by Jack Hanson
Chapter Fifteen—Shattered Soldiers
Combat is the ultimate furnace; burning away impurities and ensuring only the best remain.
—Khajali saying
The killing blow from the rai’lith glanced off something and struck into the air with enough force to cause the enemy Khajali to step back. Paris leaned his head back, and saw familiar black scales come into view, sparks dancing over Pairna’s body as he stepped over Paris to defend his fallen student.
“So, the false Khajal attacks the unblooded now?” mocked Pairna, who stood a head taller than his enemy.
“The only lie is that which you live, heretic! You have no right to interfere in a duel. Rillik or Khajali, he drew the Second Breath so he lives the Code!” snarled the Peacer.
“He is unblooded,” repeated Pairna, shifting his stance and using one claw to push Paris behind him.
“He bears the sacred metal, and he fights like one of the Pure,” spat the Khajali, sending a glob of something viscous against a crate, where it hissed. “I refuse to believe it.”
“You said it yourself; he is a child of the Weeper and Rhulo. We did not think he would bear the blade against a Khajali his first time out. Regardless, he is not released,” stated Pairna.
“Inconsequential!” the Khajali shot back, chopping with its claw for emphasis.
Pairna nodded, and his response belied the animosity that hung in the air after he stated it. “Indeed,” he said simply, and raised his rai’lith.
“You… You cannot,” the enemy said, raising his own rai’lith to parry as he took several steps back.
“I do. Prepare yourself,” Pairna told him, and then blasted forwards in a blur, sending the Khajali flying. The Peacer managed to roll to his feet, and raised his weapon to block Pairna’s overhead chop. He swept his leg out as soon as Pairna landed, but Pairna responded by slamming the Peacer’s head and sending him sprawling. The Peace Federation Khajali leapt to his feet, parrying again, and his claws attempted to dig into the exposed flesh of his foe.
Thrombium turned Khajali claws, and the two sworn enemies locked rai’liths, hissing at each other as their powerful jaws snapped shut in an attempt to score a wound. The Peace Federation Khajali was nimbler, but Pairna was more powerful, and each used their advantage to try and find leverage against the other.
“The Star Blooded send their children to fight with the False Peace?” mocked Pairna as he bore down with his weight, forcing the smaller Khajali backwards.
“The Sky Callers take the meat of the prey, so who are you to judge?” spat back the Star Blooded, finally twisting out of Pairna’s grasp. He whipped his weapon around, trying to strike at the exposed flesh of his foe, but Pairna blocked twice and then leapt clear. His own weapon darted in viper-quick as Pairna tried to impale his enemy.
The Peacer dodged away, planted his claws into the wall and leapt over Pairna, landing behind him. He found his attack knocked aside with a parry, and the two continued their elegant, brutal duel with the battle booming behind them.
The two cadets didn’t bother to turn and watch the explosive combat between the two Khajali. They were dealing with a suicide rush by the last remnants of the Peacer forces. The massive battle rifle had finally jammed, and Sand gave up trying to fire it, drawing his blade just as the first Naith cleared their barricade. Green skin showed through gaps in the black battle armor. A breathing mask pumped nitrogen gas the Naith inhaled like other species did oxygen.
Sand butchered the first one, reversing the grip on his blade and driving it into the guts of the Naith. The body went stiff as the alien paused in the middle of drawing out its crysblade, and fell with a groan to the floor as blue blood poured out. Salem had slammed the second Naith in the head with the butt of her assault rifle, staggering it. Before it could turn back around, she fired a burst into its back and it went sprawling, dead.
She turned and raised her weapon just as another crysblade came whipping in. It buried itself into her rifle, and she had the presence of mind to twist the weapon out of the Naith’s grip. She hooked her hand into the breathing tubes. Even though they were reinforced, the trooper still panicked and went for her hand, grabbing at her wrist. It was as she had planned, and she drew her blade and stabbed the Naith, causing blue blood to spurt over her grey armor as the Naith fell. Sand dealt with the fourth trooper, buffeting it with a series of blows then stabbing it through the head.
The fifth one had stopped short, and raised the bow-shaped needle caster to fire at point blank range as Sand and Salem looked up at the same time. They witnessed the Naith’s top half simply vanish, the body blown out into a blue streak across the floor. The Naith’s knees crumpled and legs disembodied legs fell to the ground. Turning, they saw Black holstering his pistol as he walked over, unstrapping the shotgun from his back.
That was the end of the battle. Pairna’s rai’lith had impaled his foe with enough force to lift him off the ground and pin him to the wall. His body had shuddered once as he reached for the blade that pierced him, his claws making one futile squeeze, and then falling away from the weapon. Pairna approached, and then began stripping away the helmet and other pieces of the armor, binding the bundle that included his foe’s rai’lith in the half cloak his enemy had worn.
As the tunnel vision faded, Salem noticed Laila’s indicator had gone from severe shock to KIA, and she looked over at the fortification Ostler had set up behind. A spread of Naith had tried, and failed to rush it in a suicide attack, driven on in all likelihood by the female who commanded them. She knew from her education that the female dominated society of the Naith believed the males were expendable, and a fatal, last-ditch rush would make sense to them.
One Naith was still alive, crawling away from their position. Black stepped on its neck and fired his shotgun. The trooper’s head exploded in a blue shower, its legs kicking once before it went still. Salem wondered why he didn’t use his pistol, and then remembered the weapon had blasted apart the top half of a Naith not a minute ago.
Black’s wavy-bladed sword slid back into its sheath, and he nodded at Pairna as he approached.
“Ostler,” he said. “I take it my HUD isn’t wrong?”
“Yeah, Black, it’s not. Those cadets didn’t have a chance,” he murmured.
Petra was lifting Laila’s body in her arms, laying her flat on a pile of crates. Salem felt the tears come, and she started to rush over there, but was restrained by Black.
“We’re not done yet, Winchester, there’s time to shed tears for the dead, but not yet. We were ambushed, and we don’t know what else is out there,” he snapped at her.
For a moment, she made as if to say something, anything, to break through to him and wound him, but as she thought of the perfect response, she felt her anger cooling, realizing he was right, and nodded submissively. Sand’s hand rested on her shoulder, and she heard him address Black.
“Assault Sergeant, where is Cadet Harper?” he asked with forced formality, his way of coping, Salem knew. Pairna had Paris in his arms, and was bringing him over to where the cadets were clustered with Black. His limp body made it obvious he was unconscious, but the rise of his chest let them know he was among the living.
“She’s passed out. I needed to stop her from doing something stupid. She’ll recover, physically at least,” Black replied.
Salem wasn’t surprised he knew of the relationship with Hailey.
“Go join Ostler’s squad and sweep the battlefield, I’m going to go fetch her from where I stowed her,” Black said as Pairna approached.
Sand and Salem made their way over as Pairna and Black huddled, deep in conversation. Something caused Black to stiffen suddenly and then relax. Pairna laid Paris out on some boxes, while Black vanished behind a row of tool racks. When the duo arrived at Ostler’s location, Petra caught Salem’s eye and shook her head, taking a moment to hug her and sniff loudly.
“They had no chance. The darts were barbed and coded, so they ripped through flesh and shields,” Petra told her.
“Oh God, she’s really dead isn’t she?” asked Salem, looking at the body of their friend.
Laila’s flesh was graying already, and Salem saw Sand raise her visor, and look down at her face. She remembered that they had been getting close in the last few days. It was nothing like Hailey and Jane, but it was something.
“See you on the other side of the river,” she heard Sand intone. He kissed his fingers and pressed them against her lips, then lowered her visor. Ostler watched all this silently with Dragvik, and seemed ready to say something. Sand squared his shoulders though, and joined the two men.
“C’mon, let’s go make sure there aren’t any survivors,” he told the two girls. It was the first time Salem had heard his voice without its upbeat tone. Salem picked up Leila’s rifle from where it lay next to her, Petra nodding at the gesture.
There were no survivors on that sweep, only the bodies of Naith troopers, shattered either by Paris’s battle rifle, Ostler’s grenade launcher, or the smaller caliber of their assault rifles. They made it to the blast doors, and looked at where the troops had been massed, waiting for them. Ostler spat, muttering something under his breath when he saw the foot prints in the sandy soil. “We were set up,” he said laconically, and then activated the signal beacon for the shuttle.
They walked back to where Black and Pairna stood. Black held up his hand as they approached and cut off the Khajali in the middle of whatever he was saying.
“Shuttle is on its way... Black,” Ostler told him.
Black looked at Ostler oddly for a second, and then sighed. “What did you find?” he asked.
“We were set up. They were waiting for us,” Ostler said. “We had some bad intel or something, I don’t know, but there are three dead janissaries now.”
Leila and Hailey had died in combat, and would be afforded the honor of promotion by blood spilled. They were no longer cadets, and would be buried with the full honor afforded the fallen.
“We’ll find out what happened, Sergeant. I didn’t… I don’t know,” Black admitted, looking at the three bodies covered by tarps. He took off his helmet, and he looked weary as he wiped the sweat from his eyes. Ostler glanced over at the two fallen Leitani, and nodded his head, reaching into a hip pocket.
Salem and Sand joined Dragvik and Petra, the two girls leaned against each other, taking comfort from the proximity.
“Assault Sergeant, here,” Ostler said, handing him a ration bar.
Black looked at him neutrally.
“I was on Oro III,” Ostler said, still holding out the bar. “I remember.”
Pairna grunted at that. “Well,” was all the Khajali said. The silence started to grow uncomfortable, and Ostler felt himself starting to sweat under his visor.
“Black, take the bar,” Pairna said as soothingly as he could manage in his croaking voice.
Black reached out with a hand that trembled undiscernibly to the casual observer, stopping himself from wolfing down the calorie packed chocolate, and Ostler began to relax.
“You’re alright Ostler. Silence is golden, you know?” Black said, causing the hardened trooper to jump a little, relieved and stressed all over again.
“Silence is golden,” Ostler repeated, and Black nodded, losing that flat edge in his eyes.
The cadets had ignored this exchange, happening as it was away from them and most of their concentration now focused on reliving what they had just gone through. Before any of them thought to wonder what their leadership was talking about, the shuttle flew in. The whine of its engines causing their helmets sound dampeners to activate as it landed. The ramp dropped, and a squad of janissaries came rushing out, providing security as a just-in-case precaution.
Black put his helmet back on and hefted Jane in his arms and Pairna did the same with Paris’s bulk, his trophies bundled and slung over one shoulder.
“Help Ostler’s team with the fallen,” Black directed Sand and Salem.
Carefully, Petra and Salem carried the bundle containing Leila between them. Sand and Dragvik did the same for Hailey’s corpse, and Ostler managed to carry Baqi in his arms. They led the way towards the shuttle.
Silently, the janissaries who were providing security rose up to attention, and snapped their rifles to present arms, saluting their slain brethren.
There were coffins already prepared, and the bodies were gingerly laid to rest before they were sealed. Sand and Salem found a seat, and once they had sat down the numbness that had allowed Sand to function gave way and the fullness of what had just happened slammed into him. He took off his helmet and buried his head in his hands, wondering how he was alive. He felt something pushing against him. He nearly pushed back hard, but saw it was Salem trying to burrow into him. Awkwardly, he wrapped an arm around her, and let her cry into his chest.
Black and Pairna buckled the limp forms of Jane and Paris into gurneys, and Santiago began to run IVs into their arms as the shuttle lifted off, leaving Fatima III behind them. Sand knew, as Salem sobbed against him, that no matter what came now, they would always carry this backwater planet with them, this piece of rock that his friends had suffered and died for.
He wondered, as he would for the rest of his life, if it had been worth it?
Part 3—For Auld Lang Syne
Chapter Sixteen—After the Storm
…and I find the accusations leveled against Master Airborne Sergeant Ostler to be not only untrue, but slanderous as well. Cadet deaths, while tragic, are not wholly preventable and there was no indication of the ambush that we faced. Janissary Hailey died bravely in combat, and his father should be proud of that, and leave the matter be. Finally, I was the senior instructor for this exercise, not MAS Ostler. If Fleet Major Hailey wishes to claim Vendetta, then I should be the target of the Broken Dagger, and I will gladly step into the sand of any arena Hailey desires. While the legacy of the Airborne is valorous and full of honor and glory and MAS Ostler’s record is one of victories in the name of Empire, there is an issue I have with the challenges leveled towards him.
Major Hailey is correct to fear to face an Assault Janissary in combat. Vendetta is his right, but I will not allow him to attempt to malign an honorable janissary so he can face what he perceives as a lesser threat, however untrue the reality may be. His son deserves better. If he wishes his vengeance, then he will have to find it with me.
—Transmission routed through Commander Archer’s desk, from Master Assault Sergeant Alexander Black in response to the Inquisitional Board investigating the Fatima Incident
Salem swore she could feel sweat trickling down her forearms, but it never seemed to arrive on her palms. She was thankful for that, as their class and the third year class stood at attention in front of her on the parade ground. Salem was not alone though – Sand stood next to her, with Petra and Dragvik locked up at attention as well, chests out, backs straight, looking forward at both nothing and everything, all dressed in their utility grays.
She knew the ceremony was part of the reward for standing tall in the face of overwhelming adversity. They were to be awarded the Cadet Clasp, the only device that could be worn on their uniform from their Academy days when they became janissaries. It was a simple device consisting of a looped grey cord, with the colors of the Academy represented by a white and green clasp. The Cadet Clasp was only rewarded for acts that called upon cadets to survive in the face of overwhelming adversity, and the reports of Black, Ostler, and Pairna had been met with disbelief and shock.
She would gladly trade in the bit of cord and metal to bring back the dead, though. Jane hadn’t wakened, and Paris’s body was recovering from the battering that it had taken at the hands of the enemy Khajali. Even though it had only been two days since they returned, she was worried that her friends still sl
ept. She managed to question Black about it before they marched onto the stage, and he had chalked it up to fatigue and told her not to worry.
He appeared at that moment, leading Ostler and Pairna onto the viewing platform. The trio performed a right face and faced the crowd, with Class Commander Archer and Commandant Welton following. The crowd, which had the murmurs of low chatter running through it, began to silence as cries of “Lock it up!” pierced the air.
It was Salem’s first look at Welton up close, and the pictures she had seen of him – a craggy face with a salt and pepper high fade – had the measure of the man. He moved briskly and with the confidence of one used to command as he discussed something last minute with Archer, who turned and adjusted something on his lapel.
“Bring your cadets to the position of attention,” Archer said, his voice booming through the crowd. The order echoed down, and as one the body of cadets and janissaries matched the position of those on the viewing platform.
Taking a breath, Archer began. “Good morning janissaries, cadets. I’ve never been one to stand on ceremony, so I’m not going to go on telling you things you already know. About honor, duty, valor, and sacrifice. These are only a few of the virtues that make up our society, and we expect them from each and every one of you. We don’t give awards for simply fulfilling those virtues, for doing what’s expected.”
The bald janissary looked at the crowd for a moment, and then nodded at the four cadets. “We do acknowledge extraordinary circumstances, where to simply survive you must exemplify these virtues. Do not believe I dishonor the dead by saying that – those that died did so bravely, and in the service of the Empire. Those who were once cadets were buried with the full honors due janissaries. Let us remember the fallen, forever sacred.”