From the Torment of Dreams

by Iain McKinnon

  The leader shouldered his weapon and the other two immediately copied.

  Nasim was amazed at the power and respect he'd commanded.

  “Sir, you're bleeding,” the officer pointed out.

  Nasim looked down. Blood was running down his arm and dripping from his fingers. He hadn't realised the severity of his wounds.

  “He needs more help than me,” he said looking at the injured soldier lying in the doorway.

  The naval officer gave a sombre look to his two men.

  “Would you like someone to take a look at that wound?” he asked.

  “No, I'm fine. Just take care of him,” Nasim stressed.

  “One of your men was injured over at the motor pool prepping a couple of jeeps,” the officer pointed in the direction of a hanger, “He was adamant that we tell Captain Zinner they were ready. We were just on our way to inform him,”

  “That's alright I'll inform Captain Zinner. Which motor pool?”

  The officer pointed towards a distant hangar, “Seven A, down there on the right.”

  Nasim gave a tired salute, “Carry on.”

  Without checking the salute had been reciprocated he turned and walked off into the chaos.

  Section 40

  With a squeak from his rubber boot Lan ducked back round the corner breathing heavily, “It's heaving out there. The compound is full of Terran troops.”

  Blood was steadily trickling down Jackson's neck from the body over his shoulder. He pushed himself off from the wall he'd been bracing himself against and humped Keir's dead weight higher up his shoulder.

  “Are they falling back to the spaceport?” He asked trying to settle Keir into a more comfortable position.

  “Hell, no! They look like reinforcements!” Lan's voice was flustered.

  “There are dropships landing everywhere!” he blurted out.

  “Shit,” cursed Jackson shaking his head.

  He had expected Lan's recon to be a formality before they made themselves known to the leading edge of the Neotran attack.

  “I need to think,” Jackson muttered as he eased Keir from his back.

  “OK,” Jackson bit his bottom lip and looked around, “OK.”

  “They'll be in a state of chaos out there.” Jackson said more to convince himself than Lan.

  “Right we casually walk over to a chopper or plane and,” Jackson raised his hand mimicking a take off, “fly the fuck out of here!”

  “You're crazy. We'll never make it with him,” Lan pointed at where Keir lay.

  “We're not leaving him,” his voice was strong and calm.

  “You'll get us wasted if you try.” protested Lan.

  “Well, Keir already died once today and you don't hear him complaining, besides when did you lose your death wish?” Jackson asked.

  Lan cocked his head, “What?”

  “Don't dick me about Lan, you've taken stupid risks ever since....” Jackson frowned, “....well, ever since I met you.”

  Lan's face went scarlet and his chin jutted out.

  “You don't know me!” he spat, pushing his chest against Jackson's, “You don't know me at all.”

  “I know you despise yourself,” Jackson pushed back at Lan, “You're burning up inside because you can't get over some childhood sweetheart.”

  “No!” Lan shouted back.

  Jackson raised his voice to match Lan’s, “You put on a uniform cause it makes you feel big.”

  “No!” Lan slapped his palm against Jackson’s chest and shoved.

  “You take risks cause it makes you feel important,” Jackson accused as he regained his balance.

  “No, that's not it!” denied Lan.

  Jackson kept on, “Because you want to prove yourself to her to make her regret losing you,”

  “No! No! No!” Lan stepped back, tears smattered across his pained face.

  “Because it's the only thing that makes you forget her,” Jackson concluded.

  “No,” Lan slumped against the wall letting his rifle slip to the ground.

  His lips trembled, “No... I can't forget her, I can't forget a fucking thing about her.”

  Lan ripped his helmet off and flung it against the opposite wall.

  The helmet clattered to the ground and Lan stared at it as it rocked to a stop.

  “God knows I've tried! But it doesn't get any easier,” Lan raised his hand and tapped a finger to his chest, “It doesn't go away. And I wish it would!”

  Lan looked up at Jackson, tears saturating his face, “I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to live without her and I don't want live with her always in my fucking head.”

  Jackson squatted down in front of Lan.

  “I can't make it go away, but think about it, where's this getting you?” Jackson grabbed Lan by the shoulders, “Now I need you Lan and Keir needs you. Just five minutes and we can be out of here.”

  Jackson held Lan's head in his blood soiled hands, “You're a good soldier Lan, you can help us all get out of this. All I need from you is to focus for just five minutes.”

  Picking up the discarded rifle he handed it back to Lan.

  “I know you can do this. Keep it together, focus on the next five minutes, if you can do that we'll all make it out and then we can deal with all the other shit. Are you with me?”

  Lan took in a deep breath.

  Jackson took a firm grip of Lan's shoulder, “Take control Lan, you're in charge of youre feelings, don't let them take you over.”

  Lan nodded slowly.

  “OK, are we going to do this thing, soldier?”

  Again Lan nodded.

  “Are we going to do this!” Jackson hammered Lan on the shoulder.

  “Yeah, why the hell not,” snorted Lan as he wiped his nose.

  Lan pulled out the magazine from its collar and checked the rounds. Satisfied the magazine was undamaged he slammed it back in place.

  “Let's go for it,” Lan said flicking the safety off his weapon.

  Lan opened the door a crack and peered out, “There's an aircraft. It's not too far and the hangar looks deserted,”

  Jackson squeezed in behind him to check out the view. The hangar seemed a long way off across an open runway. Landing craft were setting down and disgorging wherever there was enough space. But Lan was right, the hangar looked quiet. Although from this angle Jackson couldn't see the back of the hangar, other than a pile of crates with the white and red flashing of medical supplies, it appeared abandoned.

  “The hanger looks empty but there are troops all over the place,” Jackson observed.

  Lan threw the door open.

  “Like you said they're busy. Hopefully too busy to notice us.” Lan stepped out of the doorway and walked out in the direction of the hangar.

  “Aw crap,” Jackson whispered to himself no longer convinced his plan would work.

  Lan was a good few paces ahead of him already.

  His rifle was cradled casually in his arms in a relaxed, unintimidating posture but Jackson knew Lan could aim and fire that weapon in a heartbeat.

  “You got a better idea I'd love to hear it.” Jackson asked the unconscious Keir.

  “Didn't think so,” Jackson stepped out onto the concourse, Keir's limp body slung over his shoulder.

  It was bright out here. The golden shades of sunrise had intensified taking domain from the darkness.

  On the concourse olive green bulldozers were shunting burnt-out tanks and the wrecks of downed aircraft from the landing zones. The sky above Veruct was alive with incoming craft. Sleek dart shaped fighters tore past low and fast while chubby dropships descended from space, their hulls still a dull orange from the heat of re-entry.

  Beyond them on the far horizon, fireballs could be seen, meteors launched from space hurtled down on the Neotran lines. The medieval concept of catapults may have been upgraded for the space age but the ammunition had changed little. Without smart guidance systems they were wildly inaccurate, but devastating nonetheless. Jackson k
new each lump of rock may only be a few metres across but they had the power of a thousand tons of explosives when they hit.

  Jackson tore his gaze away from the skyline to concentrate on his lumbering march towards the hangar.

  “Those falling lumps of rock will turn the flight into a lottery,” Jackson worried, “But at least it means we won't be pursued.”

  He craned his neck to speak to the unconscious Keir, “We're going to fly through that to get you a Doctor. I hope your medical insurance covers this.”

  As predicted, the soldiers around them were too busy with the landing spacecraft to notice Jackson and Lan. To them the threat was over. Only a handful of Neotran tanks had made it into the spaceport and those had been dealt with quickly. With the arrival of the reinforcements they had let their guard down.

  Lan skirted round an abandoned tank and on towards the hanger. A waft of burnt flesh caught Jackson’s nostrils and drew his attention to the vehicle. A wave of revulsion washed over him as he looked at the burnt out Neotran tank. Half out of the turret hatch, frozen in his final gasp was the blackened body of a Neotran tank commander. The crew inside had been cooked to death inside their own vehicle. A shell hit or a mine exploding or one of a dozen other weapons had incinerated the tank’s occupants. A few lucky crews had had a chance to surrender, but most were killed inside their metal coffins.

  The battle here had been a decisive win for the defenders. For the Terran soldiers it was time to take stock and gather their strength before being regrouped and sent to the new front line.

  Jackson cast an eye around the space port. The landing pads and runways were swarming with ships, but there were relatively few troops here. The dropships out in the open were being busily unloaded of their cargo, crates and crates of equipment.

  The troops who had been protecting the base during the attack were now lending a hand to speed up the unloading of supplies.

  “Good,” said Jackson, “It's just supply ships here they must be disgorging the troops closer to the front.”

  “There's still a lot of Terran soldiers about,” Lan hissed back.

  “They're occupied unloading the ships and in a good mood after their victory; that means they won't be too observant. As long as we don't draw attention we'll be fine.”

  Lan didn't keep his doubt in check, “It's a bit difficult to look inconspicuous wearing Neotran uniforms and carrying a wounded commando.”

  “Keep quiet and keep walking,” Jackson instructed.

  No sooner had he said it he saw something worrying.

  “Shit!” Jackson whispered.

  A knot of naval guards were standing on the concourse not far from their path. In the centre of them lay four men. Their legs were spread they lay on the ground with their hands clasped behind their necks. Three of the men wore light green jump suits and the oversized helmets common to tank crews. But the fourth had the same dark striped camouflage fatigues that Jackson and Lan wore.

  “Lan, one of the guys from the other squad,” Jackson said in a hushed voice.

  “I recognise him, he was in the second chopper, Lan added.

  “What do we do?” Jackson asked.

  “There's nothing we can do. You said it, keep walking and don't look!” Lan paraphrased.

  The man in the night lizard camouflage looked up, his eyes met Jackson's.

  Jackson froze, “He's spotted us, what if he calls out, he could give us away!”

  One of the Terran guards turned round to look straight at Jackson and Lan. With a double take the guard looked at the captive on the ground and then back at Jackson. The uniforms were unmistakable.

  The Terran guard turned to alert his colleagues.

  Jackson glanced at Lan. There was no cover on the concourse, nowhere to hide. In silence they both looked at the hangar ahead of them with the dropship tucked inside.

  “Run for it!” Lan called.

  “It's too far away! We'll never make it under fire!”

  The captive Neotran paratrooper on the ground saw what was going on. With one swift move he pulled the guard's legs from under him and began thumping him with his fists.

  The other guards distracted by the assault started hammering their captive with their rifle butts.

  Jackson picked up his pace the best he could with the dead weight over his shoulders. His knees pounded with every jogged step forward sending jolts of pain up and down his legs. He glanced back at the shouts to see the paratrooper being beaten against the tarmac. His face was bloody but he kept clawing at his attackers.

  Lan turned round, Jackson had stopped dead, “Come on, Jackson, let's move it!”

  “How good a shot are you?” Jackson's voice carried a heavier weight than the one over his shoulder, “Could you take out those guards?”

  “Yip,” Lan's confidence was almost blasé, “but that would stir up hell and I thought you wanted us to go unnoticed?”

  Jackson eased Keir down and lay down beside him, “Do it.”

  “You've gone mad!” Lan said.

  “Do it, that's an order!”

  Without another word Lan dropped to the prone position and steadied his rifle.

  Lan took aim down the sight and pulled the trigger. The muzzle of the weapon licked with yellow sparks accompanied by the deep guttural bark of each round exploding. Even through the noise of firing Jackson could still hear the hiss of metal parts sliding against each other and the ping of bullet cases flying free.

  The first guard started to fall and his compatriots, unaware of what was happening, tried to support him. The second shot toppled another guard and now the Terrans became alert to what was happening.

  The Terran soldiers raised their weapons and frantically looked for the sniper. Lan floored a third and fourth guard before they spotted him.

  The last two guards dropped to the ground and started to return fire. Bullets screeched over Jackson's head and he tensed up his shoulders trying to shrink closer to the ground. Next to him he could hear Lan continue to place his shots.

  The tarmac ahead of Jackson ripped up as bullets snaked their way towards him. Forgetting Keir he squirmed in reverse away from the cascade of shells. Chips of tarmac bounced off Jackson's face as the shots hit the ground in front of him.

  Jackson squeezed his eyes shut and winced.

  “Fuck it!” Lan bellowed.

  Jackson looked round to see Lan vault up into a kneeling position.

  “Get down!” Jackson cried.

  “Can't get the angle.” Lan said matter of fact.

  The shrill whistle of bullets sliced the air around him but Lan calmly took aim.

  Two rapid bursts came from Lan's gun and then there was silence.

  Lan stood up and shouldering his rifle walked over to Jackson.

  “Need a help up?” Lan said offering a hand to Jackson.

  Jackson took the offer and bounced up onto his feet. All around them the tarmac was chewed up with fresh bullet craters.

  “Get to the hanger Lan and check it’s secure,” Jackson said.

  Lan nodded and brought his rifle back into a firing position.

  Jackson looked over to the broken knot of guards and with a wide sweeping gesture of his arm he hollered at the Neotran captives, “Move!”

  Imbued with the vigour of fresh adrenaline he hauled Keir back over his shoulder and waddled after Lan.

  Jackson caught up with his less burdened comrade at the edge of the hangar.

  “Why have we stopped?” Jackson panted.

  “Just wait a minute,” said Lan.

  “Make it quick. You haven't lost the circulation in your arms,” Jackson nodded at Keir.

  “Shh, I hear something,” Lan ducked his head around the corner to survey the hangar, “Easy, it's just a bunch of medics moving crates. We'll toss in a grenade and hop into the shuttle,”

  Lan reached for a grenade.

  “We can't do that!” Jackson was appalled at Lan's ruthlessness, “They're medical staff! The Borlin Charter fo
rbids direct action against medical personnel. Anyway, you heard Shorey on the flight here. They'll be a bunch of conscripts. It's not their war.”

  “All right. How about I lob a concussion grenade in?” suggested Lan.

  Jackson thought about it for a moment, “Those things can still kill you if they explode up close, but I guess we'll have to take that risk.”

  “If it gets shitty in there I'm opening up,” Lan raised his gun for emphasis. He pulled a grenade from his webbing and activating it he threw it inside.

  “Duck,” Lan said as he slid down the hangar wall and covered his ears.

  Jackson dropped to the ground and covered Keir's body from the shock of the blast.

  The grenade went off with the sharp crack of a firework. Splinters of packing crates burst out of the open hangar door and clattered to the concourse. Without waiting for the debris to settle Jackson stood up and checked round the corner.

  The hangar was littered with the bodies of the dead and dying medics.

  “You bastard!” Jackson cried, “You used a fragmentation grenade!”

  Jackson shoved Lan hard against the wall.

  “Just being a soldier,” said Lan.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” shouted Jackson.

  “I didn't have any concussion grenades,”

  Jackson's face was blank with disbelief, “Fuck, Lan! I...”

  A burst of automatic fire ripped into the wall. More guards roused by the explosion had a bead on them. Shots dunted against the corrugated wall like hailstones on a glass pane.

  Jackson grabbed Keir by his webbing.

  “Lan, give our boys some covering fire, I'll fire up the bird.” Jackson yanked at Keir's harness, bursting open the pockets and scattering their contents, as he dragged him around the wall and into the hangar.

  Inside the hangar was a mess.

  The explosion had scorched one side of the landing craft and the floor was covered in blood and debris.

  Blood leaked from a white refrigerated storage unit. Ugly black holes peppered the sign “Whole Blood - Type O” and crimson rivers flowed from the lower holes.

  Wounded Terrans were groaning and calling for help.

  “I can't help, I've got to get out of here,” Jackson muttered to himself.