by Danny Loomis
Irish ensured cloaking was still on for the shuttle before donning a helmet. He followed Brian down the ramp, moving north at a fast trot. A look back to ensure the ramp had closed, and he settled down into the pace being set by Brian. He’d brought his needler and staff for weapons.
Brian glanced at him, eyes widening. “It looks spooky seeing your helmet floating along behind me,” he muttered.
Three hundred meters from their objective Brian stopped, hand upraised. Irish and the rear guard caught up and kneeled next to him. “Just got word from the others,” he whispered. “They’re in position.” He gave Irish a serious look. “Captain, how’re you at hand-to-hand?”
“Good,” he whispered. “With my ghillies on, very good.”
Brian nodded. “Excellent. Because I got an idea about how we should handle this.” A minute later, he looked at both of them. “Any questions? Okay, Irish, you lead. And remember, do it each time you kill one of ‘em. Got it?”
Irish nodded when he stood. “I’ll leave one hand uncovered and hold it behind me so you can see where I am until we make contact.” He turned and moved out at a lope.
He surged from the forest’s edge into a large clearing, focusing on two figures gathered round a screaming shape on the ground being raped by a third. In a split second Irish was in full sprint and unlimbering his staff.
Before he reached them, the third man stood and was fastening his pants while one of the others fired a round into the body in front of him. Time slowed while rage filled Irish. He snicked the staff’s blade into position and drove among them. A ululating scream arose from his throat, driven by his rage and the lust to kill.
Two quick slashes, and two fell to the ground, throats gushing blood. The third was turning when Irish flashed by him. A side lunge and violent twist with the staff split him from crotch to sternum. Two others ran towards him, weapons raised. He dropped flat while they fired their weapons on full auto. They paused to insert fresh mags, and he was again moving forward. Two more slashes, two more died while he once more screamed his loudest.
Three soldiers had been herding four prisoners towards the flitter and had watched the slaughter, terror filling their faces. The second scream sent them scattering, panic and fear lending wings to their feet.
Irish kept his headlong rush through the prisoners, knocking two of them sprawling before catching one of the guards directly in front of the flitter. He screamed again, gutting the soldier in such a manner blood flew in a wide arc. This proved too much for the horrified pilot who lifted off and fled the scene at top speed.
Irish slowed to a stop, taking deep shuddering breaths. Even though he and Brian had planned this, it had become a savage thirst for blood when they’d killed that poor woman. He went to one knee and strove to force himself back from the edge. Once before he’d come close to losing it entirely.
“Irish? Where are you?”
He turned, seeing Brian casting about. “Here. Over here.” He uncovered his helmet.
Brian hurried over, relief and worry on his face. “You all right, man? B’jesus, you scared all of us with those screams!”
Irish raised his face shield. “Scared myself a little, too.” He tried to smile. “Afraid I got carried away. When that piece of shit raped her, then they killed her…” He shuddered. “Almost didn’t come back from it, that time.”
Brian helped him stand. “Yes, you’ve got the Irish in you. Berserker blood, too. By the way, could you put the camouflage back over your face? Right now, everyone thinks it was a Banshee that killed those soldiers. Let’s let ‘em keep thinking that.”
“That’s good, right?” He covered his head with the hood of his ghillies.
“Very good. They’ll think that poor woman’s soul burst from her and killed those scum. If we can start rumors that even the spirits of the forest are against the Legs, won’t hurt us at all.” He got down on his knees. “Now scoot back to the shuttle while I explain to everyone that I had to pray awhile. That’ll explain why I was over here muttering to myself.”
It took Irish longer than usual to travel the four kilometers to the shuttle. He stopped and washed himself off at a small spring, to include removing blood stains from his staff. He’d regained his equilibrium by now, but was still shaken. “Too easy,” he whispered. Yes, it had been easier than before to allow the rage to fill him. Have to ensure it never took over to the point it consumed.
He was beginning to chafe at the wait by the time Brian and his men returned, along with five guests. They filed into the shuttle, all looking worn out. Two of them carried a blanket-wrapped form, which was slipped into a body bag.
“We got the site sanitized, but we’d better move,” Brian said when he settled into the co-pilot’s chair. “I’m surprised they haven’t sent out a patrol yet to check the area.”
“Right. I’ll move us thirty klicks north.”
Brian gave him a quick look. “How you doing?”
“I’m okay now.” He rubbed his throat. “Just hope I don’t have to do that screaming bit for a couple days.”
“Heh. That was one of the best impressions I’ve heard of a Banshee in my life. You’re going to have a time of it explaining you’re not a Banshee in human form to my men, once we get rid of our guests.”
“Yeah, right,” Irish grimaced. “Let’s hope I can convince myself, too.”
EIRE, CITY OF YOUGHAL-LEGISLATURIST GARRISON HQ (Day +24)
Colonel Barnhardt paced his office, hands locked behind his back. “You sure this is what those idiots wrote in their report?” He swung towards Captain Thiel. “And when will we be getting a report back from the force we sent out to the scene?”
Thiel rubbed his head tiredly. “Yes, Sir, that’s word for word what they wrote. Couldn’t get them to change the report, either. We should hear from the follow-up patrol any time now.”
Barnhardt sat at his desk, steepling his fingers. “We’ve got to do our best to stop the rumors about this. Make sure I get the original copy of the report, and also of the follow-up when our patrol returns.” He leaned back, a brooding look on his face. “I want the pilot and co-pilot to be held incommunicado until we can transfer them to our most remote outpost. You understand?”
Thiel nodded. “Completely, Sir.”
The Colonel’s intercom buzzed. “Sir, the report you’ve been waiting for has arrived.”
“Put it on my screen,” ordered Barnhardt, trying to keep the impatience from his voice.
Once it showed, he began avidly reading. A minute later, he shut off the screen, impatience in his movements. “Nothing. Not a Goddamned thing. They even double-checked the coordinates with the original report, but nothing at all was found. No bodies, no blood, nothing!”
By now Thiel was sitting at attention. “That can’t be right, unless…”
Barnhardt slammed his fist on the desk. “No one’s to know about this. No one!”
“Er–Sir…”
“I said no one, you hear? Not even our higher-ups. They’d think we were inventing reasons to cover up our desertions.” Once more he leaned back, looking thoughtful. “In fact, that might be a good cover story. They all deserted.”
Thiel cringed inwardly. The Colonel was too late. Before he’d brought news of this to him, rumors had spread beyond the garrison, was even now percolating throughout the city.
“Send troops to villages and towns within fifty kilometers of the site. They’re to search for evidence of collusion between them and the rebels. We’ve been too easy on these backwoods hicks. Time they learned who’s in charge around here.”
Captain Thiel stood and saluted, striding from the Colonel’s office woodenly. Damn. All those years spent building up trust in the populace. Now…He shook his head. Should’ve taken that hardship assignment he’d been offered last month.
* * *
Village of Murdoch: (50 kilometers east of city of Youghal)
Muriel finished hanging her la
test batch of wash out to dry, humming under her breath. A light breeze touched the back of her neck, bringing her around from the clothes line that was now filled. High, majestic clouds drifted on the horizon to the north. Two other homes were in view, plus the central barn which was used by all eleven homes that encircled it at varying distances. The village had grown by one home last month when Rupert and Sally’s son had returned from the city with a new bride. This morning most of the men had driven away, bound for a two-day stint at the village’s logging camp ten kilometers away.
A far-away buzzing drone gathered in force, causing her to look to the west. Two flitters appeared, bound their way. She started back for the house, thoughts of what she could put out to welcome the government officials. Last time they’d liked her sugar cookies, along with velvet cupcakes from Mariah’s place. She busied herself filling a plate with all the sweets she could find in her kitchen.
Loud screams from near the barn had her hurrying outside. Three soldiers were in the process of beating one of the men who’d remained in town while a woman tried to intercede. One of them knocked her to the ground with a vicious slap.
A near-silent wail escaped Muriel before she darted back inside. “Amber! Clovis!”
Two girls came running downstairs, nearly tripping in their rush. “We heard, Ma. What’re they…”
“No time for talk, both of you to the storm cellar. Now!” She hurried into the bedroom and lifted a trap door. “Down the stairs with you, and no sound until I come back.”
Both girls, twins just turned fourteen, stared at her. Amber glanced outside, then back at Muriel. “Mom, what’s…”
Muriel pushed them towards the trapdoor. “Government soldiers are here, and treating folks roughly. Stay in the cellar, and don’t make a sound. On your life, don’t make a sound!” Once the lid was closed, she moved the bed over it and darted from the room.
She’d just made it into the living room when two of the soldiers entered. “What’s happening?” she asked, voice quavering. “We’ve done nothing…”
“Shut your face, bitch!” The tallest man shoved Muriel, causing her to stagger backwards. “Where’s your man? We got some questions to ask, and he’d better have the right answers.”
Muriel fell back into a chair, almost overtipping it. “He-he’s out with most of the other men, cutting wood. What’s happened?”
The tall soldier turned and started up the stairs, while the second one made a staying motion with his hands. “Just stay there while we search your home. If you don’t resist, you won’t be hurt.”
“We’ve nothing to hide, nor have we done anything wrong. Why are we being treated like this?”
He grimaced. “One of our patrols was ambushed not far from here. We’re searching the area for any sign of rebels. So just stay down, and hopefully this will be over in a few minutes.”
The tall one came hurrying down the stairs. “Nothin’ here. Let’s check the next place.”
Once they’d gone, Muriel rushed to the door. Her mouth fell open in shock at the scene. Two soldiers were dragging a kicking and screaming Beth Ann out of her home next door. She was foaming at the mouth in her rage, shrilling curses Muriel had never heard from her best friend before. Another soldier strode up and brought his pistol down on her face with a sickening crack, instantly silencing her. From the boneless way she flopped while being dragged towards the barn, she was most likely dead.
Muriel dashed out, anger overriding her fear. “Here, now, what’re you doing?” She made it halfway to them before one turned and fired two shots at her. She crashed to the ground, eyes wide in shock. They’d shot her! They…
The sun was setting when the flitters left the village. One by one, survivors came hesitantly from the surrounding forest they’d found shelter in. Amber and Clovis huddled next to the corpse of their mother, finally reaching a bottom to their well of tears. Another emotion crept into their eyes.
Hate.
EIRE, DUBLIN CONTINENT–REBEL HQ (Day +25)
“There, on the right. Turn sixty degrees, and it’s a kilometer from us,” Brian said, tapping the screen. “Should be a good hide.”
Irish banked right, and dropped down to a hundred meters in height. “That it ahead?” he asked, indicating a small clearing barely large enough to fit the shuttle in.
“That’s it. Y’see any problems getting into that small a space?”
He dropped like a stone into the opening until ten meters from the surface and glanced at Brian, a smirk on his face. “Yes, I think I can.”
Brian blew out his breath. “Damn. If the gravity compensator hadn’t been on, you’d be cleaning up vomit about now.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, probably shouldn’t showboat. But this might be the last time I get a rise out of you.”
“I seriously doubt it’s the last time, knowing you.” He unbuckled and moved towards the bay. “Stay there, and we’ll guide you into your hidey-hole.”
Moments later Irish crept the shuttle into a small cave. Sensors indicated it would be a tight fit, but a perfect hideaway. Yesterday he’d sent off a message to Shag and Willy, underlining how important it was to have a squad of LRS here for training purposes soon as possible. They’d acknowledged, saying they’d be off station for the next 72 hours, sending the message drone through a nexus.
Hefting his rucksack, he gave a last glance around before exiting the shuttle. Now would come the hard work. He’d promised to start sniper training in two days, and had that long to familiarize himself with the local version of the proper weapon to use for killing people at long distance.
Settling his rucksack into place he walked up to Brian, who was prepping his team for the march. “Okay, I’m ready. Where’s this headquarters you’re always talking about?”
Brian pointed up at the snow-capped mountain in the distance. “There. Or rather at the foot of it. Over 20 klicks from here. In another couple weeks we’ll be able to fly directly to our hideaway, when the underground motor pool is finished.”
Irish shook his head. “Oh, well. It could’ve been worse.”
“How’s that?” Smith number two asked.
“It could be on the other side of that big pile of rock.”
Muffled laughter greeted his words. Brian pointed at him. “You’re behind me. Number one, you’re point. Let’s move out, folks.”
By midafternoon, Irish felt more at peace than he had in months. Having no responsibilities to wear at him for even this short a time was wonderful. They’d just paused next to a small stream when a rustling in the bushes fifty meters away had them all on alert. A loud gulping sound, and two dog-like creatures scampered away.
Irish smiled at the sight. “That’s got to be the weirdest dog I’ve ever heard, let alone seen. Looked like they were all legs.”
Brian eased the straps to the large pack he’d been carrying. “Yep, but don’t let ‘em corner you. They can be vicious in packs.” He pointed towards the shoulder of the mountain. “We’ll be there in ‘bout three hours. You doing okay?”
Irish hid a smile. He hadn’t told Brian about the physical workout his platoon did on a daily basis. This had been a walk in the park, so far. “Yeah, I might be able to make it.”
* * *
“Up and at ‘em, Captain.”
Brian’s voice penetrated his sleep-filled brain, bringing him upright. Rubbing his face, Irish groaned while rolling out of bed. “Damn, I was just getting some serious sleep in. What’s the rush?”
“Breakfast’ll be ready in twenty minutes. After that, you’re on your own. Move it, sleeping beauty!”
Within the twenty minute deadline Irish entered the messhall, and attached himself to the end of a line waiting their turn to get served breakfast. After filling a plate, he looked around for a familiar face. Seeing none, he seated himself at an empty table and dug in. He’d finished and was contemplating seconds on coffee when Brian and a man even larger than him entered the cafeteria
.
“This is the gent I told you about, Stu. Our pilot, Captain Shannon. He is, in fact, an expatriate.”
There was an aura about him that caused Irish to come to attention. He barely stopped himself from saluting, instead taking the man’s proffered hand. “Pleased to meet you, Sir,” he said. He was struck by the uncanny resemblance to Brian, including his dark blonde hair. “You must be Brian’s older brother.”
“That I am, Captain. And please, call me Stuart.”
Once everyone had gotten some coffee, they seated themselves around a table. Stuart had been eyeing him with curiosity while they sat. “Excuse me if I sound presumptious, Captain. But you look very familiar. When did you leave Eire?”
Twelve years ago. My family sent me off to an aunt and uncle on Alamo for safety’s sake, since they were supporters of the royal family.”
“One of the wild geese come home,” Brian said. “He joined the Long Range Scouts and became a top-notch sniper before moving on to driving space ships about the galaxy.”
Stuart straightened, eyes lighting. “Faith, man, would you happen to be interested…”
“He’s already agreed to conduct training, Stu. His orders from the Confederacy are to help us in any way he can, long’s he doesn’t risk his ship or crew more than necessary.”
“Something I’m more than happy to provide, Sir–er, Stuart. Plus I’ve sent a request for a group of snipers who’re better trainers than me to show up soon as they can.”
“Superb!” Stuart’s smile lit the room. “Just the thing. We have an overabundance of volunteers who are excellent shots. Too many of them have died trying to be a sniper. With proper training we could really make a dent in these Legs.”
“I hope to hear back within a couple weeks about my request. In the meantime, I’m ready to start training when you have personnel available. If they’re already good shots, the training should go pretty fast.”
