Andre laughed, “If you work for the agency, you should already know that I took early retirement, as you can see, I’m not too impressed with the accommodations or the food for that matter, however the company is second to none.” He scoffed and pointed at Hawkling, “I mean look at the fat man here, I break his leg and still he comes back down here just to bring me some guests, and see how I’m doing. Now if that isn’t true friendship then I don’t know what is, however I’ve never really had any friends so I don’t have much to base that on.”
It was Hawkling’s turn to shuffle towards the cage now, as rage bubbled within him, “Now listen here prisoner, if you do not keep that smart ass tongue of yours under control, I’m going to gas you again and that’s not pleasant is it.”
“Well its fine for me, I just go to sleep, it’s you that has to clean up the mess,” Andre winked. “But that’s what you are isn’t it, a janitor for the universe’s darkest shithole, or do you tell yourself, you’re a noble man protecting the Empire from all the bad people held here, is that how you can sleep at night?”
Hawkling fumed, yet before he was able to respond, Claudius jumped in, attempting to wrestle the situation under his control. “Well you two could just compare dicks, all day, however I don’t have time for that, Andre, I need you for a mission and I can only guarantee you one thing. That I can get you out of this place, beyond that, I can’t promise you anything.”
Before Andre could reply, it was Hawkling’s turn to play his hand, it was time for him to get paid, “I will have to stop you right there, Knight Marshall, as you may not be aware this facility is under my control and no prisoner, will be transferred or leave as you so nicely put it without my say so.” As he finished he leered, so happy with himself, once again the credits flashed before him.
He never saw Claudius’s hand move, all he caught was the glint of the steel and then the tip of the blade, dimpled the flaccid flesh of his throat. “My commissioner, I am sorry if this may appear rude, however my time here, must be short and I do not have time to deal with you.”
Andre clapped. “Now those are some fast moves and I haven’t seen them before so you’re definitely not with the agency, who exactly do you work for?” it was clear his interest had been piqued.
Hawkling tried to speak, yet the blade, edged closer, he could feel a sharp cut and he felt warm liquid roll down his neck.
“Who I work for is not important right now,” the old warrior replied. “What is important is that we are on something of a shortened timescale here, so I will make it easy for you, you can leave here now with us, or I will kill you.”
Hawkling watched as Kiera who stood just away from him blanched and she stepped forward. “Knight Marshall,” she tried to speak.
“Not now Kiera,” Claudius spat, the anger clear in his voice, he stared at her deeply, his eyes heavy. “Please, let me handle this.”
The lady Snowfell simply grinned, “You never were, very gifted at negotiation, Knight Marshall.” She turned her attention to the bars and raised up her hand one of the many rings she wore, began to glow, and the laser grid deactivated.
“That’s not possible,” Hawkling exclaimed.
“Where did you get that?” Claudius asked his exasperating evident.
Kiera glanced at him and then came the sly smile, “It was a gift from my mother and she always wanted me to be prepared for any kind of situation.”
“The Baroness,” the old warrior spat, his tone a mixture of annoyance and admiration.
Hawkling took his chance, “I think that we should all just take a step back and think about what is happening here, I can help you, you aren’t going to get out of here without my help, and for a price.”
Andre slid slowly out of the cage, “Here it is, play your hand fat man.”
Hawkling continued undeterred, “Yes for a price I can make sure that you all get out of here safely.”
“We don’t need you for that,” Claudius retorted coldly, “We just need part of you.”
It was Kiera who spoke first, “That’s enough Knight Marshall, there is no need for bloodshed.”
Hawkling could see Andre sidle, closer to the young lady and already he could see what was going to happen, he could step in and say something. However, perhaps this was how he would be able to extricate himself from this situation and still get paid.
“Yes indeed, no need for bloodshed.” Andre said as he slithered like a ghost behind Kiera and then the sharpened plastic blade appeared and he struck out.
Hawkling just watched and smiled.
Talius stood back from all the commotion, it held little interest for him, instead he retreated towards the shadows, and became a silent observer. He glanced at the eight men of the honour guard, all of his troops had been chosen carefully and drilled specifically for this operation. They each knew what had to be done and would carry out the orders. Each would be getting enough credits to retire handsomely and live out the remainder of their days in relative luxury.
He felt his own hand drop to the grip of his weapon and he prepared himself for what must be done.
Blood would be shed, there was no stopping it now.
They had told him the storm was coming and they were right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
PLANET FRESAL ONE
Lauren Watts, watched the battle unfold all around her, men and women screamed, in agony, rage and triumph. Yet she wasn’t really aware of any of that, as if it was merely an abstract picture that was being painted around her. Her attention was held by the search for the perfect moment to strike; the Separatist were winning, that was all she needed to know. Although the marines were fighting with a ferocity that she had rarely seen before they were being pushed back and she could see even more of the enemy were flooding forward.
She had to find the precise instance, the correct answer to this equation. The landscape in front of her, was abruptly covered in lines and angles as her brain fought desperately to know exactly where to lay down the immense orbital bombardment she had ordered. If she was out by even a fraction, she would be responsible for killing hundreds of her own troopers, yet if she left it much longer then they would be dead anyway.
This war was never where she thought she would end up, she had always dreamed of being a teacher like her parents, of a quiet life, perhaps a family, the chosen man was always cloudy, yet the life itself was clear. Maybe two or three children, a nice house, with a garden where they could play, to her that was the perfect existence. She had never been interested in wealth, fame or money, all she had really ever wanted was to be truly happy.
At that moment, an alarm triggered within her mind and she smiled. Her gift had never failed her.
“Orbital one this is trench line delta, I have contacts, within my perimeter, danger close, danger close, request release of a full strike package and I will walk it in.”
There was a pause then a low voice replied, “Trench line delta this is Orbital one, roger that danger close, release of strike package in authorised, god watch out for you all.”
Lauren sat for a second and glanced around at the slaughter, “May he look out for all of us,” she sighed. “Drop all remaining within my perimeter, I say again drop all remaining within my perimeter, it’s my call down here. Bring it in close, at grid, forty-six, seventy-one, repeat, drop all remaining within my perimeter.”
Another voice this time, more direct and calm, “Trench line delta, this is Air one, roger that it’s your call, we will drop all remaining within your perimeter. Get your heads down, strike package is away.”
Lauren shifted and surveyed the bombs tear through the mists, “Roger that Air one, I see the package, stand by for redirection.”
“Trench line delta, this is Air one, we’re not going anywhere, you keep calling it in, and we’ll keep it coming.”
“Roger that Air one,” Lauren responded as the first projectiles pounded into the ground, she observed the detonation only briefly to calibrate, where the
next strike would need to be redirected.
As her body was battered by gusts of hot air and the now familiar acrid stench that would accompany it, she spoke again. “Air one, drop it forward four and redeploy, my position is being overrun, so lay it in thick.”
“Roger that trench line delta, dropping it forward four, and deploying all remaining, within your perimeter, Air one is out.”
“Roger that Air one thanks for the support.” Lauren said her tone heavy, as she turned to face the carnage once more, she had done all she could now. She shifted her gaze skyward and saw the outline of the vast bomber fleet, high and safe above the haze of dirty gases.
Then she caught sight of the strike package, even she couldn’t count how many warheads, were hurtling down to earth from the firmaments, to her though it appeared like some kind of apocalyptical meteor strike.
She followed the first bombs as they whistled down towards the Separatists’, some of them stopped their charge and actually peered up, just in time to see each of the weapons detonate, spraying thousands of small charges out amongst the ranks of the enemy. There was the slightest of pauses and it was as if the battlefield itself was silenced and then the explosions began, almost in unison. Spikey, boiling shrapnel, ripped through the ranks of the fiends, reverting their bodies to vapour.
She pivoted away, she had no wish to see any more of the bloodshed and she knew that the enemy had been stopped. She felt the warmed wind, roll over her back and for a moment she was back home, the summer breeze, leaden with the light scent of wild roses and the sun beating down on her bare skin.
Then the screams began and she was brought crashing back to this hell, she didn’t turn around, she wasn’t sure that she could take anymore, not today. She keyed her coms unit, “This is trench line delta, request priority med-evac, from my location, multiple wounded, repeat, request priority med-evac at my location, over.”
Her initial answer was merely static, then a drab, unemotional voice, “Trench line delta, this is orbital command, that’s a negative on medi-evac, medical frigate, is full.”
That was it, they were quite happy to deploy all there orbital toys, yet when it came to trying to save injured marines, they couldn’t give a fuck. “Roger that orbital command, why don’t you go fuck yourself, out.”
Before there could be an answer she keyed the communicator, she was probably going to catch hell for that, if the commanders up on the mighty flagships cared about one thing, it was unit discipline and the precious chain of command. Still what were they going to really do to here, it wasn’t like they could send her to someplace worse than this.
She smirk in triumph, a tiny victory in her ever increasing desperate life. She took her water bottle from her webbing and poured the ice cold liquid over her face, and attempted to wipe some of the filth, and blood from her skin with her gloved hands.
It was then she heard the voice. “Firestorm, Firestorm!” it was laden with desperation.
She struggled to clear the mist from her eyes and saw the young soldier who had saved her life early, emerge from the smoke, in his arms he held the trembling body of Naomi.
“Jesus Christ!” she exclaimed, as Joe stumbled towards her.
“I need some help, where’s the medi-evac?” He rasped, obviously short of air.
“Shit,” was her answer, she knew there wasn’t going to be any medi-evac and they were going to have to find some way to get her back to the main medical tent on their own. She shifted her gaze to Joe, who had just lain Crash down on the ground gently and said. “There’s not going to be any evac, the medical frigates, busy,”
Before she could continue, Joe spat “Motherfuckers!”
“My thoughts exactly,” she keyed her coms, unit, she had to tell Stalker, everyone knew about the Crash down and the Captain and he would know what to do. He would know how to save her, that’s what he always did.
Valus looked out one final time through his scope at the wall of fire that now encompassed what had been the enemy position and then did one final sweep of the battlefield. He couldn’t count the number of bodies, on both sides, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to, so much murder and for what.
He shrugged, those questions weren’t for him. He was a simple huntsman and he had done his job. He clicked the safety catch on and swung his weapon over his shoulder, and reached for his father’s rifle.
As he took it in his hands he whispered, “I kill only when it is necessary, I make every shot count and I remember you every day. One day I will teach these lessons to my child as you taught them to me. The line of the huntsman will never end.”
As he finished the mantra, he thought if he truly believed that he would have a child one day, a boy or girl who would be able to carry on the tradition of the huntsman; or would it end with him. It was possible he was the last of his line already, most had been killed during the revolt on his homeland and the ones that were left had scattered.
He glanced off towards the distant horizon, now shrouded in acrid smog, “Perhaps I am the last,” he whispered. “Perhaps the huntsman will die with me, if that is the case I will remain true until the end, and when death takes me I will smile. Hopefully I will see all those that have gone before me upon the never ending plain, where the sun always shines and the food is plentiful.”
He gripped the rifle tightly and then set about the long and arduous climb back down to the ground, and the hike back to the lines and Rosie.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sam ejected the empty magazine from his weapon and slammed a fresh one in quickly; brought the rifle back up and continued to fire. Around him the guns of the other Marines reared and thundered, they were fighting off a final assault from the Separatist that had managed to survive the fusillade he had called in earlier.
“CEASE FIRE!” He screamed trying to be heard above the dim.
Slowly cries of “cease fire” reverberated down the defensive line and the firing petered out.
“All squad’s check your lines then commanders, start taking your troops off the line and let them try and get some chow, and rest. I’ll make sure we get replacements to you as soon as possible, Command out.” He keyed his communicator off.
He watched as troopers trudged off to make sure the trench line was secured, he put the smoking weapon down and peered for a minute at the dry rusty flakes that were caked on it. He wondered what had happed to its previous owner, whoever he or she might have been, if they had suffered. Those were the kind of thoughts and images that would haunt his dreams, tonight as they did most nights.
He turned away from the battle and glanced back towards the colonial hub, he envisioned all those families, now cowering like rats, in whatever kind of shelter they could find. Holding each other, perhaps praying to live through this, and part of him envied them. Not their helplessness, just the fact that if they did live somehow, they could continue their lives to some extent at least. He thought about Naomi and fear and apprehension, began to twist and knot his stomach, all he could do was pray that she was ok.
It was then he caught movement, he drew one of his pistols from its holster and whirled round. He was prepared for anything, except what he saw.
The creature was just standing almost nonchalantly and observing him; its tongue hanging limply from its mouth as it panted softly. Sam didn’t know anything about tigers, yet he knew this one, as it was the same kind he had caught a glimpse of at a travelling robotic zoo his mother had taken him too. Its upper body seemed to be ablaze, its fur ranging from a reddish orange, to ochre, while its underside was a tainted white. Black striations crisscrossed it and seemed to outline its elongated facial features. The right side of its cheek had been torn away and underneath, metal gleamed. It fixed its gaze on him one warm, gentle, yellowish-brown eye, the other mechanical one seemed to have a soft purple hue, and yet both seemed to ask him, if he was a friend or foe.
He knelt down and holstered his weapon. He removed his glove and held out his hand gingerly, “its
ok boy,” he said softly.
The tiger seemed unsure for a minute, he glanced around nervously as if searching for any signs of danger, and then he sauntered over. Although the animal appeared relaxed its eyes were almost constantly moving, as if it was scanning for predators.
“That’s right boy, its ok I’m not going to hurt you.” Sam said, being careful to keep his hand steady, his memory flashed an image of him as a child, upon the stained carpet of the lounge of the fleapit apartment, the robot tiger, a much smaller version of this real one, in front of him as he taught him tricks, while his mother prepared for another night out amongst the other junkies.
The animal edged closer, as it neared Sam’s hand it seemed to stop and once again, its eyes found him, the animal tilted its head and seemed in deep thought and then obviously deciding that he was safe, he craned out his short neck, and began to sniff Sam’s outstretched hand.
“That’s right boy,” Sam said quietly.
The tiger, continued to sniff and then began to lick his palm. Sam chuckled at the sensation of the rough, fleshy bristles and for once in so many years he was a child again, and happy.
“That’s right boy,” as he spoke he gently began to rub behind the tiger’s ears with his free hand. “Yeah you’re a friendly guy aren’t you, or at least I think you’re a guy?” The animal, stopped and growled softly, as if answering yes to the question.
“Ok then,” Sam giggled, all the horror and misery of this conflict, fell away for a brief second. A brief slither of harmony and serenity, within his sea of suffering.
Then his communicator buzzed, he keyed it in, “This is command go?”
“Stalker this is Firestorm, Crash downs hurt and we don’t have any medi-evac.”
He didn’t wait to hear anything else, he was up on his feet and running. “Are you at the trench line still?” he cried out, as thoughts and fears crackled across his mind, he knew he shouldn’t have let her go, he should have made her stay, he should of done something more.
The Last Foxhole (The Forgotten War Saga Book 1) Page 19