E.D.F Chronicles - E.D.F resurgent

by Ian. J. Smethurst

  Vargev and Michael checked theirs too, “So are we, a Krenaran bio-sign seventy metres ahead and heading this way.”

  “You sure we are not picking up Dalvosh?” Vargev asked.

  “No, this bio-sign is above us, Dalvosh is on the floor below.”

  “That’s our man!” Michael shouted as the three of them sprinted towards the nearest flight of stairs.

  Lathiel made his way through the foyer, and into a small, dark viewing room. There was a long floor to ceiling glass façade which ran the length of the room and offered a perfect view into the assembled crowd of the main viewing hall far below.

  He un-slung his weapon and prepared the sight. The stage was empty right now, soon his target would take to the stage and when he did, the president of E.O.C.A would be no more. The Krenaran empire would have finally won this war, he would go back to his people a hero.

  He saw that the crowd were jeering another Krenaran present; strange, he thought. Why should he be there? It mattered not; nothing would come between him and his mission, not even this other Krenaran. He put the thoughts to the back of his mind and peered through the rifle scope.

  E.O.C.A President James Rushfeldt gracefully took to the stage dressed in an immaculately tailored suit and flanked by two bodyguards, waving to the crowd assembled in front of him.

  “This is a momentous day, barely a week ago humanity and the Krenaran race were still locked in a bitter war, and now a Krenaran stands on Earth as a symbol of peace; please, won’t you join me?”

  The lights and cameras turned towards the powerful lumbering form of Dalvosh as he gradually made his way through the throng, every single man and woman who looked upon his towering reptilian form half covered in shining metallic Krenaran battle armour, looked upon it with hate-filled eyes.

  Gradually Dalvosh took to the stage next to the president, who quickly switched off the microphones arrayed in front of him.

  “I’ve just done you a huge favour, your not here to kill me, you would have done that already. So what the hell are you doing here?” Rushfeldt looked up at the Krenaran.

  “We’re here to save you,” Dalvosh growled back. “There is a rogue Krenaran agent loose in the building, and you are his target.”

  Rushfeldt froze, “where?”

  “We don’t know yet, the building is being searched right now.”

  Michael, Eldathar, and Vargev sprinted up a flight of stairs breathing heavily as they did so, Eldathar’s gangly Solarian legs carried him much faster than the others.

  “Twenty meters,” Michael puffed, “just beyond that corridor.”

  They sprinted for all they were worth, preying they weren’t too late, accidentally knocking over a cleaning woman in their haste.

  Together they burst through the door of the dimly lit viewing room, and were confronted with the sight of an E.D.F soldier pointing a pulse rifle to the viewing glass.

  Eldathar held up his scanner first, “that’s him!”

  Michael was fastest, sprinting across the room he lunged in a desperate attempted to knock the assassin off balance before he got a shot away, just as he was about to press the trigger. Michael slammed into Lathiel as the shot fired, shattering the glass, it was just enough for the shot to miss the president. Instead however, it slammed into the chest of Dalvosh who was thrown backwards by the force of the impact.

  The crowd panicked and began to rush headlong for the exits, people were knocked aside, several were being crushed in the press of people desperate to escape.

  The momentum of Michael’s charge proved too much and Lathiel used his own speed and weight against him, as he pushed him flying through another glass pane; shattering it too as Michael’s body sailed through it.

  Shards of smashed glass rained down on the already panicked crowd below, as the sheer force of people charging towards him flattened Kinraid. Dalvosh lay face up on the stage, the two bodyguards ignored the fallen Krenaran, instead rapidly ushering the president out of the room through an emergency exit behind them.

  Michael desperately clung to a length of steel pipe-work directly below the overhanging viewing room, thankfully the pipe was cool; there he dangled forty feet in the air, his legs flailing wildly as his weapon clattered onto the marble floor some forty feet below. The pain in his arm was excrutiating, he had wrenched his shoulder badly grabbing onto the pipe.

  Vargev and Eldathar confronted Lathiel. Eldathar attempted to tackle the assassin, Lathiel was much faster than the gangly Solarian and without a word flung one of his knives at him. Eldathar screamed out in pain as the blade embedded itself in his arm, sending out a gout of blue-ish blood, the force of the blade pinned the Solarian pilot to the wall.

  Lathiel, angered at having his mission interrupted, menacingly drew his second blade.

  Vargev dropped his Armschlager and drew his own combat knife. The assassin and the Russian silently and menacingly circled each other, sizing one another up.

  Lathiel was the first to attack, lashing out with his blade the knife was a blur as it flicked out. Vargev barely had time to dodge the slash as Lathiel pounced again. This time Vargev was able to parry the blow, both their blades locked together. Rapidly bringing up his knee, the Krenaran impostor rammed it into the Russians stomach; he staggered backwards a few steps as pain coursed through his already fragile ribs.

  The assassin swiped at him again, the blade sliced deep into the flesh of Vargev’s upper right arm. The Russian screamed in pain, clutching at his wound.

  “Don’t make me laugh old man,” Lathiel spat as he viciously spin-kicked Vargev in the chest, sending him sprawling across the hard floor; his knife clattered across the ground.

  For a moment fear began to rise in Vargev, this man was his equal, and may yet beat him. He banished the thought and got to his feet, still clutching his wounded arm.

  “Huh, still some fight left in you….okay then,” Lathiel said with a cruel sneer, as he tossed the commando back his knife, daring him to fight on.

  Vargev picked the knife back up just as the assassin lunged at him again; barely managing to parry the blow, he was knocked backwards once again.

  Lathiel let out a sarcastic laugh.

  “I’m still standing,” Vargev shot back.

  “Not for much longer.” He came at the Russian again, stabbing and slashing, this time Vargev was able to counter the blows, parried the blade and unleashed a vicious head-butt of his own. The imposter cried in pain, stumbled backwards as blood coursed down his ruined nose. As the assassin stumbled backward momentarily dazed, Vargev seized his chance plunging his knife deep into Lathiel’s stomach.

  The assassin gasped; spluttering out a gobbet of blood across Vargev’s face just as the Russian charged, propelling the assassin straight through the broken glass panels, and sending the disguised Krenaran hurtling to the now almost completely empty marble floor far below, slamming into it with a sickeningly wet crunch.

  The wounded Vargev stood at the edge of the platform, gripping his blood-soaked right arm and looked down solemnly at the broken form of Lathiel his Russian eyes gave just a hint of respect for a worthy opponent, after all the assassin was easily capable of killing him instead. Then he noticed Michael precariously dangling from the steel pipe, and gradually hauled him back up inside the viewing room.

  “It’s over comrade, it’s finally over.”

  The pain seared through the Russians arm once again, his torn camouflaged fatigues stained with blood. Together they helped Eldathar free himself from Lathiels knife blade stuck through his arm, the Solarian howled in pain as they freed the blade, a welter of azure blue blood coursed down the Solarian’s arm, he was weak but managed to get back to his feet.

  In the main viewing hall below, Dalvosh and Kinraid gradually recovered, and got back to their feet also, the commander looked rather battered, and sporting several bruises after being practically crushed from the panicking crowd.

  “You’re alive, I thought that shot had killed you,” he said t
o the hulking Krenaran.

  “My battle armour dissipated the energy, just the impact staggered me,” the Krenaran replied, rubbing his sore reptilian head.

  The rest of the commandoes had converged on Vargev’s position, and helped the wounded forms of their commander and Eldathar. They were gradually helped back out of the building where a waiting medical team rushed to tend to their wounds.

  President Rushfeldt approached them; all that had remained of the crowds that had been there were Michael’s team, the commandoes and a smattering of E.D.F troops.

  “I’ve just heard what happened inside there, my people didn’t think it would be a good idea to return, but I had to. I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart; your heroics saved my life.”

  “Just doing our job Mr. President,” Michael replied.

  Rushfeldt then turned to Dalvosh, “barely a week ago we were implacable enemies locked in a bitter conflict, and killing each other by the thousand. And now you risked your life to protect a people who absolutely hate you and everything about your race, why?”

  “Because it was the right thing to do, the war was over, and Lathiel was rogue, his actions threatened to destabilise the entire peace process.”

  Rushfeldt considered this for a moment, genuinely moved by the actions of these brave few, “maybe one day there could be a lasting peace between our peoples.”

  “Krenarans and Terrans are two completely different societies, with totally different cultures, however in time their may yet be a true peace, however there is a lot of pain and hate on both our sides.”

  13. The rebuilding.

  A week after the events in Prague, Colonel Nikolai Vargev emerged through a set of automatic hospital doors, his arm still heavily bandaged. Fumbling around inside his brightly coloured cotton civilian shirt pocket, he fished out one of his trademark cigars.

  Taking out his lighter, he lit the end of it and began slowly puffing on it. Crossing the busy street from the hospital he made his way over to a small apartment block nearby, which was renting for him, while he recovered from his injuries.

  Climbing the concrete stairwell up to the fourth floor, and making his way down a dank, dimly lit corridor, he made his way to his temporary apartment. Closing the door behind him gently, and the big Russian poured himself a small glass of vodka, stroked his dark moustache, and sat at the communications terminal. Keying in a few commands with his one good hand he contacted Michael who he knew was overseeing the ongoing repair work to the Liberty at alpha base.

  His face flashed up on the screen, “Hello Nikolai.”

  Vargev nodded, “Hello captain, how are the repairs going, I guess they are not going to scrap her after all then.”

  Michael smiled, “not if I have anything to say about it, it will be another month before she is operational again. I’ve given the crew shore leave while the repairs are completed. There is even talk about a few more upgrades.”

  “You do realise, they will most likely make you an admiral for this.” Vargev said taking a gentle sip from his glass.

  “They already offered; I turned it down. Told them I was perfectly happy commanding the Liberty, besides there is plenty of life left in the old bird yet anyway.”

  Vargev smiled, “Guess what, I’ve got another medal ceremony coming my way. This time the star cross for bravery, I’m getting quite a tally,” he joked.

  “You just like all the attention, what’s next for the commandoes?”

  “Mainly peacetime operations, some peacekeeping duties while the outer colonies start to re-build, mine clearing, that sort of thing. The E.D.F are concerned about piracy and looters while the re-building process begins.”

  “Uh huh, well the next outing for the Liberty once she’s back up and running is escorting a bunch of transports returning former P.O.W’s back to their homes, and then anti-pirate duties ourselves. E.D.F command expects pirate cartels to increase while the rebuilding is under way also.”

  “Well my friend, it has been good working with you again, perhaps our paths will cross in the future……who knows?”

  “Who knows indeed, goodbye old friend.”

  With that, Nikolai ended the communication, gently sat back in his leather armchair, and turned on the viewer.

  “I am Annika Raumov, and this is the outer colony news service, the headlines tonight. Two weeks after the end of the Krenaran war, one of the bloodiest periods in recent history. The first refugees are beginning to make their way back to the devastated outer colonies that were once their homes, tentative re-building work has already begun however analysts predict that a full recovery could well take up to a decade.”

  Nikolai Vargev turned off the viewer, took a sip of vodka and sat back in his chair, humanity will recover, we will survive and we will go on. The thought gave him a warm feeling.

  The End.

  About the author.

  Born in Cheshire, England in 1981, to a traditional family, Ian’s mother is a housewife and his father worked in industry and is a retired Heavy Goods Vehicle driver.

  Ian developed an affinity for Science Fiction and fantasy at a very early age, and was reading various fantasy and SF novels from the age of 8. The phenomenon that was Star trek, Star wars, and various Sci-fi shows came to his attention during his early years in high school, and it was here where Ian’s creative writing really began to take root.

  His english teachers would from time to time give him the occasional creative writing exercise to complete, and he always loved doing these, and excelled at them. His teachers noted that one of his main strengths was in fact creative writing, possessing of a boundless imagination which shows through in his writing.

  As Ian grew older and the world of work beckoned, his writing began to wane, although the ideas were still there bubbling under the surface. It was during this time when he first began to come up with the idea for E.D.F chronicles, which would linger in the back of his mind for almost a decade.

  Finally, in 2007, after much upheaval in his personal life, he took up the pen and began writing seriously, completing the first draft of the Krenaran massacre in just three months while spending some time out in Bulgaria with family; although it took almost 2 years for it to become a fully written manuscript.

  Now completed the sequel to his debut novel E.D.F resurgent, Ian is working on the third book in the series Eye of the Dracos, due for release in 2012.

  Website http://www.wix.com/ian_smethurst/frontpage

  Blog http://edfchronicles.wordpress.com/

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  E.D.F Chronicles - E.D.F resurgent

  Copyright © Ian J.

  Other titles by Ian J.

  For Carol and Geoff,

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  Midpoint

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  About the author.