Shall We Begin

by Jonathan Yanez

  The lack of training the recruits had undergone was clear. Only half of them even had defensive constructs around them and the other half were having a hard time forming an offensive option.

  Sergeant Claymore caught sight of the Neeve male, who battled a robot with a constructed shield in his right hand and a long spear in the other.

  “I told you to stay inside.” Sergeant Claymore shook his head while taking his heavy arm off Arowin’s shoulders. “You disobeyed a direct order.”

  Arowin frowned as though she was expecting this but didn’t move to say a word of rebuttal.

  “And I’m glad you did.” Sergeant Claymore allowed the helmet around his head to dissipate. “We got to get back in this fight now.”

  Arowin looked shocked. No doubt she had been expecting to be chewed out at her disobedient act. “If I may, Sergeant Claymore?”

  “Go ahead,” Sergeant Claymore said as he licked a split lip and prepared to enter the fight once more. “But hurry. You’ve got two seconds while I get my constructs ready to rock and roll again.”

  “It’s-clear-the-robots-are-made-of-some-kind-of-dense-metal,” Arowin blurted out as though she actually expected the sergeant to give her only the promised two seconds. “If our constructs can’t put them down permanently, maybe their own tech can. I mean, if it’s made of the same material as they are.”

  “Go on.”

  “The drill; if we can use their own drill against them, maybe whatever it’s made of will be enough to put them down permanently.”

  “I like your style, recruit.” Sergeant Claymore looked over to Arowin with a quick nod. “Get the rest of the squad to push the robots back toward the drill. I’ll do the heavy lifting.”

  “Roger that, sir.” Arowin offered a quick salute. She turned to run, then stopped in her tracks. Her sudden hesitation caused Sergeant Claymore to follow her gaze.

  A recruit was running back and forth, dodging blue laser fire as he beat the robot with what looked like a long flower. The bloom did nothing to impede the robot, who continued to target the new Arilion Knight.

  Sergeant Claymore caught Arowin’s bright eye. “Let’s try and hurry before some flower-toting newbie gets himself KIA’d.”

  “Yes, Sergeant Claymore,” Arowin said, constructing her own square-shaped protective barrier and sprinting into the thick of the battle.

  As much as Sergeant Claymore wanted to take another crack at the robots, he knew the task before him was the most important. These scrap metal bots could be bullied back with relative ease but lifting the giant drill that still whirred as it dug into the planet’s core would be the harder part. It was crucial to stay the course. He could get some smashing in later.

  Sergeant Claymore gathered himself again and leapt high into the air. Flying was in his wheelhouse of abilities, but he preferred to jump when he was able. It not only took less energy, it was a quite familiar maneuver. Though Gorkopes had evolved from being quadrupeds, they still used their arms to help hoist themselves through the air as they jumped, propelling themselves whenever possible. It also helped to lead with their rotund bellies.

  The cold night air whipped at the short fur on his face as he made the jump toward the drill. The bright spotlights set up around the construction site were more than enough illumination to garner visibility on his target. He landed beside the drill, which whirred its hate as it sank deeper and deeper into the planet’s core. One massive steel cylinder, it was at least two stories tall and as wide as the drop ship that rested beside it.

  Just in case the antenna on the drop ship was the cause of jammed communications between Sergeant Claymore and the Valkyrie, he constructed Lori again and pumped a half dozen rocket rounds into the antennae. Unlike the robots, the antenna gave way in the shower of purple projectiles. Victory!

  There was no time for Sergeant Claymore to send out another communication to the Valkyrie to test his theory. Already Arowin was gathering the recruits and shouting at them to do whatever they could to corral the robots toward the sergeant and the drill.

  “Come on; we need to force them back!” Arowin screamed over the sounds of the blaster fire. “Together, we can do it!”

  Sergeant Claymore shouldn’t have been surprised at her take-charge attitude or any of the recruits and their fighting spirits. They were chosen by the vambraces, after all, as the beings equipped with the strongest Will from each of their own planets. Still, the roars from Arowin and the way the other recruits answered her call with shouts of their own gave him heart as he faced down his own opponent.

  The drill seemed to weigh more than a few tons. If he was going to lift the drill from its position deep within the ground, it would take all of his concentrated effort and then some. Clearing his mind from any of the distractions around him, including the recruit using the flower to smack robots across their steel faces, he channeled his Will.

  Come on, you got this. Everything you have and it will be enough, Sergeant Claymore roared in his own mind. Time to go to work!

  Sergeant Claymore constructed a thick base with a teeter-totter-like plank running across. The side of the plank closest to the drill he lowered and constructed a vise grip around the base of the drill.

  Easy enough, he thought to himself. Use the lever to pull down on your side and the opposite side will raise, lifting the drill with it. Come on, you mamby pamby, time to put your money where your mouth is. Gotta save this planet.

  Sergeant Claymore reached up with his massive hands. He grabbed his end of the metal construct. With every ounce of muscle, he pulled. The tendons in his body strained to meet the demands exertion screamed at them to fulfill. The drill didn’t even budge.

  Sergeant Claymore furrowed his brow. A quick look to his left confirmed that the rest of the recruits had banded together to drive the robots back. They were already working as a unit. Despite their lack of training, they were finding a way to get the job done.

  As quickly as the feeling of pride in his fellow Arilion Knights bloomed, it was snuffed out. A single body covered in the black and dark purple uniform of their Order lay motionless on the sandy ground. A pool of dark emerald blood seeped from the carcass, pooling near his tail limply wrapped around a blaster.

  Anger roared deep within Sergeant Claymore and burned at his heart. An all-too-familiar tightness clenched at his broad chest. Any life lost was too great a cost. It was an unnecessary reminder that this was the very reason he trained recruits as hard as he did; that he grilled them as hard as he did. This was the reason he yelled at them; made them hump it day and night and refused to give them quarter.

  The dead corpse on the ground said it all. And more.

  “GrrrRRR!” Sergeant Claymore rumbled deep in his chest as he found the burning Will inside him that set him apart from any other member of his species. The Will answered to his call, filling him with power unlike he had ever experienced.

  “Raw, Raw, Raw!” Sergeant Claymore grabbed into the contracted beam above him and violently pulled down over and over again. The thought of losing another recruit drove him to near madness as he screamed his war chant over the blaster sounds. “Raw! Raw! Raw!”

  His muscles were on fire and sweat matted the grey fur on his thick head, neck, and back. All of this was secondary to saving his recruits. Then the drill gave, or maybe it was his imagination. He wanted the drill to lift up so much, maybe he had imagined it.

  Then he knew he was making headway for certain. The constant whirl of the drill groaned now as it was lifted a few centimeters from the ground.

  The robots who had not taken notice of Sergeant Claymore’s sabotage now pointed their blaster at him and opened fire.

  Chapter 5

  “I’ll protect the sergeant, you mamby pamby recruits!” the purple-skinned male Neeve shouted as he rushed to put his shield construct in front of the sergeant. “The rest of you keep pushing them to the hole.”

  A radiant violet circular wall appeared from the Neeve’s vambraces, providing c
over for Sergeant Claymore from his heavily booted feet to the top of his domed head.

  If Sergeant Claymore had it in him, he would have given the Neeve a hard stare followed by a grateful chin nod. Right now, the only thing his aching lungs and muscles could worry about was driving down his side of the lever and pulling up the drill.

  Sergeant Claymore focused and searched deep within him, visualizing the lifesource that spurred his determination to get back up, to take another step forward, to do what many others couldn’t or wouldn’t. He searched for the animal that lived inside. During his time as an Arilion Knight, he came to understand it was his power of Will that fueled his vambraces. But what was Will if not that primal force that lived inside of us all? That instinctual animal that refused to give up no matter the odds.

  For his race, for his Order, for his recruits, Sergeant Claymore pushed.

  The ground shuddered all around them as the drill lifted another centimeter, and then another. Red soil flung into the air as the drill withdrew from its penetrating depths. Momentum finally shifted in Sergeant Claymore’s favor as he cranked on the beam and lifted the giant drill from deep within the planet.

  The circular drill, removed from the ground, was now nearly three stories tall. A bright blue laser beam automatically shut off as Sergeant Claymore lifted it free of the ground. No doubt it was a safety feature were the drill ever lifted without first turning off the drilling beam.

  Zzz! Zzz! Zzz!

  Bright blue laser fire struck the protective shield covering Sergeant Claymore. His arms were shaking with fatigue. Even with the added strength of channeling his Will aiding him to lift something far greater than he had any right to, there were limits to the power. Talin, the Knight selected from Atmos, to his benefit, had held up the shield for a longer time than any new recruit might.

  “Push them in the hole! Force them in!” Arowin screamed over the laser fire.

  The rest of the recruits redoubled their efforts. Shifting their position, they ran to stand in front of Sergeant Claymore, not only aiding in protecting him but also pushing the robots to their right where a massive dark hole waited to entomb them. Red dirt, blue electricity, purple energy, and shouts of determination and attack filled the air with the cacophony of battle.

  “Let’s go, flower boy, get them in!” Arowin shouted at the alien who had not abandoned the power of his flower bludgeon.

  One by one, the robots were beaten and forced into the abyss. They fell and kept falling with fading reports of directives and drilling. The last robot fought the hardest to regain his footing, but it was no use. One of the recruits tied its feet together with rippling purple vines tripping it while another shielded the unit with a wall of water from the blaster fire. The rest of the recruits bullied it into the hole, where it was lost from sight.

  Sergeant Claymore surrendered his hold on the purple constructed lever system. His fingers and arms were numb. A foggy light-headed feeling fell over him from the exertion he had used in lifting the drill. He sank to his knees, at the same time the purple impromptu teeter-totter construct vanished. A split second later, a loud boom echoed over the desert as the drill fell back in place. The ground shuddered at the impact.

  “Sergeant Claymore, this is Valkyrie,” the comm in the sergeant’s ear squawked. “You’re late with your check in. We’ve been trying to reach you for the past few minutes and we are heading to the warehouse location now.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Sergeant Claymore said, rising to his feet. No matter how exhausted or injured he was, his recruits were looking to him for leadership. “What would we have done, if say, communications were jammed by an enemy force and it was up to us to deal with the fallout?” He was back to his direct, demanding cadence despite his exhaustion.

  “Sergeant?” The voice on the other end sounded confused.

  “Roger that,” Sergeant Claymore said, already over the conversation. “We’ll see you soon and explain everything when you get here.”

  The comm line clicked closed as Sergeant Claymore’s eyes rested on the corpse of the recruit who had given everything for him, for his brothers and sisters in the Corps, for the inhabitants on this planet. The first line of business would be to get the body aboard the Valkyrie, but right now, his recruits were confused and angry. They needed direction.

  “Let’s line up, you sons and daughters of Will!” Sergeant Claymore roared so loud it made him feel lightheaded again. Every ounce of his body felt fatigued, yet it didn’t matter because his recruits needed him now. Tears fell from a few of their eyes, others were still in shock. The sad truth was that they would learn to cope with death and loss, and even victory, in their own way. Today, their drill sergeant would spur them on to focus and to live another day. “Did you hear the words coming out of my mouth hole?!? I said, line up!”

  From the Authors

  We hope you’ve enjoyed the story. It was a lot of fun for us to write a character like Sergeant Claymore and meet new characters from this universe. A tear may have even been shed…maybe. If you find yourself enjoying our writing style and the Gateway to the Galaxy Universe, we’d like to invite you to begin the journey with book one in the Gateway to the Galaxy series, Into the Breach.

  Begin the adventure by clicking here

  For those of you who are still skeptical – and trust us we get it, trust no one – you can continue on to read a few chapters of Into the Breach just for funsies. Thank you for spending your time with us.

  See you on the other side,

  Jonathan Yanez & JR Castle

  Into the Breach

  (Gateway to the Galaxy Book 1)

  Chapter 1

  “You’re smarter than you look.”

  “Yeah, well, I like to manage expectations.” Frank glanced at his flavor-of-the-week date with a wry grin. He tried a playful line he had used so many timed before, intentionally misquoting the saying to get a smile. “I’m just a girl looking at a guy, wondering what—”

  A message from Frank’s watch blared a familiar tune as it interrupted the two at dinner and all those around them.

  “Umm—sir?” A waiter passing by their table gave Frank a parental look.

  “Sorry, I’m on it,” Frank said with an apologetic nod.

  “What’s ‘butts’?” the ash-blonde at his right asked, scrunching together her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Why does your watch say ‘butts’ on it?”

  “It’s B.U.T.T.S. all in caps, like an acronym. It’s just work,” Frank said, checking the smooth, black face of the watch he wore on his left wrist. He ignored the message from his boss. “So where were we? We were talking about doing something fun after dinner, right?”

  “What’s an acronym?” the blonde asked, a quizzical expression etched on her face. “Is that like two words that are the same?”

  “I think you’re thinking of a synonym,” Frank said with a signature smile.

  BEEP BEEP BE-DOH BEEP BEEP!

  Before he could continue, his watch sounded again. Usually, it wouldn’t have been of any major concern; his Power Rangers ringtone letting him know he had a message from work was standard. However, tonight, Frank had taken his newest date to a rather exclusive, highbrow Italian cuisine experience, where the other patrons didn’t look amused by the constant juvenile sounds emanating from his latest communication tech.

  “Can you turn that off?” his date asked as she looked around, her shoulders shrinking as she glanced from side to side, avoiding eye contact with the other diners. Her gaze beneath the curtain of obvious eyelash extensions landed on a table in the corner, where a quartet of brawny, well-dressed men sat glaring at them. Their bodies were tense and unnaturally still within their cashmere, fine-tailored suits. If Frank were to venture a guess, their day jobs weren’t exactly of the legal kind.

  “Technically, I can. But the boss doesn’t like it when I switch her to ‘off’ or ‘mute.’ They can track all of that stuff, you know,” Fra
nk said, eyes on the same table as Melony … or was it Susan?

  Open concept dining area of the restaurant featured low, cushioned seating around polished, olive-wood tables. A warm, orange glow from table candles and low-hung pendant lamps lit the way for the service staff. The team met their patrons’ needs in swift, unpressured movements; their timing and recommendations were as impeccable as their shirts were crisp. It was the type of place one went for a celebration, where the prices on the menu carried an extra digit and the parking was valet only. It wasn’t Frank’s usual go-to, but he was always down to try anything once.

  The light chatter in the restaurant picked up again, after having been disturbed for the second time by Frank’s watch. A cellist filled the air with smooth vibrations from a corner, serenading the crowd with songs Frank could recall but couldn’t name.

  “Like, what kind of watch is that, anyway?” The blonde leaned over to Frank, revealing a light pink bralette beneath a plunging neckline. “I’ve never seen a triangle one like that before.”

  “Oh, it’s not really on the market,” Frank started. “It’s a—”

  BOM-BOM BOM BOM-BOM

  This time his watch didn’t send him a message—it rang. The theme music to Terminator thundered through the quiet of the restaurant like a war drum in a church. The interruption was too loud for Frank to ignore. A quick look down confirmed his suspicions: two messages and a call.

  The first message said: Frank, report in.

  The second: Frank we have an urgent matter for you. Report.

  The call was from his immediate supervisor.

  “Hey, muscles,” a raspy voice said from Frank’s left. “Time for you and your cell phone to make yourself scarce from my restaurant. You can leave the lady.”

  Frank leaned back in his chair to look up into the bloodshot eyes of a bald man with a scar across his throat. He was one of the four who had been glaring at him from the table in the corner. Behind him stood three larger men Frank guessed were his own “muscles.”