Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [16]
Harris kept his eyes and his gun barrel trained on the apparently deserted installation. Nothing moved, though his imagination played bouncing tricks with the shadows cast by the setting sun.
The research station consisted of five domed structures, all created from the ubiquitous PODs. In space, the PODs were used as complete spheres to assemble space stations and other orbiting or drifting installations. On a surface such as a planet, they generally were used in a hemisphere configuration, with part of a POD’s flexible and durable surface serving as a floor for the dome to maintain atmospheric integrity. The station known as MS3 included two large buildings for storage and Team living quarters, respectively, and three smaller hemispheres housing various research activities. Some thirty-five people had worked there until the sudden attack that had knocked out all communication five days earlier. The Team was there to look for clues to the nature of the attack and to seek survivors. As the Shamani had noted, the first evidence was visible even from a kilometer away: The dome of the living quarters had been punctured and showed several holes. Surrounding each neat black dot, the thin metal of the structure had been scarred and darkened by explosion or flame.
The LT ordered the three rovers to halt. “Mr. Sanders, take the Gamma crew in on foot. Foxtrot, roll up from the left; we’ll move around and close in from the right.”
The Gamma rover, to the right of the loose formation, came to a halt. The cockpit and gunner domes both popped open, and the four SEALS bounced out. Each carried his weapon at the ready, and they spread out at a fast jog. Despite carrying more than a hundred pounds of equipment, they raced forward in long, graceful strides, aided by the relatively low pull of Martian gravity.
The LT steered the rover toward the far right of the formation while Harris kept his eyes on Ensign Sanders and his men. The fire Team advanced in a leap-frog formation, one pair moving forward while the other covered it with its weapons. The chief kept the outboard multibarreled machine gun, mounted externally but controlled by his hand, ready to support them.
“Flash—got a flash out of the supply building!” Jackson barked.
Harris saw it, too: a bright strobe of light from within one of the darkened buildings. The four SEALS had dropped prone, apparently unhit, but when Harris glanced to the side, he knew they hadn’t been the target.
The Foxtrot rover vanished in a silent blast, fire flashing for an instant as fuel and oxygen combusted with searing force. The explosion broke the vehicle in two and left a mist of pulverized material—a vapor with a sickening tint of redness—slowly settling to the surface. One loose rubber wheel rolled a short distance, wobbled, and fell onto its side.
The command rover heeled violently as the LT turned and accelerated, veering unpredictably as he steered a zigzag course toward the station complex. Harris fired at the place where he had seen the flash, the rapid-fire weapon spraying so many tracers that they looked like a fuzzy laser beam licking at the target. He felt the vibration of the weapon in his seat and on his hands. Though the gun was firing in a thin atmosphere, the buzzing sound of the weapon, cycling so quickly that the individual shots blurred together into one long roar, carried through the body of the vehicle.
Another flash brightened the gap in the supply shed’s doorway, and the rover lurched hard. The depressurization warning flashed, shocking Harris into an instant of panic until he remembered that he was wearing a suit.
“We’re hit!” Jackson snapped. “Shit—I lost power!