The colour dwindled from his face, “Yes, but I couldn’t, when I saw you bathed in the silvery glow of the moonlight,” his smile once again regained its cocksure position. “I realized that not only couldn’t I do it, but I didn’t want to do it, service, honour and duty are important, yet sometimes they are simply words and we must make our own choices. That is what makes us sentient and free after all.”
She sniggered, “You believe that either of us are truly free my love?” her hand naturally brushed some stray strands of hair from her face, “In this broken universe, freedom is something that exists only for the most powerful.”
“Perhaps,” His eyes glazed over as if he was briefly lost within his own world, “Yet we must all continue to strive for a place, where we can all be free to follow our dreams, and our hearts.”
She found him again and perhaps for the first time saw the man as he truly was, no more guises, no more lies, just the real person laid bare. “Would it help for you to know that I didn’t want to do it?”
“Perhaps,” He replied as once again he turned and the door slid open silently. “I will see you again Tara.”
“I will look forward to that Nathanial, maybe I will even leave the knife at home.”
He chuckled, “I think I would like that even more, and remember what I said, all of us must strive to forge a better universe than this one. One day I will find you again and you will know that is true.”
With that he was gone, she had lied of course her punishment for letting him live had been severe, her back still showed the slight angry scars, where the whip had literally, lifted her skin from her bone, slowly her own implants were repairing the tissue, yet she would always carry the marks, her parents had made sure of that, as their own deity had commanded.
The door next to her burst open and Kirken, the aide to the general, came shuffling out, claret spouting from a fresh cut on his lips.
“My lady Tara,” Kirken had spluttered as he tried to catch his breath and clean his face at the same time.
She smirked as she saw the round fellow, attempt to descend the stairs, the rolls of fat along his stomach, bouncing with every movement. “Spit it out would you Kirken,” she demanded.
His attempted obeisance failed and he almost toppled over, just managing to grab onto a metal railing at the last minute and steady himself. “The lord general wishes to see you and he requires the reserves to be brought up to this position.”
She felt her skin squirm at the mention of Ilius wanting to see her, the young general, would make anyone sick. It wasn’t his looks, he was handsome enough, in a stony, aloof sort of way, it was his lack of any discernable soul that troubled her now. Although she could really, not put her finger on why, it had bothered her little before, he was necessary to the Puritans, in some way that she was not privy to, all part of the Game of war she presumed.
“My lady,” Kirken murmured timidly.
“I heard you Kirken,” she replied irately, she had no desire to see Ilius today, she didn’t have the energy to fake, her attraction, not while Nathaniel’s image was burnt so clearly within her mind.
“Tell the good lord, that I must take care of bringing up the reserves first and that I will make sure to see him later.”
Kirken, stared at her, a blank expression on his face, “My lady?” he asked questioningly.
She shot him a look, that made him step back, “Do not question me, you little man, I speak with the authority of the puritans, do you want me to see you crucified and burnt alive here.”
Kirken, sunk down awkwardly and began to beg, “My pardons, my lady, please forgive me.”
His whimpers made her feel, nauseous and she simply strolled away, leaving the plump aid alone on his knees, of course he had no way of knowing that she believed that sort of direct punishment was abhorrent. She had killed many, in fact she had lost count now. Sometimes they would come to her at night, silent ghouls, of all those she had slain in the name of the mighty puritans, the wounds that killed them still apparent on their ethereal forms. They would simply stare at her with icy, lifeless eyes, sunken in their sockets. She would find herself awake, clawing at some unseen enemy, her sheets and body drenched with perspiration. One night she had awakened next to Nathaniel in that state and he had looked at her with eyes that said he understood her pain and he had held her until the sun came up.
Almost instinctively she reached into her pocket and pulled out the secure communicator and began to plan out her next move. Perhaps Nathaniel had been right, that it was necessary for all of them to strive for a better universe. Although she had no idea what that would actually be like, to live in a time and place of freedom, away from all these struggles and conflicts. She sniggered at her own childish dreams, there was no place for such thoughts within the puritans. All that existed was service and duty.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Several miles away at second platoon’s position, Sergeant second class Naomi “Crash down” Hawkins arrived with two squads to reinforce the line, yet as she surveyed the battlefield she realised it was worse than she could have thought. Those troopers still alive had pulled back to their final defensive line, a large earthen foxhole topped with sandbags, barbwire and with two heavy gun emplacements that weren’t even firing. In front of this was a smaller and shallower trench system and beyond that a large plateau that stretched across to a rocky, jagged outcrop, that cast the conflict as taking place against some kind of prehistoric backdrop.
She glanced around quickly, the Marines themselves had the look of phantoms, pallid almost blanched flesh, vacant expressions, they were broken, and shattered. Her gaze shifted to the oncoming enemy troops, who had begun to pour over the first trench-line, their onslaught only delayed as they brutally slaughtered the wounded or dying who had been left behind. The battleground itself was covered in horrors that no person should have to bear witness to. The snapshots collated, portraying the abject wretchedness of this conflict and froze her to the soul. It was the first Marine motto that you never leave anyone behind, yet this was war and sometimes the carnage caused even the best, to fall and forget the basic doctrine of humanity. To remove that thin sheen of civilisation that covers up the animal, we really are, in short when the shit hits the fan, that most basic will to survive, topped even the most primal human will, to help others. It was the saddest and most terrible truth.
Beyond the defensive line, she could see the Separatist’s massing, an almost never ending ocean of burgundy. As she saw the scale of the enemy assault and calculated the odds of survival in her head, her hand fell almost subconsciously, to her abdomen, she felt for the new life, through the light weight, combat armour and fatigues. At the same time she thought of Sam, not Stalker, she never used his nickname, when they were alone and she imagined this new family she was forming. Her mind drifted to the web of lies she had spun and the chasm that still existed between them.
Naomi had told him her tale and at least the first part was true and so similar to his. She had been borne to poor parents, farmers, forced to try and exist on a harsh and unforgiving place. She did not think them evil or even bad people, they had simply had too many children, too many mouths to feed and not enough food. So they had sold her, she had told Sam, the story that she had been coached to spin, that she had been given to the Military and raised in an orphanage on one of the core Worlds.
Yet that was not the truth, she had really been sold to the Conclave themselves, or one of their offshoots, an organization, without a name, motive or real structure. Much later she would hear terms, like clandestine and alpha team, it was a place of deceits, and secrets. That was not to say she was mistreated, she had been raised in relative comfort, not abused, either emotionally or physically, she had been feed, educated, clothed and looked after medically. Yet this had all taken place in isolation, without love or compassion, it had been a cold, dreary place, if she barred her eyes she could still picture the grey washed wall.
Her life had revolved aro
und her preparation almost without pause, she trained constantly, for what she could have no idea about and her teachers would never go into details; other than to tell her she was destined for some greater purpose. They adjusted her speech, to make her sound like she had lived upon a polished, core World, taught her not only how to fight but also how to survive and of course how to kill.
The detonation of an explosive shell, brought her back to reality as a rain of mud and gore fell from the sky, like a horrific snowstorm amid some terrifying dreamscape. She knew that she had to act quickly and her clandestine schooling began to take over. If they were to lose this position, then the enemy would be able to outflank, the rest of her company, the people that she grown to care about and love. The enemy may not have possessed that much tactical awareness, but soon they would realize this simple fact and the Marines would lose this planet.
As she observed the battle unfold around her, she knew the enemy, had the advantage, not simply with numbers, no they had gained a psychological victory, they had smelled blood and if she didn’t turn the tide quickly, they would simply wash away the defenders in a sea of slaughter.
“Beast!” She shouted.
“Crash down,” Corporal Marcus “Beast” Huller, replied as he raced over and hunkered down at her side. He was a monster of a man, ergo his handle, who seemed like he had been forged of iron and steel, rather than made of flesh and bone.
“Get the troopers into the fight,” She said indicating the trench in front of them, “And get some flame squads up to the wire and fry those red clad fuckers. Then get those goddamn chain cannons up and running, while I find out who’s in charge around here.”
Marcus, nodded curtly and rubbed his hands together, “Time to get our hands dirty I think.”
“Yeah into the fucking meat grinder, tell them to fix bayonets I have a feeling this one’s gonna get personnel.” She said as always her diction almost too perfect that made even her cursing sound somewhat posh.
“Just how I like it, so close I can smell those dirty mother fuckers.”
“You are one truly twisted individual beast,” she smirked.
“You wouldn’t have me any other way baby.” His smile was broad and showed a set of gleaming white teeth.
“Don’t baby me,” Naomi yelled as her hand flew between Marcus legs and she grabbed hold of his balls. “I’m way too much women for you to handle beast, you just remember that.”
Marcus held up his hands, “Sure thing just give me back my privates.”
“Why not,” She replied removing her hand. “Not even a handful” She sneered and laughed to herself. It had taken her along time to adapt to the Marines way of life, the seemingly crass way, they talked to each other, the way that especially woman were supposed to act like one of the “guys”, yet she had always been good at putting on a façade and she thought now she almost grown to like this one.
“Who you been talking to?” He asked defensively. “It’s all lies, you know that right, when this is over I’ll show you.” he shouted, as he lumbered away to organise the troops.
Naomi swung around and strode into the foxhole, although it had been hurriedly constructed, it was solid and secure. The stench of human waste, death and cordite filled the air, along with the screams of the wounded.
“Who’s in charge here?” She barked, just to be heard over the din of the battle.
At first there was no reply, then a meek hand rose up, “I suppose I am mame.”
“Front and centre soldier.” She order, her tone fierce and imposing, as her teachers had been. At times like this when, lives hang quite literally in the balance, there was no room, for the niceties that she had been used to, here such things could get you killed.
A young man shuffled from the line to stand next to her, even though he was tall and athletic, he couldn’t have been more than twenty. His youthful, even boyish face, caked in filth that made him look like a cadet on weekend exercise. His torn flak jacket was covered in drying body matter and tissue, and the stink almost made her gag. Yet it was his eyes she was drawn to, they still seemed to gleam with life, even after all this horror. She had heard once that the eyes were the windows to the soul and if that was the case then this young man was worth saving.
“What’s your name trooper?” Naomi asked, as she knelt down on the wet mud and indicated for the young soldier to do the same.
The young man followed her lead and hunkered down calmly, he removed his helmet and ran his gloved hand over his close cropped, brown hair, he drew in a deep lungful of the fetid air, before he spoke, “Corporal Joseph Hellerman, mame, everyone just calls me Joe.”
“Enough of that mame stuff, Joe, I’m Crash Down, now where are all your officers?”
There was a slight pause, as the young corporal, shifted his gaze to the scene of destruction beyond. “Out there,” he replied quietly, pointing out to the first line of trenches. “There were just too many of them, we did all we could, but we just couldn’t hold them back, we were supposed to be reinforced but no one came we tried to hold them back but,” The young man spluttered as tears began to well up in his eyes.
Naomi grabbed hold of Joseph’s body armour tightly and yanked him up to his feet, “You have to pull it together soldier, there’s no place for that here, you want to cry and vomit you do it when the fighting over, this is a shitty universe and we are on the frontline, you either fight or you die.” Her voice, didn’t betray any of her true emotions, one of the tricks that she had been taught as a child and had developed as she had grown.
“Yes mame!” Joseph replied wiping his hands over his face.
“How old are you?”
“Just turned twenty today,” Joseph replied with some nervous almost ironic chuckles.
Naomi shook her head, “You’ve got to be shitting me. This is your birthday?”
The laughter stopped and the colour drained from what she could see of his face, “Yes mame,” he voice hoarse. “It’s one that I won’t forget.”
Naomi, was silent for a minute and she stared at this petrified boy, who had spent his birthday involved in some of the worse fighting that she had ever seen. She didn’t have time to find the words that may help him, as for now all she could was make sure that he lived to see tomorrow. “We need to push this battle forward Corporal, tell your troopers to fix bayonets, we’re gonna get those chain cannons on line then try and cut some of those fuckers down, then I’m gonna call in a tactical air strike, and then we charge.”
Joseph’s face dropped, as he pivoted towards the rippling ocean of scarlet and crimson, passed the barbwire, “Charge them?” he asked hesitantly.
Naomi nodded her head, “That’s right trooper, if we stay in this trench we die, it’s that simple. They can smell fear and weakness like a goddamn animal and now they’ve got the taste of blood they won’t stop. We’ve got to show them we’re not afraid get out their get up close and personal and bleed’em all. Make them pay for every inch of ground and push them back.” She drew in a shallow, breath, “It’s the only way that any of us are going to see tomorrow.”
“Yes mame,” Joseph replied as he placed his helmet back on and turned to look Naomi straight in the eyes, “Fight or die,” he whispered.
“That’s the way Corporal,” she slapped her hand on the young man’s shoulder. “You want to get through this battle maybe get home someday, you’ve got to live by that motto it’s all we have out here, now get your men together.”
Without another word Joseph marched back into the trench line to organise his troops, she had seen more slaughter, in the last three years since being ordered to infiltrate the Marines, than she could of even have imagined in her worst nightmares. It almost made her laugh how little the World back home knew about this war, she had seen the news reports and films from the frontline, shown on all the major networks. Showing our heroic troops, fighting glorious battles, with vast armadas of mechanized robots, battle tanks and mighty space fleets. They never showed what the fig
hting was really like, Marines bleeding in the mud, she wasn’t surprised, this was hardly the message that the Conclave wished to show the people. After all the message was the only truly important thing and that was that we were winning this conflict.
She forced her mind to centre, she had a job to do. So she set off further in the foxhole and found Marcus organising his troopers, just as she was about to beat his ass for not having the chain cannons up and firing, they abruptly roared to life. She could feel the ground under her feet pulsate, as the weapons spewed forth tens of thousands of rounds per second, they were devastating machines of war and she was just glad they were on their side.
She watched impassively, as the white-hot shrapnel tore into the ranks of Separatist, ripping through their armour, flesh and bone. Simply shredding enemy soldiers, reverting them into a pink miasma. Before this sort of butchery would have turned her stomach, yet now she was so numb to it, that she heard a quiet voice, deep within her mind whisper, “That’s right kill them all.”
Naomi raised her rifle, her fingers nimbly setting it to fully automatic and brought it up to her shoulder. She leaned into the weapon to avoid the kickback and depressed the trigger, adding her own bullets to the wall of death that was spewing forth from the trench. She didn’t need to aim, she just pointed the barrel of her gun towards, the wave of fiends in front of her, as all around her troops did the same. Blood, body tissue and bone were blown into the air and began to fall like rain; it looked like something straight out of one of the cheesy horror films they always played in the mess. Thousands of the enemy were slain in the first fusillade and as the chain cannons were reloaded, Naomi ejected her empty magazine and slammed a fresh one in quickly.
“That’s the way,” Marcus uttered as a wry smile spread over his scarred face.
“We ready?” Naomi asked, as she pulled her rifle round and attached her bayonet.
The Last Foxhole (The Forgotten War Saga Book 1) Page 13