The war at the river Zitar Nuo

by Morgan La Femina

by a shot in the head with a laser blast from their rifles. Abreon held his breath as a captain and two lieutenants passed by him. The captain with a smile on his face going down the line picking people as he went, “Not you, not you, not you,” and when he had found a weak man, “You! Dispose of him.” the two lieutenants pulling the man and passing him to other soldiers who subsequently shot him dead. The captain continued, “Not you, not you and not you.” until he reached Abreon, ''And...” looking him over, “Well, now,” tapping the butt of his rifle on Abreon’s chest, “Aren’t you healthy.”

  Abreon looked into the captains eyes, “My rank is B2, soldier.”

  The captain smiling, “B2 huh? You think you have clearance above us, Nenthar? Your troop is dead my friend.”

  Abreon said nothing.

  “Say something Nenthar?”

  Abreon looked at the captain and then at his lieutenant’s, “No one won this war.”

  The Xelon Dru twisted his rifle butt into Abreon’s chin, pushing hard, “You’re pretty healthy for a Nenthar soldier. You’ll work fine for us until you die from it,” laughing at him, “But first you’ll need plenty of hurt.” Fingering him to the other soldiers, “Take this prisoner and hurt him bad, but don't kill him.” The lieutenant pulling him out of the line and passing him to a group of eager Xelon. They threw him into the mud, picked him back up, beat him with their guns and pushed him back into line.

  Abreon staggered then wiped his bruised mouth, holding his wounded body, returning to the line, as the selection for death continued. Abreon watched as those less fortunate were picked to die at the hands of a sick corporation. He thought it was novel or had it always been that way? Abreon did not know, the pain he felt clouding out his thoughts. The prisoners who remained waited for further instructions. Out of a total eight hundred men in rank, seven hundred remained after selection. Abreon hoped that soon they would join the others in camp and he could close his eyes and sleep.

  Another Xelon Dru stood before the line of detainee’s with another amplifier. He spoke into it directing his voice to the enslaved, “Men of the Nenthar Corporation! You are now worthy of work for the Xelon Dru Corporation! You are strong and good men! You are all fortunate to become a small part in our glorious growth! You will now enter Strife where you will be given bar coded stamps, corresponding ID numbers and barracks assignments! Tomorrow you will be given work assignments and food rations, upon which receiving you will be transported to the mines, or the strip mines, the natural gas wells, oil wells, the forestry division, or corporate duty among the Xelon Dru corporate towers. They are among the company compounds over the Zitar Nuo River.”

  Abreon listened intently, if he was to survive and save Marcy he would have to become a corporate sponsor and work in the towers. He might even be able to help his fellow soldiers and the Nenthar civilians who had been caught up the war. The addressing soldier continued, “You are to each align himself four men in across for the length that is necessary! You will form a column four men in width. Once this is established you will be escorted into the Xelon compound one-half kilometer before us! That is all.”

  Abreon prayed to God for the sole he did not possess It seemed he was about to undertake a purging of what remained. The compound itself was one kilometer square, surrounded by sonic fences. The only visible portion of the fence was their posts. The posts were ten meters high, each post separated by ten meters. Abreon waited on line to receive his bar coded stamp and 10-digit serial number. He was a hundred meters before the sonic fences, “See those posts?”

  A man to the rear of him questioning, “Yes.”

  Abreon pointing, “Those are the pillars of a sonic fence.”

  A soldier before him turning, “A sonic fence? What does it do?”

  “They use high frequency sonic waves to disrupt any soft matter in proximity to them.”

  The one before him, “What?”

  “When someone passes between the posts, the fence senses the motion and then sends a cycle of high frequency audio waves which destroy a person’s outer flesh, shredding it to the muscle, perhaps even bone. From what I know about the product was developed by the Oozo Corporation, a military high grade arms producer, in the Tarpina sector.”

  The first: “You think anyone can get through them?”

  “Only if you dig beneath the posts, but more than likely they have some kind of mine system within the earth about the fence. Don’t try.”

  The first, “Have faith my friend.”

  Abreon smiled wiping the remaining blood from his face, “I have.”

  The questions continued among the detainees, the uneasiness grew, the misinformation trickled through the group and everyone thought better of the situation that what it really was. Abreon knew the real answers, ones that nobody wanted to hear for themselves. He did not care, what he needed to do was survive and help those who would listen. The soldier before him, as they were quite close to the stamping station, along one of the gates, “What are the stamps for? What will they do with us?”

  Abreon replied to him, “They are going to mark us for easy identification, through the use of scanners and visual checks. The id numbers are will be on our wrists while the bar codes are going to be engraved or stamped onto our foreheads. The numbers are for field access without technical equipment.”

  The one before him, as they moved progressively forward, as dusk and nighttime was setting into the camp, “There going to farm us out like animals?”

  Abreon: “Yes.”

  Another of the interned annoyed at Abreon for his opinion on reality, “How do you know?”

  “Because, I simply do.”

  One of the many guards surrounding the line of Nenthar’s at the stamping station, commanding Abreon, “Give me your head!” Abreon stood before a long metal table with an array of electronics tossed onto it. Several of the camp guards sat with weapons near to the detainees, some laughing, others drinking. Abreon moved forward, the stamping soldier pulling his head farther to him, “Stand still now.”

  The stamper engraved Abreon’s forehead, the stamp burning a little as the metal powdered bar code was imbedded into the flesh of his skull. Next, an identification number was burned into his wrist, the stamper pushing Abreon back, “You’re done.” Another Dru at the station giving him clothes, “You are to report to the service station at the center of the facility.”

  Abreon took his cloths, made his way to the service station and again waited on line there. Eventually, Abreon made his way to the front of the line. There he asked the commander sitting at a table before the small building, “Where do I go from here?” The commander pulled his arm, looked at the 10-digit number and scanned his forehead. He read the answers on his hand held display. He then keyed in a few options with a stylus, “You’re heading for barracks 18C, northwest of here. You are to enter the barracks change you cloths and throw them in a pile outside the barracks, return to the barracks and stay there until you receive further notice.

  Abreon sat upon the wood planks, which were supposed to be his bed. He looked around the barracks and at the others sitting as well. The barracks had two rows of beds length of wall. He sat there with his white jumpsuit, with a couple of reflective patches sown on them to spot a detainee from a distance. To Abreon, the camp seemed to a mixture of civilian and army, about three to one. Most likely the remaining soldiers were of the Menthan variety, which were better trained than the standard guards were. Those soldiers were likely those who were to survive the longest, if anyone could. Some of the prisoners in the barracks with him were changing, some lying upon there planks, some crying, others praying. Abreon only waited. A prisoner beside him sitting upon his plank bed, “You think I shall survive?”

  Abreon shook his head, “No.”

  Another standing turned around, “What?”

  “No”

  The one next to Abreon sitting on his bed, “What do you mean?”

  Abreon indignant: “Just what I said, were not going to
survive this. If you understood the severity of this situation, you would know this was true. We are in the gravest of circumstances. Do you think that they would have kept us alive if they knew we were in the end going to survive?”

  Five

  Moments passed, hours passed, then the first day. All of them were looking about, some still resting, others pacing, still more playing endless rounds of Otto, a mind based game of guessing. Most of the detainees in the barracks grew hungry and voiced their complaints. One of them in the center of the hall, blurted out, “Let us eat!”

  Another replied, “Eat what?”

  The first prisoner, “Let us step outside and demand food for us to eat?”

  Abreon to him, he had seen this before, “I would think better of it my friend or you will get shot!”

  Another, “That's right anyone who steps outside will be crucified.”

  The first pleading with them, “But, I am hungry!”

  The second day:

  “We need to eat!” Said the first of the group who wished to eat. He cried out again, “We need to eat!”

  Some were lying about, some were crying, some were praying, while others were still playing “Otto”, slowly going numb from the isolation, Abreon yelling at him, “Sit down and develop some resolve!”

  The man pointing to him, “No, you listen! I want to eat. All of us want to eat!”

  “Then go out and die.”

  Another one, raising his head from his bed, “One of us can't go alone, but if some of us go…”

  Several shots of laser fire were heard a few barracks down, accompanied by screams of men. Abreon to them, “Is that what you want for yourself? You all need to sit, rest and conserve your strength. They are using this time to weaken us.

  The third day:

  Men were lying about, others crying, others praying, all were hungry, none were playing “Otto”.

  The fourth day:

  Men were lying about, others crying, others cursing, all were hungry, some were digging at their clothes, others had urinated and defecated in the corners of the barracks as more shots were heard outside. The smell in the barracks was becoming unbearable.

  The final day:

  The prisoners were lying about weak, other were crying, others were cursing, all were hungry, some were digging at themselves as one stood, stumbled and pulled himself back up, “Let’s go!”

  Another one, weakly, “Were?”

  “Outside.”

  “There is only death outside.”

  Abreon lying upon his wooden planks, eyes closed, “You hear that gunfire out there, you'll be as good as dead if leave the barracks.”

  “Listen to him,” Another weakly yelled.

  “No!” The first yelling out in anger, “Who’s with me!”

  A very weak Nenthar struggling to raise his head, “Fee food!”

  A third, “I am!”

  Finally, a fourth prisoner, “Let’s go to them!”

  Abreon sitting up: “You fools! They will shoot your ass and you’ll join the others in the pit!”

  The first, “Let’s go, for food! We can’t wait a longer!”

  Another, “No!”

  Then another, “Don’t

  A handful of them leaving the barracks, Abreon yelling at them as they left, “Fools, all fools! All of you!”

  Abreon saw them race up to the guards, then after a heated discussion between them, the Xelon soldiers beat them with their rifles and subsequently shot them execution style, kicking them over. One of the Xelon walked over to the still open door of the barracks, “Let that be a lesson to you Nenthar,” smiled and closed the door on them.

  Abreon put his head down, “They died for nothing.” closing his eyes, others in the barracks with him crying again.

  Four hours after the previous incident the wait was over for them. In the dark, a prisoner questioned Abreon, “Where are we?’

  Abreon, as they all stood double file, “We are in the dark.”

  Another Nenthar, “What are they going to do to us?”

  Abreon looking about, “Their going to hurt us.”

  To Abreon it seemed there were about a hundred of them, from two or three barracks. He could see in the distance the lights of camp, for they were only a half kilometer away. The moon was a crescent casting shadows all around. It was cold and unlike their military uniforms, their battle suits, the garments they were given offered little protection from the elements.

  “Why don’t we try to escape?” Said one interrupted by a guard.

  “Talk shall be kept to a minimum, or the parties involved will be punished!” Yelled the guard that caught them speaking. The guards where accompanied by two terrain vehicles with four troops each excluding the drivers. A few of the soldiers had stepped out of their vehicles and were walking alongside the prisoners. A second Xelon, “You have all been given orders; they are orders of employment. They are as follows; your three barracks are to be employed at the Ashwon Strip Mining Facility, in the Xelon Dru territory west of the Zitar Nuo River for the length of your stay. You will rotate with two other divisions. Each work period will last ninety days, before you are rotated out, back to the camp.”

  Abreon whispering to one of the prisoners, “We’re going to die there.”

  The other detainee, “Maybe.”

  The same soldier, with his Gatling gun held out, supported by two shoulder straps, “You are to arrive there by walking.” Upon hearing muffled outcry could be heard from them, “This is a PGT-200 laser Gatling gun. It will clear the field. Do not run and do not attempt anything unreasonable. You shall proceed in obedient, willing and quiet manor. Anyone who attempts to dessert us shall be killed and dumped into a pit. Stay in file and walk at a brisk pace! Let us go, watch the terrain…March!”

  There was a moment in time for Abreon, a few moments perhaps when the Xelon left their vehicles and surrounded the prisoners that some of them, including himself, were going to die along that trip. He knew it. He could feel it. He knew for sure, but the feeling wavered and his anger rose up again. He was not a part of that war. He did not choose it; it took him from his wife and children and threw him to the dogs. He would not be one of them. He was not going to perish. Abreon needed a way out. He was not going to be a victim of a useless corporate war. He needed to reclaim himself, for what he had done in the war, all the lives he took, for no reason at all but to meet the management’s benchmarks. Abreon needed a plan of escape, for him and then for the others, but first him, he needed to escape, create damage inside, and so provide them a means of redemption. He had no redemption, but he could give it to others. The soldier with the Gatling gun looked about at them as some were already walking. He waited and then yelled out, “Now Proceed! Let’s go, follow me!” Turning his back on them, he switched the heavy gun for a rifle, handing it off to another soldier who mounted it to one of the all-terrain vehicles. The vehicles began to roll on as other soldiers flanked the prisoners. They all began to move as a single unit, one of pain and suffering. They still had not eaten. They were given water, but not food.

  They walked and walked that night. Slowly they dragged themselves onward, first one kilometer, then five, then ten. The prisoners walked bravely and strongly in the moonlight, in the cold. They walked until they could feel their feet blister in the boots they wore. They walked until they could feel the pain in their bones, as the splintering pain sank deeper and deeper into them. They were driven on. They became weaker as the night drew long, as they began to stagger, after many kilometers, continuing until daybreak. The sun rose to begin to warm them, from reddish hues to yellows and bright streaks, which broke through the overcast. Finally, without warning they were allowed to stop and collapse. Water was given to each; some were kicked while others were punched. One Nenthar whispering to Abreon, an older man still panting from the overnight march, “I am exhausted, I can't walk any further.”

  Abreon to him, “But you must.”

  The older man nodding, “I’l
l try, but I can’t walk much farther.”

  Abreon smiling a weak smile, “Good, try my friend, try.”

  As they began to walk again, their feet blistered, walking until their legs ached, broken under sharp splintering pain. The prisoners struggled onward through the wilderness; those considered too slow beat by the soldier’s rifle. Those who struggled last died first. No one wanted to continue, but none wished to die so they moved on, each in their own personal hell. Then after a few days when it seemed all was lost, when they could not move any longer, when their hunger was so intense they felt it no more, they were forced to run. They began to run, forced to run or be killed. One prisoner fell, and then a second, as their Xelon Dru soldier escorts shooting them as they fell, yelling from their vehicles, “Run you fool’s! Run!” as their vehicles drove a little faster, “Run! Run slaves!” as those soldiers who ran next to their prisoners randomly beat them on their backs, as they drenched there suits with sweat which poured from off their faces, as there palms were drenched with perspiration.

  Along the Zitar Nuo:

  All the prisoners kneeling within a skimmer, guns pressed to the backs of their heads, the soldiers before them holding their rifles and the Gatling gun overseeing the whole group, one prisoner to another whispering, “What if we were to rush them?”

  One Xelon Dru before them in the skimmer, “Settle down Dru or you'll get the butt of my rifle, you hear me?”

  A third Dru, “We could overtake them and take their weapons killing them.”

  Abreon listening to the Dru next to him, whispering to him and the others, “No, don’t you forget they have the automatic Gatling gun which could kill us all in a matter of moments. Even if you were to subdue them, then what my friend? Are you going to escape the whole Xelon army? You were all soldiers, please think straight.”

  The second Dru, “Yes, they control a large expanse of territory, now. Perhaps we should find our commanders?”

  Abreon: “There will be a time for that.”

  The expanse was great, the strip mines pit kilometers in scope and size. The greenery surrounding the great pit seemed to contrast with the snake of gravel roads entering the facility, the torn grey rock everywhere. The pit bare, cut from the life about it, gray stone amidst lush flora, its terraces of strata wrapping around the recesses of the pit, some jutting out to form bases from which to carve deeper into the mountain. There inside the mine there was much activity, a great amount of machinery, heavy ground equipment, massive trucks and cranes rolling about, lifting and dumping coal, transporting it out of the pit to be processed. Other machines implanting detonation rods, to blast more from that stratum, temporary elevators, cargo transports, driving along the perimeter of that pit.

  The soldiers and the prisoners stood above the pit, the activity below and beyond hectic