant! Zotgjakt said. The ovoid portal behind them was crisscrossed by red laser beams, made visible by the thin mist. Zotgjakt tossed a spare titanium plate into the beams. It was cut to pieces in midair. This is a trap!

Inverted delta formation! Zotgjakt, center; Petrovic, apex; Pavel, right! Even as he spoke, the men fanned out into a triangle. Petrovic remained where he was. Zotgjakt moved to the center. Princip and Pavel moved to the front; Pavel moved right, between the rhinoid and the suinoid, while Princip moved left, between the winged parasitoid and the twins.

They had scarcely assumed their positions when two tanks burst open. On Zotgjakt’s left, a lens-shape piece of shell came flying off the tank with the winged creature, followed by a flood of blue fluid. The flying lens staggered him, and the fluid swept him off his feet. On his right, a split second later, the same thing happened with the tank that held the suinoid. The flier leaped out and took flight. The suinoid lunged out, and Zotgjakt rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being hit in the back with both front hooves. He emptied one tank, setting the creature ablaze before it could fully emerge from the chamber. It fell forward on knees and knuckles, slashing with its tusked, protruding chin. Its exoskeleton was already cracking from the flames, but the suinoid started to rise. Zotgjakt fired again. It let out a scream that rose in volume and pitch until audio cutouts activated in the finbacks’ helmets, that ended only when its head burst. Watch out! That blood damaged my suit’s padding! Zotgjakt warned. He loaded both his spare tanks, replaced the gas cartridge, and signaled Petrovic to come to him.

The winged creature, which had been incubated in an extinct condor called Argentavis, did a tight circle of the room. Pavel let fly with a 12.76 machine gun, firing two incendiary bullets with each shot, but only made relatively harmless holes in its wings. It pecked at the squire, and clawed at Princip, slashing the padding of his breastplate and knocking his helmet askew. As it completed its circuit, it banked sharply, going into position to dive at Pavel from behind. At that moment, Zotgjakt fired, hitting it in the chest with a full 1.5 seconds of flame. The jet slammed it back, pinning it to the wall. When the napalm spray went dry, the blazing carcass slid most of the way down the curving wall before falling face-down in a heap.

Other tanks opened in rapid succession. The rhinoid’s tank blew open, but the combined fire of the PTRD, the flame thrower and machine gun brought it down before it even got out of the tank. Before the noise of the shots had died down, the tanks with the twins and the crystal parasitoid opened simultaneously. The top flew off the twins’ tank, allowing it/them to escape by leaping onto the wall and scurrying up. Princip fired at it with the PTRD, but missed. Zotgjakt hit the crystal parasitoid as it emerged from its tank, but the napalm only flowed harmlessly off its hide. Both darted in amongst a cluster of latticework protuberances on the ceiling (oddly like a chandelier). Pavel moved in, thinking he could get a better shot at the crystal parasitoid. That was when the front blew off the leonoid’s tank behind him. The flying lens and the following liquid knocked him down and washed him almost to the portal. He only had time to stare in horror as the leonoid crossed the chamber in two bounds. His helmet bounced and rolled all the way back to the creature’s tank.

Contents:

Part I: Wild Type

Demon of Blackbirds’ Field

Ghost Ship

Lords of Battle

The Hunter’s Cave

The Miracle of Father Simeon

Parasitoids

Herceg Takes Queen

The Ship

Human, All Too Human

Lords of Blood

Duel

Choosing Paths

Omega Aleph

Part II: Captivity

Alpha Drone

Alien IQ

K Factor

Preemptive Strike

Loose Ends

Egg Hunt

Gentlemen of the Balkans

Inquiries

Hunted

Part III: Gotterdammerung!

Aftermath

Awakenings

Omnes Contra Omnium

Breakout

Onslaughts

Opening Endgame

Battle Royal

Invisible Enemies

Endlossung

Epilogue

Tech Specs

Part 1: Wild Type

Prologue: Demon of Blackbirds’ Field

It is often difficult for historians to determine anything about a battle except the winner and the loser. And sometimes even that is unclear.

Charles Fair

June 15, 1389: Kosovo Polje

The dividing line between the realm of history and the outlying lands of legend, folklore and mythology is a principle concern of historians. The greatest obstacle to resolving this question is that the greater mass of humanity, especially before the modern era, has had little or no interest in such distinctions. This may be true for the Balkans more than most places, and it is egregiously so with one of the key events in the region’s history: the Battle of Kosovo Polje (Field of Blackbirds). It is remembered in countless tales and songs, usually elaborated upon down to the finest detail. It has also been remembered through a fair number of deeds, such as the shooting of one Franz Joseph Ferdinand by one Gavrilo Princip in front of a Sarajevo café in June 1914. Yet, the vividness of legend stands in contrast to a dearth of knowable historical facts. For, it should be little exaggeration to say that those who remembered the battle best were those who were not there.

Now, venture to look through the haze of history, to Vivovdan, St. Vitus’ day, in an expanse between to rivers. You will see two formidable armies engaged at point-blank range on the left bank of the river Lab. These are the army led by Prince Lazar, ruler of the Kingdom of Serbia and champion of Christendom, and that of Murad, Sultan of the Ottoman Turks and vanguard of Islam. Lazar leads the cavalry in his army’s center, risking himself at every charge, while Murad remains sheltered in a tent at the rear of his own army’s center. Yet, neither ruler will survive the day.

Now look to the left flank of Lazar’s army. It is, strictly speaking, the army of a separate realm, ruled by Vuk Brankovic. The armies fight fiercely, perhaps more so than elsewhere on the battlefield. Though he will be branded a traitor, it is Brankovic who strikes the greatest blow against the Ottomans. His cavalry break through the Turks’ left flank, which is led by the Sultan’s son Yakub. The losses are great, scarcely less so for the Slavic knights than for the Turks. It is Brankovic’s men who rue the exchange most, for, having breached the line, they find themselves alone, on horses too exhausted to advance or retreat, while the archers and lighter, swifter cavalry of the Turks regroup to counterattack. Few outrun the cavalry that come to intercept and then pursue. Fewer still make it through the gauntlet of the reforming left flank. When Brankovic retreats in ignominy, it is with no more than half of the 12,000 or so he first led onto the field.

Now, imagine that we can look closer still, through the eyes of one of those knights…

Milos Kobilic cautiously peered over the corpse of his horse. It had been stuck with too many arrows to count. His own mail shirt had been stuck with too many to number without undue delay. He noted only that one had penetrated his shoulder. He watched as the last of the Turk horsemen passed by. Then his gaze turned. A few hundred meters away, he saw a line of chained camels. Just a little further off was the top of a huge and ornate tent. There, he murmured softly, as much in wonder as in fear of detection. It is the sultan’s tent!

He took up the banner from the dead hands of his lord, and for one moment waved it in the air. From among the piled bodies and riderless horses came forth eleven more survivors. 4 of them were lords in armor like himself, all but one wounded and left for dead. The rest were lesser nobles who had been quick enough to dismount and take cover before the Turks could look too closely. Shed all your armor except chain mail and breastplates. Leave your horses, he said. We must move quickly, and stealthily. I do not think any of us shall live the day, but God willing, we shall send the heathen tyrant to Hell!

As the 12 nobles snuck away, one Ottoman rider, already straggling, circled around to make sure none had been left alive. His eyes widened when he saw three of the knights sneaking toward the sultan’s tent. He turned to shout a warning. Then his horse reared in fright for no apparent reason. He looked about, expecting to see another infidel come out of hiding, but there was nothing. Then he felt a terrific pain in his chest, and he was lifted from his horse. He looked down in mute surprise at the spear head protruding from his chest. He looked over his shoulder, and saw the shaft- but only where his own blood covered it. The rest was more transparent than glass. He could just begin to make out the shape of the one who held it. Then there was a hiss of an unseen blade, and the last thing he saw was his own headless body.

The camels by the sultan’s tent became inexplicably agitated. Kobilic feared it was at their presence, and would warn the guards. But the Turkish guards and Arab handlers were only further distracted by the camels’ distress, which they knew to be unlike any response that could be elicited by a human or animal. One camel became so furious in its terror that its chain broke, and the beast fled at full speed toward the river Lab, leading a dozen men in the exact opposite direction from the knights.

Kobilic led a charge through the very midst of men and beasts. Unable to raise his sword, he used a dagger instead, and was served better by it. Many guards were cut down before they knew a foe was among them. Still, only nine knights emerged from the fray. As guards began to extricate themselves and prepare to pursue, 3 knights fell back from the others to form a rear guard. The first charge by the guards was thrown back, with one knight and five guards slain. Six warriors with bows fanned out to either side and peppered the two knights with arrows. A second knight fell, and the last charged the guards. The bowmen fired a stream of arrows at him. But, inexplicably, there were only four bowmen, then three. Then one of them turned and shouted, and the others turned in time to see his head fly from his shoulders. The knight, heedless of what was happening among his adversaries, charged into the midst of the swordsmen. As he hewed down the Turks in a calculated frenzy, he saw that he was not the only one bringing them down. Yet, he did not see this second warrior, only a blood-stained blade that slew wherever it fell.

Finally, he stood with none to face except the invisible figure with the blood-stained blade. A tracing of lightning ran through it, giving a brief glimpse of its form. It had a long stout neck that went directly into the back of its head, and a silver mask covered its face and sloping forehead. Its legs were long, and its feet were like those of an ostrich, consisting of a single vastly enlarged toe. I should thank you, he said, but I know not what you are. I am sure you are no angel, and I can think of but one other thing you might be. The glassy sword shook in the air, shedding the blood from its length. The knight was already drawing his own sword back for a mighty stroke. But, before he could begin his thrust, the phantom’s blade cut him in two.

It was the Prince Beyezid who reached the Sultan’s tent first, accompanied by a squad of soldiers and a native slave who knew both the local speech and Turkic. Four infidel knights and six of the sultan’s guards lay slain at the mouth. He drew his scabbard and stepped inside. He signaled for the slave to follow. To the chief of the soldiers, he said, Send for my brother Yakub. Tell him he is to come here to discuss a change in our plans.

Within were six more bodies. No- one still lived. And on the sultan’s throne- he choked back a cry of rage. He drew his scimitar and pressed it to the knight’s throat. Ask this infidel his name, he said to the slave.

The knight spoke directly to the prince. My name is Milos Kobilic.

Are you the one who killed the Sultan, my father?

The slave translated the reply: "`I am a good Christian, and I do not lie, neither to claim a good deed wrongly nor to hide an evil one. I strove mightily to slay your lord. If I had succeeded I would declare it proudly, even if it meant being killed by torture. But, in truth, it was neither I nor any in my band who did the deed. I will tell you my tale.

"’As you can see, I and my companions fought our way to this tent. I and another, Jovanovic, made our way within. We fought these last four guards and killed two, before Jovanovic was slain and I was disarmed. The last two guards prepared to cut off my head.

`Then something bizarre happened. One guard screamed. Red blades stuck out of his chest, but there was no one behind him to wield the blades. The last guard swung over the dying man’s shoulders, and his scimitar broke on nothing. See there, I tell the truth.’ Bayezid looked at a shattered scimitar on the floor.

`The Sultan did not shrink with terror. He stood up, and drew his own sword, and advanced. He shouted something, I am sure to the invisible demon. Then- well, you see.’ Bayezid looked back to the throne. His father lay slouched in it, looking like he might have been roughly and carelessly tossed in. Body and chair alike were transfixed by a strangely-made spear.

Bayezid glared at Kobilic. So, you say my father was killed by a djinn? Then why did it not also kill you? And why did it leave its spear? Why-?

Kobilic spoke suddenly, shortly and sharply, in a tone that made the prince pause. The slave translated, He said, it did not leave its spear. The demon is still in this tent.

Bayezid whirled around. Suddenly, a deep, inhuman chuckle rang through the tent. The slave bolted from the tent. As the prince watched, a huge creature materialized next to the body on the throne. It pulled the spear from the sultan’s body, and somehow made the weapon collapse into a compact rod. It dropped the spear. Then it removed its mask. This revealed a face with beady eyes and mandibles in place of jaws. It roared, spreading the mandibles to show something like a mouth, but its toothy jaws opened to the sides instead of up and down. Finally, it shed plate armor that covered its torso and retracted two blades that projected from its forearm.

Kobelic lunged for a fallen dagger. Bayezid cast aside his sword and ran from the tent, while the being’s huge feet pounded closer and closer. As he dived through the threshold of the tent, he heard Kobilic laugh, a laugh that ended in a scream. He looked into the calm but questioning faces of his soldiers. He raised himself to his feet, and glared at his cowering slave. Kill him, he ordered briskly.

The soldiers had scarcely complied with the order when his brother Prince Jakub arrived. What is the meaning of this? Jakub shouted. Have you at last resorted to patricide?

A measure of calm and subtle cunning returned to Bayezid. There is something in the tent which we must look upon together, he said.

Together as in alone? said his brother. Bayezid refrained from answering. I can guess what it is you wish me to see: your ascension to sultan, and my own death!

Brother, dear brother, Bayezid said, you wrong me! Did I not promise father I would never harm you?

Yes, but our father is dead, is he not?

That is what we must see.

This is what I shall do, said Jakub. I will go inside, with two of my guards. You will remain here. When I return, we shall speak.

Jakub and two of his guards went inside. Moments later, there was a hint of a stifled cry within. The rest of Jakub’s guards drew their swords, only to find the swords of Bayezid’s soldiers at their throats. My brother insisted he would go in with but two guards, Bayezid said with a smirk. I am only making sure that his wishes are followed.

Bayezid returned to the right flank, where he launched the counterattack which decisively routed the Serb army. He ordered his father’s tent set on fire. The soldiers reported that the tent collapsed soon after. No one and nothing, they said, could have escaped. When they examined the tent, they found the still-recognizable bodies of the Sultan, Kobilic and Jakub. The sultan and the knight were missing their heads. Jakub’s body was intact. It was decided that he had been dead before the fire, probably by strangulation. It was whispered that the marks of something like enormous hands were found encircling his throat.

Ghost Ship

April 14, 2044: 12 km from the coast of Ukraine

"Vessel Papa Juan Paolo, this is the UN health inspection vessel St. Theresa. You have strayed from course, and are entering a high-traffic area. It is essential that you pull away from shore and come to a halt. We are prepared to render assistance if anyone aboard is sick or injured. If you do not respond, you will be boarded by force. Repeat… Vessel Papa Juan Paolo, this is the UN health inspection vessel St. Theresa…"

The ship Papa Juan Paolo could have been any one of thousands of ugly, non-nondescript tubs that sailed the oceans. It was a barge-like vessel, expressly designed to carry boxcar-sized cargo containers. Its papers showed that it was a ship of Paraguay, registered less than 2 years before, though the ship itself was clearly not less than 20 years old. This made it far from home indeed, in the waters of the Black Sea, on a parabolic course for the coastline of Ukraine. It easily matched the description of a ghost ship: A civilian cargo vessel, bought on the black market from pirates or some wrecker who officially had cut it up for scrap, hastily repainted, registered in some minor nation where officials were easily bribed, and then put into service in any number of ends, almost certainly involving the movement of things- and, perhaps, people- into places where others were trying to keep them out. It appeared that it was now a ghost ship in the more traditional sense, moving on its own momentum with no sign of guidance by a human crew.

The St. Theresa, a ship of the UN Council on Science and Technology, was the Papa’s antithesis. It was a very modern vessel, fitted with a large medical ward and a pad for helicopters. It had the most advanced technology for navigation and communications. It also carried an armed search-and-rescue squad, whose 10 members were currently on deck prepared for boarding. Each wore a Nuclear Biological Chemical hazard suit, heavy enough that motors had been installed in the legs for improved mobility. It was designed to protect against everything from airborne germs to hazardous chemicals to extreme heat, standard small arms fire and light nuclear fallout. The hood that covered neck and face mask had earned the name headsmen. Also on hand were four medics in lighter, more compact NBC gear, commonly dubbed bunny suits.

One of the headsmen spoke, I give you 10 to one odds it’s another slaver trafficking Albanian refugees. There’s talk that one of the Albanians themselves is doing it, a real pussack named Fatos. He’s supposed to have massive connections in the Kosovar resistance front, the Chechen mafia, and the UN. As long as the war between the Albanians and the Serbs has been going on, he’s been smuggling refugees out of the disputed zones, straight into the international slave markets, and running guns back in, mostly over the border between Serbia and Bulgaria. There’s also talk the brass know where he is, down to a street address, but they repeatedly refused to act. Nobody needs to guesses why…

Another spoke: What I can’t understand is why the bloody Albies can’t take care of their own.

A medic, carrying an incongruous brief case, spoke, Well, for starters, there is no such thing as Albanians. The voice was an Asian accent, with a strong English influence, sounding as learned as a professor. All heads swiveled toward him. "They call themselves Shqiptars, not Albanians, and I have always considered it a matter of courtesy to call people whatever they call themselves. They divide themselves into two major tribes: Gegs and Tosks. Shqipteria itself is dominated by Tosks, while Kosovo’s Shqiptars are almost entirely Geg, which is one of the major reasons why the nations never unified. The other is that there are half as many Shqiptars in Kosovo as in Shqipteria itself. If I’m not mistaken, you are from the US… Johnson, isn’t it?... and would your country consider admitting 4 million new citizens at once? Then there are the clans, and the feuds… There is a record of a feud between Kosovar Gegs in the 1800s that claimed over 100 lives. That was by no means remarkable; what made it