by Aer-ki Jyr
Ten minutes later he heard a rifle shot nearby, but couldn’t see anyone ahead through the brush or any Nestafar in the air from his position underneath the broken canopy. Gripping the upper branch of his Y-shaped rifle with his top right arm as well as the lower, he readied himself to shoot quick and headed in the direction the sound of the shot had come from.
It didn’t take him long to find a Calavari lying dead beneath a tree…but he hadn’t been killed by the Nestafar. The plasma burn to his forehead had come from his own rifle, which lay nearby at an angle that told Bronsor that he’d triggered it with his foot while placing his head over the barrel, meaning he’d killed himself.
Bronsor closed his eyes for the moment, then opened them and picked up the rifle. Checking its ammo supply he found it only had 8 shots remaining, but it was 8 more than he’d previously had so he switched it over to his lower left arm and carried it away with him, leaving the body where it lay and wondering how much longer he could hang on before being tempted to do the same as Chavva had just done.
The Nestafar owned the planet now. Sassma had been one of the remaining holdouts, but now it was gone, overrun by the flying bastards and their hard armored walkers. Their infantry the Calavari could handle, but the walkers were damn near impossible to take out when they hit you with numbers, and they’d assaulted Sassma with more than 40 of them.
With air support they might have been able to do something about that, coupled with heavy weapons on the ground, but the Calavari Valeries had long since vanished from the skies of Lrat, and only bits and pieces of military units were left scattered across the planet trying to claim some minor victories or, like Bronsor’s group, just trying to stay alive.
He’d seen what the Nestafar had been doing in Sassma on his way out, taking a moment to look back from atop a hillside in the forest. They weren’t capturing the city or taking prisoners…they were razing it, with their walkers moving in through the buildings and methodically taking them apart one plasma blast after another.
Bronsor doubted many would have survived, save for fleeing into the forest as he had, but like he’d seen, the Nestafar had scout patrols out hunting the survivors down, so this really looked like their last stand, scattered amongst the trees wondering whether they’d die of Nestafar plasma or starvation.
He wasn’t ready to give up all hope yet, for so long as he lived there was a chance he could kill at least one more of the bastards that were annihilating his people. So he pushed on, weary and wobbly as he was, walking slow but steadily towards the training outpost that one of the local soldiers had marked on a map before evacuating.
Bronsor wasn’t from Sassma, but rather he and the others of his unit had been shifted here after the defeat at Nonssa, and before that at the primary spaceports in Luissen. Originally he’d been assigned to a counterattacking army that had got its ass royally kicked during the first months of the planetary assault, then he and the survivors had been bounced from one defensive position to another, until now there was nowhere left to evacuate to, nor anyone to do the evacuating.
Another couple hours went by before he heard another shot, this one further away and Nestafar…quickly followed by several more. Eager to get some payback, Bronsor spotted the nearest high ground and found a gap in the trees wide enough that he could see partially around the perimeter, because he didn’t think he had the strength left to climb up any of them.
He didn’t have to, for off in the distance, hovering just above the tree line, were a trio of Nestafar infantry firing down on what was probably another member of his unit. They’d intentionally scattered, all heading for the training outpost from different angles to keep from giving their position or their heading away…but also close enough that they could support each other should one of them get attacked.
Bronsor dropped his own rifle on the ground, then held up the one he’d gotten from Chavva and activated the long range holographic sight on top, seeing the three targets appear before zooming in on them while trying to hold the rifle still.
Having two arms on it helped greatly, but he reached over with his other two for extra stability as he saw one of the three Nestafar fall to a golden plasma lance from far off to his left, meaning one of the others was sniping as well. Bronsor fired off a shot, missing badly, then pulled the trigger four more times before finally dropping one of the remaining two out of the air. He wasn’t sure if it was dead or just winged, but he hoped if it was the later that whoever was down on the ground would finish it off personally.
The third flier went evasive, but the other sniper took it down and Bronsor deactivated the sight on his rifle and got moving again, knowing that he and the others couldn’t linger. He was also angry with himself for using 5 shots on one target. No matter how weak he was getting he shouldn’t have missed 4 times. That was just wasted ammo.
The Calavari walked on…and on…and on, eventually coming to the approximate location where the training outpost was supposed to be, wondering by now if it was even real, or if it had just been a false hope given to him and what remained of his unit as they fled the city. Realizing there wasn’t anything else to do aside from lay down or die, he kept looking around for another hour until he spotted a Calavari who flagged him down and motioned him to come over.
Relieved that at least he wouldn’t have to die alone, he trudged across the forest, now with every step feeling as if his large feet were dragging weights on them. When he got close to where the other was situated, it stepped out and offered him its top two fists, which Bronsor tapped back in a welcoming gesture.
“Good to see another friendly face. Name’s Atriaacs.”
“Bronsor. I was told there was a training outpost around here.”
“There is,” the Calavari said to Bronsor’s relief. “I’d point you in the right direction, but you look like you can barely stand. Follow me,” he said, taking one of the rifles from Bronsor to lighten his load.
“It’s almost out.”
“We have replacement packs,” Atriaacs said as they weaved their way between the tree trunks, which were thicker in this part of the forest, leaving less aerial visibility, though there were still occasional breaks where the sky could be seen. “Every weapon is useful. It was good of you to bring two.”
“The rest of my unit should be here soon, if not already.”
“We will find and bring them in if they get here. This location is well hidden. Hopefully we can outlast the Nestafar…and give them a good fight if we can’t. Their walkers can’t get up here, so you walking all this way wasn’t for naught. Just a little further now.”
“Do I look that bad?” Bronsor asked.
The other Calavari turned around as he continued to walk and gave him a once over glance. “Yes.”
Bronsor tried to laugh, but his throat was so dry it came out as a cough.
Atriaacs waved to someone ahead of him in the forest, then pointed Bronsor ahead.
“He’ll take you the rest of the way in. I have to return to my post.”
Bronsor nodded his thanks, but didn’t speak again as the Calavari went their separate ways. He walked up to another of his four-armed kin and was escorted up over a short ridge, then down to the bottle of a bowl-like depression that held a number of trees and one well camouflaged entrance to a subsurface base.
“Food and water inside…get yourself patched up,” the other sentry said, clapping him on the back and sending him down.
Bronsor walked down the narrow steps, trying to keep his dizzy head from losing its balance. He managed to get down the three flights, then stepped off onto a stone floor with a pair of armed guards standing watch. They hurried him inside the facility, which looked like a basic hideout. No power or equipment, just hollowed out tunnels connecting empty rooms that had begun to be filled with portable equipment and supplies.
Ceiling lights were stick-ons, battery powered, as was everything else. Bronsor was eventually escorted into a larger room with a number of portable bunks, half
of which were occupied, but his eyes went straight to the water keg set on a table. He walked over and downed several cups worth before a higher ranking Calavari could get over to him.
“Easy there, or you’ll choke. How many of you got through?” the slightly taller soldier said, handing Bronsor a foodstuff package.
“There were 12 of my unit that got out of the city, along with a handful of others. We split up to avoid attention. Other than hearing rifle shots, I haven’t had any contact with them…aside from a body.”
“No comms?”
“There was word that the Nestafar were tracking them, so we left them in the city.”
“Get some rest,” the larger Calavari said, placing a hand on Bronsor’s head and giving it a slight double tap. “You did well in getting here.”
“For what it’s worth,” he said, opening the package and biting into a hard ration, his jaw aching from lack of activity.
“We’re not dead yet.”
Bronsor nodded, then what he assumed was the commander walked off leaving him alone. He sucked down another cup of water then walked over and sat down on a bunk, feeling like his legs weren’t going to allow him to get back up again. He ate the contents of the package, all three items, then laid down, still feeling hungry but knowing from experience that he had enough in his stomach…it was just a matter of time before digestion kicked in and got the food into his bloodstream.
Bronsor woke up some time later, realizing he had nodded off without noticing. The room was empty, with the other occupants having left him to sleep. He found that odd, then heard people scurrying around elsewhere in the outpost, with him fearing the worst. Forcing himself to sit up, he looked for his rifle that had been at the foot of his bunk, but it was gone.
Guessing that it had been added to the communal armory, he stood up and stumbled his way to the open doorway and out into the hall, following the commotion until he caught up with the others.
“What’s going on?” he asked to the backs of half a dozen of them.
“We don’t know,” Dwermat said, doing a double take. “Good to see you again, Bronsor.”
“Likewise,” he said, walking up to the group and trying to look over their shoulders.
Up on the surface the Calavari commander strained his hearing, barely able to pick up the sound his sentries had heard but were unable to identify. It had a repeating pattern, not identical, but rhythmic…and not anything of either Calavari or Nestafar make.
The commander slowly cracked a smile, then pointed upwards to the nearest of the sentries before he jumped up and grabbed a low tree branch and began climbing.
“What is it?” the sentry asked halfway up.
“It’s a battle song,” the heavy Calavari said, having to carefully select branches that could hold his weight, though he had no trouble lifting himself from one to another using all four of his muscular arms. “A call to arms.”
“Nestafar?”
“No, of course not.”
“I didn’t know we had battle songs?”
“Not like this, no. If I’m right, it’s one of our allies,” the commander said, getting up high enough to push his head up into clean air. “And they’ve got a ship nearby transmitting.”
“Which ally?” the sentry said, coming up on another tree nearby.
The commander’s smile went from understated to full blossom as he saw the tiny block of a starship hovering over the distant city of Sassma and firing down on it with blue plasma.
“Humans,” he said casually, then he raised his voice and shouted back down to the base and the rest of the nearby sentries. “Humans! Our allies have arrived! The Humans are here!”
“So’s our enemy,” the sentry pointed out, extending an arm to the southeast, almost in line with where the city lay.
“Damn them…get everyone armed,” he ordered at seeing the flock of fliers wheeling about and heading their way thanks to his shouting. One last glance at their approximate position and he started climbing back down in a hurry.
“Get a comm to the Humans,” he said as he came down, with the others in the outpost surrounding the entrance as they came up, some with weapons, some not. “Let them know where we are and take up defensive positions. We’ve got Nestafar infantry coming in from that direction,” he said, pointing.
Those with weapons gave him a few excited nods and moved out, while the others filed back inside ahead of him.
Bronsor came up to the surface a few minutes later, having found himself a fully loaded plasma rifle, and moved to one of the better sniping positions outlined by those that had been here longer than him. By the time he got there he only had a few seconds before the sound of wing beats obscured the music of ‘The Imperial March’ that the Human warship was blaring across the landscape. He didn’t know what the sound was, but to him it meant hope and help, only now they were going to have to stay alive on their own merits a bit longer…and that was a fight he was more than up for.
He set himself against the side of a thick tree trunk and aimed up through a gap in the canopy as plasma fire from both sides overrode the thrumming of the wing beats. A moment later a group of Nestafar flew over in a hurry and he fired up at them, tagging one in the wing and causing it to fall into the treetops, but it didn’t come down to the forest floor.
Bronsor fired again and again every time a Nestafar passed over, seeing red plasma come raining down through the leaves where their enemy wouldn’t. Two deadly raindrops hit the ground near him, but he didn’t get hit and continued to fire back up at every enemy he could see while the other Calavari did the same.
Then a tree fell nearby, having been cut off at the trunk by a series of plasma hits. It dragged a couple of others over with it, exposing a larger swath of sky that Bronsor used to his advantage, knocking down two Nestafar in quick shots…then he had to duck behind his own tree as the enemy swarm dropped lower into the opening and fired on him and the others.
Bronsor ducked back out for a quick shot, seeing some 6 Nestafar blow apart into confetti when he fired. He knew instantly that it wasn’t his doing, but that of a Calavari scattergun…but where in the world had a Valerie come from?
Before he could wonder a gray blur flashed by overhead, skimming the trees and poaching the Nestafar, which was when he realized it wasn’t a Valerie, but one of the Human skeets whom the Calavari had gifted with the scattergun technology.
As the bits and pieces of Nestafar bodies fell down onto the felled tree Bronsor smiled for the first time in weeks. The Calavari leadership had chosen their allies well.
5
August 28, 2439
Renx System
Lrat
Bronsor walked up into the back of the Human dropship, which had squeezed itself down in between several trees to get low enough to the ground. The alien gray/white ship was a welcome sight in the morning light, after a long night of watching the plasma flashes over in Sassma. The battle there had apparently ended in the Humans’ favor, for their warship hung over the city most of the night before flying off less than an hour ago, and now they’d sent one of their transports to pick up the Calavari survivors.
There were 38 of them in the training outpost, with only 22 of them having fit into the first transport. It had left Bronsor and the others behind, waiting on this one, which the Calavari was more than glad to climb aboard.
The ceiling was a bit low, but at least they didn’t have to duck down. A few of the Calavari ahead of him sat on the Humans’ low benches while the rest of them, Bronsor included, stood in what appeared to be the cargo section of the craft as the rear hatch sealed up and the dropship lifted off. One Human, nearly their height, stood in gleaming white armor at the entrance to the cockpit, separating them from the pilots as it answered questions.
It seemed Sassma had already been evacuated with only a handful of survivors being found. Bronsor and the others were being transported up to a Human ship while their fleet was out pounding the Calavari across the planet and evacuati
ng all the survivors they could find…meaning they were either conceding the planet to the Nestafar or there were no intact Calavari cities left to move them into.
The trip up to orbit was uneventful. The Humans had small handheld screens on which exterior views could be monitored, for their ship had no windows. Bronsor didn’t get a chance to see one, though he was curious as to how many ships the Humans had brought with them, but most of all he was relieved to be alive and leaving the planet he had once called home. It had become a graveyard, and short of a major effort to rebuild he no longer wanted to be here with the memories of what had occurred.
His mind flashed back to Chavva, who would still have been standing beside him now if he’d only held out a little longer. At the time he’d agreed the situation was hopeless, but was both saddened and proud now. He had survived long enough for help to come, but Chavva could have done the same if he’d only been a bit more stubborn.
As the Human ship left the atmosphere and accelerated up towards the waiting fleet, Bronsor began to feel the effects of having escaped near death…for now his mind was starting to unnumb and a wealth of emotions that he’d been suppressing were beginning to play out, though he managed to keep them off his face as he and the others rode quietly in the back of the Human ship.
Eventually they landed and the hatch behind Bronsor cracked open, lowering into a ramp that he and the others walked down with a host of the shorter Humans waiting for them…but across the huge hangar deck they now stood on there were other Human vessels flying in and unloading more Calavari survivors, which was a welcome sight. Up until now he didn’t know if anyone aside from his unit had survived, and right here in front of him was at least 1,000.