by Tripp Ellis
The wheels turned in Nolan’s mind. “Does Valdovar have an amenkonti?”
Kira grew silent. "You shouldn’t ask such questions. One never knows who may be listening.” She paused a moment, then whispered, “Choose your conversations wisely aboard the ship." Her breathy voice was like velvet.
Kira suddenly pushed him away. "Go. Perhaps we can discuss this again later.”
There was a slight spark in her eyes. Nolan wasn’t quite sure if she meant discussing the amenkonti, or resuming the debriefing.
Nolan slipped out of the compartment, and found his way back to his quarters. Some of the Soturi were passed out in their racks, snoring. Some were still in the mess hall drinking, others were somewhere halfway in between. Nolan staggered to his rack and took off his gear.
"How did your debriefing go," Caleb asked with a knowing glint in his eyes.
Nolan shrugged and kept a straight face. "I just told her how I killed the wizard. That was it."
"That was it?" Caleb asked, prying for more.
"That’s it.”
“Nothing happened between you two?” Caleb asked, incredulous.
“Nothing. I did find out something interesting, though.” Nolan said, trying to change the subject.
"I bet you did."
"Do you know what an amenkonti is?"
Caleb nodded, then his eyes widened. "So that's how you killed him?"
Caleb was about to say something, but Nolan stopped him. He knew what Caleb was thinking. He was a smart guy. His mind instantly began to wonder where Valdovar's amenkonti was.
"Not here. Later,” Nolan said.
He climbed into his rack, his mind racing. He couldn't stop thinking about all the events of the day, and the possibilities that lay ahead. He could still smell Kira’s perfume, and he imagined the feel of her soft smooth skin. He fell asleep with a grin, and his dreams were an odd, nonsensical mix of the day’s events and possible futures.
Morning reveille came all too soon. Nolan’s eyelids felt glued shut. His mouth was like a desert. The throbbing in his temples pounded incessantly. The compartment felt like it was twisting, and his stomach rumbled. Last night was like a blur. He had a vague recollection of the good parts.
Commander Xule stormed into Thrasher platoon’s birthing compartment. The platoon snapped to attention in front of their racks.
"Listen up, scumbags. Captain Avar has been relieved of her command. I'm assuming control of Thrasher platoon."
Nolan's face crinkled up perplexed. He wanted to ask why, but he knew better. Did someone see him leaving her quarters last night?
Xule glowered at the Soturi. "You've proven yourself worthy to serve under my command. For your sake, I hope you continue to fight with courage and dedication."
"Yes, sir," the platoon answered in unison.
“Sergeant Tanc Krom is your new platoon leader. He will answer directly to me, and his word, as mine, is God. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," the platoon answered again in unison.
Nolan cringed. He watched a smug grin curl on Tanc’s lips. His eyes fell on Nolan and filled with a devious glint. Nolan knew there were going to be tough times ahead.
“You've got 15 minutes to grab some chow,” Xule barked. “Then I want to see you all in the ready room for a mission briefing."
Barely audible groans rumbled through the platoon. After last night's festivities, an operation seemed ill-advised.
"Oh, do I hear objections?" Xule asked.
"No, sir," the platoon shouted.
"Did you expect the day off?"
There was a slight hesitation. "No, sir."
"Good. There are no weekends or holidays in my Star Legion. Service is not at your leisure. It's on command. So you all better suck it up!”
Xule spun around and left the compartment.
"You heard the man," Tanc shouted. "Move!"
Nolan grimaced. His stomach was rumbling. Caleb looked like he was about to collapse. The rest of the platoon staggered out of the compartment and into the hallway, heading for the mess hall.
Nolan fell in line and scurried toward the exit. Tanc grabbed him out of line and slung him against the bulkhead. "Look you little piece of shit. I better not get any grief out of you. You follow every order I give you, without hesitation, without question. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Sergeant.”
"This is my platoon now. You run off on your own, and I swear to the gods that I'll frag you myself. You understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
A diabolical grin curled on his dry lips. "You're lucky you're not in the chamber of pain along with Captain Avar."
"Why did she get reprimanded?"
"Fraternization between officers and conscripts is prohibited. It prejudices good order and discipline."
Nolan tensed with anger. Tanc must have seen him leaving Captain Avar's compartment and reported it.
"Get out of here, Jamison!"
"Yes, Sergeant.” Nolan rushed out of the compartment, trying to get to the mess hall in time to shovel a few bites of breakfast into his mouth.
The rumbling in Nolan's stomach continued. It was debatable whether breakfast made him feel better or worse. His head was still throbbing, and the ground seemed unsteady.
The Soturi staggered into the ready room for the mission briefing. It was like going to work Monday morning after a long hard weekend, and no amount of coffee was going to prepare them for the day.
As Nolan entered the ready room, he could feel an unsettling sensation as the ship jumped across the galaxy. It was like being stretched and pulled and twisted and torn apart. The very fabric of space-time being altered and manipulated. He wasn't sure how the benders were able to do it, but the mobility of the fleet depended on them.
Commander Xule stood at the front of the ready room. The screen behind him displayed the target—an ancient temple. "We have gathered recent intelligence that the Kataari monks are guarding the Medallion of Saan.
Today, we are going to take it from them."
"What's the Medallion of Saan?” Nolan whispered to Caleb.
"You don't get out much, do you?"
Nolan shrugged.
Xule cleared his throat and glared at the two. "Is there something you would like to share with the rest of this us?"
Nolan hesitated. He wanted to ask Xule, but thought better of it. "No, sir."
"Then shut up and listen."
"Yes, sir."
"Your objective is to storm the temple and secure the medallion. Return it to me, personally. Show no mercy."
"Sir, is it true what they say about the monks?" one of the Soturi asked.
Xule looked exasperated. "I can assure you, the rumors of their military prowess are greatly exaggerated. There is no army that will not fall before the Lord Valdovar."
The Soturi cheered.
"We have the element of surprise. We have superior firepower. And we have destiny on our side. The oracle has already foretold of a great victory. We will overwhelm the monks with shock and awe. We will attack from all sides. They won't know what hit them." A devious grin curled on Xule’s face. "I'll see you all on the flight deck in 15 minutes in full battle rattle."
"Yes, sir,” the company shouted in unison.
The Soturi filed out of the ready room with urgency. Caleb still looked green and sickly. "I'll tell you, that injection sobered me up last night, but it didn’t do a damn thing for my hangover this morning."
Nolan chuckled. "You've got 15 minutes to pull it together. You don't want to spew in the dropship.”
The mere thought of hurling made Caleb want to vomit. His stomach rumbled, and his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. The sour acidic taste of bile crept up in the back of his throat. Caleb barely managed to swallow it back down. A tortured look twisted on his face. “Thanks for the words of encouragement."
"What are friends for?"
26
The dropship rattled and quaked as it descended through the upper atmosph
ere. Caleb's face was pale and drenched in sweat. His stomach continued to rumble. It was all he could do not to blow chunks. He was hanging on by a thread. Half of the platoon was in the same condition.
Nolan readied himself for battle. He took slow deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves. He felt as though he had guzzled a pot of coffee. His skin buzzed with anxiety. His stomach felt like it was filled with battery acid. He had a bad feeling about this drop. It seemed rushed and ill-conceived. The men were unprepared. Thrasher platoon wasn't at their best.
The ominous dropship descended through the clouds, and raced over the rugged terrain. Jagged peaks stabbed at the sky. The temple lay ahead, nestled amid the tall spires of rocks. But this was no ordinary temple, and these were no ordinary monks. They were warriors that had been entrusted with the protection of the sacred scrolls for eons. A religious order, immersed in the ways of war. Some said that the Kataari weren’t men, but rather spirits—undead warriors who couldn't be killed. But that was just the ramblings of individuals with overactive imaginations, Nolan thought. Still, his nerves were aflutter at the notion of fighting yet another powerful magical force.
Xule had only sent three platoons. Perhaps it was a combination of confidence and arrogance? But three platoons against what could be 500 to 1000 warriors definitely put the Soturi at a tactical disadvantage. It was clear Xule wanted to garner some attention with a quick victory. He wanted bragging rights that he took the temple with a small company of men. The only bright side was that failure would make him look inept.
The temple looked majestic perched amid the craggy peaks. Pale blue light from the tri-moons illuminated the terrain. A mission like this should've been carried out under cover of absolute darkness. But neither Xule, nor Lord Valdovar, wanted to wait for the cycle of the moons. And with three of them, one was almost always full.
Brilliant bolts of energy arced up from atop a ridge-line as the formation of dropships drew closer to the temple. The blistering spikes of energy looked almost beautiful. Anti-aircraft spell cannons had been mounted amid the peaks. Somehow, the warrior monks knew the Soturi were coming.
The dropships rolled and twisted, attempting to evade the onslaught of cannon fire. Gun turrets on the dropships swiveled into action, unleashing a furious cascade of hell on the anti-aircraft weapons. The bolts impacted the area, showering rock and debris in all directions.
There were multiple spell cannons positioned along the approach to the temple. It was way more defensive firepower than had been anticipated. The sky ignited with a flurry of cannon fire, coming from all directions. The glowing projectiles crisscrossed in the air as the dropships attempted to evade destruction. The increased aerial acrobatics did nothing for Caleb's stomach.
The massive spell bolts clipped Crusher platoon’s dropship. The blast incinerated the starboard engine and cut a groove through the hull. The thruster exploded in a brilliant ball of amber flames. Black smoke billowed into the sky, leaving a trail behind as the craft spiraled out of control. Sparks showered in all directions.
The dropships were like flying tanks, and even the loss of a single thruster was enough to bring a craft out of balance. The flaming hunk of metal plummeted toward the rugged terrain. Within moments, it smacked the edge of the mountain range and exploded in a devastating rage. Bits of twisted metal and debris were strewn everywhere. The platoon inside the ship was charred to a crisp. It was the type of wreckage that no one could survive.
The mission was off to an ominous start.
The pilots called in space-strikes from the dreadnought’s massive spell cannons. With a glance, a pilot could instantly select and paint a target. The optical targeting system in the pilots’ flight helmets allowed for precision accuracy.
Moments later, several massive energy projectiles slammed down on the anti-aircraft weapons. The bolts plummeted through the atmosphere, annihilating their targets. But each shot took a considerable amount of power. Soon, the barrage of fire from the dreadnought petered out. The crisscross of energy bolts in the sky ceased.
The two dropships that remained made their approach to the temple. Small arms fire vaulted into the sky as the dropships circled the ancient structure. Turrets swiveled into position, and the dropships’ cannons targeted the riflemen on the ground. The heavy cannons pulverized the ancient structure, showering chips of stone and billowing clouds of debris. There was no spell shield protecting the structure—only the warrior monks. Care had to be taken not to damage the temple to the point where the Medallion of Saan could be compromised.
"I'll put you boys down behind that ridge-line," the pilot shouted over the roar of the engines. "That will give you some cover. There's no telling what these maggots have in store for you guys."
"How did they know we were coming?" a Soturi asked.
No one seemed to have the answer to that.
The dropships touched down. The back ramps lowered, and the platoons of Soturi spilled onto the ground. The moment the last boot hit the ground, the iron birds lifted into the air and circled the structure from high above, providing close air support.
The Soturi scurried to the ridge and dove onto their bellies, flattening themselves against the ground. As anticipated, a barrage of small arms fire sprayed in their direction. Enchanted projectiles whizzed overhead and impacted against the berm, spewing volcanoes of dirt and debris. Chunks of rock and crud rained down on the Soturi, clattering against their armor
Nolan's heart pounded. Spiked with adrenalin, every nerve was alive. For the moment, he forgot all about his hangover. So did most of the other Soturi.
Something almost magical happens when people shoot at you—you forget about everything else. All of your problems fade into the distance. The volume on life gets turned down. Your focus becomes razor-sharp. The only thing that matters is getting through the next few moments alive. Contact with the enemy always seems to play out in slow motion, though in actuality, most battles last mere minutes.
Despite the surge of adrenalin, Nolan’s armor felt a little heavier today. Every movement was just a little bit slower. Reaction times were sluggish.
"I think we’re a little short-staffed for this job," Nolan muttered over the comm line.
"Nobody asked you," Tanc crackled back.
Xule was circling high above in one of the dropships. He’d swoop down after the victory, no doubt.
The Soturi hunkered down behind the berm, returning small arms fire, attempting to snipe the riflemen at the temple. It was a towering pyramid with thousands of steps that led up to a structure atop a terrace. It was reminiscent of an ancient Mayan temple. There were a myriad of entrances and exits. Inside the temple were multiple chambers and passageways. It had been built by hand by the ancient ones.
The night vision in Nolan's helmet illuminated the area, making the terrain look as if it were broad daylight.
"Nolan, take your squad and advance to the next berm. Draw their fire," Tanc commanded.
“Aye, sir,” Nolan muttered.
"Now!"
There was an outcropping of rocks 20 yards ahead. Nolan sprang to his feet and crested the ridge along with three other squad mates, including Caleb and Darvak. Nolan ran as fast as he could. His chest heaved for breath, his quads pumped. His heart thudded, his pulse pounding in his temples. It seemed to resonate throughout the armor.
Weapons fire streaked in his direction, passing dangerously close, exploding the ground around him, sending plumes of dirt and debris into the air.
Nolan dove for cover behind a clump of boulders.
The rest of the squad followed suit. But Private Milby wasn't so lucky. A blast from an enemy spell rifle slammed into his chest. It tore through his armor plating like paper. It bore a hole in his thoracic cavity and exited through his spine. A red mist of blood hung in the air. Seared chunks of flesh and goo splattered. His body instantly went limp, and the suit of armor clanked to the dirt.
Nolan's face tensed and he clenched his teeth. "Son-of-a-bitch!"
Nolan popped his head over the boulders and surveyed the temple. Several more shots erupted, impacting the other side of the boulder, sending chips of rock and debris pelting against his armor.
He crouched back down for cover. He knew what Tanc was trying to do—draw the enemy's fire until their spell rifles ran dry. It needed to be done. But Nolan sure as hell didn't want to be the one to do it. He knew the odds of reaching the temple were slim. And that was just fine with Tanc.
"Keep moving!" Tanc shouted over the comm line.
Nolan popped his head over the rocks again, looking for the next point of cover. Nolan didn't have a rifleman in his platoon. And Tanc hadn’t bothered to lay down any suppressive fire. They were pretty much on their own.
Nolan pointed to the next outcropping, and commanded his squad to move.
More spell bolts erupted as Nolan made a mad dash for the next point of cover. Projectiles whizzed in front and behind, narrowly missing him. Again, Nolan dove for cover. His heart felt like it was about to punch through his armor. He was soaked with sweat. At least this time the rest of the squad made it across unscathed.
Another squad of Soturi followed after Nolan, drawing a plethora of enemy fire. Nolan and his squad advanced again. Slowly but surely, he forged the path forward.
The sky was growing lighter. The sun would crest over the horizon shortly. Nolan had halved the distance between the original drop zone and the temple. He was pleasantly surprised to have made it this far, but now it was going to get tricky. The next point of cover was at least 50 yards away—a withered old tree with craggy branches and a thick trunk. It was enough to hide behind, but it wouldn't take many spell blasts to disintegrate the weary wood. The weapons fire from the temple would be more accurate at this distance. The longer time exposed would make Nolan more vulnerable. It was only going to get worse from here.
Nolan took a deep breath and sprang to his feet. He sprinted hard, running with all his might. His boots smacked the ground, and his heavy breath blasted against the inside of his helmet. A flurry of energy blasts streaked all around him.
