by John Migacz
CHAPTER 40
The two marines and Commlead Haridep continued moving westward until dusk. Janelle was thankful that the cliffs were closer. Their green color beckoned to her after days in this dust brown, arid land.
“Let’s stop for the night,” said the Lancelead. They had passed through the open terrain and were back in a rocky area.
“Whew,” said Commlead Haridep. “I’m ready for that.”
They found a sheltered spot under a rock overhang and set up a defensive perimeter of explosive charges. When finished, they returned and sat in a small circle. Janelle felt her legs wobble as she lowered herself to the ground. It felt good to get off her feet.
“I feel like we have a campfire going,” said the Strikedag, holding his hands over the center of the circle pretending to warm them.
“We should tell campfire stories,” said the Commlead.
“Here’s one,” said the Strikedag. “One day three wonderful people were transported to a world where humans are advanced enough to make gold metal rings, indicating art and a possible economy, short blue guys carry human heads in ugly purple sacks, and big-fanged brown creatures try to kill handsome Strikedags. Then a beautiful damsel clapped her hands and they were all home drinking a cold brew.”
They shared a laugh.
“Nice fairy tale, Strikedag,” said Lancelead Grey. “I think our chance of finding some type of human settlement is good. Although the lack of any electronic signatures worries me.” He stared off into the distance. “I wonder about our chances of getting home. Our distress beacons won’t make it off this planet.”
“Lancelead,” said the Commlead. “You are forgetting that the Kraken had a dimgate pre-selected for this world. Something is up on this planet, so don’t count us out yet.”
He nodded, but sadness etched his face and he looked strained.
“You all right Lancelead?”
“Yeah…” He tossed the pebble he was playing with away. “Just thinking about home.”
Janelle knew he was tunneling into the dark recesses of his mind, thinking he’d never see his bride again and torturing himself over it. Janelle exchanged a look with the Strikedag. She could see his concern as well. She raised her eyebrows questioningly and the Strikedag held up a hand then pointed to himself.
“Whatever happens, it’s been a pleasure serving with you two.” He turned to the Lancelead. “You know, Sir, when you were first assigned to our unit, I thought you were a cardboard cutout academy jerk, with no brains and no common sense. I must admit you’ve done a fine job on this excursion of ours so far. You’ve learned quickly. I’ve seen new officers take years to display the leadership you’ve shown since we boarded the Cross.”
“Well thanks, Strikedag.” The Lancelead broke into a smile. “And I was impressed by the excellent shot on that creature that attacked you. Fine shooting.”
“Thanks, Sir. I was on the fleet shooting team about ten years back. Always seemed to have the touch.”
“Someone better tell me how talented I am or I will feel left out,” chimed in the Commlead.
“Ma’am, your skill as – ” began the Strikedag.
“Enough, Strikedag,” she said holding up her hand. “– Rory. I was only kidding.” She turned to the Lancelead. “But he was right, Bo, you have matured in – what, three days?”
“I think we all have, Janelle,” Bo said with a smile. “But this is one tired mature boy you’re talking to.” He lay down on the ground, turning onto his side. “And I’m going to get some downtime.”
“That’s a good idea for all of us, Sir,” said the Strikedag.
“I don’t know how you learned to sleep comfortably in these suits,” said the Commlead. “But I’m so tired I don’t care if I’m comfortable.”
“See, Janelle,” said Rory. “You’re learning already.”