by Ava D. Dohn
* * *
Alba limped toward the shattered oak, a drenching downpour hindering her pace even more. Sticky, claylike goo stuck to her boots, making every movement a major effort. Rainwater had collected in bloody pools thick with mud. There was often no other choice than to slosh through the crimson muck as her little party trudged toward the distant tree.
At least the artillery barrage had decreased. Whatever the reason - the heavy rains, or counter attacks from the air fleet...whichever - it let Alba breathe a momentary sigh of relief.
As she struggled up the gentle rise toward the forest, Alba observed the many different styles of uniforms and armor found on the dead. Some wore kilts with or without leggings, bright colors of blue, green, or gold along with hard metallic armor, often just upper breastplates with shoulder protection. Occasionally she spotted full suits of plate, or chain-mail. Then there were the other extremes, similar to her uniform - dull green, gray or khaki shirts and trousers tucked into calf-high, leather-like boots, and soft-armor padded shell jackets, vests or full. Although most helmets contained blast shields, their appearance also varied according to each particular uniform.
Alba could not help but be amazed. Even the weapons differed so much - everything from pikes and crossbows to long range rifles and hand held rapid-fire machine guns. Then there were the swords...everywhere, swords. Most were derker blades. The woman had a powerful respect for such weapons. But to charge into a hail of iron and steel with a sword and shield? She just shook her head in wonder.
The jumble of bodies reminded Alba of toy jackstraws scattered about by a careless child. In her distraction, she slipped, landing face down in the sticky slop. The lieutenant froze where she crashed, face to face with a fallen comrade. Sheet lightning dancing beneath the clouds in pulsing, strobe-like rhythm, followed by continual rumbles of thunder, forever burned pictures of the moment into Alba’s mind.
The strikingly beautiful woman appeared as though sleeping on the broken ground in front of Alba, her eyes peacefully closed, a soft smile on her lips. The rain collected in droplets on her porcelain-white skin, running down in tiny rivulets from her nose and chin, splashing onto the sodden soil. Several locks of flaming red hair had fallen from under her ornate helm, swaddling her face and jaw in a tender caress, gracefully draping itself, fanlike, across her neck and shoulder.
Impulsively, Alba reached out to pull some strands of hair trapped in the woman’s mouth, startled at the cold feel of flesh as her fingers slid along the woman’s cheek. She reached up and tenderly stroked the woman’s forehead, so smooth and flawless, a lustrous work of art, so perfect, so cold and perfect...
How long Alba lay there, caught in that trance, she did not know. Her lifetime of feelings and memories fell away into nothingness as she pondered the depth and breadth of these innocent people thrown into this caldron of insanity. She had lived less than a hundred winters. What really were the years of this woman? Could the ages of time place a date on her birth? Had a million summers stirred her heart with delight - a billion, or more? Would distraught lovers mourn her loss, or were they, too, laying somewhere upon this field of destruction?
A finely woven chrysolite and gold chain hung from the woman’s neck, broken when she fell. Alba fumbled for the mud-covered locket still attached to the chain, so delicate and fragile. She struggled to her knees. All so carefully, she lifted the locket, desiring not to intrude upon any secrets hidden within, then, gently pulling the chain from around the woman’s neck placed them both into her opened hand.
Alba closed the woman’s fingers tight around the treasure and bent low, whispering in her ear, “There now…rest, my sister, until the sun shines from cloudless skies.” She sank back on her knees, consumed by her own celebration of grief.
“Lieutenant?!” the private cried.
Alba felt a trembling hand on her shoulder. She looked up to her right into frantic eyes, sadly nodded her head and struggled to rise.
A strong hand gripped her other arm. “We got ya, Commander! That’s a pretty fancy wound you’ve got. I’ll tend to it momentarily.”
Surprised, Alba twisted her head to see the person speaking. The soldier grinned and answered her unspoken question. “You tore up your leg dancin’, I suppose. It’s a wonder you can still walk. C’mon and let me help ya.” He pulled a small packet from his pocket and ripped it open with his teeth.
Alba attempted to ask what craziness he was chattering about but, before she could speak, he popped a small pill into her mouth.
“Swallow!” He commanded, pushing her jaw closed as he tilted her head back.
Instant anger blazed in Alba’s ocean blue eyes. “You…!” She began, while glancing at her leg. Her wild retort turned into an anxious gasp. From just behind the knee almost to the ankle, Alba could see an ugly gash in her flesh exposing tendon and bone. Her recent fall had started it bleeding again. Now she understood why it had been so difficult to walk, she thinking it just the slippery, broken ground.
The pain! It raced up her leg, along her spine and shoulders with a shudder, exploding in the back of her head, adding to the dull pain lingering in her ear. She let out a cry and almost collapsed.
“Gotcha!” The soldier who had given her the pill called, catching her with his arm. “I knew when you saw it, feelin’s would come a’callin’. You’ll be fine. That medicine will kick in soon. That should ease the pain without numbin’ the brain.” He caught her up under her arms. “Even if it hurts some now, we gotta go!” With that, he started assisting her up the hill.
Thirty minutes later, Alba was leaned against that shattered tree, the medic smiling. He patted her on the shoulder. “There ya go, Commander! Almost good as new! I didn’t have any real medical cloth to patch you up with, but the material was fairly clean… and I put some powdered crystalline sulfur in the wound.” He shrugged. “Best I could get.”
Alba thanked him.
He grinned and took from his pocket half a dozen sealed packets, each containing one capsule of painkiller. “Here ya go. I’d tell ya to rest a bit, but I don’t think it’d do me any good. So take one of these when it gets to hurtin’ too bad. I bound your leg up tight. It should stay together until you can get some real medical help.” The soldier handed the pills to Alba and bounded away down the slope. Alba raised her hand and called for the soldier to stop, but he was already gone.
It was years before she found out who the person was and what became of him. Like so many thousands of others, she eventually found his name inscribed on a monument in the Silent Tombs, honoring him for sacrifices made at the battle of PurooGlossa.
“Help me up, please...” Alba asked, reaching out for assistance. A little shaky, she stood. “Thank you.” The painkiller had eased the discomfort to a dull ache. She could still think clearly, or at least hoped that to be the case.
Lieutenant Alba scanned the assembled group. ‘Forty altogether, and less than two dozen fit for duty. Were these all who were left from the lighter, which carried over half of my company of five hundred?’ She peered into faces and saw none from her platoon. Besides the corporal and private, there was one...no two, who looked familiar, but she didn’t know their names. The woman groaned in her heart, nearly weeping.
Recalling the Officer’s Code, Alba struggled to regain control. Forcing a brave voice, she asked, “Who is from “Rock Company”, 9th Volunteer Regiment, 2nd Brigade, Winehardt’s Division?”
Five hands shot up. Two were the persons previously mentioned. Alba waited.
A soldier piped in, “The four of us are from Winehardt’s Division, 4th Brigade, Sixth Company. We lost track of our unit in the landing.”
Others began to chime in, telling the lieutenant what company and brigade they were from. At least everyone was from the same division. But what of Rock Company?
Alba shielded her eyes with her hand and peered longingly back across the open pl
ain filled with the dead and injured, along with a scattering of shadowy apparitions drifting in and out of the misty gloom. She searched for life by the distant lighter, its blackened hull smoldering in the steady rain. No movement was to be seen near it. She swallowed hard, her throat constricting. All she could do was silently hope and pray that others had already made it to the wood.
“Are there any officers here?” Alba saw no hands, nor heard reply. “Sergeants?” Again no one responded. “Corporals?” Just one hand rose.
Alba thought fast. “What’s your name, Corporal?” she asked, trying to cover her own growing trepidation at the situation.
“Corporal KfirNoiz, Lieutenant.” came the corporal’s crisp reply. “Zeevit’s Platoon, Rock Company.”
“Well, Corporal Kfir…” Alba glanced once more around the group, putting her hands on her hips in an outward display of confidence, “you’re second in command.”
Alba pondered their options. They could wait there in hopes of joining up with new arrivals, eventually getting reunited with their proper companies, or move toward the sound of distant fighting, deeper into the forest. She studied the faces of those in her charge. Most if not all were new volunteers, never having experienced combat. What was needed at the moment was strong leadership and good decision-making. On both points the lieutenant felt quite inadequate. But what else was there for her to do? These recruits were looking to their officer for needed guidance and direction.
Alba decided they must move deeper into the woods. This land of the dead in which they huddled was no place to be, slowly strangling the heart and soul of any who lingered. Waving her arm toward the dark, foreboding forest, the lieutenant issued her first real order under combat. “Corporal, the hour is wasting away! There’s devil's work needs yet to be done! Get the others up and we’ll be off.”
Another soldier nervously spoke up. “Lieutenant, we have no supplies. All has been lost. What are we to do?”
Alba was taken aback. It was true, almost none of her new hodgepodge platoon had any weapons, let along water, food, and other needed equipment.
‘Think fast! Be bold!’ Alba heard her mouth speak, but couldn’t believe she was the maker of the words that issued forth. “Our brothers and sisters have given us a bountiful harvest to satisfy all our needs. Gather from them the goods to fill your larders.” Her voice became subdued. “They will not offer complaint.”
At first the troops hesitated. “Go!” Alba shouted, limping toward a dead officer a little distance away. Upon seeing their commander ‘desecrate’ the slain, the others began to retrieve needed articles from the field.
It took little time to obtain all their supplies, the dead being so thick no one needed to go far to find necessary items. At last they were ready, weighed down with filled knapsacks, canteens of water, and packs of munitions. The weapons varied but for these rookies there was no desire for the toys of bygone wars. All carried some form of gun. Most were lightweight, short barrel, rapid fire, copied from some design once used in the Second Realm. ‘Grease-gun…maybe that’s the name’ she thought. ‘Whatever. They can spew forth a torrent of hot metal. Good for inexperienced soldiers.’
“Spread out and stay low! Keep a sharp eye!” Alba cautioned while motioning. “Corporal Kfir, take the rear. I’ll take point. Remember everyone, stay alert!”
Few moved. Alba paused, seeing fear and uncertainty in their faces. She must drive it from them before they were consumed by it. In apparent indignant anger, she scolded, “Who do you think you are?! Will you shame the fallen heroes in whose midst we now humbly stand? They have already surrendered all for us. It is now our duty to help carry the day for them!”
Stepping into the center of the group, Alba waved her arm toward the east. “This planet is the possession of our enemy.” Then, thumping her chest, she shouted, “We have come to take it from him! We, my friends -you and me - we are the predators, the panthers on the prowl! We have come to conquer and destroy, slaughter and pillage! Do not fear the monster, for we are the monster! We shall cast down our enemy and feast on his flesh! His blood we will drink in ruthless celebration!”
Clutching hold of a soldier by her shirt, Alba leaned in close, her lips curled back in an angry, impassioned grin, snarling, “Come, now! Let us go and murder our fellow man!”
“Are you with me?!” She shouted. With that, Alba spun around on her good leg, crouched, and began hobbling into the trees. Everyone dutifully followed, feeling somewhat braver and more willing to face the waiting evil lurking in the gloom.