S.C.A.R.

This book is similar to Halo. It takes place WAY in the future (a few-hundred years) and is about super-soldiers called SCARs.

SCAR 17 pulled the trigger in a short, controlled burst. One Rebel, who had once been standing on the landing platform, was now lying in a distorted position. Blood was spattered around his still body and more was pouring from the three bullet holes in his chest.

This Rebel was one of about ten that had been taken out on the platform. SCAR 17 and two others, SCAR 29, and SCAR 73, had cleared the platform in less than thirty seconds.

“Numbers 29 and 73 regroup at Falcon landing craft,” SCAR 17 ordered through a private com channel. Then he opened a public channel. “Everyone else, find your own means of leaving this rock. It’s going to blow in 13 minutes. We’ll meet you at the Kennedy. 17, out.”

Just as Number 17 clicked off the com, two Lancer missiles weaved in the sky, seeking their target. They stopped moving in their awkward pattern and struck like lightning towards the landing platform. The missiles shot past the three SCARs and exploded. The three of them turned to look at what damage the missiles had caused. The Falcon landing craft that was supposed to be their ride off the planet was nothing more than a pile of twisted metal and blue flames that lapped at the darkness that surrounded them.

Above the planet, the John F. Kennedy, a private UDA battleship, waited just outside the planet’s atmosphere, its bulk shading the planet from the sun. The darkness it cast over the small planet was eerie. If not for the SCARs’ optimized night vision gear, they wouldn’t have been able to complete their mission as efficiently.

SCAR 17 clicked off his night vision goggles and removed them from his head. He didn’t need them anymore because the fire from the Falcon lit the entire landing platform. The world around him turned from black and white to a dancing pattern of blue. He squinted against the bright light and studied the platform before him. It was a vast, five hundred meter long, fifty meter wide, level platform, made of over a billion tons of steel and concrete.

He pondered how they would get off the planet, given their current situation. They could contact the Kennedy and call for a troop carrier. But a troop carrier was slow and it would never reach the planet in time. The planet would be vaporized by the time the carrier arrived at the landing platform.

The only option was for them to find another landing craft – quickly – and blast their way out of the atmosphere. Or, they could hitch a ride with the other SCAR troops, which seemed more reasonable.

SCAR 17 decided to try that. He opened a private com channel to the other troops. He instantly heard the rumbling of another Falcon ship through his headset.

“Team II, can we get a lift? Our ticket off this rock was destroyed.”

“Roger that,” came the answer from the other line. “Altering course now… Wait a minute. We’ve got some company. It’s a rebel craft. They’re coming in hot!” SCAR 17 heard someone yell, “Look out!” in the background, and then he heard a brief noise that sounded like an explosion. The com channel erupted into static. Then, there was silence.

Number 17 glanced at his mission clock. It read 11:42 and was counting down steadily. He turned to the others.

“Team II is down.” His face showed nothing, but inside he felt sorrow. As one, Number 17 and the others saluted towards the sky out of respect for the good soldiers that had to die in an instant like that. They knew that SCARs preferred to die on the battlefield, fighting, than as sitting ducks on a ship.

SCAR 17 decided to contact the Kennedy’s AI and see if it could delay the Planet Killer bomb. The AI answered with an artificial and slightly metallic voice. It had no particular gender, and the voice of every AI had a sad, yet mesmerizing sound to it.

“Yes, Number 17?”

“Could you delay the Planet Killer for as long as possible?” SCAR 17 said. “We won’t be able to leave the planet in time.”

“Certainly,” the AI replied. “I will only be able to delay it for a short time, though – maybe a half an hour to forty-five minutes. Hopefully that is enough for you.”

“That should be plenty of time,” Number 17 said. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” The AI paused. “I’m uploading two possible escape ships to your HUD now. Good luck.”

The communications channel was cut off. A new mission clock in Number 17’s helmet showed 43:22. The AI had delayed the bomb by over thirty minutes, making their escape possible again. It was still too short of time for a troop carrier to come and pick them up, but it gave them enough time to find a ship and escape to the Kennedy.

Just then, the escape ships appeared in Number 17’s HUD. A three-dimensional topographical map showed him the places of two Falcon landing ships. One was on a landing platform in the middle of a large populated city. The other rested in a clearing surrounded in forests and marshes. Rarely anyone went into those marshes out of fear for getting lost.

That was their best chance of getting off the planet. If they tried to reach to landing platform in the middle of the city, they wouldn’t make it out alive. Of course, they would have to wade through the marshes to get to the other Falcon, but SCARs didn’t mind getting themselves a little dirty. And they would definitely choose wading through waist-deep muck over being shot.

Twenty-five minutes later, the three SCARs were half walking, half swimming through foul-smelling muck that came all the way up to their necks. They held their rifles above their heads as they inched their way deeper through the trees that were closing in around them.