by M. J Kreyzer
It was a Legionnaire base, alright. Reinforced walls surrounded it with guard towers and razor wire spiraling across its tops. Inside were squared, brick buildings, blackened and charred and still smoking. A few guard towers still burned while fire crews worked hard to put out the rest of the flames. Hendrick scanned for a place lower on the hill for them to take a closer look.
“There’s a washout just fifty yards downhill.” Hendrick said. “One at a time. Pontious.”
Pontious set his gun to the side and transformed. He crawled down the hill on his stomach, his furry head kept low and watching the base downhill. Sable was next to follow, army crawling through the foliage, the dead leaves and twigs scraping against her armor. She reached the edge of the washout and rolled inside. Vyvyr followed in suit, as did Morlo who was a bit clumsier in his approach. Hendrick watched with frustration as Morlo grunted, groaned, and made as much noise as a tumbling boulder. The Ditrinity watched, holding their breath as he moved so clumsily. Down the hill soldiers were everywhere, and even a slightly abnormal noise would put them on guard. But without being detected, Morlo reached the edge of the washout. It crumbled beneath his enormous weight and he fell in on his back.
Hendrick was last. He was the quickest and swiftest of them all. He dodged through the rocks and debris with his head down and he hopped into the natural ditch.
They moved down through the washout around exposed roots and through the puddles of mud unreached by sunlight. The leaves curled over the ditch and formed a thick roof of greenery that concealed them entirely. Through the gaps in the leaves they could see the base coming into a better and closer view. The walls concealed a better portion of the base, though they weren’t concerned about seeing the inside of the base.
Corpses of the First Legionnaire were pinned up like hanging slabs of meat against the walls of the base with their own swords and spears. Hundreds of them, shoulder to shoulder, hung limp while squads of other Legionnaires worked to clean them off the sides of the walls; their bodies formed a white belt around the entire compound while a halo of blood rested at their feet.
They came to a fork in the washout, the left path heading down towards the base and the other heading deeper into the woods. They took the right path towards the woods. At all times they kept one eye on the path and another curious eye on the scene below them.
The washout bent away from the action and Hendrick whisper for them to stop. They pressed themselves against the edge of the washout and peered over towards the recovering army. Hendrick chuckled in a sadistic sort of way.
“This never gets old.” He said. The group looked over at him, Sable with disgust, the others with neutrality. They looked back towards the action. Just as they did there were six swirls of glowing steam. At their ends red cloaked figures blinked into sight, patrolling along the outer wall and examining the corpses.
“I miss the days when we had those things.” Came Morlo’s bass lament. “ ‘n it pisses me off that they toyed with ‘em. We use to be able to teleport to the other side of the world with those things.”
“The Dimenisor could teleport only once per charge.” Vyvyr said without looking away from the Legionnaires. “What they did made the Dimenisor more effective and more lethal. Instead of transporting long distances on one charge they can chain up a nearly limitless chain of teleports on an infinite charge.”
“They’re a pain to kill now.” Pontious added.
Morlo grunted and shook his head, pointing a large finger in the Reapers’ direction. “I don’ give a crap if they’re better. Those were ours first.”
“Shut up!” Sable whispered as she raised her Infiltrator and rested it on the side of the washout. Vyvyr had already done the same and was peering through the scope of his sniper rifle, adjusting the sights for the distance. The others did the same while Hendrick fired up a cigarette, getting it started and tossing the match away.
“I thought you hated those.” Sable said.
“I do.” Hendrick replied while bringing his rifle to his shoulder. “But I’m trying to cut back on my cigars and cigarettes are the step between cigars and the gum.”
Their hands tightened around their guns as several Legionnaire squads started up the hill, marching in a line in their direction. Hendrick immediately analyzed the group and assessed the situation.
“Get ready to move further down the trench.” Hendrick whispered while looking the group over further. “If they pass by us and head towards Price then we curve around, tear like hell back to the Battlecraft and hopefully take off before they get there.”
It was a large group; they had an entire platoon moving towards them with standard formation. They were close enough that the Ditrinity could hear the sticks and leaves snapping and crunching beneath their feet. The Ditrinity slowly began to inch towards the woods as the Legionnaire got closer and closer to their position.
They weren’t far enough down the washout to get out of sight. If the Legionnaires cared to look they’d be able to see them and the Ditrinity wouldn’t have a chance. They might be able to survive an encounter with this many Legionnaires but once those Reapers joined the fight it’d be end game for them.
A Berserker that led the group placed his foot on the edge of the washout. Dirt crumbled down onto Sable’s shoulder as she pressed her back up to the wall. She looked up and saw the Berserker towering over her, surveying the woods and remaining oblivious to her presence.
Her sword was already drawn and she held it with the point up. If he was chancy enough to look down he’d get a sword rammed up through the armor gap in his crotch.
The Berserker rolled his fingers across the handle on his battleaxe, his breath heavy and hard blowing through the bottom of his helmet.
Sable’s knuckles were white around the handle of her katana. Her eyes twitched over to the rest of the group. Hendrick and Pontious had their rifles zeroed in on the Berserker’s forehead. Around the bend of the washout beneath the undergrowth the six barrels of Morlo’s chain gun could be seen aimed at the rest of the platoon.
Vyvyr kept a hand up, mouthing words to Sable.
Quiet. His lips mimicked. He waved her towards him. Slowly. Slowly.
Sable slowly moved her foot through the mud. Her boots made a quiet grinding against the wet dirt.
The Berserker’s head twisted abruptly at the miniscule disturbance. Sable stopped immediately.
He was like a wild animal; the Berserker could hear everything, feel everything. With every passing second pressing down on her chest, Sable became increasingly anxious. Should she attack and get the first strike or should she be patient with the hopes of the Berserker passing on.
The Legionnaires were bearing down on them fast. She wanted to go with first strike.
Vyvyr shook his head and continued to wave her towards them. The others were ready with their rifles. Hendrick already had their escape planned.
The Berserker put both his hands on his axe and clenched it tightly; it was what a person would do when they were ready to strike.
Sable closed her eyes and said a quick prayer.
Vyvyr shook his head with wide eyes.
Smoke blew between Hendrick’s teeth as he smiled.
Sable opened her eyes. First the Berserker, then the dozens of men behind him. It was pounce or die. Sable still had a life to live.
Time to strike.
There was an explosion across the valley. It stopped Sable in midstrike and drew the Berserker’s attention away from the washout. There was yelling down at the base. The platoon broke out into a bulky sprint as their rushed towards the commotion.
The Ditrinity raised their heads above the washout and peered through the trees across the valley.
Explosions were springing up all around, sending dirt, splintered wood and plumes of leaves into the air along with the occasional body. Accompanying the explosions were spirals of what looked like black steam. The Ditrinity’s rifles fell as they relaxed one by one. Hendrick raised his eyebrows and
grimaced as he tossed his cigarette butt.
There was a shuffle in the brush behind them. The team spun around in a quick, tumultuous shuffle of armor and equipment and raised their rifles once more.
The tension evaporated quickly. Crouching just beyond the washout was a man, his face and bare arms painted with dried mud wearing combat boots, a pair of black jeans and a black tank top. Slung over one shoulder was a military green duffle bag crammed full with the tip of a sword sticking out. Hendrick gave a victorious laugh.
“That’s epic work you’ve done, man. I keep tellin’ ‘em. Epic work.”
Luke nodded and waved them towards him. “We’ve got to get going. They’ve got an armada of Helios that will be here in the hour. And careful where you step.” Luke moved his hand all around them. As they looked closer they could see piles of foliage with glowing purple light that shone from beneath them.
“Placed them once I was done.” Luke said. “Legionnaire boots have steel cleats on the bottom. More than enough to trigger a Decimator.”
“We’ve got a Battlecraft waiting.” Hendrick said as he climbed out of the ditch. The Ditrinity followed. “It’ll take us to wherever we need to go.”
Luke nodded, turning towards Hendrick with a questioning look.
“So did the Darks leadership change their mind?” Luke asked, keeping his eyes on the path in front of him. “People seemed pretty happy to have me gone. But the Legionnaire’s moving. And I’m sure it’s against the Darks.”
The Ditrinity looked back at one another with eyes that shifted between one another and Luke, all uncertain of how Luke would react. What happened the night before was so large and effective that they assumed Luke had already known. Much to their dismay, he didn’t. With a tired groan, Hendrick knew he was the one to tell him. He hung his gun slack in one hand and put his other on Luke’s shoulder.
“Luke, we uh...” Hendrick started, being sure to choose his words carefully. “The Legionnaire knew about the refortification of Styne.”
Luke shook his head with disappointment. Such an unremarkable gesture was hardly the reaction the group expected.
“So you came to get me because the city’s under attack and they need help.” Luke said.
The air was drawn tight, a sensation that only Luke was oblivious to. Hendrick slowly shook his head. Luke saw it and stopped. His face hardened.
“Nate, you tell me everything. Now.”
Hendrick licked his front teeth with frustration. It was as if he could barely speak the words without getting pissed off himself. The silence was all Luke had to hear before he knew the truth. And as the Ditrinity looked on they could see the fear, anger, and aggravation radiating from behind Luke’s glasses. And as the response came to Hendrick’s mouth, the air became thinner and thinner until breathing felt impossible. Regardless, Hendrick took a deep breath and confirmed Luke’s fears.
“We’ve lost Praemon. The Legionnaire came in our sleep. We had no idea they were coming and… well, when the Forge tanks started firing we did everything we could, but-“
“Where’s Trey.” Luke said immediately, looking through the group. The sadness and anger that pulled at the corners of his eyes showed he already knew the answer. The faces of the Ditrinity said far more than words could have, and the things their expressions said caused Luke’s chest to burn.
Luke tossed his bag. Blue steam rose from his arm and he punched the nearest tree, burying his fist and sending splinters out the other side. The group just watched as Luke rent his frustration, taking himself into his own universe. They let him be, knowing that if Luke were this angry then it was best not to touch him.
They knew it would happen. Luke told them. He said that moving those battlecruisers would be the death of them. They didn’t listen. And now they had nothing.
“Luke, we have to go now.” Hendrick said. “I know you’re pissed but now isn’t the time. They’re going after Tess.”
Luke immediately snapped to attention. His eyes bore into Hendrick.
“That’s why we came to find you.” Hendrick went on. “We got lucky. Not like that luck’ll last long, though. We have to go fast.”
They could see Luke’s anger folding itself over and over. But now Luke knew he had to have his wits about him. The First Legionnaire was trying to kill his daughter. Not exactly a light offense. He snatched his bag up and waved on Hendrick.
“Where is it?”
Hendrick took off, followed by the rest of the team.
They moved faster this time; faster than any of them had remembered running. They couldn’t remember the last time that they were in a full out sprint with Luke in the lead. The man could jog faster than they could sprint and he never got tired. Their feet ached and their chests hurt. But knowing they were back together fighting side by side for the first time in years, the Ditrinity felt good.
“So that’s where you got all that from.” Luke said, leaping over a fallen log. Hendrick, though limping heavily, gritted through the pain and kept pace easily.
“Just this.” Hendrick said pointing to the gash above his temple. “The rest I got from Frenz.”
Luke’s pace changed. He even slowed down a bit. It seemed from shock, anger, jealousy, or a combination of all three.
“We had a quaint little brawl.” Hendrick muttered, anger emerging in his voice. “Woulda killed the bastard too. Beat his head in with a cutting board. But then the air destabilized.”
Hendrick could tell that Luke was disappointed; not at the fact that Hendrick had lost, but rather because it was Hendrick who got to fight him. Hendrick grinned and didn’t take offense.
They came into the clearing where the Battlecraft was set down. The grass, leaves and trees rustled beneath the thrust of the engines. Price was hanging out the side, bouncing in anticipation and blurting a cyclone of profanities in her typical fashion.
“Where the hell have you all been?” She shouted as she threw herself into the pilot’s seat. “There’s Legionnaire everywhere!”
Only half of the Ditrinity was on the craft before it began its ascent. Morlo was the last one on, his legs dangling off the edge, kicking like massive tree stumps as the rest of the team used every bit of strength they had to pull him on.
“Whaddaya doin’, you crazy wench!”
Hendrick sat down in the copilot’s seat. Luke came up between the two seats and turned to Price.
“So where is there to go?” He asked.
Still fidgety, Price responded in a frustrated tone.
“Where do you think!” She answered. “We don’t have any place!”
Hendrick tapped her on the arm. Her head jerked violently towards him with force that would’ve broken a neck.
“He’s been mercilessly slaughtering Legionnaires for the past little bit while camping in the woods. He doesn’t know.”
Price’s frustration was gone. She didn’t know Luke well, but she knew him well enough that you shouldn’t be pissed off at him when he’s in the mood to murder.
“I’m… sorry, I-“
“Where do we have left?” Luke asked.
Price pulled out a keyboard beneath her GPS and typed a few things in. A large square emerged on the edges of the grid covered screen and shrunk until it was no more than a square centimeter, resting on the topographical edge of a lake and blinking.
“There’s a makeshift Dark camp there. It’s the biggest one we have. It’s not much but that’s where a good stash of supplies are.”
Luke nodded. “Will Alighieri be there?”
Price shrugged, thinking for a moment.
“I guess… how come?”
Luke turned back towards the back to sit with the rest of the Ditrinity. “I have to talk to him about something.”
Chapter 15
It was mid-afternoon as the Battlecraft winded through the wooded valleys in the mountainous Pretoratan region. With the GPS getting interference from the high levels of Furo in the surrounding mountains they could not determi
ne where they were at in relation to Praemon. What little they knew was merely which direction was which; north, south, determined only by the positioning of the planets in the sky.
The flight had taken several hours. The Ditrinity spent the majority of the trip filling Luke in on the details surrounding the battle in Praemon, skirting around the death of Trey the best they could. The details that Luke hung onto the most were those surrounding Hendrick’s encounter with Frenz.
One question prevailed though an Luke asked it whenever it became relevant; where was Tess and who was she with.
Luke didn’t care about the Darks. He had tried to conform to their standards and fit in. He had given up an entire lifetime in sacrifice of their cause- a movement Luke had started- and they still held prejudice against him. But Luke always did he best to recant those types of angered thoughts. A lot of those feelings were undoubtedly the products of his rejection. And though all of them were entirely misinformed, the Darks believed that he had done some pretty nasty things at Olsgrad Canyon and Luke had to take that into account.
“Up over the next rise.” Price said in her characteristically masculine voice. The Battlecraft lurched backwards as she decelerated hard. Sable unstably got to her feet and braced herself against the inside of the craft. She looked out the side windows and saw the camp coming into view.
It was a thickly wooded area, rough and unwelcoming, nestled into a tight basin that would be easily overlooked by Legionnaire patrols. The trees were bare, gnarled, and looming, the state of the forest reflecting the miserable exodus of the Darks. The majority of the people congregated around the edges of the lake, tired, physically dried, from their all night excursion. Other Darks, many of them bloodied and beaten soldiers, hacked a rough clearing through the dried, dead forest to make way for shelters and Battlecrafts. Others were hard at work pitching tattered tents and building crude shelters that would last them until they figured out their next move.
Pontious got to his feet and stood next to Sable to look out next to her.
“More people made it than I thought.” He said looking down on the hundreds of fatigue-worn people that trudged between the trees with their most valued possessions in tow in their journey towards their new, though temporary, home.
