As the two snipers reloaded their rifles, Fahn did her best to close in and aid Vonack. To her dismay, she realized in an instant that she had forgotten her staff next to Serra. Knowing it was not the time to dwell on such thoughts, she reminded herself of the dagger in its sheathe at her side. As she got within 20 feet of the snipers, she received the response she had hoped for. Both had taken notice of her, and their focus was now off Vonack. One of the snipers had reloaded a second faster than the other and wasted no time in firing one of his two shots at Fahn. Locking her forearms together in her sprint, she batted the shot away.
Unfortunately, the second sniper had reloaded as Fahn was no more than 14 feet away. This time both could fire simultaneously at the Ro’Nihn. Knowing that she could not stop them both at once, Fahn dove to her right and off the hill. Mid-leap, she had reached to her side and armed herself with her knife. She met the ground in a dive and rolled up into a crouched stance, letting fly with her blade. Just inches from where she had rolled the last of the four laser blasts devastated the ground.
Fahn’s throw was true. Her knife buried into the abdomen of the second soldier, doubling him over and dropping him to his knees. She had hoped that this would have given her more time as a distraction to close more distance, but the first sniper was already prepared. He opened fire and Fahn was once again forced to dive out of the way. The Ro’Nihn could feel the warmth of the beam as the shot narrowly missed her.
Luckily for Fahn, she would not have to wait long for help. Fed up with his position, Vonack had been forced to retain his former spot and out of the sight of those below him. Any longer would have spelled certain death, so Vonack took a chance. Rolling back over, he narrowly missed being riddled to pieces by well-trained marksmen. As he did, Vonack looked ahead and knew what needed to be done, opening fire on the sniper still standing.
Squeezing his trigger, Vonack hit with both shots, one to the shoulder and one to the chest of his target. The sniper immediately fell back from the force, dropping his rifle and clutching at the keys to his demise. His life was over in a few instants. Fahn nodded her thanks. Vonack did the same. Immediately, the Ro'Nihn went over to the other soldier to check his condition. He too was preparing to share the same fate as his dead comrade. Fahn removed the knife and did her best to make her enemy’s final moments on Earth comfortable.
From his cover, Rynsik overheard commands being barked in the distance. He also could feel the presence of new members on the battlefield. Making a guess, Rynsik surmised that the leader of the Thorne forces was entering the fray from the north of the road. This was also the place where most of the opposition remained. Rynsik darted toward the west side of the convoy and out of harm’s way. Taking a quick glance, he surveyed the opposition to the northern end of the road.
Rynsik saw at least four more soldiers firing on the tattered convoy. Rynsik also saw that he was correct in his assessment. Riding hard from the north was the commanding officer with two soldiers flanking him as guards. The leader of this bunch was an intimidating looking individual and instantly Rynsik felt sorry for the horse that carried him. Even though it was a large warhorse, the man was a metal mass of a behemoth. It was obvious that most of his flesh and bone were long ago replaced. Rynsik absorbed the new circumstances and felt it was time to play his final card.
Distinctly, he whistled for the gunslinger.
Blazing a path of speed on Surewind, Jozlyn entered the melee from her hiding place from the south. Quickly, she passed the convoy, heading directly into harm's way Her ponytail danced upon the wind as her hat held onto her neck with its leather cord. It took the gunslinger only a breath to access her situation. In front of her now lay four soldiers rising from their cover to slay her; beyond them were three more on horseback, coming hard as they readied their rifles. As so many times before, the young gunslinger became free of all thought as she let her years of training come alive.
Jozlyn's guns were a blur, but the blasts that spewed from them were accurate and unforgiving. Jozlyn let out a turbulent barrage as her hands worked their instinctual magic. Instantly, the two nearest soldiers fell dead with shots to the chest, and then the next two met the same fate. Jozlyn had fired seven shots in a heartbeat. Six of them had found their mark on four opponents. As the soldiers fell, Jozlyn and Surewind blazed by them and toward the remaining three still fast approaching.
Jozlyn instantly fired upon the horsed riders with crossed arms. The one to her left was easily shot an unhorsed. The one on the right had succeeded in arming his own rifle, but as he fired Jozlyn had instinctively shot the shoulder of his dominant arm, sending the shot wide and nearly unhorsing the wounded soldier. The last two shots of her initial volley were both saved for the commanding officer. With one of his guard dead and the other veering off wounded, he suddenly had made an impressionable target. Jozlyn fired again.
Both shots were true, but the augmented man before her had raised his metallic arms in self-preservation. One of Jozlyn's shots sunk into his right forearm causing damage. The other grazed his left shoulder. Sparks flew carelessly from his forearm, but otherwise he was still functioning. As the horses passed each other, the surviving guard veered to his left. He was weaponless and wanted nothing more than to be out of the fight Jozlyn redirected her course and gave pursuit.
The commanding officer continued his charge on the convoy. At about the same time, Kylynne was emerging from between two of the vehicles to assist. The horsed warrior reached for something at his side. Rynsik came around at that time and met eyes with the enemy. Rynsik watched as he bit pin from the cylindrical object he was carrying. He tossed it at the convoy between where Kylynne and Rynsik were standing and the twelve feet that separated them. Kylynne had not seen the act, though she had heard the noise as it clinked against the side of one of the convoy vehicles.
Rynsik, however, knew exactly what it was with alarming clarity.
“Everybody, down!” Rynsik screamed as he ran toward Kylynne. Through experience, he had witnessed the effects of such an object and knew he held precious few seconds to work with. Failure meant he would lose the life of Kylynne at the least and that was too much. Still some feet from his fellow Ro’Nihn, he leaped deftly into the air and toward the closest convoy vehicle. His left foot met its side and with it, he pushed off with great force, sending himself hurdling at Kylynne as he inverted in the air.
An explosion erupted from behind Rynsik, cascading flames in all directions. The blast tore at the side of the convoy as it stretched its tendrils outward. A breath ahead of the flames, Rynsik met Kylynne mid-leap. When he connected with her from behind, Rynsik was practically upside down. Using his arms, he wrapped up with Kylynne’s torso, bringing her face first to the ground. Rynsik used his body and arms to shield Kylynne. A strong wave of heat and force rushed over them. Rynsik let out a grunt as shrapnel tore into his arm.
Serra remembered to breathe again as she saw movement from Rynsik and Kylynne. The convoy still appeared to be in one piece, and she knew with Esmie in there, the wounded were in good hands. Serra's group was routing the enemy, and everyone was alive and well. Serra found one of her hands nervously removing strands of loose hair from her face. If the remaining soldier had any sense whatsoever, Serra hoped he would continue his path and take to the road south and out of the area.
And that is when it happened.
Serra guessed it might have been the calamity of the explosion that finalized it, but it was hard to say. All she knew was in that moment, a little boy ran out from the convoy, confused and frightened beyond his limits. He was crying and had to be no more than three or four years in age. As his feet ambled across the road, he was brought to the attention of a remaining Thorne soldier as he turned his head to the sound.
The Thorne soldier drew reign and turned his horse.
“Oh, no.” Serra found herself standing in a heartbeat. It would not take long for him to overrun the child, and it was clear that doing so was his intention. Serra could no
t fathom why he would commit such an atrocity. Perhaps it was a desire for revenge in blood, knowing full well that this would be a stab at the Ro'Nihn present. Serra looked around. Rynsik was just finding his way to his feet. Jozlyn was some distance away, having recently dispatched the fleeing soldier. Vonack and Fahn were not close enough to be of help. It appeared to Serra that no one would make it to the boy in time.
Serra drew her pistol, aimed, and fired.
Serra had doubted that she would be able to hit a moving target at that speed, so she had opted to shoot in front of the horse. She fired three times with each shot consuming the ground closer to her intended target. The metallic man’s horse reared on its hind legs, letting out a great bellow of disapproval. Her fourth and final shot nearly unhorsed the soldier. With patient precision the rider calmed his steed with force as his motivator. The little boy increased the distance between him and his pursuer, though the horsed soldier no longer paid the boy any heed. He had found himself a new target.
The soldier’s distorted, angry pupils met Serra’s as he urged his horse in her direction. He’d dropped his rifle sometime back, but this did not give Serra much comfort. Judging from the look of his bionic enhancements, this man was a weapon enough. And he had the advantage of horseback. Serra slowly backed down the hill realizing that she was in trouble. Fahn and Vonack were still some feet away. There was no one else near her. She took comfort in knowing that at least that little boy was safe.
As the last remaining member of the raiding party bore down on Serra, Rynsik took notice. Rising to his feet he whistled sharply, motioning in Serra’s direction as he made his way to her. Cursing yet again, Vonack sent a volley of shots from his quadbow at the rider. One arrow hit the soldier's left shoulder but did not slow him at all. As Vonack reloaded, Fahn began to sprint toward her new friend. However, in her heart she greatly feared she would not make it in time.
In that next moment, Vonack chose to head a different route in his approach. Reevaluating the situation as he reloaded, Vonack took aim again and fired, but this time his shots were directed at the horse. The first shot missed barely but the next two struck within moments of one another. The horse collapsed quickly, careening forward, sending its rider face first upon the grass. Vonack let out a sigh of relief before swearing yet again.
The soldier rose from the ground and continued his charge on foot. With blood on his face and an arrow in his shoulder, it was apparent that blind rage had taken over. He pushed forward with a battle cry pouring from his lungs, weaponless but no less deadly. His heavy, augmented legs carried him at a steady, powerful speed. Serra could no longer see him from the other side of the hill, but she could hear him coming on strong. She spent her time reloading her pistol and readying herself for the next life.
The Thorne native, Smithson was his name, or at least that is what was etched into the breastplate of his armor, was about 20 feet from reaching the hill when his attention was drawn to the left. Speeding toward him was a large Ro'Nihn on a hovercycle. Returning to the fray was Voltaire who, coming at near maximum speed, had a drop on his target. Smithson rotated his torso to face Voltaire as the Achylles clansman readied his cycle for collision.
The impact was tremendous, and Smithson grunted as he was overtaken by Voltaire's cycle. The force knocked Smithson again to the ground as the hovercycle remained upon him, dragging him several feet and tearing up rock and soil as they went. Above him, Voltaire hesitated a second before raising his axe over his head, preparing to attempt a finishing blow. It proved to be a long second too much.
Voltaire was pitched backwards instantly. Below him, Smithson had gripped onto the cycle and was rising with it. As he stood, Smithson used his strong, augmented limbs to hurl the ride through the air. As the cycle circled, Voltaire somehow escaped from the bike as it flew on its course. He rolled onto the ground, losing his axe and recovering. Beyond him his ride carried in the air for 20 feet before crashing down. However, his thrown cycle was now the least of Voltaire’s problems.
Smithson then made a headstrong charge for Voltaire. Gritting his teeth, Voltaire prepared himself for the encounter. The two connected, both locking the other with hands and arms as Smithson proved to be the stronger in the encounter. Voltaire slowly faltered, giving a step, then two. Smithson soon connected with two shots to Voltaire’s stomach before landing a fierce uppercut. Voltaire soared through the air, his unused skull mask slipping from his head and gliding to the ground as Voltaire smacked down hard on his back some yards away.
Smithson returned his attention toward the direction of Serra as he charged up the hill, crazed and hungry for more violence. Reaching the hilltop, his eyes met Serra’s. For a moment, both stared and Serra could see the voracity in his eyes. Smithson smiled at her with grim glee for a hair of a second before his metallic fists clenched. In that split second, another arrow from Vonack’s quadbow hit Smithson’s shoulder, though this one ricocheted off. Nevertheless, it was enough to tilt the balance of Smithson’s turbulence in the wrong direction.
Emitting a primal scream, Smithson took two steps and leaped for Serra.
Reloaded pistol in hand, Serra was still not ready for the unchecked fury that was now barreling down upon her. The seconds seemed to stand on their own as the distance between her and her attacker dwindled. She knew that there was little that she could do. Even so, it had been a thunder that she had called down, and she would face her fate standing on her own two feet. However, in that moment, the inevitable collision never arrived.
With two feet between Serra and Smithson, Fahn connected with the augmented Thorne soldier. The speed of her impact sent Fahn and her target barreling to Serra’s left. Both crashed on onto the ground rolling, jockeying for position. Fahn was first on the attack, trying to strike at what was actually flesh. Even so, it did not take long for the shock to wear off and Smithson was soon again on the offensive. Using his strength, Smithson rolled about so that he was on top of Fahn. He reared his right arm and sent a fist meant crush Fahn’s face. At the last moment Fahn moved her head as Smithson’s impact made a four-inch crater into the soil.
“Fahn!” Serra screamed for her new friend as she tried to get a clear shot at Smithson. She was afraid to shoot though, fearing that she was not a good enough marksman to factor in the commotion, unwilling to take a chance at hitting Fahn. Somehow Fahn used her lower body strength and Smithson’s unbalance to push herself out through his legs. As she quickly inched free and into a standing position, she attempted a kick to the back of his head. However, it was Smithson that beat her to the punch, literally as he clasped both hands together, using his hips to send both fists into Fahn. Though she brought her arms up to block the strike, the strength of the impact knocked Fahn backwards a good piece. She landed, winded and on her side.
Once again, Smithson locked eyes with Serra as he advanced.
Pistol ready, Serra took aim and fired. Her first shot tore into his upper chest, apparently absorbed in the armor he wore as it halted him not at all. The next ate into his shoulder with the same results. The third went into one of the arms he used to absorb the shot meant for his head. And then he was upon her and Serra had not the time for the fourth and final pull of the trigger.
Smithson used his left hand to knock the gun from Serra’s grip. He then used his right hand to push her back and onto the ground. She met the grass in a thump, looking up at him as he advanced once again. He took the necessary steps to reach her once more. Leading with his right arm, he opened his hand, reaching for the young Bannar native. Serra could hear the workings inside of the arm as it stretched toward her. She wondered if the last thing she would hear would be that or the sound of her own skull crushing. Her heart breathed hard in her ears.
Just then, the end of a staff cracked into the side of Smithson’s face. Serra watched as his features turned from maniacal triumph to utter surprise as he reacted to the pain. As Smithson turned his head though, the frenzy returned full force. For the time being, hi
s attention was once again diverted from Serra to vanquish the new threat that had just staked its own claim. Serra turned her head to see Rynsik clearing the hill and sprinting toward Smithson. Serra saw rivulets of blood etching patterns down his left arm and a convincing gaze within his eyes.
Smithson charged to meet the son of Wyndall. Within inches of impact the Thorne soldier ducked his head, meaning to hit the Ro'Nihn with a crushing tackle. Serra knew that such an impact w be lethal if not fatal. Yet at the last possible moment Rynsik leaped. In a dazzling display of agility, Rynsik’s left foot met with Smithson’s shoulder. Rising, Rynsik used his cocked right foot, smashing it into the back of Smithson’s head. The momentum sent Rynsik further into the direction he had been traveling, but also it forced Smithson to the ground. Smithson again met face first with the grass and dirt with his weight and force generated dragging him a good piece.
Rynsik ended his flight in a roll that brought him up to his feet close to Serra. Using his right forearm, he nudged Serra with a bit of force in the direction away from Smithson. “Get away from here! Go!” he screamed as he used his left boot to kick his staff back up to his hands. Serra retreated some steps, but could not take her eyes off Rynsik as he made his way to his rising opponent.
As Smithson turned back to the fight at hand, Rynsik was already upon him, his staff dancing mercilessly within his grip. Rynsik struck repeatedly, but most of the shots appeared to do little to slow down his larger opponent. As Smithson countered, Rynsik dazzled his opponent, eluding attacks that would have most certainly proven crippling. However, somehow, someway, the young Ro’Nihn held his ground. Serra again saw in him a courage that was truly inspiring.
Echoes of Ashener Page 21