Gunship - The Series

by John Davis

  Although no bottle or flask was visible, Roman suspected Dalton had one somewhere in those faded brown pants of his. Most of his stash had just been disposed of in the most unthinkable of ways, so it was very possible that he simply had began to ration what remained of the alcohol.

  As for Roman, he carried a standard issue combat pistol as well as a rugged military grade knife. Most of his gear consisted of rations, binoculars, a chart machine used for surveying and graphing a map of the area and a large com unit that could reach the ship from several clicks away. Michaels had insisted that they stay in contact, just in case they had indeed been followed. It was very unlikely, however, as the Captain made his living by walking with caution and today was certainly no different.

  The two men headed out, wading through the tall grass as Dalton took intensely deep puffs from a cigar, the red embers of the burning end glowing in the darkened surroundings as Dalton glanced back to smile at everyone for a moment as if a parade had been assembled in his honor. Roman had left Troy with a snub nosed pistol and the very important task of protecting the crew. The weapon wasn't hot of course, Roman had removed all of the ammunition from it long before turning it over to the boy, still it gave the young man something positive to focus on and that's how Roman had gotten himself through the toughest of times.

  As Michaels finished covering the grave of his high stakes poker winning turned close friend, Sarah and Troy approached him slowly, trying not to disturb him during a tough time in his life.

  “I'm sorry about your friend.” Sarah said apologetically as they sat on a decent sized rock near the Captain.

  “Thanks. Truth is, I cheated my ass off the night I won him you know?” Adam replied, trying to lighten the spirits of the boy, while impressing the girl that he had so quickly fallen for.

  They continued to talk for a while, Michaels showing Troy his method of holding a pistol as Dalton and Roman disappeared from sight, beginning to hit rocky terrain littered with thick brush and small patches of lush trees.

  The two men moved quietly as they made their way to a high peak not far from the crash site, the only noise was an occasional curse word ejected from the lips of a painfully sober Dalton. Obviously high ground would save them a long road ahead if they saw anything of interest. Dalton sat down out of breath on a fallen tree trunk as Roman glared through the his set of binoculars, panning carefully as not to miss any details as the digital readouts of the eyepiece showed distance and altitude.

  “Anything interesting?” Dalton asked, as he complained through body movements of the short walk they had already taken in, obvious after effects of his motivated smoking habit.

  “Nothing,” Roman replied as he attached the set of lenses to the sketch unit, allowing it to print out the land they had already covered. “Not a damn thing.” he added.

  As the men continued on, down the slope and toward the next decent sized tree line, a slight rain began to fall that quickly turned into an unrelenting downpour.

  “Damn, should have just let them arrest us back at Paulie's and been done with it.” Dalton said as both me started laughing out loud, cold rain hitting them briskly in the face as they pushed forward.

  Finally, they found a thick enough section of trees to shield them from a good bit of the rain, still it had taken its toll on the men; clothes soaked and the feel of filth all over them. Dalton kept his stash of cigars tightly wrapped in a thick brown cloth and tucked away in his supply sack along with God knows what else.

  Taking shelter under a huge overhanging slate rock, they decided it was time to make camp for a bit and start back at first light. Dalton offered to take watch first, looking above and quickly painting the stars across what sky could be seen through the thick clouds overhead. Roman had heard enough complaining as it was, however, and didn't want to add legitimacy to it; taking first watch so Dalton could get himself a little shut eye.

  Quickly taking up the offer, Dalton climbed into the stained green sleeping bag and rolled onto his side, shutting his eyes and within seconds drifting off into a dreamworld that was sure to include alcohol, women and an endless supply of guns and ammunition. Meanwhile, Roman sat solidly with his back against the rock and a battle rifle casually in the elbow sections of his arms, resting himself while indeed ready for anything.

  “Captain.” Kato said as he approached Michaels, who himself was pulling watch back at the crash site. Sitting at the top of the damaged cargo ramp, Adam was armed only with a solid black military issue pistol and a miniature set of binoculars, keeping watch on the tall grass around them while most of the crew slept.

  “What is it?” Michaels asked quietly as Kato walked over, standing next to the Captain's position.

  “One of the thrusters is completely gone, from the looks of it, we took gunfire on the way out of Tameca.” Kato said regretfully.

  “Fixable?” the Captain asked with glaring hope.

  “It gets worse sir,” Kato replied, pausing before sharing the bad news with the man in charge. “The gunfire hit our main fuel line as well, been leaking it out since we took off, good thing we landed when we did, otherwise we'd be stuck in orbit with no fuel to speak of.” he added.

  “So we look for some kind of fuel source, patch it enough to get into orbit and then send a distress signal. On the run or not, sounds like our only option at this point.” Michaels answered, prepared for the worst.

  “It gets worse.” Kato said apologetically as the Captain shook his head for a moment, replying “How much worse can it possibly get?”

  “Even if we found a fuel source, which is unlikely at best, four of the seven battery rods were damaged beyond repair. We got enough juice for systems check, possibly heat or emergency lighting if we needed it, but nowhere near enough to launch into orbit,” Kato added as Michaels continued to shake his head. “Truth is Adam, we look to be here for a very long while.” Kato said as he slowly turned and walked off to make his way back into the Gunship, trying his best not to wake the rest of the crew in the process.

  Michaels continued to sit on watch, skimming the area with his eyes in the darkness and cursing the moment that Dalton's stash had crashed into a flood of waste. He could damn sure use a drink himself right about now. Stuck on an uncharted planet, next to no chance of them fixing the ship well enough to get off of the ground and being marked men throughout the entire Skyla System. Adam was definitely in the mood for some hard drink, something to to alleviate his mind of problems, if only temporarily.

  Roman had settled in and slept for nearly two hours, when Dalton once again dozed off while pulling his shift of watch. It was almost daybreak, the idea was to get a few extra winks in before they were up and at it again, a full day's walk in front of them. Normally, he was a deep sleeper, nobody had ever come close to accusing him otherwise.

  It was the sound of a small branch being pushed into the ground softly that did the trick, Dalton immediately spinning around with his shotgun, eyes wide open and looking into a thin, dark complected man who was obviously scared and appeared to be unarmed. Throwing his hands into the air, they had almost extended fully by the time Roman was on his feet and quickly approaching Dalton.

  “Enough. Can't you see he's scared shitless?” Roman said of the trembling man as he pushed the barrel of Dalton's shotgun to the ground, making sure it didn't accidentally discharge into the direction of the native stranger.

  “We mean you no harm stranger. My friend and I, we are having some difficulties with our ship; just looking for anything or anyone to possibly help us get back into space.” Roman said as the stranger continued to look at the barrel of Dalton's so called peacemaker.

  Roman grabbed the weapon from Dalton's clutches and threw it onto the ground, holding his hands up slightly to show the strange local that they truly meant him no harm.

  “The name's Roman, this is my friend Dalton.” After several moments of silence, the stranger finally spoke.

  “My name is Aira.” he said, his language broke
n at best as he remained very skeptical of the two men's intentions.

  “Alright Aira. No way you could survive out here dressed like that,” Roman said, referring to his thin white shirt that had been poorly stitched and makeshift pants of sack cloth. “Means you must have a camp nearby, can you take us there?” Roman added in a friendly tone.

  “My village is not that far from here. Yes, I can take you there.” Aira replied a bit more calmly.

  “We would appreciate that.” Roman answered as Dalton had picked his shotgun up and was wiping the dirt from its stock.

  “Actually, I would appreciate not having such a fine weapon thrown to the damn ground like a piece of trash,” Dalton added as he wiped the dirt from its well worn handle and holstered his weapon once again under his thick leather belt.“Besides, from the looks of him, I doubt they will be of any use.” he added.

  “Maybe not, but even the most primitive of races stockpile what they consider to the be the best of drink.” Roman said convincingly.

  “Lead the way friend.” Dalton replied, speaking to Aira as if they were long time friends.

  The two men quickly disposed of what had been a campsite through the night and began following Aira to the place he considered home.

  As Captain Michaels started to awaken, he was hit with the overwhelming smell of a cooked meal. Easy to distinguish when you become used to eating rations from airtight silver packages three times a day. He wasn't sure what was being cooked at the moment, but it smelled like heaven and that was easily good enough for him. Standing to his feet, he took a moment to try and work a few kinks out of his body from the past several hours spent sleeping on the very unforgiving ground, and then glanced over in Kato's direction.

  “What's going on? What am I smelling?” he asked, knowing Kato would have the answers having taken over watch in the middle of the night.

  “Sarah's cooking. Found some rations that she said would taste a bit better cooked over a flame, so she's been working on it for the past hour now.” Kato replied as Michaels walked into his direction, trying his best to fan the wrinkles out of his clothes by hand.

  “Sure in the hell smells a bit better.” Adam said, both men chuckling for a moment before he glanced around the corner of the ship to see Sarah doing her best to prepare a decent meal for the crew.

  As the crew ate the thinly sliced and perfectly cooked meat, Adam continued to make strong eye contact with Sarah, the woman who had in may ways given him new reason to continue living.

  “Captain, it's Roman.” Kato said, handing Adam a portable com unit with one hand while holding a fork full of the tender meat in the other.

  “This is Michaels, go ahead.” the Captain said; trying his best to cover up the joy of the current meal in his voice.

  “We have made contact with some natives here, several hours from your position. Will be speaking with more of them shortly, how are things on your end?” Roman voice asked through the crackle of the com speaker.

  “Well, we are making it alright. No home cooked meals, but we'll manage,” Adam replied, prompting the entire crew to laugh out loud. “Any chance the natives have replacement parts or fuel to trade?” Adam asked.

  “Doubtful, the scouts are using sharpened sticks as weapons.” Roman replied.

  “Outstanding,” Michaels replied in a sarcastic tone, taking a few moments to glance around at the rest of the crew. “Find out everything you can. Kato and Kelly have been working with the Rover, it's a little beat up but we should be able to use it if need be. At least until the fuel runs dry.” Adam added as he laid the com unit down on a nearby piece of scrap metal.

  “Will do.” Roman replied as the steady crackling of the com went to silence.

  As Aira led Roman and Dalton into the front of the camp, several of the villagers ran indoors, watching the group pass by as they made their way to one of the larger huts. Made of scrap wood, bales of grass and mud, it didn't like a place that anyone should even consider living in.

  “Who knows, The Dusk looks like shit too but they had great liquor.” Dalton said grinning as Roman just responded with a slight shaking of his head.

  Meeting someone in charge was never a pleasant experience, that is unless you were the one with the weapons, in which case it couldn't be matched. As Roman and Dalton entered the hut with Aira, they were face to face with an older gentleman, he wore many different necklaces made of shiny rocks and beads which gave them the indication of him being a very important man among the tribe.

  “Welcome friends, I am Ceria,” the older man said warmly, welcoming them to sit down on mounds of grass that had been formed to serve as chairs. “Please forgive my people, they are no doubt afraid to see strange faces among them.” he added, as he too sat with Roman and Dalton.

  “Where are all of the men?” Roman asked directly.

  “And alcohol. Where is the drink?” Dalton asked, stringing his question onto the rear of Roman's.

  “Of course,” Ceria said as he began pouring a green liquid into rough looking cups that were no more that hollowed out stones. “The men are gone, most of them at least.” Ceria said as he handed Dalton a cup of the local favorite.

  “Out in hunting parties? I saw only women and children as we walked through the village.” Roman responded, wanting to know every detail that he possibly could.

  “No hunting parties,” Ceria said, lowering his head in silence. After a few moments, he looked at the men and explained a ship coming every thirty moons or so, a handful of well armed creatures taking the men aboard, never to be heard from again.

  “That is what my scout had first mistaken you for, but your friend's gun didn't look anything like that of the beast men.” Aria added to the conversation.

  “What the hell is wrong with the way my gun looks?” Dalton asked as he began turning his cup up and stopping abruptly. “This is some strong shit! What do you mean beast men?” he added, gasping for air as a side effect of the hardened home brew.

  “They never say anything, they only force men onto the ship, knowing well that we have no means of protection against them. Those who have tried to fight back have been slaughtered on the spot,” Ceria replied. “They walk as men do, but they are not men. Nearly two feet taller than any of us; brown tinted skin stretched across them as that of an onion, dark hair growing from them in thickets.” Ceria added with remorse, thinking of all of the men who had departed against their will.

  “This ship, how large is it? Are there any markings on it that may identify the creatures.” Roman asked sternly.

  “Twice the size of this very hut maybe.” Ceria answered, as he drew a marking into the dirt floor of the hut, a large teardrop shape with a smaller shape inside of it.

  “Don't like anything I've ever ran across.” Dalton said, sipping his drink like a baby from its bottle.

  “Husks.” Roman replied in a grave tone.

  “Husks? No worse than the Hunters that are no doubt combing the star system for us at this very moment.” Dalton replied.

  “Much worse. When Hunters have nightmares, they are usually dreaming of Husks. I've only ran into two of them in this lifetime, during my years with the Gali military.” Roman replied, his eyes locked on Ceria.

  “Well, you're here with us. You obviously killed both of the sons of bitches, so the crew should be able to handle three or four.” Dalton said as he sat his cup down, not daring to ask for a refill of the strongest drink he had ever consumed.

  “I ran,” Roman replied, gaining an immediate look of disbelief from Dalton. “I put five slugs of a pistol directly into the chest of one, it only brought him to a knee. No way in hell I could have dusted two of them,” Roman added, before switching his attention toward Ceria. “They usually have a handler with them, a human?” he asked.

  “Yes, that is correct. Usually two of the beast men and a human bearing a rifle.” Ceria replied.

  “The difference between Hunters and Husks, other than the obvious mismatch, is that Hunters kill
because they enjoy watching humans die. Husks do everything for the money. Mercenaries you could say, the handler is usually nothing more than the highest bidder at the time. My guess is they are pulling men from this village for off world slave trade.” Roman said as Dalton remained sitting with a puzzled look on his face.

  “You ran?” Dalton asked in disbelief.

  “It's the one and only time I've ever ran from a fight. Believe me, I've regretted it every day since then.” Roman replied as he stood to his feet and approached the door of the hut.

  “Care for more?” Ceria asked of Dalton, ready to refill his cup. “No, I'm good.” Dalton replied, wondering if he had ever muttered those words before.

  As the next few minutes passed, Roman explained through the com system to Captain Michaels about the Husk and it was decided that Adam, Sarah and Troy would load the rover with weapons and supplies and meet up with the others, leaving Kelly and Kato to get the ship in the best condition possible. The villagers weren't expecting a visit from the beast menace for at least another ten days, giving Adam plenty of time to come up with something, anything that got them off of this piece of rock and back into the star system.

  “If we could just send a hail through the com to my father, he wouldn't hesitate to send a rescue ship to our position.” Sarah said as they traveled to the village, the bumpy terrain of the road that was no more than a path beaten by feet, throwing them back and forth inside of the industrial grade cockpit.

  “The Gunship's com is barely functional, short range for the moment but no way is it capable of reaching off world. Besides, even if we could, as soon as the hail went out everyone with an open com would pick it up. Hunters, Legion, Mercenaries, hell even some of the higher end card clubs.”