Conflict: The Pythan War, Invasion

by DK Williamson

  “Nice shot, Guy,” George said.

  One of the resistance fighters climbed into the lead truck, and after shoving the two dead bodies from the cab, started the vehicle and rolled forward.

  “Everyone, get aboard!” Vance yelled. “We’re outnumbered and are getting out of here.”

  Several of the fighters ran for the truck. The Pythan machine gun opened fire again, taking down some of the fighters, including Vance. Shots from the resistance members silenced the machine gun once again as the truck continued to roll until it drew abreast of George and Guy.

  “Let’s go,” Guy said.

  “Right with you!”

  The two men climbed into the back of the truck.

  “Is that all?” came a yell from the cab.

  “There’s eleven of us. We are missing five. We have to go back!” said someone near the cab.

  “They’re dead,” said a man seated near George and Guy.

  “Are you sure?” George asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said another voice. “We can’t get them now, look.”

  From the back of the truck, they could see Pythan troops running through the headlights, crisscrossing the road among the buildings where the resistance fighters had sprung their ambush. The driver of the commandeered truck turned left into the darkness, leaving the scene behind.

  Once they were clear of the agricultural center, the survivors took stock of their situation. Among the eleven were three wounded, one severely. She would die before they made it to their vehicles hidden in the trees. The truck carried food, medical supplies, and a few crates of ammunition, a nice addition to the items they brought out of Tasco.

  The ten survivors evaded detection, drove into the mountains, and stopped at the first resistance observation post they came across.

  “You guys went and did it,” one of the OP fighters said when they climbed from the truck. “The radio says you killed more than twenty Pythan soldiers. But the big news is you popped the military governor. That’s gotta sting.”

  “Guy dropped him. I saw it,” George said.

  “I saw him fall,” said another man. “He was up on a truck waving his arms. Good on you, Guy.”

  Most of the people there offered their congratulations to Guy before they began their journey back to their base at the foot of the mountains.

  Any thought they would be treated as heroes was quickly dispelled when they arrived.

  Word spread quickly through the resistance camp that the infiltration party had returned and the reception was largely a hostile one. The crowd was angry and hurled insults and questions at them.

  The ten survivors learned that the Pythan response to their attack was brutal. “They executed eighty citizens of Tasco because of you, four for each Pythan killed. The Pythans put them in a line on the sports field and killed them with a firing squad.”

  “But why? They’ve never retaliated before,” they said.

  “You killed the military commander. He was a follower of Turog, a moderate, but his replacement follows Gnowles, and wants punishment and retribution. Thanks to you, he got it.”

  “Vance ordered it. You could blame him, but he’s dead,” was the response from the infiltration team.

  “He’s dead all right, but not in the way you’re thinking. He survived the ambush. They took him prisoner. They made him talk before they executed him. He named everyone involved and more. Do you know what the response from the Pythans was? They killed family members or associates of each of the named. They say if we continue fighting them, we’ll all have someone we know and love end up dead.”

  The ten learned they all had friends and relatives killed because of the incident, and of the ten none was harder hit by the news than Guy. Among those executed were his mother and fiancée.

  The Pythans broadcast a statement addressing the execution and the actions of the resistance, “We do not do this out of hate. We are bound by our faith in Pyth and Gnowles to repay the wounds inflicted upon us. Blood for blood. You live on a Pythan world now, and are bound by Pythan law. You call your acts war, but you cannot bring war, for you are not warriors.”

  There were those within the camp that wanted the ten to be punished, some suggested execution or turning them over to the Pythans. Some swore vengeance on the Pythans, while others felt that this was war, and in war such barbarities as the mass execution were inevitable and there was little to be done about it.

  George and Guy sought out Bruce English and learned he was gone, meeting with resistance leaders operating in the Bixby area. Alan spoke with them and it was apparent to him that Guy was devastated by what happened in Tasco.

  “I am responsible for the deaths of eighty people,” Guy said. “If I hadn’t shot the Pythan commander, maybe the executions might not have taken place.”

  Alan shook his head. “No one knows what would have happened. If you had not shot the commander, someone else would have.”

  “Maybe, but I’m the one that did it. I’m the one responsible. Those eighty deaths are because of my actions. My mother and fiancée are dead because of me. I wonder if I might help the situation if I turn myself over to the Pythans.”

  “You can’t do that, Guy,” George said. “It wouldn’t change anything.”

  Alan nodded. “I think he’s right, Guy. This is not a decision to be made rashly. You need time to deal with all of this. There’s going to be a camp meeting tomorrow. Let’s see what happens. Bruce ought to be back by then.”

  The following day discussions began under a huge rock overhang that provided natural overhead cover. The place was used for many purposes, public meetings being one of them.

  For hours, debate raged, for what little good it did. Very few opinions changed. Guy surreptitiously listened to part of the meeting and left after he heard most of the arguments.

  Some of these people feel my death will be the end of this. Maybe they are right. Maybe the Pythans will be placated, and so will those people here. I know one thing, I can’t fight anymore. My actions resulted in the death of those I was fighting for, he thought. I will do what is best for me and for these people here. They may not agree with me, but I must do it. I’ll do it tonight.

  George went to speak with his friend, but Guy did not want to talk about the situation. This concerned George, so he went to speak with Alan.

  “I saw Guy packing some things in a backpack. He wouldn’t tell me what he was doing,” George said. “I think he intends to turn himself over to the Pythans.”

  Alan sighed heavily. “We can’t let him do that.”

  “If he did, the Pythans would make him talk, wouldn’t they? On the video, I saw what Vance looked like before they executed him. They’ll do the same to Guy. He’ll have to talk, right?” George said.

  “Yes. They’ll extract all they can from him, then they’ll execute him.”

  “We’re not going to let him go, right? What do we do?”

  “He could compromise us here if the Pythans press him for information. We can’t let him go through with it, but I don’t know how we stop him short of imprisonment.” Alan grimaced and shook his head. “We don’t have the means to do that anyway. That leaves….” He shook his head once more. “No, I don’t even want to think about that. I wish Bruce was here.”

  George lowered his head and stared at the floor for a time. “I don’t want him to have to go through torture and an execution,” he said looking up at Alan. “I convinced him to come up here the day the Pythans invaded. I’ll talk to him, try to get him to change his mind. If he won’t… I’ll do it.” His voice broke. “I’ll make sure he never knows what hit him if it comes to that.”

  Alan blinked in shock. “George… I don’t know if that’s the best way to—”

  “Damn it, Alan! What are we going to do? Hang him? Put him before a firing squad? That’s what some around here are suggesting.”

  “George… can you do it? I mean if you can’t convince him. He’s your friend.”

&nb
sp; “That’s why I have to do it.”

  -(o)-

  George walked with his friend through the woods.

  “It is nice of you to see me off,” Guy said.

  “I felt it would be better if a friend went with you,” George replied. “I wish you would reconsider.”

  “We’ve been over this, George. I have to do this.” I know what he intends and why, but I can’t let him do it, Guy thought. I know what is best.

  As they penetrated farther into the woods, Guy stopped. This is as good a place as any. “George, look,” he said pointing at the base of a lance tree. “Shadow blossoms.”

  George bent and saw the bright purple flowers dimly glowing in the night. These were his mother’s favorite, he thought. Not here, God. Not here.

  Behind him, Guy deftly drew a pistol without making a sound. Thumbing the safety off, he brought the pistol up. “Forgive me, George,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

  The report from the pistol reverberated through the trees.

  -(o)-

  Two guards on the perimeter of the post saw a man emerge from the woods and approach. He walked with his head down, shuffling slowly, as if he was exhausted or wounded.

  One of the guards opened his mouth to challenge the man, but his comrade stopped him.

  “Let him get close. He’s resistance if his clothes are any indication. We don’t want to yell if we can help it. We’ll see who he is and make sure he’s alone, then we’ll take him in.”

  -(o)-

  A guard brought the man to a tent and led him inside.

  “Someone to see you, sir,” the guard said to a man seated behind a small desk.

  Bruce English looked up. “What happened?” he asked with a pained look. “Alan told me what occurred, what you had planned. Did you kill him?”

  “You might say that,” George said. “I was going to do it, but Guy shot himself. He had a letter in his pocket.” George walked to Bruce’s desk with a grimace on his face. He laid the pistol and an envelope on the desk in front of Bruce. “I buried him where he died. Even if he hadn’t….” George’s face distorted in pain. “I was going to kill my friend, Bruce. What does that make me?” George turned with haunted eyes and walked away.

  Bruce looked at the torn envelope for a minute, then removed the paper inside and read,

  My friends,

  I am sorry I was not strong enough to stay the course. I hope you all will forgive me. As I write this, I do not know whom you will send to stop me, but I cannot let it happen. Your conscience and your mind must be clear for the task ahead, whatever that task may be.

  I take full blame for the actions that led to the executions in Tasco. Maybe this will assuage those who grieve.

  We all know what might happen were one of us captured and interrogated. I thought about it and I agree. I will not betray you. I cannot betray you. I am dead. I think with what you all have to face in the future, I think I am the fortunate one.

  ,Guy

  Bruce placed the letter on the desktop and slid his chair back. He bent and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He stayed that way a long time.

  -(o)-

  Early the next morning, Bruce called for an assembly of the entire community. He stood in the bed of one of the off road vehicles so everyone could see him,

  “By now I am sure everyone is aware of what occurred last night,” he said in a loud voice. “Things are going to change. They must. I am aware many of you no longer wish to fight the Pythans. I respect your decision. I am going to continue the fight, alone if need be. Any who feel the same are welcome to join me. If you do, then we do things differently. We run a tighter ship. There will be a chain of command. I’m not saying we’ll try to be like Land Forces, but we will exhibit some discipline, and we will take the fight to the Pythans.”

  “But what about the Pythans? Won’t they retaliate again?” a voice in the crowd said.

  “If they do, then it is on their heads. They are responsible for it. What alternative is there? Quit? Go live in the hills and hope the Coalition wins? Surrender?” Bruce shook his head. “No, I’ll not live under their system. I’ll fight them until we win, lose, or die.”

  A hand in the crowd went up. “What of us that choose to stop fighting? What do we do?”

  “You go where you will, do as you wish.”

  “You going to be in charge, Bruce?” another voice asked.

  “Maybe, maybe not. What I do know is we must have a command structure. We cannot operate as we did before. We need cohesion, purpose, and coordination. We need set goals and need to aggressively pursue those goals.

  “What happened in Tasco was not the fault of one person. It was the result of a long series of oversights and errors in judgment. Guy was not to blame, but we made him feel as if he was. There is not a single person here responsible for the death of the eighty people the Pythans executed. Their deaths were solely the actions of the Pythans. Keep that in mind. There will not be another situation like we had with Guy.”

  “But he killed the Pythan commander,” a voice shouted.

  “True. What fighter here would not have done the same?” Bruce eyed the crowd with a stern gaze. “Any one of us would have. Don’t deny it. The Pythans are to blame for this, for all of it. They invaded us. They hunt us. They are the people who pulled the triggers on automatic weapons and killed our friends and family. We have choices: utterly capitulate and accept Pythan rule and Pythan culture; we live like rats in the hills; or we fight. We have to make a decision. I have already stated my intentions, you must each make your own.”

  -(o)-

  The resistance camp was in upheaval for days. When it all shook out, the community split into several groups. A few who wished to continue independent resistance went their own ways. A handful decided to turn themselves in to the Pythans. Those that remained chose either to cease fighting and live free of Pythan governance or follow Bruce English.

  English and his followers sought a new location from where they might have shelter and a secure base for combat operations. Despite winter coming on, they succeeded.

  The reorganized resistance force was not long out of action. Harassment of Pythan patrols resumed, hit and run attacks on outposts came in ever increasing numbers, and psychological operations began.

  Chief among these psychological tactics was a clear declaration of the resistance movement’s intentions. On a snowy night in midwinter, small placards appeared at locations throughout Tasco and Bixby, placed by ghosts—resistance members—who came and went unseen. The placards carried a simple message,

  To Pythan forces occupying the Coalition planet of Gates:

  You apply your law as you will. You say those who were Coalition citizens before you arrived are now Pythans, including those of us who fight you, who you label as heretics. If this is your truth, then you kill Pythans in retaliation for the actions of heretics. We are heretics who refuse your beliefs and your rule. Come and execute us if you can. We hold that any who wear the uniform of the Pythan military, and those that serve the Pythan government, are our enemies. As you seek us, we seek you and your deaths. Our rifles will sing and you will die. Retaliating against people you hold captive will not stop us. Venture into our lands and you will find that you have little power outside of the two cities you control.

  You say we are not warriors. You will find that belief to be in error. This is war, and you will find Gates to be a very lonely and deadly place. Your numbers will dwindle and you will know fear. Pray Pyth will show you mercy. We will show you none.

  -(o)-

  Interlude

  Military forces were not the only Coalition units to find themselves cut off, and not all of them were left to fend for themselves solely by circumstance. Some elements stayed by choice: Medical personnel; local government officials and representatives; and others, were among these, and most did so publicly in an effort to calm unease about approaching Pythan forces.

&nb
sp; There were those that stayed behind, escaping notice. Hidden in plain sight among the masses that could not flee before the Pythan advance, these people were intelligence operatives. Performing the age-old service of spying on enemies behind the lines, these operatives were not just miles, or leagues, or hemispheres away from home, these agents were light years from support.

  . . .

  Like Smoke

  “You’ll stay here,” a man said to the woman standing next to him as they placed the last of a load of boxes into a covered flatbed truck.

  “And just what do you think I can accomplish, Kurt?” she asked.

  “A great deal, that’s what. More than you think, too. They’ll never see you coming.”

  “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this.”

  “In your position I wouldn’t be comfortable either, Gabby,” Kurt said. “It’s a tough assignment on almost zero notice. You can decline if you like.”

  Gabby slid the last box into place within the enclosed bed of the truck and helped Kurt raise the tailgate into the closed position.

  “If I did decline, I’d be finished in intel, correct?”

  “As an operative? Most certainly. This is what they spent all that time and treasure training you to do,” Kurt said, pushing lock pins into the tailgate. “Some would call it a dream job, besides, it’s war.”

  “If the Pythans take over, how am I supposed to function? Their society is misogynistic.”

  “Not misogynistic, they don’t hate women. They treat them as second class citizens. There is a difference,” Kurt said as he lashed down a flexible cover on the back of the truck. “You have a passable understanding of their language, I’d have thought you’d know that.”

  “I know some of the language, not their society. I’m domestic, not a Pythan specialist. You’re right about the difference though, but even if I can gather intelligence, what’s the point? I’ll be alone and have no way to report my findings.”