Darwin's Soldiers

by Ste Sharp

  ‘Yes.’ Mihran heard a blade slip free. ‘Our greatest weapon. It lets us get close for the kill.’

  Mihran added the mental image of the blade and attack manoeuvre to the picture of Ndleleni in his mind.

  The Assyrian archer and the Aztec warrior could be heard too. ‘I wear it for protection.’

  Mihran assumed the Aztec was talking about his jaguar-skin coat and headpiece.

  ‘I only need my bow for protection,’ Marodeen, the Assyrian archer, replied. ‘I heard some birds earlier – we could shoot a few?’

  ‘We don’t need any more meat,’ the Aztec replied. ‘The feast last night gave me my strength back!’

  ‘It couldn’t harm to practise though. Come on!’ Marodeen said.

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘We’re heading off for a detour!’ Marodeen shouted.

  ‘Don’t stray far,’ Samas shouted back.

  ***

  ‘Where in the heavens are they?’ Mihran asked as the Night Watch took a water break and sat around a large fruiting tree.

  ‘I swear I can smell roast pig.’ Sakarbaal stood up for a sniff.

  Mihran ignored him, pacing on the edge of the circle. ‘We don’t have time for this. I don’t know why you let them go.’ Mihran taunted Samas again. ‘We may have lost another two men.’

  ‘There’s one of them!’ Sakarbaal called out.

  ‘Where?’ Olan asked. ‘Oh, the bearded archer. What’s his name?’

  ‘Marodeen,’ Li replied.

  ‘Marodeen!’ Samas called out. ‘What’s wrong? Where’s–’

  ‘Dead,’ the Assyrian shouted. ‘We need to leave!’ He was clearly panicked.

  Mihran was already up and walking away. ‘Tell me what you saw.’ He beckoned Marodeen.

  Marodeen’s eyes were wide with fright. ‘Killed by some…’ he fought for breath, ‘…huge… monster from Gilgamesh!’

  ‘Did it follow you?’ Mihran asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Mihran didn’t wait to hear any more. ‘Fast pace!’

  As he ran, he felt the mental image of his men becoming clearer as he sensed their vulnerabilities along with their skills. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he now knew they shouldn’t be travelling at night, and if they were to survive they needed to find the Day Watch.

  ***

  John woke. The fires had died to glowing coals, peeping through blackened logs like demon eyes, while the grey haze through the leaves above whispered dawn.

  ‘I dreamt of drums,’ he told Randeep, who stood over him after waking him for guard duty.

  ‘Crossley said there was a commotion earlier,’ Randeep replied. ‘Distant rumbles, like thunder, he said.’

  ‘That could have been it,’ John said.

  He sat up and checked his gun. His hand was deeper in the metal now and the gun had changed: the barrel was shorter and the wooden sections had fallen out, so he shoved them in his satchel. He strapped the gun to his chest and walked to the camp barrier of broken branches and scanned the undergrowth as he walked the perimeter. The forest was coming to life. A distant whistle sounded like no bird he’d ever heard, then he saw a family of rabbit-eared hedgehogs walking in line and he smiled. Keeping his eyes on the uneven forest floor, John noticed a line of large red ants scurrying through the dried leaves.

  ‘Hello…’ he bent down for a closer look.

  Every other ant was carrying an object: a red berry, a blue flower or a white stone. Vibrant colours – no browns or greys.

  John made a quick 360-degree check for danger then followed the line, careful not to stand on the busy creatures. The line converged with another then another, until the streams of ants became rivers, five-thick, flowing with brightly coloured objects, which John followed around an enormous, white-barked tree.

  ‘Wow!’ He stood, hands on hips, watching thousands of ants carrying their loads to a giant ant structure.

  On its back sat a large queen ant surrounded by guards. For some reason, the ants bringing tributes reminded John of Christmas – of presents and the Three Wise Men.

  Have they found religion? he wondered.

  When he strolled back to camp, the group were rousing themselves and John heard Althorn and Lavalle as they kicked dirt onto the main fire.

  ‘I should scout ahead,’ Althorn told Lavalle. ‘Check our route and make sure we’re heading in the right direction.’

  Lavalle frowned. ‘You should take someone with you.’

  ‘No, I’ll be faster on my own.’ Althorn’s hand touched his stomach.

  ‘How will you find us if we change direction?’ Lavalle asked.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Althorn smiled and looked at John and the rest of the group. ‘I’ll be able to track you.’

  Lavalle nodded. ‘Godspeed.’

  The rest of the group breakfasted on wild pork and the roots Euryleia had foraged, and any spare meat smoked overnight was wrapped in leaves and distributed evenly.

  Mata stood up with a groan. ‘I can’t wait to get out of this forest,’ he grimaced, ‘and get some sun on my skin!’

  ‘Sure is gloomy under these trees,’ Crossley agreed.

  ***

  Two hours later, bird song filled the forest they walked through. Crossley pointed at a conifer-like tree with black, flat needles that snapped shut with a clap when the wind tickled it.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ John shook his head and smiled. ‘Whatever next?’

  ‘How about a tree covered in lollipops?’ Crossley said. ‘Any chance of that?’

  ‘Well it looks like the golden hills are near,’ John said, pointing to where the woodland thinned out.

  ‘Wait!’ Randeep shouted and the line stopped. ‘Did you hear that?’

  John held his breath.

  ‘A rustling sound… listen.’

  ‘It’s just the wind!’ Crossley replied.

  ‘No, I heard it too,’ Lavalle said, ‘a brushing sound, like sand on wood.’

  The warriors started to bunch up, with the twenty or so with spears keeping to the outside, next to those with shields. Apart from the rush of blood in his head, John couldn’t hear a thing.

  ‘There!’ Mata pointed into the canopy of a stand of trees. ‘Something grey up there.’

  More shouts came, and John could see they were being circled by a beast nobody could describe. Black eyes, white teeth, grey tail. John heard swords being unsheathed and cradled his gun-arm, feeling useless.

  A clap sounded behind them and all eyes shifted to a black-needled conifer where a dark shadow pulled itself from the depths of the forest. The shadow lengthened and swayed like a fish through water. All eyes fixed on the shape as it revealed itself: a seven-metre-long great white shark. With frightening speed, the shark flew at them. Lances and swords glanced off its tough skin as it sped past and a Cossack soldier fell to the ground as a fin sliced through his leg muscles. Then the shark darted off with an Incan warrior in its jaws.

  ‘Regroup! Regroup!’ Lavalle yelled.

  ‘Form a circle!’ Mata shouted.

  ‘Shields in the centre above our heads, spears on the edge,’ Euryleia added.

  Weapons and shields clashed then, when they reached formation, a cold silence fell.

  ‘It swam through the air.’ John heard Crossley talking to himself.

  ‘Give the javelin throwers room to manoeuvre,’ Lavalle said calmly. ‘And then–’

  The sight of the shark cut him off. The beast dashed in, as if it were in the thick atmosphere of the ocean. A sword jabbed out to nick a fin and a spear lodged itself in the shark’s flank, but nothing slowed it down. In a flash it had snapped its jaws around Tobar, the Roman.

  ‘Help!’ the centurion screamed as the giant jaws crushed his rectangular shield around him and dragged him away, leaving a trail of armour and blood behind.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do!’ John shouted above the yells, as Lavalle tried to organise the group.

  ‘We can�
��t defend against that!’ Crossley shouted.

  ‘Of course we can.’ Lavalle was defiant.

  ‘Lavalle, we’ve lost two men already.’ Euryleia looked panicked. ‘We should go before we lose more!’

  ‘We have to decide quick!’ Lavalle said and, before he could ask for a show of hands, the group scattered out of the forest and up the open hillside of orange and yellow cacti.

  John joined the rush and only looked back to stop to catch his breath halfway up the hill. Trees were shaking on the edge of the forest, giving the shark’s position away. Then it burst out, charging at the soldiers at the rear, who defended in vain against the large predator. Archers attacked from all sides but no arrow stuck.

  John spotted a blur of movement rushing through the trees from the right. It cut in between the shark and the soldiers and was followed by a series of small explosions. Shocked and showered with dirt, the shark swerved and dodged, snapping its enormous mouth at the air.

  ‘Woo-hoo!’ Crossley shouted.

  Confused by the attack, the shark flicked its powerful tail and flew back into the trees, followed by more explosions. The warriors on the hillside stood in silence as the blur slowed to form the figure of a laughing Celt holding a catapult.

  ‘Althorn!’ John shouted and the crowd erupted with a cheer.

  ‘I really need to get some of those toadstools,’ Crossley said.

  But their joy was short-lived.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ Mata asked.

  John could hear a low rumbling sound.

  Mata looked up. ‘It’s coming from over there.’ He pointed across the forest, back to the obelisk hill from where they had started their journey.

  John ran uphill to Lavalle and Euryleia to get a better view.

  ‘Is it an earthquake?’ Euryleia asked.

  Crossley shook his head. ‘Not if we can’t feel it here.’

  ‘Then what is happening?’ Lavalle squinted.

  The rumbling stopped and, in the distance, the entire obelisk hill dropped from view as though falling into a huge hole, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust.

  Chapter 4

  ‘Another typical Sorean,’ Panzicosta said.

  The cat-like creature, which had been covered in a thick coat of brown fur, breathed heavily through its broken muzzle. Four foot tall when standing on its hind legs, it now hung limp on hooks in the corner of the dark cave of a room. The sight sent a warm shiver through General Panzicosta and his scales rippled in delight with each slice of the knife. Casually, he snipped off a section of digit and punctured an exposed organ with one of his many spiked and bladed appendages. A gurgle came in response from the dying creature’s torn throat and, in the opposite corner of the room, a small red-skinned reptile made clicking noises as it recorded Panzicosta’s comments.

  ‘No adaptations of any worth, alas. Nothing we could use.’ Panzicosta sighed. ‘And I do get terribly bored when they run out of energy.’

  He nonchalantly snipped another length off the Sorean’s tail, ignoring the whimpers, and stared out of the solitary, tiny window in the mud-brick wall, watching as a blue-shelled sentinel scuttled into the camp, straight for a water pit, where it flicked muddy liquid onto its protective carapace, which hissed with steam. The sight raised Panzicosta’s spirits. The sentinel eggs had been positioned along the desert border, designed by Doctor Cynigar to hatch when disturbed by foreign army activity, so this arrival meant good news.

  Panzicosta watched the other Brakari as they busied themselves, the giant arthropods with shells of midnight blue like his own whipping and zapping creatures carrying loads or constructing rude shelters. The camp buzzed with furred bipeds and limbless pyramids, reptilian worms working alongside twelve-foot-tall robots that lurched and jolted as the controlling braces around their necks and limbs shocked them into action.

  The smell of the dying creature pulled Panzicosta back to his work, and he turned to face it.

  ‘One last time,’ he growled, ‘why do you not fight us?’

  The Sorean coughed, sending a spray of bubbled blood down its sliced chest.

  ‘Why do you hide away?’ Panzicosta asked. ‘You are a martial race – you must fight!’

  The Sorean’s eyes widened with something Panzicosta had seen many times before – the final burst of defiant energy.

  ‘We will…’ the Sorean struggled with each word, but Panzicosta drew strength from its pain, knowing its end was near, ‘…never be defeated.’

  Panzicosta had heard it before and glanced through the window again. The sentinel was talking to a guard who gestured in Panzicosta’s direction. It had better be good news, he thought, and faced the Sorean again.

  ‘You will never be defeated if you don’t fight, you cowardly piece of shit,’ he said as a shadow darkened the room’s doorway.

  ‘General Panzicosta,’ the stout guard growled.

  ‘What?’ Panzicosta snarled and snapped his scales.

  ‘A sentinel has returned.’

  ‘Bring it to me.’ Panzicosta paused a second, then punched a claw into the bloodied Sorean’s neck, beheading it instantly. He felt a warm shiver run through his body as he strode past the guard.

  Outside, on the muddy ground, the blue sentinel cowered before Panzicosta.

  ‘Report,’ Panzicosta said with feigned lack of interest.

  ‘Victorio Brakarius, General,’ the sentinel replied. ‘I am the first awakened. Newcomers have arrived. Beyond the lake.’

  ‘Details?’ Panzicosta barked.

  ‘The Draytor left the central lake to intercept them. It reports they are bipeds with internal skeletons.’

  ‘Like these bloody Sorean. Soft-bellied shitbags,’ Panzicosta replied and turned a circle as new thoughts came to him: soft creatures would mean victory… soft creatures were fun to pull apart. ‘What else from our shape-shifter?’ Panzicosta asked.

  ‘The Draytor has intercepted the group. It killed one soldier and has taken its place.’

  ‘Good.’ Panzicosta raised himself up on his stout legs. It was always pleasing when his soldiers worked for his glory without any effort from him. ‘Eat to replenish,’ he told the sentinel and gestured to a wooden cage of mangy rat-like creatures.

  ‘The Draytor reported one soldier was seen flying, General,’ the sentinel continued.

  ‘Interesting.’ Panzicosta scraped two forearm blades together. ‘What became of it? Is it heading our way?’

  ‘No, General. It crashed soon after take off.’

  ***

  ‘ Start log . ’ Delta-Six recorded his journal as he strode purposefully through the forest. ‘ Day two in unknown country. No link with recon sats. Net link down. Re sources sixty percent , energy levels seventy-six percent . Ment al state below optimal . No injuries from crash. Unsure of cause. Possible lightning strike. ’

  He paused to peer up through the tree canopy at the green-tinged clouds above.

  ‘ N o word from my team ,’ he continued . His training dictated he must record all thought s so that, e ven if he was killed in action, his observations could be downloaded later and used by intell. ‘C oded messages have been sent on emergency broad-widths , but no response from base. I assume I’m in enemy territory or captured . It’s possible t he Guevarians slipped me hallucinogens or hooked me up to a VR prison . End log,’ he commanded and a quiet beep responded.

  Delta-Six resumed his walk, keeping to the high ground where possible.

  If he remembered c orrectly from the briefings, his computer system was an array of processors, databases and analytical cores distributed throughout his shield suit and linked to his body through several neural inputs. He hoped none of it had been damaged by his crash.

  ‘Replay recent events,’ he ordered and scanned back to hi s last mem ories before the hill .

  A box appeared in t he top-right corner of his visi on and , as he ducked branches and avoided trees, he watched the playback from his hip camera: shapes appeared through a grey mist a
s he descended in formation with his squad, clos ing in on a Guevarian cloud base . T he fire teams separate d, t he Guevarian fortress appeared f r om the clouds and then lines of light cut across the screen as Delta-Six open ed fire , followed by a blinding flash.

  The next image was of grass.

  ‘Away,’ Delta-S ix said and the replay box vanished.

  The flash of light must have been an anti-air missile, he thought, which suggested he had been captured and the virtual environment hypothesis was most likely .

  But it felt so real.

  A war ning light flashed on Delta-S ix’s screen.

  ‘Start log,’ he said . ‘ My power cell s are being sapped . Searching for solar input.’ He looked up and remembered t he mini-sat he had sent up on arrival. ‘ No message from Copan- One since initiation . ’

  A new warning light appeared on the screen, followed by the message filters disabled .

  What filters? Delta- Six thought. Filters had never been mentioned in any briefing .

  He stopped and, as per training, allowed his mind to clear, allowing him to sense any cyber-attack or degradation of his systems. He let his mind wander across his body, from his feet upwards. It fe l t different. It felt… open. But if his systems had filters, w hat was being filter ed out ?

  He scanned through his memory videos – nothing new there. The guys from his fire team – all their files l ooked the same as his had before – but his file was larger. Delta-Six opened it up and found a range of new biometric data files dating back to his initial cloning.

  ***

  Delta-Six woke with a start and reached out to grab the nearest thing… a branch ? He steadied himself, let the remnants of his nightmare fade and took in his surroundings . Thr ee nights he had spent like this , sleeping in trees, listening to the night creatures and wary of any attack.

  He unhooked his night hammock, stuffed it back in its pocket and clambered down to the forest floor , where he gave his suit a quick check: feeling with his hands while his diagnost i c systems r an tests through the circuits. T hen he checked his night traps… all empty. With a sigh, he realigned his geographic pointers and resumed his journey.