Sci-Fi & Fantasy Erotica: Volume 2 (Sci-Fi & Fantasy Erotica Series)

by Charlie Buxton

  Galen uneasily wiped the sweat from his forehead and chuckled silently to himself as he stared up toward the sky and mutilated remains of the tree tops. Even though the C130 had done a good job at trimming them, most of the trees around him still stood a good ten or fifteen feet tall. Had their tops not been ripped off, they may have been closer to twenty or thirty.

  Regardless, the height of these trees didn't concern him so long as their trunks could still provide cover. It gave him a sense of comfort if anyone started shooting because with every step he took, Galen felt like hitting the dirt. His gut told him that something was watching him, something more than a bug or a jungle rat. What he didn't know was if he was being drawn in on the sights of an AK-47, or simply being eyed by a local. Either way, something or someone was keeping tabs on him, and he didn't like it one bit.

  In a very nonchalant manner, Galen turned slowly on his heel and began walking backwards as he scanned the scenery behind him. There was no movement, no shifts in the bush, no birds rustling in branches, only the endless amounts of trees swaying together in a passing breeze.

  More slowly this time, Galen turned back to face the proper direction, still scanning over the area as the incline of the hill began to get a lot steeper. Right up ahead was a familiar sight; it lay impaled into the ground, a broad piece of aluminum plating lying on top of several toppled trees.

  Galen took a moment to inspect the severed wing of the C-130, and the couple dozen yards of trees it had flattened right down to the forest floor. A large hole had burned right through the wing where the lightning had hit, draining the wing of fuel long before it had hit the ground. The scorch marks that extended out from the lightning hole told Galen that the fuel had been burning as the plane went down. If that was the case then the plan was lucky to have made it so far instead of just simply blowing up mid-air.

  Lucky me, Galen thought.

  When he was done looking at what was left of the wing, he got out of that flat section of the forest and back to the scar. Too much open space with no cover around him could get him shot.

  The Private kept pressing on up the hill, his breath growing weary as the incline made him do more climbing than walking. Galen ordered himself to keep going, no matter what. He needed to regroup with the Company, and there was still one more body he needed to find.

  The end of the scar was fast approaching, which would mean the top of the hill. This put a hup-two in Galen's step as he picked up his pace as he climbed rapidly up the hill. At last he found himself on even ground, though still surrounded by trees twenty feet tall that obscured his view of anything beyond them. If he wanted to figure out where he was, he needed to climb one.

  Swallowing hard, the soldier brought his head up and pushed the thoughts of the height out of his mind. He wouldn't be a good paratrooper if he was scared of some damned tree!

  Galen began to wander around the hill top, searching for a decent place to climb. It had to be taller than the other trees, and it had to have branches all the way up or else he was going to have one short trip.

  He didn't have to go far to find one. A pine tree.

  At first, Galen rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Why the Hell is there a pine tree in Vietnam?

  The question only had a second to occupy Galen's mind before he shoved it out and refocused on his task.

  At once, he dropped his pack against the tree and set his rifle down, leaving its safety on for once as he approached the soaring pine. All the way up its trunk were considerably large knots, withered limbs, and needled branches protruding every which way from its bark. This tree was the only one of its kind in the entire area, the others being simple deciduous trees that had claimed rest of the hill and much of the forest below.

  The Private took one look up the evergreen before him then spat onto his palms, rubbing the saliva around and taking hold of the pine's bark. One branch at a time, he began his way up, one arm reaching forward, one leg pushing up.

  "Not much farther... I'll be... Urrghh, back in US hands... dammit... by t'night."

  The bandage wrapped around his left arm started to bleed through, pain working its way into the muscle once again. Hard, stabbing pains made his bicep throb, but Galen hung on for dear life.

  Forcing himself past the pain in his arms, he fought for every inch toward the top. He grunted as he pulled himself up another few branches, bringing him in close to his goal. He managed to get his boots onto two separate little nubs before his objective was in sight. Just a few feet above hung a wide branch, possibly thick enough to support the young soldier's weight.

  Snap!

  "Whoa, shit!" he yelled as a branch snapped in his lead hand. He desperately clawed for the branches around him around him as his body tipped backwards, almost pulling him off the tree.

  "Shit!" he swore as he dug his fingers into the sides of the trunk and reeled himself in.

  He fought the queasy feeling surging up in his stomach, he leaned over to peer down at the ground he had come so close into meeting again. His breathing suddenly got very heavy; the rapid thumping in his chest sank down into his stomach.Beneath him was a good twenty five feet of daylight and a whole lot of little branches that would do nothing to slow any sort of rapid descent. Blood pounding through his ears, Galen reached up and grabbed onto the wide branch above with a death grip, breathing hard as he pulled himself up and onto the perch.

  At first, the long branch bent downward, bits of dead bark cracking and breaking off. Galen's heart stopped as the branch began to creak. If it was going to drop him, now would be the time.

  It ain't the fall that kills you; it's that sudden stop at the bottom.

  Galen found himself giggling now at his father's wicked sense of humor. If he was going to die, it would at least be with a smile. At last, the precarious tree limb upon which he found himself resting held still.

  The stagnate air pent up in his lungs escaped as he laughed away the tension in his mind. He took a moment to try and slow his heavy breathing and silence that pounding in his ears. He even glanced over the side to see how high he sat.

  Another brush with death, he thought, pressing his back against the tree and settling his nerves. Either the devil doesn't want me, or God indeed loves me. Either way, I still gotta find the Company.

  At that moment, he looked out to the direction from where he had flown in. He saw not a city in the distance, nor any aircraft buzzing about, nor the burst of flak around a flood of search lights. There were no signs of war or rattling off of AK-47s in the distance, only the vast expanse of an untouched forest.

  Several clearings, both wide and small, were scattered all over with flocks of birds gliding over the tree tops. Trails of smoke steadily rose from several of of the clearings, but it didn't seem to be from the crash of any aircraft. The smoke was thin and steady, like a camp fire, not thick and plumy from burning oil.

  That meant a cooking fire. And cooking meant people. And people meant the chance of communications.

  Galen also made note of the river cutting its way through the land. A place he could possibly clean himself up if he needed.

  The only thing that made him wonder, though, was not his situation. It was what lay beyond the forest. Miles upon miles away, there were rolling, treeless hills. Not treeless from bombing, but waving fields of grass. Whatever was beyond those grassy hills was blocked by the faint silhouettes of mountain tops.

  Wherever Galen was, he was sure as Hell it wasn't Vietnam.

  Galen peered over down the side of the tree, packing down the lump in his throat before carefully sweeping his feet over the edge of his perch. Climbing up was one issue, getting down was going to be an outright challenge.

  Cycling several deep breaths, the Private carefully guided his boots down onto the same points he had used to climb up, every step cautiously placed to ensure he didn't take a tumble down to his death. It'd be a shame to survive a plane crash only to buy it falling off a tree.

  Considerin
g his earlier troubles coming up, his journey down was making good progress. Only ten feet separated him and the jagged roots jutting from the earth below and he was moving at a brisk pace.

  "I can do this," he whispered, "I can-" -snap- "shit."

  A lump of bark gave way under his boot, leaving Galen wailing as he hung eight feet from the safety of solid ground. He kicked wildly, beat at the side of the tree, anything to try and find a spot to dig in. His fingers began stinging as the sharp points of coniferous needles sank in.

  "rrr-AHHHHH" he hollered as he released the tree.

  Training kicked in just as his boots hit the forest floor, his legs collapsing with enough muscle power still pushing back to soften his landing. The only downside was this technique was meant to be done while moving forward. This sent his helmet smacking against the trunk of the tree with loud crack and a swirl of stars in his eyes.

  "Oww," he groaned as he fell backward.

  Next he felt a root jabbing right up into his ribs.

  "Ahhhoowww, damn it!" he cursed, flipping over and away.

  The only comfort to his current agony was the fact that he was on the ground. His right thigh hurt like Hell, it felt like some hit him on the head with a hammer, and he could swear that somebody sunk a knife in his back, but he was on the ground.

  Groaning at the pain riveting his body, Galen managed to pull himself together enough to stand up. Battling the strain of muscle and the weariness of fatigue, he gathered up his pack and hoisted his rifle over his shoulder.

  Wherever he was going was a mystery, the thought of where to go next drew blank in his head. All he knew was that there was a river a mile or so away. And a river meant fresh water and even a few fish. Maybe a town or village could be in some of the clearings he saw. Fire confirmed the presence of people, and if they had a radio, he could try and contact any US forces in the area...

  If he was even in a place that had any US forces.

  What if the plane carried him to a new country completely? What if even, he was-?

  BANG!

  An eruption of birds burst from the tree tops as the gun shot echoed through the forest.

  One name passed through Galen's mind the instant he heard that rifle go off.

  Michael.

  ....................................................................

  The Neko woman clung to her tree as thunder shattered the calm over the forest. Hairs raised down her back as she frantically searched the skies for any sign of clouds or lightning. She didn't smell any rain, nor had any dark anvil head formations blown in from any direction. Where had the thunder come from?

  Her nerves rattled through her body as she leaped to another tree, her claws sinking into its bark as she watched over this curious human who now sprinted through the forest, that great wooden club of his pressed close to his side with the metal tip pointing forward.

  Whatever this club was, it seemed very special to him, and it didn't seem like he was interested in leaving it behind. Perhaps she could remove it from his possession while he slept, investigate it for herself or even bring it to her village elders. One of them was very familiar with some of the workings of human society; he may have a clue as what it may be.

  Until then, she could only follow the human as he ran full tilt through the forest, bounding over roots and bushes, bolting past trees and scaring the game away. Twice, she had caught glimpses of deer fleeing the racket he made. Never once did the human even acknowledge them. It became obvious that a hunt was not on his mind as he ran to where the thunder had clapped.

  "Sergeant!" he yelled as he passed by a tree painted with the image of a red claw.

  The Neko woman froze as she saw the symbol. What was this human doing?! Did he not know where he was going?!

  FOOL! She cursed in her mind; you're entering the territory of the Ra'zorlichs!

  Of all the races across her world and the different tribes and 'nations' that had arisen within them, the Ra'zorlichs were among the few who didn't enjoy the Company of others. If any of them found this human, they would end him. Not quickly, neither. They were known to be beyond the definitions of the word 'cruel' with any who dared to trespass on their lands. This human would be begging for death by the time they were done, but not if she had something to do about it!

  At once the woman began to leap through the trees, bounding from branch to branch with incredible agility. She needed to stop him before his life would be at the mercy of the rogue Neko tribe. Her feline abilities allowed her to surpass the human running along the ground as she went through the trees above him.

  Suddenly the human slowed down, raising that club of his in a peculiar fashion. Right ahead, something unnatural was caught in the forest canopy. It was one of the wide sheets that the human had used to wrap his dead; it was caught in the highest clutches of a tree with some sort of backpack hanging down by long strands of string.

  Below that pack laid the corpse of a Neko. A Ra'zorlich. She could tell by the red claw painted on the shoulder of his black plate armor. Blood stained his light gray fur, and his sword was still tucked in the sheath attached to the warrior's red steel leggings.

  And there! A few feet from the body, lay yet another human. His clothes were identical to those of the first one, as was the strange club lying at his side. The only real difference between the two was that this human didn't wear armor on his head or carry a heavy pack. He was also wounded.

  This human was torn in the thigh, the whole of his right leg bathed in thick crimson. There was a second, long gouge through his flesh, right below where the pant leg had been torn off below the hip. If this human did not bandage his wounds at once, he would likely die.

  The first human broke through the bush with his club pointed at the other human. The end instantly went down as he recognized his friend.

  "Sergeant!"

  "Martin? Son of a bitch... you're late."

  "Better late than..." the human froze as he saw his friend's leg. "We need to get ya to a medevac."

  "It's just a scratch," Michael shrugged, staying extraordinarily calm at his predicament.

  "That's more than a scratch, Michael! We need a medic... I saw a clearing a couple hundred yards away, there's some smoke comin' from there, so it could be a village."

  Oh, you poor fool, the Neko woman thought.

  "And if they have a radio, we could use that to get air support. Get us the Hell out of here."

  What is a 'radio'?

  Crackling in a bush a few yards off brought the woman's attention away from the humans. Five Ra'zorlich scouts emerged from the brush line a short distance away from the human; this time they had their blades in hand.

  Ready to slay the beings that killed their pack mate.

  ..................................................................

  Galen spun on his heel, bringing his M14 to bear on the five creatures that had just come out of the bush. Their teeth were flashing, sunlight shining off that heavy armor plating they wore. Swords were readied in their clawed hands.

  Wait, claws? Fur? What the Hell?

  The Private took a double-take on the creatures before him. Never in his life, nor in his job description, did he ever see anything about these... things. Fur covered their bodies from head to toe, distinctly feline ears protruded from the top of their heads, just as long feline tails hung behind their legs. These things were no human; they were closer to the description of oversized cats walking on two feet.

  Red claws were painted on their shoulders, matching the image he had seen on the tree a couple dozen yards up the trail. Dark red loincloths hung off their hips, embroidered with that same claw, only it was stitched in black.

  "A human!" one growled.

  "We told you parasites that none shall pass our territory, human. And now you will pay with your life!"

  Galen took a step back as moved the select fire switch of his rifle to full auto.

  "I am Private Galen Martin of the 101st Airborne Divis
ion of the United states Army. I don' know who you are, but if you attack me, I ain't gonna hesitate to kill you."

  The pack of beasts laughed aloud, "Ahahahaha, a human? Alone? With wounded? AHAHAHAHA HAAAHAAhhhh!!! Human, I will make your death swift for granting me such a hearty laugh."

  "We'll see how that works out for you, kitty cat. I'm not warnin' ya again, back off or I'm gonna kill you!"

  Sergeant Michael clutched onto the gash in his leg and chuckled, "Aim for the head. Their dead friend here didn't think I was serious, either, so I think we should teach these pussycats a lesson."

  The leader of the cat beings crossed his arms and motioned his troops forward, "Bring me the wounded one's head. I desire his tongue for my son's chew toy."