He chuckled as he deactivated the implants and simply arched his head towards the ceiling and watched the shuttle begin to glide sublimely down towards the ground, like a feather, caught upon the wind. In front of him the gaggle of Conclave members had begun to argue, like children amid the schoolyard. He imagined they were discussing which one of them was going to order the murder of this particular commander.
Once more his beam returned, he wasn’t about to let that happen, the death bringers had spent a great deal of time and money, to allow this particular officer to survive, and she would be essential in the final, great storm that was to come.
Voices whispered within his ear, “She has arrived?”
“What are you going to do?”
“The mission must be allowed to continue, nothing most impair it. We have reached a critical junction.”
He activated the device on his wrist, which had the characteristics of some kind of intricate and expensive timepiece, and spoke slowly allowing the implant on his vocal cords to send his message to his commanders. “The mission will not be affected, the commander will live, and her part in the great plan will be fulfilled.”
Before he could continue another voice interjected, one that he remembered well, her tone still commanding, to this day. “No one doubts your abilities Nathaniel,” only she would use his real name. “However, we stand upon a knife edge, everything we have been working for, the fate of the very soul of humanity stands in the balance, how can you assure of us of your success?”
Other voices murmured and grumbled, in support of the speaker.
He drew in a slow, languid mouthful of pallid air, “Well mother,” he whispered, cautiously. “Because, I have never failed before.”
“You have never had to conduct, such a mission at the very seat of power of the Empire itself, surrounded by tens of thousands of the Conclaves, own personal killers before my child.”
I am a killer as well though mother, he thought, you were the one that trained me to be that, since I was old enough to walk. When he spoke however, his voice was clear. “I will not fail, because I cannot, fail. If I do we are all lost, Selina will live and you have my word on it.” He glanced around at the other ten death bringers that lurked within the shadows. “A plan is already in motion.”
CHAPTER FOUR
PLANET FRESAL ONE
Alone in the trench Sam sat up and for a minute took in all that had happened. His heart was still thundering and because of the adrenaline his muscles shuddered almost uncontrollably. A recognizable, bitter taste burnt at his gullet. He drew in a profound lungful of pungent air, the familiar stench of decay clear within it. His head was heavy as was his soul. He felt his guts churn as he glanced at the bodies that lay scattered indiscriminately around him.
“Calm down,” he whispered, “calm down, now.”
With that he drew himself up, arched and picked up his pistols. He ejected the empty clips, slammed fresh ones in, forwarded the action and then replaced them in the holsters. He then made his way over to the still body of his enemy, for a second he just bore witness to the mutilated face, tranquil now in death. A foam of blood trickled from the flayed mouth, the soft rose colour magnified by the light on this Planet.
His eyes was then drawn to the various pieces of dermis and tissue that decked the Separatists chainmail and once again the words he had read flooded back into his mind. How could he though, keep thinking of these foes as being still human, they had morphed into something else in the thousands of years since this war had first started. Perhaps they had once been simple farmers, good people who only wanted to be able to feed their families, to live in freedom, away from the oppression of the Empire, love who they wished, practice whatever disparate faiths they wished and just exist as they wanted. Yet now whatever goodness, whatever humanity had prevailed within them had been scrubbed clean. What lay before him now was no longer human; it was merely a dark shell whose soul had long since been expunged. It was simply a beast, caged within the guise of a man. His own lips spread into a sardonic smile as he thought of the miserable domain for which he fought, they may still have been human but only just.
Sam peered around and saw that the enemy’s horde was beginning to withdraw back across the plateau, and to the vast staging area. He wasn’t about to start having any sort of party though, as knew in his heart that they would be back and soon. The Separatists never retreated and never surrendered. All that these creatures knew was victory or death. He marched down the trench and looked over his troopers, their faces, camouflaged jumpsuits and body armour were all caked in mud and blood. He observed most simply wilt to the ground, taking advantage of this rest bite, however brief it may be from the carnage and bloodshed. It was the first time in twelve hours that the fighting had ceased. Some of the soldiers cried, some vomited, while others drank eagerly from cooled water bottles and some just held each other grateful to still be alive.
Thoughts played out within his mind, he was back again in the squalid hovel, that he had called home, even now so many years later he could still remember the reek of human filth and detritus. His mother and father lay upon the stained sheets, the needle’s still protruding from their arm’s, sullen, heavy-set and dead eyes look upon him again now.
He was never sure if they ever truly loved him, once when he was about five, he could recall that his mother bought him a present a small robotic tiger, which had barked and yapped and could follow his command. Yet that had quickly been pawned off when once again his father’s demon had returned and the need for a fix had overcome him. His mother had quickly joined him in the eternal search for that perfect high and once again he had been alone within the squalor. In a part of his brain he kept hidden, from this war, he liked to think, somewhere inside at least his mother, she had cared for him, yet she was too broken a person to be able to show it properly. Too weak to drag herself away from the black hole which was his fathers shattered soul.
He had been recruited or forced to be more accurate into the army only a few years after watching his parents die. He had been twelve years old and since then he had borne witness to hundreds of battles on countless worlds, yet this had been some of the most ferocious and gory warfare he had seen, for some reason beyond his understanding the enemy wanted this particular lump of rock with a veracious desire he had never before beheld.
Abruptly he caught sight of a familiar figure, it was Private Yullet “Baby face” Miller, one of the youngest men, if you could even call him that, in his unit, only sixteen years old, his bloodied face buried in his hands. He would be a tall and powerful man one day, his basic frame already present, yet at the moment he had little muscle to fill it.
Sam limped over to him his own muscles blaring out with every effort and sat down next to the young soldier.
“How you doing baby face?” he asked softly, knowing the answer already. He could still recollect the first conflict he had ever been cast into; even twenty years had not diminished the memories burnt as they were into his very soul.
He had been thirteen, fresh out of basic training, still a boy in all areas that mattered, probably still haunted by his mother’s passing. Yet the Empire cared little about such things, you see the cheapest property they possessed were human lives, which happened to be abundant in this vast and ever expanding universe. Unlike, vast war machine, mechanized units and even spaceships, human-beings cost them nothing, in fact in the great scheme of things it probably saved them credits.
If he shuttered his eyes he could still visualize that dense jungle, the mangled corpses of dead marines, along with the stench of rotten flesh, the insects, some of the size of your fist that buzzed all around and even now he could feel that unbearable heat. The kind that saps your strength and steals the very breath from your burning lungs.
Yullet looked up attempting to wipe away the tears that had streaked down his filthy features, creating canals of pale, ashen skin. “I don’t know sir,” he coughed, his tone tinged with emotion. Bloo
dshot, puffy, hazel eyes peered at him through strands of greasy dark hair.
“There’s nothing that can prepare you for this son, nothing you can be taught, nothing we can show you that can really let you know what it’s going to be like, when the enemy are bearing down on you, and your friends are being killed all around you.”
Before he could finish Yullet interrupted, “how can I get through this sir?” he begged.
Sam drew in a slow, languid mouthful of arid air and attempted to find the right words, eventually he simply shook his head. “There’s no answer to that son, I wish there was something I could tell you, something that would make this all easier.” he lay a hand on Yullet’s trembling shoulder.
He didn’t know what to say to this boy to make him feel better, he didn’t even think he could really say anything. He was trapped in this wretched conflict and you only escaped it in one of three ways. The first was to die, the second was to buy your way out, but that took a lot of credits more than most people could earn in a life time, and much more than you were likely to find lying around on a battlefield, and finally you could live long enough to earn your reprise from the commanders. Yet in the twenty years he had served, Sam hadn’t yet met a single person that had been able to earn that freedom. So what was he to tell this terrified soldier, the truth was that he would probably die on some miserable planet like this, in agony, begging and yelling for someone to save him or simply for his mother. Yet how would that help him to try and survive, so instead he said what he always said. “All you can do is to keep it together, do what you can and try to survive. Don’t be a hero, do your job look out for the trooper next to you and they’ll look out for you.”
Yullet pulled the top from his water bottle and took a long gulp of the ice cold liquid, then splashed some across his face and tried in vain to wipe away some of filth and gore with his gloved hand before he replied. “Fight or die captain.”
“Fight or die.” Sam replied as he pushed himself up, “That all any of us can do.”
“Yes sir,” The young soldier retorted softly as his eyes moved over the bodies that lay around him.
Sam knew he should stay and say something else, try and bring some relief to this young, frightened trooper, but what more could he tell the boy, he was knee deep in the shit like everyone else and he probably wouldn’t live to see his next birthday, let alone get back home to see those he loved. All he could hope for was that he survived long enough, to earn some leave and maybe get back to his family. Gain some respite from the horrors of this endless conflict perhaps that was all anyone could hope for in the end. To be able to find some peace and perhaps even some joy amid all this carnage. Once again Naomi’s face appeared within his mind, she was what helped him get through all this shit and she was what kept him sane and kept him fighting. He cleared her beaming and beautiful visage from his consciousness. There was nothing more he could do here so he grated his teeth and slinked away.
He heaved himself out of the foxhole and strode further along the earthen breastworks they had quickly constructed at the frontline. All around him marines raced, bearing ammunition crates, vats of hot food, chilled water and heavy weapons to reinforce the trench line. His eyes came upon the rows of stretchers that had been set up at the triage centre just back from the front, men and women cried, and pleaded in equal measure, some for aid, others for loved ones, and fewer still to a God, who had long since forsaken this place and perhaps even this whole rotten universe. Others thrashed beneath thin white sheets, most stained now with fresh crimson fluid and other older and darker blemishes that looked more like rust now. He saw some lay in almost serene silence, most of those had been lucky enough to receive some pain relief, which was always in short supply at the front. He had to turn away, he knew that made him a coward, but they were his troopers and he just couldn’t bear to look at them like that, hurt, bleeding and dying.
“Stalker” A familiar voice growled over the screams. Sam turned to see the gargantuan frame of his First Sergeant Serena “Freight train” Hudson lumber into view. Standing clear over seven feet, her heavily scarred, mocha flesh, was wrapped around a bestial body which rippled with taunt muscles, hence her handle. The rumour was that she had in fact lifted a train once in order to free some civilians that had been trapped beneath it. Sam didn’t know how much of the story was truth and how much was part of the myth of the woman, part of him though liked to believe it. Serena was a striking women, that couldn’t be denied, piercing mint eyes and plump lips, gave her raw strength a feminine sheen.
As He beheld one of the few people in this realm he could actually call a friend, he was struck by the fact that Serena could grapple with such ferocity and abject brutality, and then go home on leave and play with her six children, who truth be told had luckily inherited their mothers more serene looks. He chuckled as he imagined her like some kind of gentle giant loosed from a fairy tale. Her monstrous paws so much more used to gripping a shotgun or being wrapped around the throat of an enemy, could cradle her offspring with such delicacy. It was almost like having the duality of man play out before you, on one hand the vicious animal, which lurks just beneath our skin, the one so capable of the most heinous acts imaginable. Then the civilised human being, accomplished at such acts of beauty and grace, able to create works of art, music, poetry and with the ever expanding capacity to care for, and love another person.
“Yeah Freight Train what is it?”
“Those bastards are massing for another push, they just don’t want to give up this miserable piece of shit rock.” Serena spat out a mouthful of dirt and dust, then a broad smile lightened her face, “personally I don’t see what’s so great about miles and miles of red sand, but then I’m a simple marine.”
Sam laughed, “Ours is not to reason why, ours is just to do and die trooper.”
Serena snapped a mock salute, “Absolutely Captain”
“Enough with that Captain shit first Sergeant,” he replied slapping a gloved hand on his friend’s broad shoulders. “Is it me or have you grown since we’ve been here?” he asked with a sly grin.
“Hey what are you saying?” Serena retorted throwing her hands up in pseudo exasperation, “I’m in the best shape of my life.”
“Cool it Freight train, you’ll always look beautiful to me” Sam replied, feigning apologies. “Now what’s happening with our friends out there?”
Serena pulled out a pair of high intensity viewers from her webbing, “You should have a look for yourself Stalker. They have brought something special to the party.”
Sam shook his head in frustration, “That’s all we need.” He took the viewer, through them he could see the far side of the vast plateau, and to the enemies’ staging area. He allowed the programmed zoom and inbuilt processing chip to zero in on the Separatist forces.
“You really do have to be shitting me” he exclaimed, his tone a mix of genuine surprise and underlying pent up ire. As he surveyed a cavalcade of colossal black tanks roll out from behind an immense mountain range, and join the mass of ground troops, and lightly armoured hover vehicles that had gathered ready for the next assault. “Do we have a count?” he asked hesitantly, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“Yeah goddamn tech geeks say at least twenty of the light armour and thirty or so assorted vehicles, and about twenty thousand troops. Then you really aren’t gonna believe this, but orbital says they have spotted some strike tanks, apparently there still in reserve by the drop ships.”
Sam sneered, his face a mask of anger. “This just keeps getting better and better. How long has it been since they have brought those toys out to play, three years?” Visions of the tanks smashed into his mind. They were elephantine, tracked vehicles, larger than anything the Empire had, apparently built at the very outset of the war, when the Separatist were still manufacturing weaponry and armour themselves. He had observed one once, on the agricultural-world of Yellos, three years ago, demolish twenty Marine heavy viper tanks, some of the tough
est and best armed attack vehicles they possessed. It had then used its substantial plasma cannon and flame throwers to slaughter almost five hundred troopers.
So the strike tanks struck fear into even the most steeled heart. They were by far the most powerful ground based armaments that the enemy had and if they were bringing them to bear here on this world then something was eluding him, a part of the puzzle that he just wasn’t seeing. The fiends wouldn’t bring out this sort of heavy armour unless they had a worthy prize at stake and for the life of him he couldn’t think of what that might be. This planet had some small strategic value, sitting as it was, next to three major star systems; however nothing that would warrant the amount of force the Separatists were bringing to this skirmish. It didn’t have any major mineral, or chemical stocks, or even that many colonists, still there must be a reason why the enemy was here. All he could do was hope, he could determine it before it was too late
“Yeah has to be something like that,” Serena countered.
Sam turned his attention back to the magnified image through the viewfinder, he watched in silence, as the Separatist commanders dressed in corroded, ebony chainmail barked orders. They were surrounded on all sides by naked, chained beast men. These creatures were the result apparently, if Empire intelligence could be believed, of some kind of crazed genetic experimentation, or if you believed the scuttlebutt they were forged by some kind of shadowy, demonic ritual. He wasn’t sure about that part, of all the misery and suffering he had borne witness to; he hadn’t witnessed any that couldn’t be put down to the actions of human beings and not some kind of evil power or spirit.
Whatever had created these foul mockeries of life, they were indeed monstrous, standing clear over ten feet, immense physiques rippled with brawn and heft, so much so that they strained against the beasts skin, veins throbbed along the surface of their flesh like some crazed river system. It was their faces though that were the most disturbing so removed from the human beings they had once been. Transmuted beyond all recognition, they were elongated, with small eyes, which gleamed like onyx and a wide, open mouth bursting with razor sharp incisors which dripped with slobber. To him they had the appearance of some kind of brute, you could see in countless horror vids.
The Last Foxhole (The Forgotten War Saga Book 1) Page 4