First Strike

by Richard Turner

A gray sliver of light crept up on the eastern horizon signaling an end to the long, cold night.

  Sheridan stamped his feet on the frozen ground trying to get the circulation back into his feet. He raised his arms above his head and stretched out his aching back. He was about to say something to Cole when he heard a deep growl coming from the snow-covered bushes in front of them. His heart began to race. He slowly lowered his arms, drew his pistol and pointed it at the woods.

  Cole also heard the noise and pulled out his weapon. Carefully, the two men stepped forward. They had barely stepped inside the bushes when they saw where the sound was coming from. Both men froze in their tracks when they saw a small bear and her cubs gnawing on the remains of a Chosen soldier.

  “Step back, slowly,” whispered Cole. “Whatever you do don’t turn your back and run. The mother will be on you before you get ten meters.”

  They moved back into the open, turned on their heels and walked as far away as they dared from the bears before breaking into a sprint. They ran for a couple of kilometers before stopping.

  Sheridan said between gasps of air, “They must be attracted by the smell of blood and the prospect of an easy meal.”

  “Horrible way to go,” added Cole.

  An hour later, they made their way to Eve’s camp. However, when they arrived, they couldn’t find a soul. Eerily all of the dilapidated homes they had built were empty. They didn’t see any signs of a struggle. It was as if they had all decided to leave together. Cole started a bonfire to keep them from freezing to death.

  “I take the absence of gunfire coming from the woods as a good sign,” said Sheridan. “It looks like everyone got away without being spotted.”

  “It’s early days,” retorted Cole. “We still have another thirty-six or so hours until we link up with them again. A lot can happen between now and then.”

  “So what do you say to some Chosen rations for breakfast?”

  “I’d rather not, the stuff upsets my stomach. However, I guess my options are limited out here.”

  Sheridan dug into a jacket pocket and pulled out two foil packets. He read the label. “Looks like we’re going to have some kind of granola and fruit mix for breakfast.”

  “I doubt that even they could mess that up,” replied Cole, taking a packet and ripping it open. He took a bite and made a sour expression on his face. “I stand corrected. It’s God damn awful!”

  Sheridan didn’t mind the taste. He stepped away from the fire, looking for a spot to relieve himself. He had barely gone ten paces into the woods when he stopped in his tracks. Before him was the most gruesome sight he had ever seen in his life. All of the refugees from the camp were hanging by their necks from the trees like macabre ornaments, their frozen bodies covered in snow and ice. Sheridan’s head began to spin. He staggered forward, moving from person to person until he found Eve. “No,” he moaned when he saw her lifeless eyes staring back at him. He suddenly felt guilty and ashamed. His actions had placed her and all of her friends in harm’s way. A second later, he let out a scream at the top of his lungs.

  A hand touched Sheridan’s back. “It’s okay to be angry, sir. I’m pissed too. Take a couple of deep breaths and you’ll soon start to feel better,” reassured Cole.

  “We did this. We’re responsible for getting Eve and everyone else killed,” Sheridan said.

  “No, no you didn’t. The enemy did this, and they’ll pay for what they have done. She knew the risks involved in helping us, but she helped us anyway. She was a brave woman who didn’t deserve to die like this, none of them did,” Cole said, looking over at the corpses.

  Sheridan looked up at Cole. Anger burnt in his eyes. “Andrews is to blame. I just know it.”

  “We left him tied to a tree, naked.”

  Sheridan stood. “I want to see the son of a bitch’s body.”

  After making their way back through the woods, both men stood there staring at the tree Cole had tied Andrews to. There was nothing. The man had either escaped, or his remains had been removed by his comrades. There was no way to know for sure. However, in Sheridan’s mind, he knew Andrews was still alive and he intended to make him pay with his life the next time their paths crossed.

  “Come on, sir, there’s nothing to be gained by staying here. We’ve got a long way to go today.”

  Sheridan ground his teeth in anger, nodded, and with a burning desire for revenge in his heart, he followed Cole back out to their fire. Now the refugee camp felt like a ghost town. Neither man wanted to linger. They quickly extinguished their fire, slung their packs onto their backs and continued on their journey. They trudged along the wood line, always keeping one eye trained out toward the Kurgan lines.

  An hour into their march, Cole tapped Sheridan on the shoulder and told him to step into the woods. They took cover behind a tall fir tree.

  “What did you see?” Sheridan asked.

  “That,” replied Cole, pointing at a large truck that had stopped by an open pit dug into the frozen ground.

  Sheridan dug out his binoculars and looked over at the vehicle. He could make out Chosen soldiers keeping a close eye on several refugees as they climbed up into the back of the truck. Frozen solid Chosen dead were soon unceremoniously tossed from the back of the vehicle. When there were no more bodies, a Chosen warrior walked to the edge of the hole and threw a thermite grenade down onto the remains. A wall of flame shot up out of the ground.

  “It’s just like that refugee said to Roberts, they’re burning their dead,” muttered Sheridan.

  “They must have suffered a lot of casualties when they tried to force their way across the river.”

  “Yeah, looks that way.”

  They waited until the truck drove away before continuing on their way. Trying their best to avoid contact with any of the refugees and the Chosen, they walked all day until the sun began to dip below the trees, sending long finger-like shadows across the snow-covered ground. Cole pointed to an abandoned shelter as a spot for them to take cover in for the night. Fifteen minutes later, Sheridan and Cole sat by the bonfire warming their cold hands and feet. Both men were lost in their thoughts. Neither man had said a word for nearly an hour when the sound of feet shuffling in the snow made both men jump up. They drew their weapons and stared out into the dark.

  A ragged-looking Chosen soldier emerged out of the night and stumbled to the fire. His face was covered in bruises. His white coveralls were stained with dirt and blood. The man dropped to his knees and held out his hands to show he was unarmed. “Food,” said the soldier in English as he brought his dirt-encrusted fingers to his mouth.

  Sheridan looked over at Cole and then back at the Chosen warrior. Slowly, Sheridan put his pistol away, reached into his jacket and pulled out a foil pack. He tossed it at the battered man’s feet. The soldier dropped to his knees and attacked the food, gobbling it down in seconds. He licked the inside of the foil packet before looking over at Sheridan. Once again, he held out his hands, asking for food. Cole threw a ration pack at the man. As before, he devoured the food.

  Sheridan studied the warrior. He looked downtrodden and tired. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot. He could tell that the man had suffered horribly in the cold.

  “Jesus, sir, what do we do with him?” Cole whispered into Sheridan’s ear.

  “I don’t know,” Sheridan answered. “But I bet he’s willing to trade information for food. Cover me.”

  Sheridan sat down by the fire and pulled out a tube of meat paste. He held it up so the starved soldier could see it. The man instantly reached out for the food. “First, I want to know your name. Why did you run away from your unit?” Sheridan asked in Kurgan.

  The soldier’s eyes widened. His face told Sheridan that the man hadn’t expected a human to be able to speak Kurgan. Sheridan repeated his question. The warrior looked from Sheridan to Cole. He crawled back and stared at Sheridan with fear in his eyes. His officers had told him that unbelievers couldn’t speak the language of their Lord.


  Cole aimed his pistol it at the man’s head.

  “My name is Kimdar,” said the Chosen. “I’m hungry. I didn’t run away. We’ve seen humans paid for their work with our rations. I just went to look for some food.”

  “Your face is bruised and your uniform is stained with blood. Did your officer beat you?” asked Sheridan.

  The warrior looked down. “I was weak. I hesitated in battle. I deserved my punishment; it has helped me become closer to the Lord and for that I am grateful.” Sheridan translated the conversation for Cole.

  “Ask him where his weapon is and when was the last time that he ate?” said Cole.

  Sheridan asked the questions.

  The warrior said, “My rifle was taken away because I did not deserve it. And I had been made to fast for a week as part of my penance. When my time of spiritual reflection is over, I will be given back my weapon and welcomed back into my unit. I just couldn’t take being hungry anymore and had to have some food.”

  Cole said, “I’m not sure I believe everything he’s saying, but one thing is for sure. He may be a religious fanatic, but he knows fear. His hesitation in combat is a sure sign that they’re not all willing to needlessly throw their lives away.”

  “I doubt we could learn anything of value from him. He’s probably just some foot soldier from a Kurgan infantry regiment and doesn’t know anything other than what his officer tells him.”

  Cole looked down. “What do you want to do with him? We can’t let him go back to his own lines. He’s hungry, tired, and scared, but you’ve spoken their language to him. Regardless of the punishment he’ll face for leaving his post, you know that he’ll report this incident to his superiors.”

  “I know,” replied Sheridan, letting out a weary sigh.

  “Give him the food in your hand.”

  Sheridan tossed the warrior the tube of paste. “Well, I’m not for tying him up and walking away. That didn’t work out so well last time.”

  “Sir, if you’re thinking what I believe you are, we’ve had this conversation before.” Before Sheridan could say a word, Cole stepped forward and fired his pistol twice, instantly killing the soldier as he ate his meal. His body tumbled over onto the ground. Blood trickled out from underneath the body.

  “Jesus, Sergeant, why the hell did you do that?” Sheridan demanded.

  “Because you can’t,” Cole replied coldly. “You’re a good man. I won’t let you soil your hands by killing a prisoner in cold blood.”

  “But you can?”

  Cole didn’t answer the question. Instead, he grabbed the dead soldier by his collar and dragged his body into the woods. He returned a minute later, kicking fresh snow over the top of the long red streak of blood that led away from their fire. Without making eye contact with Sheridan, Cole kicked out their fire. “We can’t stay here. They may come looking for the deserter. We need to put some distance between ourselves and the body.”

  Sheridan was conflicted. He would have done the same thing. The Chosen couldn’t be allowed to live. Why Cole had taken upon himself to kill the man gnawed at Sheridan. He was the officer; the responsibility should have been his. Clenching his jaw tightly, Sheridan decided to let it go for now. It wouldn’t help them to argue over the death of the soldier. It was, however, a conversation he intended to have with Cole when the mission was over.

  After trudging through the snow for another ten kilometers, Sheridan was about to tell Cole that they should take a break when he heard someone speaking English over a loud speaker. Cole heard it too and pointed at a small hill. Both men ran to the mound and carefully crawled up to the top so they could see what was going on.

  “What the hell?” muttered Sheridan when he looked out onto an open field and saw several dozen men in filthy and torn clothing being addressed by a Chosen warrior. A platoon of Chosen guarded the prisoners, their weapons at the ready in their hands.

  “Those are Marines,” Cole said.

  The words of the Chosen soldier were clear and easy to hear from their hiding spot. “This is your last chance. Don’t be fooled by the lies your officers told you. You can’t win this war, not while your political leaders safe on Earth use you as cannon fodder. You all deserve better. Join the Kurgan Empire as willing volunteers and you can serve the Lord by spreading his word throughout the galaxy.”

  “Get stuffed!” defiantly called out one of the Marines.

  “Yeah, like he said,” added another.

  “Men, it doesn’t have to end this way. Please, think of your families. Join us,” implored the Chosen soldier.

  “Never,” yelled one of the prisoners.

  “Fine, have it your way,” replied the Chosen warrior. He stepped back, raised his hand and then quickly lowered it. The sound of automatic weapons firing cut through the air. In seconds, it was over. All of the prisoners lay on the frozen ground. Steam escaped into the frigid air from the holes shot into their bodies.

  Sheridan watched as the Chosen warrior walked among the dead killing the wounded with a single shot to the head. He had seen enough. He backed off the hill and swore revenge.

  Cole moved over to Sheridan’s side. “This nightmare can’t end soon enough. Come on, sir, we should keep moving.”

  Sheridan nodded and began to follow in Cole’s tracks through the woods. He shared Cole’s sentiments that he wanted this to end, but not before he had killed as many Chosen as he could.

  39