by MK Clark
“I said shut up!” a voice barked.
Pyotr squeezed Don’s hand in encouragement. Don just shook his head and limped on. He was reminded of the third day his company had been at Basic. Each muscle in his body had ached, and still Sergeant Cohan had pressed them harder than ever. Don remembered the unbearable ache he experienced with every movement as he went through the motions of climbing ropes, crawling under wires, and completing an inordinate number of pushups. With each one, he’d told himself, “Just one more. One more, and I’ll be done.” This isn’t as bad as all that. It’s just my leg this time. He clenched his jaw as the barb stung him again. Why’d they have to make it so real?
Sweat poured from his body as they climbed, his limp becoming more pronounced with time. The stabbing pain in his calf became a steady, burning ache. Don grabbed a handful of Pyotr’s jacket, desperately trying to keep from falling over as they walked. Pyotr adjusted his grip on Don’s wrist and pulled him a little farther onto his shoulders. To occupy his thoughts, Don began counting steps. He reached thirty-seven before Travis froze in front of them. Don stood quietly on one leg, thankful just to have the chance to rest.
The leader joined Travis at the front of their small column. After a few moments of quiet conversation, he ordered Dean to wait behind some large boulders while he and Travis investigated.
Don leaned gratefully against the cool stone as he sank to the ground. Pyotr sat down beside him with a sigh, and their captor perched on a tree root directly across from them, gun pointed at the two boys. Don stretched out the leg that had been shot. It throbbed painfully, but it felt better than when he had been walking.
“Is it bad?” Pyotr asked quietly.
Don glanced at him in surprise. “You’ve never been shot?”
Pyotr shook his head. “Twice, but I was ‘killed’ both times,” he explained.
Don nodded. That made more sense. In the months they’d been at Camp Lorenzo, never to have been shot was an accomplishment. He licked his lips before answering Pyotr’s prior question. He could taste the gritty salt on his upper lip. This was the second time he had been wounded in a skirmish. He had yet to die. “Let’s just say you want to keep it that way,” Don finally said.
Pyotr didn’t get the chance to answer because a gruff voice interrupted their whispered conversation. “We’re moving.”
Don and Pyotr looked up to find the two boys had returned, accompanied by another. Pyotr helped Don up and waited for their captors to move out. It didn’t take long to reach their destination after that. A hundred more feet, a short painful climb helped by friend and foe alike, and Don found himself in a makeshift camp. The two were led over to an alarmingly large group of boys from Gabriel Company sitting on the ground, circled by five armed guards.
As Don studied the glum-faced boys around him, he leaned into Pyotr to say quietly, “Looks like they’re mostly from Sanders’ squad, a few of Johnson’s, and none of ours.” Pyotr nodded. That meant that Inez’s squad was still out there, along with the survivors from the other three squads. They still had a chance.
Keeping an eye on the guards watching them, Pyotr voiced a question Don had been wondering since they found out they would be fighting that day. “I wonder if any of them know who these guys are.”
“We might be able to ambush them if we have a distraction,” Don whispered while he massaged his calf, eyeing the guards with keen distaste.
“Don’t count on it, mate,” Derek’s voice sounded softly from beside him. Don glanced over to see the sandy-haired head of his friend, though Derek never moved. His voice floated up from beneath a bowed head and hunched shoulders. “It’s best to sit tight and not natter on, or you’ll worry ‘em.”
“We’ve been in worse scrapes before,” Don countered.
“Derek’s right,” another voice jumped in. “We don’t have a chance against them. They’re the Black Knights.”
Don groaned and let his head tip back to rest against the bark of a fir tree. The Black Knights were unbeatable. No matter whom they fought, no matter the odds against them, the Black Knights always won. They should have known this fight was coming. Gabriel Company also had yet to lose a skirmish at Basic Training. They had won all their battles, sometimes by only a few men, but they had won. Had Gabriel Company realized whom they were fighting, Don was sure their squad leaders would have planned their strategy differently.
The Black Knights had become famous for their uncanny ability to appear and disappear in an instant, and had one of the lowest casualty ratings in the camp. Don understood the air of doom that had settled over the group of prisoners.
Later, with the sweat and grime washed down the drains of their communal showers, Gabriel Company sat in a darkened room while video feed from their battle played on the wall before them. There were mixed opinions about this part of their education. The majority viewed it as slightly educational, and somewhat worth their time; a small number merely used the lack of light to gain some much-needed sleep, and an even smaller group studied the video with intense gazes to glean anything and everything they could from it.
Don found himself wavering between the first and last frame of mind. He was genuinely interested in what Sergeant Cohan could teach them, because Don knew it would help him later, but he was finding it hard to concentrate at the moment. His calf still ached, despite the electrical barb having been removed from his leg. He absentmindedly rubbed the spot where the square bandage stuck to his skin and tried to focus on the battle in front of him.
He was more interested in what had happened to the rest of his company than what happened to his squad. He’d already lived that. Don watched as Sanders’ squad began to fall to pieces. They’d already seen Amal’s squad flounder and die. Johnson’s squad, on the other side of the valley, kept advancing, not knowing their comrades’ fate. They adapted better to the enemy attacks, and when they retreated, Johnson still had a little over half of his men. This was when they changed tactics. The squad retreated farther and managed to pick up what was left of Amal’s squad. From there, they started forward again, on a different path. Their mission was, after all, to keep the enemy occupied.
The rest of the battle went just as badly as the beginning. As Johnson's and Amal’s combined squads slowly dwindled away, Inez found himself surrounded within spitting distance of their mission objective. When it was over, Gabriel Company was left with twenty-seven dead and twenty-two captured.
As the lights flickered on in the room, Don leaned back in his desk chair. He picked up the pen on his desk and pulled his notebook toward him. He’d study the notes later and devote them to memory. For now, he’d listen and write what he could.
“When was the battle lost?” Sergeant Cohan’s voice filled the room and was replaced by a silence just as loud.
“When we broke, sir.” Jacob Sanders stood, speaking quietly, taking the blame of their loss.
“Wrong, trainee. Anyone else?” The class sat still, despite the question. “Doesn’t anybody have an answer? Are you all willing to let Trainee Sanders shoulder the responsibility?” The boys shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They knew any answer they gave to his question would be wrong.
“No one’s accusing him, sir,” a voice called out.
We just don’t have the answer, Don finished in his head.
“Sit down, trainee,” Sergeant Cohan ordered, his eyes flashing in anger at Gabriel Company. Sanders took his seat, and uneasy eyes flickered toward him before turning back to their instructor. They had expected some sort of shouted reprimand on their incompetence, but this did not feel like that sort of lecture.
Sergeant Cohan pressed a button on the controller in his hand. A pale picture showed on the wall where the video feed had been. It was a photograph of the Gabriel Company prisoners.
“This,” Sergeant Cohan spat, “is where the battle was lost. Here. When the fighting spirit was most needed, it was abandoned.” His eyes made contact with everyone in the room. “Never give up. Neve
r surrender! Do you think we would have chased the Zarweans from our planet, had we laid down our weapons the first time the enemy flexed their muscles? Do you think we could have won the right to live on Earth, had we sat by and watched as they conquered our land bit by bit because we lost one battle? Do you think our soldiers would have fought as hard, knowing that their comrades were bending to their captors' will? Knowing their comrades, who had promised to fight with them to the end, were bowing before the Zarweans like tamed dogs?”
Gabriel Company waited uncomfortably for him to continue. Their sergeant's temper could be fierce, but they had never seen him this angry before. His barely contained fury could be heard beneath his quiet words, each one tearing through the boys while his icy gaze froze them in place. No one dared to move or speak. No one dared to breathe.
“Your actions today were despicable. I have never been more disappointed than right now. Every one of you should know that in the soldier’s code, there is no surrender. Above all else, I am most disappointed in you, O’Hara.”
Don flinched as the sergeant spoke his name, meeting his instructor’s eyes reluctantly.
“I never would have expected the son of a general to show such inadequacy.”
Don woke with a start. His heart pounded in his chest as he lay on the hard, unforgiving ground. He moved his leg away from the rock that had been poking him while he slept, but he remained hidden under the cover of his jacket. The lightweight material rubbed against his face, raw from the cold. He didn’t come out until he’d shaken off the remnants of his dream.
That was too real, he thought and realized he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again. He stirred and stood up, pulling the jacket on correctly. As thin as it was, it was made to block wind and rain, and he was grateful for it. It was all he had. He walked to the tree where they’d chosen to set a guard. Not that they had any weapons or enemies to watch for, but nevertheless, all the boys felt safer with the precaution. He didn’t know who was on watch at the moment, but it didn’t matter. Talking with anyone would be better than lying awake on a cold night.
“Hey,” he said as he peered through the dark. The moon had chosen to hide behind clouds. It didn’t bode well for his group.
“Yo,” came the answer floating softly toward him on the still air.
Don recognized the voice and sat on a tree root near where it had come from. “I had a dream about you guys,” Don said as he rubbed his hands to warm them up.
“What about?” the boy Travis asked.
“Our skirmish from a few weeks ago,” Don replied and received an appreciative laugh. “The Black Knights still won, but it was…different.” Especially the end, he thought to himself.
“Must have been a nightmare, then. We beat you pretty bad,” Travis answered.
“Not by much,” Don noted quickly, and then rolled his eyes at his defensive answer. “Anyway, I’m up now, if you want to switch off.”
Don heard cloth rustle before the other boy’s voice answered. “That’s okay. I’m good. You should go back to sleep.”
Don didn’t reply, nor did he move. He was wide awake now. He wasn’t sure if the Black Knight thought he was just being stubborn, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while.
“Must have been a nightmare,” Travis repeated but didn’t press the matter. After a short pause, he commented, “It’s getting colder. We’re gonna need something warmer to wear soon.”
“Too bad we don’t have anything,” Don answered.
“We could skin a bear and use that.”
Don smiled at Travis’ suggestion. “We could sew rabbit skins together with hair from our heads, if we’d seen them. We just haven’t seen any,” Don replied.
Travis sighed. “You have me there. I give up.”
Don shivered as Travis’ words reminded him of his dream. “Pretty crazy, this survival training, huh?” he asked, changing the direction of the conversation.
“Yup,” came the half-interested reply. “Crazy enough on a regular day, but mix-matching the companies like this? That’s pretty crazy,” Travis agreed and nodded at the darkened sky. “The rain only makes it worse.”
“No fire,” Don said mournfully. “Of course, if we were fighting, we wouldn’t have a fire anyway.”
“But we’re not fighting,” Travis countered. “An’ I don’t want to be cold and wet for the next three or four days till we make it back to Camp Lorenzo. There was ice on the ground yesterday morning from the dew. It’s only getting colder.”
Don pulled his jacket closer to him. “Let’s talk about something else, shall we? Like the nice, hot sun or a toasty camp fire. You know? Warm stuff?”
Travis laughed. “Where I come from, it’s blistering most of the year. It never snows, because it rarely gets below freezing. I live thousands of miles from here in the south, on a small island in the Pacific. You can lie on the cliff rocks in the sun for hours and toast away till you’re nice and crispy.”
“Up in space,” Don said, closing his eyes as he pictured it, “there are these vents in the forbidden corridors, where heat from the generators comes out. We used to sneak in there and see who could stand in front of them the longest.”
“Chicken.”
“What?” Don asked.
“That game,” Travis replied. “I used to play it. Different situation, different surroundings, same idea. Whoever backed out of the game first was the chicken.”
Don opened his mouth to reply, but stopped suddenly. A soft crunching sound reached his ears. “Did you hear that?” he asked. Travis didn’t reply. “That wasn’t a small animal,” Don whispered.
“Could be my bear,” Travis answered quietly, peering into the surrounding mountainside.
“Not likely.”
“Whatever it was, it stopped,” Travis said. “I can’t hear it.”
“What I wouldn’t give for a light,” Don sighed, thinking grimly about the knife and water canteen they had each been given at the start of their venture. “Even a penlight,” he added as an afterthought.
“I don’t think we could have hunted down a bear with a penlight,” Travis said, laughing.
“Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be useful,” Don grumbled. The boys sat in silence for a moment before Don turned to Travis once more at the sound of a quiet clicking. “You hear that?” he asked again, knowing full well that he sounded paranoid. Travis didn’t answer. Don could see the outline of his body, head hanging forward on his chest. Don swore and jumped up, only to see the barrel of a gun held inches from his face.
After a few moments, Don found himself sitting amidst eighteen other bodies, watching their captors as red flares were set up around the perimeter. Hovercraft were coming to pick them up, now that the enemy had completed their mission.
This time, when Don mentioned escape, it was met with quiet but enthusiastic replies. No one wanted to go back to camp, having been captured while sleeping. The embarrassment would be unbearable.
“You got a plan?”
“Besides jump them when they’re not looking?” Don replied. The plotters hushed as one of the boys gave a warning signal. Eli Amal, Don, Tony, and four Black Knights sat in a circle near the middle of the group of prisoners.
“We need a diversion,” whispered John, a Black Knight. “I don’t have an exact count, but it looks like there’s only one squad. If we can separate them, we’ll have an easier time getting our hands on those guns.”
“I’m fairly sure I could get a gun from one of them if I was alone,” Eli added. “It’ll make some ruckus. That could be your diversion.”
“Do you really think you’re going to get away with this?” a voice piped up.
The seven conspirators looked at one another. Then one of the Black Knights addressed the faceless voice. “You got a better plan, or do you just want to sit here and wait to be led back like infants? Speak up. We’re running out of time.”
There was movement in the group, and then a small body Don didn’t recognize fo
und its way beside them. “Same plan, just a little different,” the small Black Knight said. “I go with tough guy over there,” he said, pointing to Eli. “We tell ‘em nature is calling. We take out the guard quietly, and then I start picking some of these idiots off with the guard’s weapon.” He looked at them for a moment and then said in exasperation, “Sharp-shooting is what I do.”
“Sounds good,” one of his comrades said. “I can work with that.”
“I’m in,” Eli added. “Let’s do this thing.”
Chapter 8
November 3, 625 T.A.
Flares sputtered, casting the boys in a red-tinted light as they hatched their plan. Their captors, recently revealed as a squad from Dragon Company, were not pleased with Matt and Eli’s announcement. Don held his breath while the leader took a moment to decide. Having dealt with prisoners only a few times before, he unwittingly agreed to the boys’ request. He sent one guard with them, keeping the other eight to watch the rest of the prisoners. Don waited in the apprehensive silence as the boys disappeared into the darkness. He expected to hear the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle at any moment, but it never came.
Seconds passed, burdened by the weight of seventeen nervous hearts frozen in fearful hope. Even the flickering light around them seemed to slow in the agonizing stillness of the night. Bodies, tensed in preparation, waited faithfully for the signal.
Nothing came. No sound, no movement to rouse them from where they sat. Don balled his hand into a fist, willing James and Matt to succeed. Someone nudged him with the toe of his shoe, and Don’s eyes flickered around. His gaze was met with questioning looks that Don could do nothing to answer.
As time dragged on, Dragon Company’s squad leader began to physically show his growing agitation. His eyes shifted from one dark shadow to the other, fingers smoothing the clenched muscles of his face as he paced indecisively.
“Tate!” he barked. “Oleado! Go figure out what’s taking so long.”
No one moved as the two boys left, and the Dragons' leader pointedly ignored them. Don traded glances with one of the Black Knights. This had not been a part of their plan. James should have overpowered the guard by now and taken his weapon, and Matt should have proceeded to disable some of the Dragons surrounding them.
