Rear Echelon

by Darryl S Ellrott

  “His regenerative abilities are amazing,” commented the doctor. “See? The bleeding has almost stopped.”

  Travis and Numbnuts crept up to either side of the laboratory’s back door, their weapons held high. Josso stayed back in the shadows, bow at the ready. Their eyes met, and Travis nodded. “Freeze! Hands up!” he cried. He advanced on the Prelate with his gun aimed. The commander of the Machai already had his hands in the air. “Don’t move, Otto, or I blow your boss’s head off. Where’s Ressa?”

  “Here, Travis!” she cried, then her words were choked off as Otto lifted her by the throat and shook her like a terrier.

  “Not another step, or the girl dies!” cried the Prelate. “Now drop your weapons, or he’ll twist her head off!” He had gone from craven to gloating in a second.

  Otto gave her another shake to prove his intentions. Travis lowered his rifle and stepped back.

  That was when Numbnuts leaped. He’d been watching the behemoth’s eyes, and when they shifted to Travis, he made his move. Even though he moved with blinding speed, he misjudged Otto’s augmented reflexes. Otto caught him out of the air like a child, and, snarling, hurled him across the lab. Numbnuts went headfirst into the tanks that held Dr. Arnac’s mutagenic formulas and shattered them. A ton of steel and glass crashed down on his senseless form, dousing him in fluids. He did not move.

  “Tommy!” cried Travis.

  The silence was broken by two sounds. The first was the hiss of Josso’s arrow and a meaty pop as it punched through Otto’s neck directly below his ear. The tip stood out the other side, spurting red.

  The second sound was the sharp crack of a rifle. The Prelate’s mouth dropped open in a perfect O. He squawked as both hands went behind him. Struts McCaskey was in a kneeling position on the opposite side of the room. He had left the battle and stumbled upon the scene in the lab. When Josso had let his arrow fly, Struts had shot the Prelate in the buttocks. He had been aiming for the knees, but adrenaline had made his hands shake.

  The Prelate spun around and backed away. He stumbled, still clutching at his wound, into the cages which held the captive lizard men. Scaly hands shot out to pull him, spread-eagled, against the bars. The hisses escalated into the hungry snarls of a feeding frenzy. Bones crunched. Claws ripped through cloth to sink deep into flesh. The Prelate’s squawks turned to shrieks, which rose and rose until he gave an ultimate howl of agony as the lizard men ripped open his torso in a glut of blood. A pair of reptilian head poked out from around his legs to worry and fight over his dangling intestines. Another head with teeth like a spiked fence buried itself in the Prelate’s hood. Arterial blood spurted, and the head shook the Prelate’s face furiously, like an angry dog over its bone. It stopped for a moment to hiss at the onlookers, then went back to its prize.

  Travis dragged his eyes away from the awful sight to turn back to Otto. As he reached up to pull the arrow out, Otto exhaled blood in a fine spray. He glared at Travis and tried to speak, but only gargling sounds came out. Red fluid washed over his lips in a tide. In response to this final insult, the muscles of his arm bunched and his fingers came together. Travis opened his mouth in a soundless scream that became a wail of denial as Ressa’s neck broke, and her head lolled bonelessly in the cruel grip. The brute flung her body into the corner.

  With an animal cry Travis Buckley was on him, jumping past the massive arms to rain blow after blow on the gargoyle face. His attack had no thought, and in the end, no effect. Otto caught him by the scruff of the neck like a puppy and cast him to the stones. His massive fist drove into arm and shoulder. Travis screamed as bones broke. Grinning, the monster raised his fist high so he could smash Travis Buckley to a pulp, but a new and unfamiliar voice halted its ascent at the apex.

  “Leave my friend alone, you animal.”

  “Holy crow!” cried Struts.

  The voice was full of power, confidence, and intelligence. A giant figure rose out of the shadowy corner of the lab and tore the remains of a uniform shirt from his massive shoulders. As he dropped them to the floor and came forward, Struts could see the figure was tall, six and a half feet maybe, but unlike Otto, his limbs were graceful, well formed, and in perfect proportion. The broad back and the chiseled features were a paragon of human perfection. The hair was blond and the eyes were blue, but they were clouded no longer. The flaws of mind and body that had marked Private Numbnuts, had been washed away by his impromptu baptism in the doctor’s mutagenic waters. Where they had twisted Otto into a monstrous form, Tommy Nowitski’s unique gifts had caused the formula to achieve its potential. And Numbnuts knew he was all that stood between his best friend and death.

  “Come on!” he cried, and Otto, snarling, rose to meet him.

  Chapter 25

  His eyes full of bloodlust, Otto swung a murderous right that scorched the air where Numbnuts stood. His cry of triumph was cut short as a brutal counterpunch to the solar plexus stopped Otto in his tracks. It sounded like two vehicles smashing into each other with brutal finality, and he doubled over to his knees in shock.

  “Yeah!” Struts cried.

  Gasping for air, Otto again came in wild, this time using his left. Numbnuts slipped the punch easily, countering with a left-right combination that dropped Otto a second time. Staggering to his feet on wobbly knees, Otto held out his hands in a warding gesture, shaking his head no-no-no.

  Numbnuts bore in, but Otto took a different tack, seeking to grapple with his opponent where brawling had failed. Numbnuts’s uncanny skills allowed him to slip free of the bigger man’s grasp, and encircle his neck with a chokehold. The massive neck was like iron, resisting his attempts to restrict Otto’s circulation. Despite this, the oversized simian arms and ham sized fists were able to attain a grasp drag Numbnuts off by sheer strength alone.

  Otto lifted his opponent off the ground by the throat and shook him like a terrier, but a kick to the face broke his grip and his nose, sending him staggering back. Numbnuts pressed his advantage.

  “The body, the body!” yelled Struts.

  Numbnuts ripped shot after shot into Otto’s injured abdomen, driving him backwards and making the bigger man spit up blood. Otto fought back with blows to the head. Those that scored staggered Numbnuts, but he made Otto pay, crunching his already damaged ribs with brutal liver shots again and again. Otto backed away and covered up. Numbnuts rained down combinations to the head, busting out several of his stump-like teeth.

  Otto backed away again until he felt the edge of Dr. Arnac’s steel operating table at his back. Hooting with glee, he whirled, ripping it out of its base, then, continuing his arc around, smashed the steel into Numbnuts’s side. The blow doubled Numbnuts over and made him cry out in pain for the first time. With a howl, Otto brought the table down on Numbnuts’s head. Numbnuts reeled backwards, his eyes rolling up in their sockets. With that, Otto took his best batting practice swing and drove Numbnuts into the air, across the lab, and through the masonry wall into the courtyard beyond.

  Rejuvenated, Otto leaped through the space in the wall into the daylight. Bruised, bloody, and covered in dust, Numbnuts was trying to sit up when Otto crashed into him. He drove a piece of rock into his foe’s head, once, twice, three times. He scooped up and even larger boulder and held it above his head, crying out in triumph as he prepared to deliver the killing blow.

  There was a whistling sound, and Otto dropped the rock to scream. Another bodkin-tipped arrow had buried itself in the small of Otto’s back, puncturing the spinal cord. A moment later he clutched at his chest as a second arrow tip punched through his sternum just below the ribcage. As Numbnuts’s vision began to clear, he saw Otto’s face go slack and his eyes begin to cloud. Then he saw Josso, his longbow drawn to its fullest, step onto Otto’s back and plant his foot on the behemoth’s shoulder. The old man’s tear-filled eyes were full of hate as he sent a third arrow through the back of Otto’s neck, just below the skull. The shot severed the brain stem and exploded Otto’s front teeth onto the pave stone
s. The hulking thing collapsed. For a moment, the lost city was silent.

  “For Ressa,” he said.

  Numbnuts rose, unbowed. His eye was beginning to swell and would soon blacken. He put a hand tenderly on the old man’s shoulder. Josso, drained, let the bow fall from his fingers.

  “Thank you.”

  Together the two walked back into the lab through the hole Numbnuts had made, and with Struts, went in search of Travis Buckley. They found him kneeling in the corner, cradling Ressa’s lifeless form to his chest with his good arm. His shoulders shook with helpless grief as he clutched her to him and sobbed. They stood watching him for a while, then Struts and Numbnuts gently led him away. Josso covered her body and said a quiet prayer.

  Not long after that, Master Sergeant Emil Hardesty of the Stellar Armada Marines, followed by the survivors of the SAS Halsey, entered the laboratory. They were followed by the men of Asilyo and Copalta. He looked at the remains of the Prelate, the shattered remnants of the lab equipment, the hole in the wall, and the titanic form of Tommy Nowitski, aka Private Numbnuts. Then he voiced the only pertinent question anyone had thought to ask:

  “Where’s the doctor? Where’s Arnac?”

  As if in response, the crash of firing shuttle engines sounded in the distance. Beyond the laboratory’s doors, the Machai craft bearing the Emperor’s prize was making good its escape. Struts looked at him with weary eyes.

  “Sorry, Top. I think he got away.”

  Chapter 26

  Privates Jenna Jones and Penny Peabody, late of Bandit Company, sat outside the temporary shelter that had been erected in the field beyond the walls of Pericu. It would be a day or two before the wagons arrived from Asilyo to transport the wounded.

  “How’s the captain?” Penny asked.

  “Driving Hardesty crazy,” said Jenny.

  “I suppose he’s got to do something. It’ll be almost a month before the rescue party arrives. He’ll keep us busy constructing a real HQ back in Asliyo.”

  “A month’s worth of R&R in a tropical paradise? There’s worse duty, believe me. Besides, that Prince is kinda cute.”

  “In a ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ sort of way, I guess. I heard he’s developing an interest in redheads.”

  “You’re talking about Gloria, of course. Nevertheless, I am free and single.”

  “And you’re current on your contraceptives.”

  “Shut up. True, of course. What’s the word on Numbnuts?”

  “You think Numbnuts is cute?”

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant, what’s going to happen to him? Is he going to stay buff like that forever? They say he’s even smart now.”

  “No, poor guy. It’s beginning to wear off. In a week or two he’ll be back the way he was. I hear they’re going to ship him back to Armada headquarters labs to see if they can figure out what makes him tick.”

  “They’re going to cut him up?” asked Jenny, horrified.

  “No, nothing like that. They just want to figure out why it turned Otto into a monster and him into an Adonis.”

  “You don’t need a lab for that, in my opinion. Otto was already a monster on the inside. And Numbnuts – well, he could be a lunkhead, but he was the sweetest guy you ever met. And Travis?”

  “The guy’s in pieces. He’s lying in the back of the tent right now with a broken arm. Hasn’t spoken a word to anyone since it happened. They were in love, I hear – he and that girl who got killed, I mean.”

  “First love,” Jenny sighed. “It’d be romantic if it weren’t so damn tragic.”

  Epilogue

  Bainbridge glanced up from his makeshift desk. Travis Buckley stood at attention just outside the field shelter.

  “At ease, private. Come in and have a seat.” Travis pulled up a foldable stool and sat down.

  “I see your shoulder and knee are almost healed, Captain.”

  “As is your arm. The wonders of modern nanomedicine. They say it used to take months of rehab in the old days. What’s on your mind, Buckley?”

  “Just looking for information, captain. I was wondering what you had to do to get into Alpha School.”

  The captain’s right eyebrow rose. “And why the sudden interest in Alpha School? Not happy in Bandit Company?”

  “It’s not that, sir. I’m fine with it. Everyone knows we haven’t seen the last of the Machai. There’s bound to be a war coming.”

  “We’re not at war with anyone yet, son. If that day comes, the Armada will decide how best to make use of us.”

  “I understand, sir. I just want to be ready. I want to be at the head of the spear.”

  Bainbridge looked at him hard for a moment. “You realize their washout rate is something like eighty five percent? Besides, you don’t have enough time in service.”

  “Then I’ll wait. I’ll work hard. I’ll do whatever it takes, sir!” His voice cracked just a bit, and Bainbridge heard the grief slip through. He looked at Travis with softer eyes.

  “Forgive yourself, Buckley. You did everything you could.”

  “Not half as much as I’m going to do.”

  Bainbridge hardened. “As I said before, private: in the Armada it’s about we, not about me. You’ll find out more about that if you make it to Alpha school.”

  Travis’s eyes brightened. “Does that mean you’ll help with the application?”

  “It means we’re all going home to resume our lives. What I’m going to do is put you in for a commendation. You’ve earned that.”

  “I’d just as soon you didn’t, sir.” Travis said bitterly. “I need that like a hole in the head.”

  “I’m sure the Armada will disagree. For a short while, you’ll be their fair-haired boy. You’ll make a whole new set of friends. You’ll put in your time. You may even earn those secondary education credits you’ll need. And when your minimum time is served, and I’m sure your reasons are the right ones, I’ll back your application. That doesn’t mean they’ll accept you. It just means you’ll have the chance to apply.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m grateful for your help.”

  “If you’re truly grateful, then dedicate yourself to serving the Armada in whatever role they need you.”

  “I will sir. I’ll be ready. I promise!”

  “And I will hold you to that promise, Travis. I think you’re right about the Machai. Before the end, we’ll all need to be ready.”

  THE END

  Excerpt from “Longest Night”

  If you enjoyed Rear Echelon, then you will want to read this excerpt from “Longest Night”, a Short Story by Darryl S. Ellrott and Brent Mitchell Wood, Copyright 2011 and published by Big Rock Publishing – and available on the Amazon Kindle Store.

  “Wake up, Mr. Mitchell.” said the voice.

  At first, Brian didn’t want to go to the voice. The drugs were pulling him back down into the warm safety of sleep, but an unbearable sharpness in his nostrils jerked him awake.

  Brian Henderson opened his eyes to see who had popped an amcap under his nose. It was then that he felt the steel handcuffs encircling both his wrists. That didn’t bother him nearly as much as the use of his full name.

  “Why did you call me Mitchell?” he mumbled, feigning grogginess. “My name is Brian Henderson, and I’m a deputy sheriff –“

  “ – Employed by the Tarrant County Sheriff’s Department, Texas, U.S.A. for the past nine years. But you served during the war under the name you were born with: Brian Henry Mitchell of the United States Army. I congratulate you sir. You covered your tracks well.”

  Dressed in an impeccable Saville Row suit, the barrister with the cultured voice continued on with relentless civility. “My name is Takahashi. An alias, you can be sure.”

  “What’s this all about?” Brian demanded. Both men sat in the passenger cabin of an expensive private jet.

  “My employer wishes to meet with you, Mr. Mitchell. I was tasked with making it happen.”

  “He could have asked nicely. I take it I’m a
prisoner?” Brian rattled his handcuffs.

  “Let us say my employer doubted your inclinations. I arranged for the two young men posing as Mormon missionaries to tranquilize you.”

  “It worked. Now, why am I here?”

  “My employer wishes to settle his accounts with you, Mr. Mitchell.”

  “I wasn’t aware I was overdue. Who am I settling with?”

  “I work for Vasily Petrov.”

  “I’ve heard of him. He’s the richest man in Russia. The only problem is we’ve never met.”

  “Oh, you know each other, Mr. Mitchell, just not under your present names. Both of you have a shared past you wish to conceal. I speak, of course, of Kazakhstan.”

  The color drained from Brian’s face.

  Takahashi unfolded the portable computer screen on his lap so it was facing his guest.

  “He felt, as do I, that you might do something rash. Hence the restraints. Pay close attention, Mr. Mitchell. Someone else wishes to speak to you.”

  He caught his breath as the screen revealed his wife Jennifer’s tear-streaked face. She whimpered involuntarily as the barrel of a silencer was pressed against her right temple. Brian moaned as the camera pulled back to reveal his daughter Haley sitting in Jennifer’s lap, equally upset. Takahashi paused the picture.

  “You can see by the time signature this was made only a few hours ago. They will not be harmed as long as you cooperate.”