Bellator: An Anthology of Warriors of Space & Magic Page 9

  Zyrra, angry creature that she was, teamed up easily with Cotirri and was already on the scent. Someone was at fault here. “You’ve never failed us before. Once they were upon us, what took you so long to sense them and return?”

  The Silent’s nostrils flared with hard breaths. Her eyes swung from person to person, in search of rescue. I would say that she was speechless, but that would be too fitting. Still, she had no retort but a clear look of panic.

  “Leave her bloody alone,” Jollan growled suddenly, lumbering angrily to his feet. “It wasn’t her.”

  “How would you know?” Halyah turned her attention on him. “Unless you were there, you have no idea what happened when she was alone. She could have found them and brought them to us.”

  His shaggy brow drew down further than I would have thought possible. “I thought you were supposed to be the Loyal? Piss on your loyalty, if it doesn’t hold to the ones you’ve bled with and who’ve saved you time and again.”

  She remained unaffected by his attitude. “Loyal does not mean stupid. The only way that you could know it wasn’t her was if it was you. You have been far fouler of late, and for you that’s saying something.”

  “That’s shit and you know it.” Jollan stepped forward with no small amount of menace in his demeanor.

  Zyrra slid between them. “None of that. What have you to say? How do you know it wasn’t Misire?”

  His head tilted and his knuckles all cracked as he readied himself to take a good swing at Zyrra. Battle-bred before, now again at each other’s throats. Norees pulled them apart, but the damage was done. Everyone was in it now and Jollan was in the center of the mess.

  Details about him that had never been too marked before were made issue of now, such as his frequent need for solitude. It was pointed out that he often went off alone, and he was not much for giving explanations. This did him no favors.

  The most damning of all was a point of Halyah’s, ultimately. Jollan was called the Oath-breaker. The story went that he was his clan’s champion when Gerron called us. He was supposed to slay a demon and bring the blood to his chief to take. He said he drank it instead to protect his chief. We wondered if it was anger that he would do the work to kill the demon while the chief would take the results. Now this story was cast in the most unfavorable light.

  And the more we asked questions, the angrier and more violent Jollan became. It didn’t do much for him. Some sided with him. Some sided against him. Misire alone spoke to neither side. A few fingers pointed at a few others, even the Loyal received a turn and Jollan seemed happy to be in that crowd. I happen to know, however, that he just pointed at her to take the blame off himself.

  Curiously, not once did anyone question why one of us may have betrayed the group.

  By the end of the day, small fractures were torn apart. One group was split into two and then each group to follow broke down further and further until none of us could stand the sight of one another and we scattered to the winds.

  And so, just like that, the Twelve were no more.

  The wars ended, without our help in the final bitter, glorious moments. Humanity celebrated and began to take its place again, build the world again, with no memory of us or what happened to us.

  What is the point of my story? You have heard all of this, and still wonder. Well, I will tell you. We deserve to be remembered. We were great. We were powerful. We don’t deserve to be forgotten to the winds of time and left to ignominy. Everyone should know of who we were and what we did.

  But, alas, I guess the real lesson to be learned in my tale is that you can’t trust anyone, really. We can only rely on ourselves or else we will be betrayed. We would have been remembered, if only he had never... Well, I shouldn’t speak to that. Let me just finish my ale and I’ll be on my way.

  What’s wrong with my hand? Nothing, nothing.

  That wasn’t blue skin there.

  How foolish you are.

  * * *

  About the Author: Mia Darien is an indie author of speculative fiction, and a New England Yankee transplanted into Alabama clay. No matter her geography, she continues to stubbornly and rebelliously live the life of her choosing along with her family and pets. She doesn’t miss the snow.

  Connect with the Author:

  http://www.miadarien.com

  http://www.facebook.com/author.miadarien

  http://www.twitter.com/MiaDarien

  http://www.goodreads.com/mia_darien

  The radio call was faint in the pilot’s headset. The clouds that surrounded the night mountains of Ankdar muffled relays at the best of times. These crystal spears hurtling hundreds of kilometers in the air, the deep purple of the twilight sky, melding into the early evening hours made visual flight impossible. The relays going down to the systern choppers caused the loss of more than one pilot who could no longer trust his readings or his sight. But Captain Redder had made the flight often enough to allow himself to trust in the lengthening shadows as afternoon began to eclipse, and in what he picked up on the radio.

  Adjusting his heading, his co-pilot Lieutenant McPherson looked at him. “Captain, we have the delivery to make. We need to get back to base.”

  “Noted, Mac, with the secondary thought of, who needs supplies for a surgical center if we don’t bring patients back, understood? Sounds like men are pinned down on the river bank near the Gorgion Falls, where the ivory forest begins. Doesn’t hurt to check out if there is anything we can do to help. Too many of ours are being lost to the Ghost crew that hunts those forests.”

  It was Redder’s second tour, while all of his crew were in varied stages of their first. They had all listened to the story about what the planet held, as the war for claiming it went on longer than the leadership had originally planned.

  He maneuvered his chopper through the crystals, their spires standing tall above the rotation of the blades holding the aircraft aloft. One moment they would be steady, then a cross wind would catch and buffet them slightly to the side, but trust in the experienced pilot never waned. Coming out of the purple gloom, they could see where golden, watery liquid ran down, delineating the forest of solid ivory, sandstone-like spikes from the twilight hues of the mountain range.

  This planet was almost all rock formations, the natural plants few and far between, and quite far from the embattled areas. The leadership here lived near the natural growing areas, the people that had granted humans access to their land’s natural materials to help support building on nearby planets. Each of the rocky formations of this desolate part of the landscape offered different types of sustainable energy that could be mined and shipped out to support new colonies.

  The battle for these resources did not come from the planet’s citizens, but from the Huourk people, a warlike race that sought to stop humans from moving further out into space, in a war that moved from planet to planet. Each new place that was founded which could support life was soon a victim of raids. Each resource filled area, as this was, a grave point of contention, which forced the human race to fight for every inch of ground.

  Most of the fighting here had shifted to a new planet. Few Huourk held to the old battle places like these. “Ghosts” they were called. Their bodies had the capability to adapt to their surroundings, so often it was too late by the time you noticed them. Stories in the troops held that they had so many planets in their home solar system that leaving a few hundred soldiers behind meant nothing to them. A rallying cry to the humans to fight against these raiders. Earth had been lost to an invasion a few generations back, but the survivors had spent years sending back craft to pick up every person they could, as every human life was important. To this day, each of the Rangers had the motto “One life for all” on their uniforms.

  Small groups of these Ghosts haunted the ivory forest. Troops protecting scientists and miners were often ambushed by the Ghosts moving through the rocky lands, unseen until the Huourk attacked. Now it sounded like a group of humans was pinned down, and Redder was no
t going to let them be left behind to die on a foreign beach.

  Dropping in closer, he could see another air ship in the distance. From the lighting running down the side, he recognized it as a Marine HC-1785, possibly the support ship for the people on the beach, or maybe just another ship picking up the call.

  “Hail that vessel, we need to work to get the people out,” Redder said to his communications officer, Corporal Jeffers.

  “Hailing marine vessel nearing euclidean vector 18, 87, 23, please respond. Ranger vessel RT2314 calling.” Jeffers’ voice was calm and easy. He was the youngest member of Redder’s crew, but his captain had shown faith in him from day one and that enabled him to grow into the competent man at the com today.

  A crackle of responding air as the other vessel cleared the mountains, “RT2314, we read you. Marine vessel ES1569 responding to pick up our crew under fire. Can you assist?”

  Redder angled the craft nearer the small crew on the beach. Tipping his wing, his door gunner was able to see a few traces of light from weapons as the Huourk kept the people on the beach trapped. “Looks like unlucky thirteen on the beach, Captain.”

  “Looks like thirteen people under fire, repeat one three, thirteen. Tracers from the trees to the north. What is your plan, ES1569?” ES was the call sign for the Ecoplanetary Science division, so civilians were mixed in on that beach. Redder gave a short look to McPherson and saw the set of his jaw.

  McPherson’s wife was with the ES division. “Sorry, Captain, you were right.” The words were unnecessary, but the thought that it might be his own family there helped take the edge of doubt from McPherson’s eyes.

  “RT2314, can you see the Ghosts?” The other ship’s call was clear now that the interference from the mountain zone had passed.

  Gunner Simpson called out, “Negative. Tracers only for their location. See five places the tracers are popping up from.” Simpson didn’t need to tell anyone that there could be far more than five out there.

  “Negative, ES1569. Minor tracer flares from behind the ivory forest, but no eyes on the Ghosts.” The systern chopper lifted in place, then turned quickly to move over the trapped party on the beach again.

  The chopper always kept a med tech on board and the newest was Corporal Avery. She took over looking at the beach from opposite the gunner. “Sir, it doesn’t look like the Ghosts are advancing, seems they are happy to keep the people pinned down where they cannot get out.”

  “A trap then, you think? Or just not the manpower to advance?” Lieutenant McPherson looked out his window. An enemy you could not see, it was like his childhood nightmares come true. But that was why he volunteered, why he fought. Children’s nightmares should never come to pass.

  “Possibly a trap. Anyone remember any briefing on the action in this area?”

  “Been almost a month since we heard a report out of here, Red.” Gunner Simpson was almost addicted to reading action reports. He had met people in other areas on leave and was almost compulsive in his need to look up where fighting was and check in with people he knew in the area. For a man trained to cut down as many opponents as needed, his heart for his own people was almost overwhelming.

  A nod and another arcing turn. “Tell them we will draw fire. They need to land and pick up their people.”

  Silence in the cabin for a heartbeat, then the message was relayed.

  “RT2314, can you repeat?” The voice on the other side sounded surprised. When the message was repeated, the radio went silent for a moment.

  A new voice sounded over the radio, “This is Emerald Code Specialist Havenstuck. Transfer me to your captain.” A short pause. “Now.”

  Closed com lines were not common in this day. Everything was shared and open among a crew, especially his crew, but Redder knew of Havenstuck and everything he knew led him to believe it would be better for his crew not to hear what was about to be disclosed. “Captain Redder here, sir.”

  Technically the man did not outrank him in military order, but in political power, he did. “Captain Redder, that crew trapped on that beach must be rescued, as must what they hold. We cannot have this being screwed up. Do you understand?”

  Like having those people die was foremost in the captain’s thoughts. Happy for the sound of his engines that would block the words from his crew, he said, “I never leave a person I can save. I do not care who they are or what they are doing. So take your officious orders and stow them while we save your people. Do you understand?”

  He could hear the ping as the private com channel closed, then a slight hollowness as the open line re-established with his own crew. “Here is how it stands. We will not leave those people on that beach. Things work out right, we run strafing calls across the Ghosts’ location and keep them pinned in. ES can land and pick up their crew and we all get out easy, with maybe a Ghost badge to be added to the old girl.” A Ghost badge was added to each chopper that saw active duty with the Ghosts of the north and the Huourk here.

  A mixed call of “You got it, Red” and “Aye, Captain” hit his ears with a confirming note. They had all seen combat, not a one new to this, but unknown forces and unknown allies made for a nervous battle plan.

  Tipping his wing to the other ship twice was the signal he always used. All pilots on both sides knew each other’s signals, so if their coms were jammed with interference from the planet or by other means, they would still be able to know when an attack would start.

  Taking his craft high, Redder turned and arced down, placing his ship between the ivory colored rock spires and the pinned crew. Simpson gave a whoop of elation, then opened fire. The ivory rock was some of the softest to be found on the planet. Ricochets were not a worry for those under cover, but many bullets bit into the soft rock and stayed, while those that flew back could been seen as green traces through the air.

  Opening the engines a bit more, they moved faster across the front of the embattled area. “Avery,” he called. “Ready the light, code argo shade of green.” Some of the Ghosts’ armor could be seen easier in certain light, so this would give them a chance of getting a count of how many they faced. The med tech nodded and secured herself to the cabling before setting the light and pulling the other side door open.

  Moving her body to be shielded by the chopper’s frame, she nodded to Simpson and he flipped his gun to swing to the opposite door, then hooked his harness to the secure cabling. “We’re ready, Captain.” Avery lowered her retinal display, coding the view to argo, and began to scan the tree line.

  The chopper stopped and hovered in place, then turned to the right before beginning a slower run this time. Placement for seeing what was hiding in the forest was as important as the varying speed to make this run different in timing than the last.

  “See anything yet?”

  “No, sir. Wait… Lord of Light Bless.” Avery’s voice was soft for a moment. “This looks like they are three deep, sir. Again, I say three deep. More than I have ever seen gathered together.”

  “Simpson, same count?”

  “Hard to say, sir. They have strange movement. You catch one, then see three. Certainly more than the five tracers we counted, but I cannot tell you… Bank, Captain, bank!” The gunner’s voice was drowned out by the hail of bullets he sprayed as he saw three blue traces from the Ghosts’ weapons fire as they passed.

  Redder responded as quick as he could and had the chopper just out of the way as the lights zipped past their mantled blades. McPherson grumbled and started checking gauges. Pulling up the vertical display, he began touching the virtual display, adjusting a setting here, watching a gauge there. His fingers twisting and flipping through all the display dexterously, the green lines flipping back and forth in the captain’s peripheral vision. “Nothing hit, Captain.”

  “Good, good. Jeffers, relay to the ES ship. Let them know this is not a small party we have been invited to. Simpson, keep firing. Lights first, to places the tracers run from, then covering fire across them all.” He did not need to hea
r the acknowledgement as he banked again. Multiple runs across the line would help take out some numbers if they got lucky. If not, it might make them duck long enough for the ES ship to load up their crew.

  The sound of the eried cannon fired. Special bullets lit the sky green as Simpson kept the hail of ammo focused at the tree line. Often the captain moved the craft in a dash forward and back, to one side and then a fast ascent, making the craft’s movement unpredictable. In ages old combat, they honored strafing runs, as the erratic movement made a soldier harder to target. Training vids of the tactics were still shown to pilots and ground soldiers alike to remind them that the traditions of combat were not always as ancient and clunky as young soldiers tended to think.

  Blue tracers from the enemies’ shots zoomed across the screen shield. The tactical display across it allowed the streaks of light behind to mar the technical graphics as they passed. “RT2314, their attention is locked on you. Keep them at bay. We are about ready to land and extract the team.” The call from the other ship made the captain more determined, his craft running closer to the ivory trees. The sound filled the cabin now. Even with the headset you could hear the thok thok as the bullets hit the soft rock of the trees, then a high-pitched sound as they cleared the first line, with an occasional deep-throated call as one of the Ghosts were hit.

  Shapes illuminated then faded in the gunner and medic’s eyes. The Ghosts’ armor had been rumored to project images, and they could see that now. It was hard to tell where the enemy was unless they fired a weapon so the light could be seen in the lengthening shadows of the trees. Still, they covered the forest with light and rounds, hoping their luck and determination would hold the enemy in place. Avery’s mind had swapped to a state of calm as she tried to illuminate every shape she thought was a Ghost.

  The image to the gunner next to her was almost like a vid game he had played as child, trying to shoot targets as they appear from behind cover; creatures that popped up that the player had to target quickly and dispatch. He didn’t know it at the time, but the military forces tracked those games, and youth that showed promise were cultivated to positions just like the one he held now. High scores then meant a man that could kill while people were evacuated on a beach behind him now.