by Trevor Wyatt
He shoots to his feet. Before I can react, he grabs my shirt and says, “Do you?”
Though his breath is thick with rakjtag, his eyes are alive with threat.
“I do,” I reply, my voice grave.
“Good.” He lets me go. He looks me over.
“You may think what I do to you is harsh,” he says, “But believe me when I say I do everything to protect you. Many believe I am soft on you. You don’t want them believing that for too long. I can only protect you for too long.”
I don’t reply. I won’t be fooled by my brother’s deception, neither will I be party to his desire to rationalize his wicked and twisted nature.
“Get some sleep,” he says. “Or go have some fun. Tomorrow, we fight.”
He walks away without another word. I take his first advice and go to sleep. According to our code, on the day of an incursion, we have time to ourselves and anyone can do whatever they want with their time. Nevertheless, two hours before leaving the ship everyone is to report to their platoon for further instruction and so on.
I set my bunk bed system to put me to sleep and only wake me up one hour before I am supposed to report to the main command. Then I activate the shield, the screen block and the mute functions.
I lay on my hardly soft bed in silence. A sweet smelling savor wafts into my nostrils. Seconds later, I am lost in the infinite reals of unconsciousness.
A mild electric jolt brings me to consciousness. I jerk to an upright position, my heart beating fast in anticipation. My body is hot from sweat, in spite of the cool temperature in my bunk, and my mind is groggy as it tries to fill the several hours of gap it was unconscious.
I have a strong feeling that I have something urgent to do, but I can’t quite figure out what it is. I look around my bed, cobwebs and darkness covering my memory.
I take deep breathes and swallow hard.
“Private Groyt, report to main command,” says a voice in my bunk bed space. “Private Groyt, report to main command now.”
Then it hit me like a shuttle at maximum speed. I am a soldier onboard a transport vessel carrying troops from the Hell Fire Brigade of the Sonali Army. My brother is sub-legate and last night he made me kill another Sonali. In a few hours we will be landing on a border colony called Beruit. I will have to kill people, whether they are armed or unarmed. It will be a massacre.
I deactivate the shield and jump out of my bunk bed. I am the only one in the room. The others are already assembled in the shuttles, receiving last minute instructions. I make a run to the adjacent shower stalls and take a shower. No, I don’t fancy being smelly even though I’m going to fight, not after last night’s panoply of immorality and seediness.
I change into my uniform, attaching my access card to my shirt. Then I hightail it to the armory, where other soldiers are picking their fill of weapons.
The Hell Fire Brigade is an unorthodox army unit. There are no rules of engagement or code of conducts. Neither are we bound to use a certain type of weapons. Although we all take a rifle or pistol, we also take other weapons, especially axes, massive hammers and blades to main, cripple, and behead.
It is where the fun is—the slaughter.
I grab a pistol, then a small blade. I holster the pistol on my right hip and sheath the blade on my left thigh.
I head on to the lower decks, where the main command is located, which is also where the soldiers find their platoons and are shipped down to the planet. We still have two hours to engage, which could mean that we were already in orbit and are already bombarding the planet’s defenses, like security posts, escape shuttles and generators.
The main command is filled with CNC crews and Lieutenants, who are also platoon leaders, in the Brigade. There is a large holographic projection hovering in the center of the colony. The colony is being divided according to the platoon leaders.
I remain at the back of the room, watching as the Sonali soldiers plan to level a defenseless, farming colony.
It’s even worse as I realize that it’s a farming colony with no armed presence. Then again, I wonder why the Terrans would set up a defenseless colony so close to us and expect us not to attack.
Maybe they have faith in our morals—because really, what race would attack a defenseless planet?
Well, it’s too bad for these ones. Their government failed them.
I begin to prepare my mind for the horror I am being compelled to wreak on this planet. It’s not my fault, I tell myself. It’s the way the universe is.
“How long before Terran reinforcement comes?” I ask aloud, drawing the room’s attention to me.
It is the legate that answers, “We estimate three hours. Our intelligence assets suggests that there is a battle group currently headed for the border. They are planning to attack one of our soft targets. By the time we begin our approach, they may divert that battle group to come to the aid of this planet.”
“I highly doubt the Terran Armada would send their starships to a worthless planet,” Colonel Zel says.
“If it’s worthless, why are we attacking it, then?” I blurt.
Colonel Zel flashes me a surly look.
I remain impassive. I know I am walking a tightrope here. My question can easily be misconstrued as sympathetic.
I add, “What strategic significance is accorded to us if we destroy that planet?”
The looks on the faces in the main command turn from confusion to comprehension. I get some nods.
Colonel Zel says, “Panic Campaign. When the Terran Armada loses half of its colonies, they will realize the error of their ways and beg us for forgiveness. Then we will strike at their home world. We will kill that beast of a President they have and disband the Terran Council. And if we feel like it, we will occupy their world and claim it as ours.”
There is a silence. I am struck to my core with terror. How did we come to this point as a society, where men like my brother become leaders?
Is all truly fair in war?
“Okay, get to your ships,” Colonel Zel says. “Let’s go kill us some Terrans.”
By the time I am strapped in to the shuttle, the transport vessel begins bombardment. I remain in the relative darkness of the hull of the shuttle, shoulder to shoulder with thirty other soldiers, hearing the thunderous explosions that follow missiles being launched planetside.
The soldiers begin to chant their ear chant in anticipation. Soon, we are given the go signal and we lift off the shuttle bay. We join numerous other shuttles to enter the atmosphere of Beruit.
I shut my eyes and begin to imagine what it must be like now on the ground. I imagine a small child looking up at the night skies and seeing hundreds of shuttles raining down from the sky, filled with men who don’t give a damn about your age or gender, who will kill you all the same. I try to imagine the terror they must feel.
Colonel Zel, who’s right beside me, grabs my hand, and says, “If my men notices any crack, they will take their shot. You will die. So, what’s it going to be? Will you kill or be killed?”
I don’t reply, neither do I open my eyes. My brother knows that I’m a Terran sympathizer at heart, not because I have any particular love for the people (they did start the war, after all), but because I find that war is fruitless. It is pointless. It is utterly useless.
The shuttle touches down with a jerk. Our straps release us automatically, even as the shuttle door opens. With impressive war cries, the soldiers empty the shuttle rifles ablaze and blades held up, Colonel Zel leading the charge.
I hear the screams of the victims soon enough. I rise to my feet, fighting against my ethics. It takes the very thought of death to push me to the open shuttle door. I pull out my gun and blade and jump down onto the dirt.
We have landed in a large village. The houses are well built, though outwardly resemble huts. Already littering the floor are dead or dying bodies of men, women and children. Every one of them are unarmed. The ones that are armed are armed with hoes, cutlass and other farming t
ools.
Everything is like slow motion to me. I move slowly through the village, shooting and shooting and shooting. Every one that rushes to me gets shot in the head. Those that are running away get shot in the back. Now, it’s either me or them, and I must choose me.
Must you? Says a voice that stops me in my tracks. It’s Father’s voice. And all of a sudden, my mind is flooded by overwhelming guilt and shame.
If father were still alive and saw me, would he be proud of my actions?
A girl’s scream pulls my attention to a small house to my right. I walk right into the small living room to find a young girl and her brother cornered by one of the soldiers. He’s reaching for his pants latch.
I go mad with rage. I raise my gun, aim and shoot. The Sonali crumples to the ground.
“What in the name of the Goddess…”
I turn to see my brother in the doorway, looking at the dead Sonali. The moment he looks up at me, I am aiming at him.
His eyes widen with fear.
“I’m sorry brother,” I say, “but I didn’t sign up for this.”
Before Zel can bring up his blaster, I shoot him in the chest. He falls outside and out of sight. I know I should feel terrible for killing my brother. But I don’t feel such. I feel relieved. I feel a little redeemed.
There is nothing I can do to make up for what I’ve done in the past, but I know that I am doing the right thing.
I look at the terrified duo.
“Go,” I say. “Go and hide somewhere safe. Hide where no one will see you.”
They only look at me strangely.
I realize that they don’t understand what I’m saying. I motion with my hands. They get my gesture and run out of the house, giving me a wide berth.
All is not fair in war. The ends do not justify the means. Every acts we have committed, we will be required to give account of it one day. It may not be to the government, it may not be to a military tribunal. Indeed, we may have forgotten, when we shall be called upon to pay. But one day. Surely, one day. Every creature will be required to give account of what he has done.
I hear a voice behind me. It’s Terran speech.
I turn to see why the boy has returned when I feel a powerful energy tear through my body. I see the gleeful look in the boy’s eyes and he releases three more shots, drops the blaster, and runs away.
I fall to my knees first, the life draining from me. Then I collapse on my face, bleeding out.
My final thoughts are disarrayed, but I find that I am not enraged by the boy’s action. If anything I am liberated and no longer bound by guilt. I also feel a great sense of pity for the universe I’m leaving behind, for the children who are being raised in the Terran Union and in the Sonali Combine because of the cruelties of this horrible war.
I should have been a scholar.
Alas, all is not fair in war.
Article X1
I know I’m dreaming because life is not as beautiful like how I see it in my dream. I am on a pastoral land in the summer. It’s breezy but quiet.
I am free of worry that a political rival may be plotting my downfall or fear that the Terran Council may not pass my Intergalactic Water Transportation Bill or distrust for my advisors who I am beginning to suspect may be saboteurs. I am not weighed down by the pressures of the most important office in all of the Terran Union.
I am most importantly not bogged by the Outer Colonies, who seem to be itching for another round of engagements.
In this dream, I am just Joshua Harmon…not President Joshua Harmon.
Just Joshua Harmon.
I am standing barefoot in the soft shrubby hilly area, looking through the lowly cut meadow at a barn. I am dressed like a farmer in a button down shirt made with a cotton material that allows the air to seep into my pores. My pants are baggy and rolled up to my shins.
My heart is full of joy and happiness, and the sun shines down upon me with kindness.
“Honey,” calls a voice behind me.
I turn to look behind me, where a huge forest spreads across the lands until the horizon is covered. My wife Sarah Harmon is standing at the edge of the trees, looking as though she’s about to do something terrible or have something terrible happened to her.
I feel a frown spread across my face and squeeze off the look of happiness that had previously dominated my expression. There is something foreboding about this forest. As this thought takes root in my heart, there is a strike of thunder that causes me to go for the ground. I look up as I go down, seeing the streak of lightning across dark skies.
Shock pierces through into my heart. I turn to see the meadow and the barn, but instead, all I see are ghostly apparition wadding through a sea of blood towards me. They heft sharp objects, their eyes glazed over as though in death. They are uncountable, every one of them heading to my direction like zombies with only one goal; to kill me.
My heart is pounding now. I am about to bolt in the other direction when I recall that Sara is around. It is then that her shrill scream pierces through the darkness, chilling me to my core.
I swivel around on my heels as I see my wife in the clutches of a ghastly terrifying creature. I hear a heavy pounding from above.
“Josh!” my wife screams even as she is dragged against her will into the dark eerie trees.
I start to go after her, when I feel sharp, cold, bony fingers grab my arms. It wriggles me senseless as the icy feeling of terror spreads across my heart.
Another pounding in the sky.
“Josh!”
And then another.
“Josh!”
My breathing is erratic.
My pulse is out of control.
“Josh!”
Another pounding.
I bolt right out of bed and smack into my wife’s face.
“Ouch!” she cries, grabbing her nose and rolling over. I am still panting and alert, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My night robes are thick with sweat and so are the bed sheets.
I glance at my wife at my side. She’s holding her nose and looking at me with concern.
The pounding comes again…this time at the door.
Sara says, “I’ve been calling your name out loud.” She glances at the door. “And they’ve been knocking on the door for you. It seems to be urgent.”
I’ve left strict instructions never to be woken from sleep by any matter except if it’s war with the Outer Colonies or the highly improbable event of an alien invasion of the Terran Union. The last I heard of the Outers, they were facing some serious economic troubles—I could hardly think this was the time to fight the high and mighty Terran Union. This means the reason why my bedroom door is being knocked on does not deserve my attention.
Someone’s head will roll.
Sara sees the frown on my face and says, “It must be very important,” she says, her kind eyes drilling through the terror that still clouds my mind and the anger that is building steam to take its place.
Her smile and kind words vanquishes the darkness, leaving me calm and mellow.
The pound on the door comes again, reminding me of my dream.
“Cut it out!” I yell.
“Mr. President, it’s urgent,” says my principal secret service agent, Curtis Mann.
“I’ll be right out, soon,” I reply. “Cut it the hell out and that’s an order.”
“Yes, sir!” he replies.
I return my attention to my wife. I reach for her face, but she withdraws, guarding her nose delicately.
“Did I break it?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Almost, but not quite there. Nothing a little ice can’t fix. Now go. You’re needed elsewhere.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say instead. “I didn’t know you were on top of me.” I say that last bit with a questioning look.
“I was trying to wake you up, honey,” she replies. “You seemed like you were having a nightmare.”
I nod. I remain silent.
“Care to share?” she
asks.
I think back to the dream. I remember how my joy and gladness had turned instantly to terror and imminent death. I remember how daylight and peace had turned to darkness and destruction. I remember the intense feeling of threat, like something terrible was about to happen.
Even right now, in the large, plush bedroom in Geneva, the feeling is still tight in my muscles.
I force a smile on my face, knowing that there is no merit in Sara worrying with me. I’m not psyche, at least not to the best of my knowledge. I can’t predict the future. I’m sure it’s just a dream.
“It’s nothing, Sara,” I reply. I pull myself out of the bed and head into the shower. Ten minutes later, I am dressed in a casual wear. I’m wearing a magenta colored sweatshirt over a grey vest and a faded blue track suit.
The most I can do after attending to this disturbance (and causing heads to roll for the disturbance) is to take advantage in the break in my cycle and go for a run.
“Go back to bed, hon,” I say, kissing my wife on the forehead. She lies in bed after that and I draw the duvet over her body.
“I’ll be back soon,” I say. “I promise.”
She smiles.
I walk out of the bedroom into a wide square-shaped lobby. Beautiful Persian rug covers the ground. Soft incandescent lights in a chandelier adorn the high ceiling. Portraits of past presidents—five of them—decorate the walls.
The lobby is truncated ahead by a corridor that is unusually heavily trafficked at this ungodly hour.
Standing there in the lobby are seven of my security detail. The head of my security team and my principal, Curtis Mann, is standing at my side. The Minister for Earth and the Minister for Defense are both in the lobby.
There are three other people I don’t know, but from their uniforms I can tell they’re from Terran Armada.
Seeing the looks on their faces brings the feeling of foreboding from my dream and into my heart.
“What’s going on, gentlemen?” I ask.
Minister of Defense Admiral Josef Ivanovich who is the Chief Admiral of the Council of Admirals that oversees the Terran Armada speaks first.
