“—and up with your hands up. All four of them. I repeat. Stand up with your hands up, or we will open fire on you,” they all heard through their helmets.
“Suns!” Ahshaltic shouted, his voice muffled with his face buried in the grass. “What do we do KahCrit?”
“We stand with our cursed hands up,” Skrelton answered. “Pincers too. Nobody do anything stupid.”
They slowly stood and raised their arms. Without being told, the soldiers were smart enough to leave their rifles on the ground. Skrelton was glad, it had slipped his mind when he told them to stand.
A human stood up in the open hatch on top of the tank. Another stood up in what was left of the driver’s compartment. Three more stood up near the tank. Skrelton was amazed he had not seen them. Their uniforms blended into the grass and the shrubs. Their faces were painted in brown, green, and black. They had grass sticking out of their helmets and from their gear.
Skrelton saw that two of them were wounded, one badly enough that he swayed and leaned against the tank, his weapon dropping and aiming at the ground.
“Pick your weapons up by their slings and walk over here. Any funny moves, and we fill you with invertebrates,” the human said through the translator.
What? Invertebrates? What the Suns is he saying? Skrelton asked himself. He, like the rest of his soldiers, picked up his rifle by the sling and stepped forward. In a few moments, he was face-to-face with the enemy.
KahCrit Skrelton looked at the speaker, then glanced up at the two enemy soldiers aiming rifles from the tank. One was an extra-long weapon with a large scope. There was nothing aggressive they could do and hope to survive. He looked back at the human leader. He had no idea what to expect.
The human was only slightly shorter than he was, maybe an inch or so at the most. Even with all the gear on him, he could see this one was solidly built. He was nothing like the picture he had seen of the captives. They were all decidedly smaller. It was strange to encounter something that was bipedal, like the Kitrail, yet only had two arms. Skrelton wondered if the human felt handicapped.
He noticed this human had a rifle in his hands and a pistol in a holster in his harness. He also saw a large cutting blade in a sheath. Interesting. They carry a blade because they don’t have a tail they can stab with.
“Put them all in a pile,” the human leader said.
All the Kitrail did as they were asked. If the KahCrit was following the instructions, they knew they had better, as well. There wasn’t a choice with this many kinetic rifles pointed at them. To do otherwise was suicide.
“How many more of you are left and how do you know what I’m saying to you right now?” the large human asked. “We don’t have your language programmed in our translators. How do you have ours?”
KahCrit Skrelton answered, “Five of us, here, and two wounded in the wood line.”
The human tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders. Skrelton guessed it was a “he.” From what he knew, the human females were smaller than the males. It was the same with Kitrail.
Skrelton realized the human couldn’t understand him. He looked over at Ta Minkata, the engineer, and ordered him to take off his helmet and offer it to the human. Minkata might not have liked it, but he wasn’t about to disobey an order while in combat. The consequences for that would be dire. He offered his helmet.
“Watch them,” Skrelton heard through his helmet, as their leader took Minkata’s helmet.
“Now what?” the human said. His eyes opened wide as he heard the Kitrail language come through the speakers imbedded in the pads on each side of the helmet. Skrelton saw the realization in his eyes as the human took off his helmet and put the Kitrail one on. It was an odd fit, loose, but it went on the human’s head. Skrelton slowly reached back and adjusted his radio so the program worked in reverse in the helmet the human now had on. He held out the receiver relay and spoke toward it.
“There are the five of us and two wounded in the wood line,” Skrelton said again. He said it a little slower than he normally spoke, so the human could understand better.
“How far away?” the human asked.
“About thirty feet into the wood line behind some boulders,” Skrelton said and pointed with a pincer in the right direction.
“Alright. Now, give me your ranks and names. You are our prisoners. If you behave, we will treat you right. If you don’t…then you die. It’s that simple,” the human said.
Skrelton told the human the ranks and names of everyone there, as well as the two wounded. He gave his rank and name last. He wanted to ask what the human’s rank was but didn’t.
“KahCrit?” the human leader asked. “What does that mean? It didn’t translate into Earth Common. What rank is that? How many promotions have you had?”
“Promotions?” Skrelton asked. “I have been promoted five times since I became a soldier. I am a KahCrit,”
“Five times?” the Sergeant said. “Well, I would guess that you are enlisted and not an officer. That would make you an E6, a staff sergeant. Damn, that’s one rank higher than I am. I’m a sergeant. Four promotions.”
“Four? That would make you a Crit,” Skrelton stated as they both began to understand the rank structures.
The human pointed to his soldiers and gave their ranks. He said they were three privates and a corporal. Skrelton understood them to be three Ta’s and a LakTa after counting promotions.
“Look, I don’t think there are any humans left alive on this planet besides us,” the sergeant said. “I take it that you are all that’s left of the Scorpions?”
“Scorpions?” Skrelton asked. “Do you mean Kitrail? Yes, we are all. There is no sense in attempting to deceive you.” For some reason, he was no longer nervous. If the humans had meant to kill them, they would have done it by now. It would cost them their leader, though. He was sure he could get to the sergeant before he was shot.
* * *
Chapter Five
One of the privates, the one with a bandage on his hand, stayed in the hatch and kept his long weapon trained on Skrelton and his soldiers. All of them were seated together on the ground. Looking around, Skrelton noticed a water container sitting on the back of the tank.
“KahCrit, do you think they would let me take a look at their wounded?” Jekotloma asked. “One of them looks to be bleeding out. I cannot, in good conscience, sit here and do nothing.”
Sergeant Jonthon, still wearing the helmet, stood up from beside the wounded soldier and walked over. “You think you can do something for Jacobson?” he asked the Kitrail medic. “It can’t hurt, but don’t try anything funny. We’ll fill you with invertebrates,” the translation said.
LakTa Jekotloma stood and walked over to the wounded human. He set his pack down and looked at the wound. It was a shoulder wound, much like the one he had treated earlier. This one was a jagged tear, as if shrapnel had hit the human from the front, though. He pulled out a self-adhering bandage and felt the wounded area. He set the bandage down without opening it.
“He has a piece of metal in his shoulder,” the medic explained to the sergeant. “I can remove it and bandage him. I have a sealant that I could use and try to stop the bleeding. There is a risk. If I don’t take the metal out, he will slowly bleed to death, If I do take it out, and the sealant doesn’t work, he’ll die quickly.”
Sergeant Jonthon explained what the medic said to the wounded soldier. The private looked at the Kitrail medic for a few moments, then nodded and looked away. Jekotloma reached into his bag and pulled out a smaller kit. He opened it. It contained small knives, clamps, and a set of tongs. He held the soldier down with both pincers, careful not to crush the human’s flesh. He used his manipulative hands to cut away the uniform in that area, cleaned around the wound, then cut into the flesh and removed the two-inch piece of jagged metal. Skrelton noticed that the soldier clenched his mandible and never once cried out.
Skrelton was impressed. He watched his medic pull out the piece of metal an
d quickly apply the patch. Then he watched him insert the needle near the wound and hold the bag up. The medic was taking a huge risk. For all they knew, the sealant was poison to the human.
There was no bleeding around the patch, nor did it start to bulge, indicating internal bleeding underneath. The soldier turned his head back and stared at his wound. After a minute or two, he lifted that arm just a little and wiggled a few digits. He appeared to be in less pain. He struggled slightly and sat up.
“It looks like it worked,” Sergeant Jonthon said.
“I think so,” answered the medic. “It appears the pain blockers in the sealant work exceptionally well on humans. Maybe too well. Could you tell him that, even though he does not feel much pain, the internal damage is still there, and he shouldn’t use that arm for several spins. I will put it in a sling.” He reached back into his bag for one.
The humans had removed the vegetation from their gear and had wiped off the coloring from their faces. Their faces lacked mandible protrusions. One of them had the same stuff on his face as all of them had on the top of their heads. It wasn’t long, but it definitely grew from their bodies.
“Can my soldiers have some of that water?” Skrelton asked the sergeant. They’d left what they had with the Crit back among the rocks. Their personal containers in their gear had long been empty.
“They can; it’s the least I can do,” Sergeant Jonthon said. “Your medic saved my soldier. But…it’s all we have. There may be some full canteens on some of the dead. I was thinking of sending someone out to check, but I didn’t want to leave all of you without enough guards.”
“I will send two of my soldiers with yours to search,” Skrelton countered.
“Welter, Smithers you two go with two of them and search for canteens or water containers on some of those tanks,” Jonthon ordered.
The four soldiers moved out. Skrelton, with Minkata’s help, had figured out how to get the translation program to work both ways. The humans had radio gear in their helmets as well. It wasn’t hard to find a frequency they all could use. Whenever someone spoke, it translated into the opposite language. One just had to be patient and allow the translation to go through. It slowed communication down a little, but it was workable. Minkata was glad to have his helmet back.
Skrelton watched the soldiers move among the dead in the distance, both Kitrail and human. To begin with, the human soldiers kept their weapons trained on his soldiers. After a while they slung their weapons, one after another. His soldiers knew better then to do anything foolish. Their KahCrit had given his word.
They searched for over an hour, then they took the large container and added the water they found, but it wasn’t much. After three days of fighting, most personal containers were empty, although they did find another large container, a quarter full.
The humans also checked for ammunition for their weapons while they were out, but there was little to be found. During the three days, soldiers from both sides had taken power cells and ammunition from the dead and severely wounded to keep fighting. Skrelton knew that none of the Kitrail rifles they came across would have any power cells to operate. One of his soldiers waved over a human. The human soldier walked over, bent down, and retrieved a pistol and some ammunition from a body.
When they came back, they had a full container. It wasn’t much between all of the soldiers. Maybe a day or so. Running over the problem in his mind, Skrelton had an idea. He hoped Sergeant Jonthon would go along with it—their survival depended on it.
* * *
Chapter Six
Crit Ahshaltic and Private Alford had the panel off the back of the tank and were able to get to the power plant. They discovered the reservoir was intact; all they had to do was take it off and get it to their tank. There was also more coolant with this tank’s fluid supplies. They would have enough for sure.
“Your driver seems to know what he is doing. Are you sure he has never worked on a Kitrail tank before?” Skrelton asked.
“No, he is just that way,” Sergeant Jonthon answered with a shrug. “Whenever I assign him to work on equipment we have, even though he has never seen it taken apart, he seems to get it fixed. He says he’s always liked taking things apart, figuring out how they work, and putting them back together. We had the best running tank in the unit.”
“Do your tanks have the same type of power plant?” Skrelton asked.
The human looked at him for a moment and then answered, “I don’t guess it hurts to tell you. We’re in this thing together, for a while, if one side or the other doesn’t come to this backwoods planet soon. Our tanks run off a small fusion plant. It’s set up different than yours, though. The design has only been around for about eight hundred years. Before that, humans had to worry about radiation when dealing with fusion. Not anymore, though a catastrophic hit can cause it to melt down and explode. We only have to worry about self-shut down if the internal coolant leaks or there is damage. I don’t know why your race has power plants that shut down if the backup reservoir is low. Depending on how long you operate one, it could happen at a bad time.”
“Like now?” Skrelton asked. He couldn’t help but shake his head.
“Good for us, though,” the sergeant said. He showed his teeth.
“I called Crit Captalta and let him know we’ll be coming as soon as we get the reservoir off. The last thing we need is for him to start firing on you,” Skrelton said. “He is alone now.”
“If he does, you’ll get filled with slugs,” the sergeant warned. “And I’m sorry you lost another,” he added.
“Why do you threaten with invertebrates?” Skrelton asked. He was still confused by this threat. It sounded awful.
“Snails??? Who said anything about snails?” the human asked. Now he was confused.
“You did, just now,” Skrelton said.
“Wha…oh. I get it…that word is slang for lead…bullets. You know, rounds from our weapons,” Sergeant Jonthon explained. “I come from New Chicago. It’s just something we said on my planet.”
“Well, I think that bullets are better than invertebrates, though I would prefer to not be filled with either,” the KahCrit decided.
“Let me ask you something,” Jonthon said. “Why did your soldier show that pistol to my soldier? Why didn’t he grab it and use it? The opportunity was there.”
“Lithowka is a good soldier,” Skrelton explained. “His word is his bond. We come from the same planet, Zanock. On Zanock, your word is everything. Unlike much of our leadership.”
“I’m starting to see that,” Jonthon agreed as he watched the soldiers of both races work together to take the reservoir off.
“See that, Crit?” Alford asked Crit Ahshaltic. “There was your problem. If you don’t disconnect the relay and ground it, it will arc once it’s heated. It’s a conduction issue. It’ll pop you every time, even without power to the tank. I bet it hurts, too.”
“It does. It got me and the KahCrit,” Ahshaltic said. The private laughed. The Crit didn’t need a translator to know the sound of human laughter. He laughed, too. It was a yipping sound to human ears.
KahCrit Skrelton noticed the private used the rank designation Crit, just like he would sergeant. It just came out naturally. Perhaps the idea he had presented to Sergeant Jonthon would become more than an idea.
They were stuck together whether they wanted it or not. This was no time to continue to be enemies. They had to have a temporary truce if they were all to live, because they were too far from water for either race to survive. They would need their tank to make it to a water source before they went into hibernation or the humans became weak and died. Eighty miles was a long way and would take too much out of them; they would never make it on foot. Even if they did send just a couple of soldiers, the rest would be in trouble long before the soldiers returned.
Once the part was removed, Sergeant Jonthon had his soldiers gather around him. “Look, we have to work with them. If we don’t, we won’t make it. Even if w
e did take them out and manage to repair their tank, I don’t know that we could figure out how to operate it. We may be able to, but then it would be just us on this planet. There is strength in numbers. KahCrit Skrelton has suggested a cease fire, a truce. I know if I give the order, you guys will follow. But on this, I am asking for a vote. On New Chicago, we used democracy. I’m using it here and now. With a show of hands, who thinks we should work with them?”
Every soldier’s hand went up. Even Private Smithers raised his bandaged hand. He had been quiet most of the day, although he was always quiet. As the Strike Force-designated sniper, he didn’t talk to very many people in the unit, anyway. He was the only infantry soldier among the survivors. The rest of the living soldiers were tankers. Sergeant Jonthon was glad the vote was unanimous.
He walked over and motioned for KahCrit Skrelton to turn the translator program back on. Skrelton had seen all the humans raise their hands. He wasn’t quite sure what they were doing, but he could see the soldiers gathering their gear and preparing to move out.
“We have us a truce,” Sergeant Jonthon said, and he held out his hand.
Skrelton wasn’t sure what to do, but he reached out with a manipulative hand, and the human grasped it. It must have been a type of oath. They would have a truce.
“Have your guys get their weapons,” Sergeant Jonthon suggested. “We may need them come nightfall. It may be quiet enough that the smell of the dead will bring back the wildlife around here. Did you know that there are some large predators in this area? We call them Stalkers, and they’re big enough to take a man out. They look like a cross between a bear and a wolf from Earth. You ever hear of them?”
“No. I don’t believe I have,” KahCrit said as he picked up his rifle. “But if you mean they can take down a being the size of a human, then I don’t think I want to.”
Salvage Conquest Page 6