Darwin's Soldiers

by Ste Sharp

  ‘Well, it’s good to have you back.’ Crossley looked genuinely happy. ‘Although you’ll probably want to join the redcoats now they’re here, right?’ He gestured to where a dozen British soldiers camped round a fire using their maroon coats as blankets and tending their wounds with what John recognised as sphagnum moss.

  ‘I doubt they’d have me.’ John lifted his gun-arm. Why would they? he thought.

  ‘That’s their loss, my friend,’ Crossley replied.

  John felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. How could he have believed the Draytor who had taken him from the Frarex village was Crossley?

  ‘What is it, John?’ Euryleia asked when he found himself staring into the flames.

  ‘I…’ John didn’t know where to begin. He hadn’t told anyone his story yet.

  Lavalle laid a hand on Euryleia’s shoulder. ‘He’ll tell us in his own time.’ The knight glanced at the knot in John’s trouser leg.

  ‘Sure.’ Crossley sat with the fire between him and Lavalle. ‘But there’s no point bottling it all up, hey?’ He looked at John. ‘You’re with friends now, so you can say what you want.’

  John wrinkled his nose as he felt his eyes water. Crossley was right – these were his friends. He felt like he’d been through more with these men and women these past two weeks than during any battle in Belgium.

  ‘I…’ John’s voice broke, so he coughed and started again. ‘I thought I saw my son, Joe and–’ A thought came to him. ‘You know, when I first arrived here I thought my wife would be here – I thought we were all dead.’ He paused and breathed in deeply. ‘But it’s just a trick. One big trick. I mean, what are we here for?’

  ‘To fight,’ Lavalle said.

  Crossley shrugged. ‘Probably.’

  John took a sip of water. ‘I thought I saw Joe, then I thought I saw you.’ He looked at Crossley. ‘Then the bastards who tricked me tied me up, stuck pins in me and cut off my leg.’

  Silence. The faces said it all. John saw the trail of a tear run down Euryleia’s cheek.

  ‘It’s not the pain,’ John said. ‘It’s the loss. The emptiness.’

  Lavalle stared into the fire and said, ‘But there are always moments of hope.’

  ‘True.’ John nodded and looked to where Millok was guarded by Li, Samas and Sakarbaal. She looked uncomfortable as she floated in a prison of light: a gift from the Lutamek.

  Behind them, Mihran and Althorn walked with the Lutamek robots. He tried to remember the names Crossley had told him. The leader was Two-zero-three and their doctor was Ten-ten and… was that Millok’s robot?

  ‘Give me a minute.’ John pushed himself up. ‘No, I’m fine.’ He waved away helping hands, leant on his crutch and hopped towards the commanders, trying to cut them off before they reached Millok.

  ‘…torturing my soldiers in the Brakari city,’ Two-zero-three was talking, ‘and we demand retribution.’

  ‘And you shall have it,’ Mihran replied. ‘Just not today. Ah, John.’

  ‘Commander.’ John nodded and glanced at the Lutamek leader then back to Mihran. ‘Millok saved me. You can’t kill her.’

  ‘John.’ Mihran held a palm up. ‘Nobody is talking about killing prisoners.’

  ‘But we demand retribution,’ Two-zero-three repeated. ‘Your commander tells me the Brakari crippled you, and Two-eight-four tells me you do not desire revenge.’

  ‘Two-eight-four?’ John pictured the markings on the Lutamek they had freed.

  ‘It was present when you chose not to kill the Draytor – is this a human weakness?’

  ‘No, I…’ John stuttered.

  ‘Then you released Two-eight-four from imprisonment. Is this another weakness?’ The Lutamek turned to Mihran. ‘Is your army weak, Commander? Should we break our pact and search for other allies to help free our kin?’

  Mihran clenched his teeth before replying, ‘Do not test me. Our alliance will hold because you need us. The Brakari can overpower your systems. You offer us scouts and information. We offer you diversion and victory. We have one day left and will fight tomorrow.’ He pointed at John. ‘One of my men has already freed one of your soldiers. Proof of our intent. Instead of insulting us, please show gratitude.’

  John stood dumbstruck. Had they really been here only thirteen days? It felt longer.

  ‘Your information is correct,’ Two-zero-three replied. ‘The Brakari have the ability to control our components, which is why, despite our martial prowess, we cannot meet them in battle.’

  Mihran’s eyes narrowed. ‘What we need is information.’ He looked at Two-zero-three. ‘And gratitude.’

  Ten-ten gestured at John. ‘I can construct him a leg.’

  John felt his cheeks warm. Could they really give him his leg back? ‘Yes, a leg would be good, but what about this?’ He raised his gun-arm in its sling.

  A blue light on Ten-ten’s shoulder pulsed and a criss-cross pattern ran over his body. ‘Interesting,’ the robot said. ‘But this change is irreversible.’

  ‘Will the gun fire again?’ Mihran asked.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Ten-ten replied. ‘But not with the original ammunition.’

  John sighed. ‘Just the leg then, thank you.’

  ‘Come. We can fix it now.’

  Ten-ten walked away and John limped after him.

  ‘Sit.’ Ten-ten pointed to a rock. ‘I have the measurements.’

  John looked back at Mihran and Two-zero-three as they discussed the new tactics. A new Lutamek joined them and projected a map onto a scrap of bare earth. John recognised the Brakari battlefield Millok had shown him. The Sorean joined the discussions, along with some human soldiers.

  A shape loomed over John and he looked up. ‘Here.’ It was Two-eight-four, the robot he had freed. It offered a piece of metal to John. ‘For your leg.’

  John shook his head. ‘No, you need this more than me, after what they did to you.’

  ‘To us both.’ The metal didn’t move. ‘Take it.’

  Reluctantly, John raised his good hand and took the warm tube of shiny metal. ‘Thank you.’ He looked in what he assumed were the robot’s eyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ Two-eight-four replied and walked away.

  ‘I’ll see to him next.’ Ten-ten took the metal rod with his mammoth hands.

  John watched open-mouthed as the Lutamek’s eight fingers twisted, screwed and welded pieces of dark-grey and black metal together and around each other. It was like watching an origami master. Out of the shapes a leg and foot were forming, with rotating ankles and flexible toes.

  ‘Here.’ Ten-ten held out its creation with a hint of pride in its voice. ‘Please try it.’

  John untied his trouser knot and pressed his stump into the warm cup at the top of the false leg. A tingle ran across his skin where it touched, making him shiver.

  ‘The material is sensitive to organic components,’ Ten-ten explained. ‘It’s how our inert body parts interact with our biological material.’

  John nodded, not sure he completely understood. If he closed his eyes he could pretend he had his old leg back. He wiggled the metal toes and flexed the ankle. John lifted his leg and was surprised how light it was. He stepped forward and smiled.

  ‘Good?’ Ten-ten asked.

  Better than good, John thought. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  John took a step, then another. He felt a smile creeping across his face. ‘Yes!’ He whispered and walked a circle, then walked to where the soldiers were watching shapes moving on the floor. ‘What is it?’ John asked Crossley and tried to get a better view.

  ‘Movies of old battles apparently. The Brakari… evil-looking bastards.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ John caught a glimpse of three blue-shelled Brakari circling a Lutamek and felt a shiver in his belly.

  His hand slipped under his shirt and he remembered he’d lost Joe’s tin soldier back in Panzicosta’s torture hut. He looked at Millok, trussed up like an animal ready for slaughter, and an idea came to him.

 
He picked out Mihran and walked over to him. ‘Commander, I…’

  ‘Ah, your leg.’ Mihran gave him the once-over. ‘Good.’

  ‘No, I wanted to say, I mean… What the Lutamek said about the Brakari controlling them, I think I know how to stop it… I saw a Lutamek box.’ John unhooked his bag and pulled out one of the marbles, which attracted a look from a Sorean. ‘And I found these. The Brakari who tortured me said they are shields.’

  Mihran stared at him.

  ‘Millok can help me get back in and get it,’ John said.

  ‘No,’ Mihran replied and nodded at the hooded figure at the edge of the group. ‘Althorn will go.’

  Chapter 16

  Althorn watched the Lutamek’s projection of miniature battles play out on the dusty floor. The squat Brakari soldiers had more weaponry and shielding than the scouts they had fought, which the Lutamek suggested had been clones and not the adapted, hardened warriors they were likely to fight on the battlefield tomorrow.

  Tomorrow they would fight, Althorn thought. Would tomorrow be their last day in this land or would it be his last day alive?

  Before becoming a paid killer, Althorn had fought many battles but, unlike other soldiers, the thrill of war had never gripped him. Every clash and scrap had been a terrifying fight for survival, not the artful display of sword dancing and heroism the song weavers sang about. He’d feared for his life more times than he could remember and, each time, had taken another’s life in order to survive. That weighed heavy on him… he pictured his sister’s dying eyes and shook his head.

  ‘Althorn.’ Mihran’s voice made him turn quickly, sending his body into a blur.

  ‘Commander.’

  ‘Another mission.’ Mihran flicked his head and Althorn walked with him. ‘As you heard, the Lutamek cannot fight unless we find their shield generator. I want you to go to Abzicrutia and retrieve it.’

  ‘Yes, Commander.’ Althorn felt his stomach tense: being away meant he would have to communicate through Mihran’s mental net.

  ‘John can give you the details – question Millok as well. Then go. It’s highly likely you’ll intercept the Brakari army. I need to know everything about them.’ Mihran wore a look that suggested he was expecting questions.

  ‘Yes, Commander,’ Althorn replied. ‘If the city is abandoned and I know what I’m looking for, it will be fine.’

  ‘Good.’ Mihran nodded. ‘And if you see anything else of interest…’

  ‘Such as?’ Althorn asked.

  ‘The silver gates. Also, I have a theory there are more human soldiers out there. Other fighting species too – losers who are too few to fight a battle. If you find any…’

  ‘Yes.’ Althorn wasn’t sure how he would be able to convince anyone to join their fight, but Olan had managed it with the Sorean. ‘I’ll try.’

  ***

  Althorn was soon speeding across the grassy plain, following a memorised map. To his left he saw the deep greys and shadows of a tall ruined fortress. Beyond was the valley where the Brakari wanted to fight, according to John.

  Althorn found himself drifting again, as he did when he felt tense, and ran at high speed. He had to loosen his shoulders and work the stress out. There was a lot riding on him. He had to report back on the Brakari army, locate the Lutamek shield and find new allies. All in half a day.

  He tried to clear his mind and enjoy the moment: let the rushing wind wash away the weight of expectation. He thrived on the freedom and speed. Here he was. Anonymous. Invisible. Untouchable. He gave a wild howl as he sped through a long valley.

  Then he saw a Brakari scout.

  It was perched between two rocks at the head of the valley, its blue shell standing out against a world of dull browns. The Lutamek had told him to expect five scouts in each party, so Althorn skirted in a wide arc around the scout and sped to a nook hidden in a scattering of rocks. Here he could see in all directions and keep his back against solid rock. Everything was quiet. Althorn scanned the immense plain below and caught his first sight of the Brakari army. It was the largest army – the largest group of beings – he had ever seen. Hundreds of shadows moved in an arrow-shaped pattern. He squinted but, other than the odd shade of blue, he could only make out some large beasts among the throng. His eyes followed the trail back to where the ground met the hazy horizon and saw the silhouette of a city.

  Althorn took a gulp of water and chewed on a lump of dried meat from his satchel. He needed to replenish his energy: it was time to contact Mihran. He sat still, closed his eyes and pictured the map the Lutamek had shown him. He imagined a red dot where he sat and marked a blue dot at the head of the valley where he had seen the scout. On the plain, he marked where Abzicrutia appeared and painted the shape of the Brakari army. He pushed the image back to where the human army waited and followed it up with the words: Enemy moving into position.

  Althorn rested his head as the pressure headache came, followed by Mihran’s voice. More detail. Troop numbers. Allies. Weaponry.

  The pressure disappeared and Althorn opened his eyes, breathing deeply. Mihran was to the point as ever.

  The Brakari army moved slowly across the plain, leaving a low cloud of dust in its wake. Ahead of the main group, isolated pockets of dust belonged to scouting parties, which was odd, because if they were that far ahead surely they would also be… He heard a noise, leapt up and ran away as fast as he could; painting an erratic path down the hill, then back up behind the rocks. He caught a glimpse of blue – that was all he needed – and sped off.

  Continuing his unpredictable, snaking path, Althorn sped downhill to where the great Brakari army had trampled the grassland flat. There was less chance of running into scouts here, he thought. Plus he had to get a close look at the army before the scouts raised the alarm.

  He closed in. The sheer number of creatures of varying sizes overwhelmed Althorn. He could estimate the numbers: a hundred light-blue scorpion Brakari; two packs of large, humpbacked wolves; scores of sparking Lutamek; a group of furred soldiers; at least fifty dark-blue Brakari and, in the centre, a lumbering mammoth, similar to the corpses they had camped inside with Peronicus-Rax. On its back a small creature gave off a phosphorescent blue light, which pulsed and pulled at Althorn as he sped past. It was a strange colour. Piercing, yet soft.

  ‘No!’ Althorn veered away, realising he was being drawn like a moth to a flame.

  Had he strayed too near? His head started to ache like when Mihran talked to him, but he pushed the feeling away. He had to get to safety. He needed food and water, but had to keep running. If he slowed they would see him. His thoughts came and went as his energy waned. Shelter. He needed shelter. A small grove of trees was nearby, so he pulled in. His head was spinning as he slowed down to a run then a jog and stopped to take a sip from his canteen.

  Must contact Mihran, he thought, but his head was so heavy. He just needed to stop and build the energy to talk to Mihran. Just a quick rest, he thought, and stumbled behind a tree where he rested his head on a root and closed his eyes.

  Althorn didn’t know how long he had been asleep. He hadn’t dreamt but he felt a presence and looked up to see several pairs of eyes staring at him. He felt groggy and blinked as a wave of nausea ran through his belly.

  He forced himself to focus.

  ‘Escape,’ a voice said.

  But the eyes… he could see they were set in an odd-looking face whose features seemed to be in the wrong position. No teeth, but plenty of sharp, moving objects making sounds, surrounded by a glimmering, dark-blue shell.

  Slowly, Althorn realised the creature was talking to him.

  ‘…another human.’ The large Brakari’s mouthparts twisted and snapped. ‘Just what I need after the last one was so rudely taken from me.’

  ***

  ‘Can you see it?’ Dakaniha asked Kastor, who crouched beside him as they peered over a mound of charred metal and bone.

  ‘No, you say it’s white?’ Kastor asked.

  Dakaniha
nodded.

  ‘Hard to see in the morning light.’

  Dakaniha didn’t need to turn to see the Spartan squinting. He had all four eyes open, giving him an almost full view of his surroundings. ‘It’s moving again. Long, thin arms and legs.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I see it.’ Kastor was smiling.

  Dakaniha kept his front eyes fixed on the sinuous, bleached creature as a gangly comrade joined it. The creatures were skirting around the battle debris and closing in on where Gal-qadan’s army slept. He had never seen one before but Dakaniha’s people knew of such creatures.

  ‘Come on.’ Kastor beckoned him over.

  They had been on sentry duty but Kastor wanted to search for the ghostly samurai who trailed Gal-qadan’s men. They had seen no sign of the three hazy trails and there hadn’t been a wisp of moist air to be seen when this threat had arrived, skulking and loping across the ground.

  Kastor stopped and pointed. ‘They’re throwing something,’ he whispered.

  Dakaniha saw clouds of powder drifting on the morning breeze in the direction of the sleeping soldiers.

  ‘They’re too far away. They’ll move closer,’ Dakaniha whispered.

  ‘Let’s get in their way then!’ Kastor beamed and unclipped his sword.

  The two men kept low and tiptoed across to intercept the white creatures – but Dakaniha had second thoughts. What if these creatures really were the Yunwi-Tsunsdi his tribe knew of? Attacking them would be disastrous! Their army would be hounded every step of the way, through forest, prairie and mire.

  They came to a gap and he caught a closer glimpse of them. No, these creatures were too big to be Yunwi-Tsunsdi. And ugly, with their long faces and hollow eyes.

  Kastor made a series of quick hand signals and crawled off without looking back, leaving Dakaniha with no way to tell him it was a stupid plan. They needed more men. He threw a glance at the sleeping soldiers, less than twenty paces away. Should he wake them and scare off the white creatures? No, he and Kastor could take care of these two. Keeping his front eyes fixed on the white beings, Dakaniha slipped his bow free. A tickling sensation crept up his neck and he froze – something had moved behind him. Something in his peripheral vision. In one fluid movement, he pulled an arrow from his quiver, rolled onto his right shoulder and, as his back hit the floor, fired an arrow.