Nenthar’s were being slaughtered, the red laser pulses boring right through them. Abreon turned and fired at a Dru in his machine suit, the plasma hitting his torso plate, the black metal peeling away, twisting, buckling hot, but still effective. It held, the Dru inside unaffected. Abreon yelling to himself, inside his helmet, “What!” Abreon fired again, depressing the trigger, holding it down as round after round of plasma shots hit one after another, upon the torso plate of that Dru, the Dru backing up and falling back. The machine covered Dru fell back onto to its knees and fired back at Abreon. Abreon flanked the blast, as he returned fire again. Finally the Dru’s torso plate gave, Abreon killing the Dru in the process. Abreon in shock ducked from another blast by another Xelon in his metal mechanical suit. Abreon running, shooting another Xelon, at dose range, the heat from the impacting plasma, felt by the Dru but his suit not yielding. Abreon aimed hire and fired at the Dru’s helmet shattering its visor, killing the enemy. Abreon switched his helmet from short range to wideband, “Run, escape!”
Abreon heard screams over the wide band frequency, over his helmet's internal speaker, Abreon flicking a chin switch cutting the noise, the pain of those about him. A Xelon Dru jumped before him as Abreon retreated. Abreon fired at his enemy, the Dru collapsing after three sharp blasts, a laser blast from a Dru above him ripping into his arm, that one standing upon a trench embankment peering down to him. Abreon ducked as a second burst hit one of the walls of that trench. Abreon running again, glancing above as several gas shells were launched out into the area. The poison canisters opened up along the enemy lines and wafting down into the trenches. It started crawling along and began to nip at his boots. He turned the corner hurrying as he unhooked the strap of his gun, tying it tight around his exposed, bleeding arm. He would be safe if he tied his arm tight, for the poison gas only affected the lungs through inhalation, not skin absorption, Abreon stopping the spread of the gas to his lungs through the tourniquet.
Abreon crawled down along that trench, a Nenthar near him fired at a Dru, the Dru returning fire killing him. Abreon scampered to find another bisecting trench, taking it and fleeing with speed, with fear. He bounded up upon its embankment clawing at the muck as he went, as the machine-encapsulated men were slaughtering other Nenthar’s. Abreon climbed up and over, some of his army’s remaining soldiers fleeing as well, what was left forming groups, or clots of survivors. The survivors struggling down out from the Xelon territory to their skimmers, the Xelon’s devouring them as they tried to escape, Abreon opening the doors of one skimmer, directing the others: “Come on, let’s go!” Others firing from behind the skimmer doors, the sequencing fire of the plasma forming red-hot bands that streaked along the banks of the Zitar Nuo hitting the mass of Xelon’s charging down the beach at the remaining Dru army. They returned fire at the remaining Dru’s, attempting to cut off their escape, as they entered into their skimmers. The Dru’s in their metal suits, running down the beach to meet up with Abreon’s skimmer, one of them leaping onto Abreon, as he was partly inside of the skimmer. One Nenthar starting the skimmer, speeding the skimmer off the banks and out into open water while the other Nenthar’s fought to pull the Dru off Abreon, the enemy soldier firing haphazardly about the boat, Abreon holding his legs above the water, “Help me!” as a group of three pulled him fully into the skimmer. Abreon now fully in the skimmer took hands and disengaged the blade from his weapon, stabbing the Nenthar in one of his shoulder joints, slashing him again, the Nenthar still hanging onto Abreon’s legs as he dangled half in the boat and half submerged in the water.
One Nenthar pulled at the Dru, still clutching his gun. The Dru fired a laser blast killing one Nenthar, others pulling the rifle away from him, turning to fire at the Dru shooting at him, the blast missing and killing another Nenthar instead. Abreon listening to the motors and fans of his suit as he went to plunge the blade into the Dru a third time, hitting the Xelon’s chest plate, the knife breaking inside the plate. The remaining two Nenthar’s near to Abreon finally pulling the Dru off him. The Dru forearming both of them turning and charging toward Abreon knocking him down. Abreon standing as the boat leaped in the water, hitting the wake of another retreating craft. Abreon slipped and fell back toward the open skimmer doors. The Dru grabbed him as they both fell back and into the water. Abreon kicked the Dru off him struggling to remove his helmet, popping it off as he swam toward the skimmer, but he was not nearly fast enough. The skimmer bounded away, leaving him behind. He turned around in the water to see if the Dru was there. Instead, he found he was all alone in the Zitar Nuo.
Abreon washed up on the banks of the Zitar Nuo. He stumbled up, wet and exhausted for he had swum and nearly drowned to get there. He swam with his heavy suit on, swallowing the dirty, polluted waters of the Zitar Nuo, pulling himself and his suit along, for he was not a strong swimmer. He looked around. He could tell by the placements far back along the beach that it was Nenthar territory. Abreon walked along, sinking his boots in the sand, looking out and spotting a Xelon Dru passed out on the beach. He did not think it was the soldier who had dragged him out of the skimmer however, he was curious. He was also afraid, “Xelon Dru?” The soldier was still wearing its suit. Abreon shuttering, tired and weak decided to investigate the solider. Finding a blade from a Nenthar’s rifle partially buried in the sand, he detached it, took it and ran to the solider He looked down, there his last blade lay embedded in the chest plate of the Dru. Apparently, he was the soldier who had almost killed him. Abreon sat down and waited. In time, the Dru began to move. Abreon got up kicking the solider, “Get up!”
The solider removing her helmet, a female with short-cropped red hair and laser altered red eyes. She sat up, “Okay, okay, solider.”
Abreon holding out his knife, “Get up! You are my prisoner of war!”
She turned and looked at him, stiffening her neck, “Why? Can’t you leave me alone?”
Abreon shook his head, “No. You’re no good to me dead, woman so get up.”
“My name is Marcy.”
Abreon twisting the knife in her face, “Abreon.”
“Abreon?” Marcy questioned.
“Yes. Get up.”
Marcy turning away, “You knocked me into the water,” and then as she looked out toward the river, “Why do you want me up so quickly?”
“Because the Nenthar offensive was crushed, and they took their skimmers, and now they must have eliminated any remaining resistance by the Nenthar. I am assuming that by this time tomorrow, the Nenthar Corporation will not even exist.”
Marcy turned back to Abreon, “What rank are you?”
Abreon looked down at the muddy sand, “B2.”
Marcy nodded, “B7.”
“Good, now stand.”
“Help me up then B2.” Marcy replied with a crooked smile.
Abreon pulled her up and pointed to the banks of dirt before them both, “We need to climb these and get into the trenches. It is there we may find a sealable bunker and there we will wait for a few days. If no Xelon find us, perhaps the front will have moved farther in land, deeper into our territory.”
Marcy eyeing him, “My role?”
“Your role is to be my prisoner to which I may be granted some leverage if needed.”
“Yes.”
Abreon jabbing the knife at her: “Let’s go then.”
Abreon looked around the sealed bunker, the airlock doors shut and locked from the inside. That would prevent any random attack from one or a few Xelon’s in the vicinity. They would have to find Abreon and Marcy in the bunker, then melt the doors just to enter and extract them. He would wait there with her. Abreon hoped that he would survive the pending counter assault. She peered at him from across the steel of the bunker; the bunkers centered ceiling light beaming rays of yellow down upon them. He turned his glance from her and then toward the first doors small rectangular window. Finally, she spoke to him as he was determined not to speak to her, “You can stop clutching that knife, and I won’t attempt to fl
ee.”
“Why?”
“If I run, the Xelon may mistake me for Nenthar and shoot me anyway.”
He released the blade, placing it next to his thigh, “Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, I see.” Replied Abreon
Marcy looking about, “If you don’t mind...”
Abreon rubbing his tired eyes, “What?'“
As she was removing the torso plating from her suit, “I'm removing the machine suit I'm wearing. The suit is too heavy and too hot for me to wear.”
“If you wish.”
“Thank you.’’ She removed her chest plate, the rear the torso unit, shoulder plates, upper arm plates and then forearm plates. She removed the gauntlets from her arms and hands. The turrets had been ejected. Perhaps when she was in the river. She worked on her legs next. She left herself with just small shirt and briefs. She pulled up her shirt exposing her abdomen and most of her chest. A large red welt ran along her sternum where a blast of laser had hit her. She rubbed it, “This hurts.” Apparently, a scar ran along her abdomen and another near her neck that traveled down her shoulder down her shirt. She scratched the welt and then let her shirt down again.
Abreon, them sighing removing his suit. He left just his briefs on, exposing his tattooed chest and arms.
The war at the river Zitar Nuo Page 6
