The Between (Earth Exiles Book 3)

by Mark Harritt

  As they landed, Verjon waved and screamed at the men on the ground, “Get in here! Move your asses!”

  The men didn’t waste time. Three radio operators and five more guards ran to the aircraft. They hit the ramp and quickly moved up into the transport. One of the radio operators stumbled and went down about ten feet from the ramp. Verjon almost ran out to help him up, but he saw trees shaking behind the encampment.

  Verjon turned back to the cockpit and screamed, “Take it up! Take it up!”

  The pilot didn’t need any more encouragement other than the terror in Verjon’s voice. The aircraft jumped straight up. Still, it wasn’t fast enough. Verjon’s eyes grew big as the monster broke from the cover of the tree line. It looked a hell of a lot bigger from ground level. The great beast roared as it saw the aircraft getting away. It quickly shifted its momentum from the few scattering soldiers and concentrated on getting to the transport.

  The other soldiers in the aircraft started screaming as they watched the dragon lope across the ground. Verjon was sweating as he watched the monster get closer and closer to the aircraft. He didn’t think they were going to make it. Then, they cleared the height of the monster. He still didn’t relax though. His hands went into the webbing as he braced for impact. The monster reached the aircraft and he watched in amazement as the damn thing started to stand up!

  He prayed to and cursed the Gods at that moment, knowing that his life was over. The dragon’s mouth opened fully, and it grew larger as the great dagger fanged maw drew close to the back of the aircraft. Verjon couldn’t hear himself over the screaming of the men. Then, suddenly, he realized that he was screaming too.

  As the aircraft rose, the buffeting winds hit it, making the aircraft shudder to the side. One of the guards who had just mounted the aircraft lost his footing and he fell backwards. The others in the aircraft tried to grab him as he slid down the metal of the aircraft floor, but nobody was able to stop him. He slammed into the back of Verjon’s legs. Verjon had a good grip on the webbing of the aircraft, but his feet left the floor, his feet dangling over the monster’s open mouth. He watched as the soldier slid down the ramp, confusion and horror playing across the soldier’s face as he screamed, falling straight into the monster’s maw.

  The aircraft started pulling away, and the mouth closed over the soldier, his screaming stopped by the suddenness of his death. The monsters head dropped away as the aircraft gained altitude and the monster sat back down on all four legs. The aircraft stabilized, and Verjon found his feet firmly on the floor once more. He moved back into the aircraft, to a seat next to the ramp. One of the soldiers moved over to make way for him. He sat down, and realized that his heart was hammering in his chest, his breathing so rapid that he was in danger of hyperventilating. He stopped, closed his eyes, and concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths.

  Once his his heart rate dropped and his breathing was normal again, he looked around the aircraft. He took count of the men that he had left. Thirteen men. That was all that were left to him, thirteen men out of three hundred and thirty. Caon Verjon was staring at disaster. His life was forfeit. He wouldn’t make it back to Turinzon to mate or hunt. He was a dead man. He could curse the Gods, curse the Lord Caon for sending him out here woefully unprepared, curse the Dostori Rev for her biological monstrosities, but it wouldn’t matter one iota. The blame would be laid squarely at his feet. He was suddenly no longer angry with Sub-Caon Mikton and Carthar Jarni Mig. Hell, he almost admired them. Their body count had been much lower than his. He’d lost three hundred and seventeen men. They’d only lost about forty between them.

  He stood up on wobbly legs, grabbing the webbing above his head, and stared at the forest. His men studied him. They probably that he was unsteady on his feet due to his near death. That wasn’t it, though. Instead, he thought about what the Dostori Rev would do to him in the pit. He knew that the Lord Caon would hand him over to the Dostori Rev to placate her anger.

  He looked out over the landing zone. Since Verjon hadn’t given him a location to go to, the pilot was circling. He would continue circling until Verjon gave him one. Verjon looked down at the landing zone. There were no soldiers that were alive left in the area. The monster continued to rage across the landing zone, destroying equipment. Verjon didn’t see the radio operator that had fallen at the back of the aircraft, but that didn’t mean anything. He could be alive or dead. Anything could have happened in the chaos of the moment. There was no going back though. The great beast watched the aircraft as it circled. They wouldn’t be going down there anytime soon.

  Verjon looked around. The sun glinting off of the river made it into a sparkling ribbon that pointed the way down the valley. Verjon was clueless about what to do next. He had no future, and no way to avoid his fate. If he flew back to the base now, he would be put on the first aircraft available to go back and explain this debacle. Once he was back in Chongi, the Dostori Rev’s port city, he would be subjected to her tender mercies. There was no way out of this trap for him.

  He saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something interrupted the glistening pattern of the river’s water. Something was moving down there. He didn’t know what it was, but it might be another one of his men. He might be able to actually save one more man.

  He caught the eye of the soldier seated on the end and pointed down the river. The man stood up from his seat, and walked over to Verjon. Verjon pointed at the river again and yelled, “Keep your eyes on the river. I saw something move down there.”

  The soldier nodded, and Verjon walked to the pilot. He leaned in close, putting his hand on the pilot’s shoulder, “There’s something on the river. It may be one of my men. I want you to fly along the river until I tell you to stop.”

  The pilot stiffened when he felt Verjon’s hand on his shoulder. He nodded as he heard Verjon’s instructions. He banked the aircraft toward the river. Verjon walked back to the rear of the aircraft. This was beginning to piss him off. Next time he came out on a mission, it was going to be in a military aircraft, not some damned cargo transport. If the aircraft had comms on the ramp like a military transport, he wouldn’t have to walk back and forth to talk to the pilot.

  He stopped beside the soldier that he’d put on the ramp, “Do you see anything?”

  The soldier nodded, “There’s something down there. I’m not sure what it is though.”

  Verjon looked back at the clearing. The monster wasn’t following the aircraft. Verjon assumed it was looking for more of his men to hunt and kill. He watched as it moved into the tree line on the north side of the clearing and disappeared.

  They flew down the river. Verjon couldn’t see forward of the aircraft, so they kept their eyes on the river as it stretched out behind them. They passed over a figure struggling to cross. Verjon’s eyes narrowed as he saw that it wasn’t one of his men.

  He turned and yelled at the pilot, “Stop! I’ve found him. Circle here!”

  The figure in the water noticed the aircraft and struggled to hurry across. Verjon pointed at the figure, and yelled at the soldier on the ramp, “Shoot him!”

  The soldier nodded, raised his rifle, and started shooting. Verjon turned back to the soldiers sitting in the cargo area of the aircraft. He pointed at two more soldiers, “You two, come here!”

  They sprang to their feet, and hurried to Verjon. He pointed at the figure crossing the river. The man was almost to the far side, “Shoot him!”

  The other two soldiers took up positions on the ramp, and started shooting. The man in the water was scrambling madly to make it up the bank. Verjon cursed. If the unknown man made it up the bank, he might get away.

  Verjon raised his rifle and started shooting. The transport had to shift to maintain a circle over the location, making it difficult to keep the rate of gunfire up. They had to shift from side to side trying to keep him in sight. The man made it up the bank and dodged into a copse of trees. The gunfire tore up the bark of the trees, making things difficult for the
man. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and broke from cover, dodging back and forth. He ran from tree to tree, trying to seek some cover as he ran from the gunfire. Verjon didn’t know who the hell this guy was, but he swore that he was going to bring the hide off of his back to the Lord Caon.

  The dodging and minimal cover helped for a few brief moments, but eventually his luck ran out. Verjon watched him stagger as a bullet hit home. He continued to run, but his speed had slowed, making him a better target. Bullets tore up the ground around him, and he fell forward on his face, not moving as he lay in the high grass.

  Verjon was elated. They’d finally shot one of the enemy. Hell, even if it wasn’t the enemy, Verjon was damn sure going to tell the story like he was one. He stopped shooting and ran back to the pilot, “Land here! South side of the river! We got him!”

  The pilot nodded, and turned the aircraft, looking for a location to land. The pilot turned to a small clearing not far from the body. He maneuvered the aircraft and settled down slowly into the clearing. When the aircraft settled down, Verjon told the pilot, “Keep the engines running. We’re going to grab the body, then we’re flying back up to the original insertion point that we used to land near the village.”

  Verjon turned and yelled back at the soldiers on the ramp, “Is he still there? Has he moved?”

  One of the soldiers, one rank higher than the others, turned and answered, “No Caon Verjon. He hasn’t gotten up. I think he’s still lying there, close to the river.”

  Verjon grunted at the good news and motioned for the rest of the soldiers to follow him. They stood up, rifles at the ready, and started moving to the back of the aircraft. Verjon grunted as he walked past the three soldiers on the ramp, and waved for them to follow. They fell in behind him and followed him down the ramp. They spread out, trailing Verjon to the corpse. The location was easy to find. The area was covered with sparse vegetation though the grass was high, copses of trees dotting the landscape from the edge of the river to the edge of the forest with about four hundred meters of open space in between.

  Verjon barked an order, and his six original guards joined him as a fire team. The other seven soldiers fell into a loose team walking behind them. They slowly walked forward, intensely aware that the other thregari soldiers hadn’t been sighted. With luck, they’d been the first victims of the gigantic dragon.

  Slowly they closed in on the dead man. They grew closer to his position. Four hundred feet, three hundred feet, two hundred feet. Verjon walked slower now, on the alert for a possible ambush. They walked to the position where they’d last seen the corpse.

  They were spread out, and the body should be easy to see. The grass wasn’t too high, only up to the knee giving little concealment. They walked past where Verjon thought the body should be. A growl started in his chest. They kept walking a few minutes more, and then one of the soldiers yelled.

  “Caon Verjon! There’s a blood trail over here!”

  The growl rumbling in his chest grew louder. Evidently the man wasn’t dead yet. Verjon would have to see what he could do about that. Maybe he could increase the man’s pain to stretch out Verjon’s enjoyment of his demise.

  “You,” Verjon pointed at the man that found the blood trail, “You lead. We’ll follow. Track the blood trail.”

  “Sir!” the soldier acknowledged, stepping out in front of the patrol. The soldier weaved back and forth, trying to see where the next drops of blood would lead them. Verjon moved behind the soldier, wanting to see the blood trail for himself. He found the trail, right where the soldier had indicated. It was only a few splatters of blood. It looked like they hadn’t hit him very hard, not if he was still able to move. It looked like the man had only pretended to be severely wounded. Still, they could change that once they found him. With the blood trail, it wouldn’t be hard to find the wounded man.

  Verjon was jarred out of this thoughts by the soldier that was tracking.

  “Sir, I see something ahead!” The soldier pointed down into the grass.

  Verjon walked up to where the soldier was standing. He looked up ahead at where the soldier was pointing. The grass wasn’t as high here as it had been closer to the river, and he could see what the soldier was pointing at. There was a body, wearing leather clothes. It was dressed like one of the primitive thregari that they’d taken in the slave raids. So maybe it wasn’t one of the enemy soldiers they’d been tracking.

  Verjon would have to doctor the body to make it look like it wasn’t from this world. A primitive thregari body wouldn’t get him past the loss of 317 men. A body from a technologically advanced invading army would help his narrative a lot better if he could properly outfit it. A good story wouldn’t hurt either. He may have to ensure that his losses were total, to include the pilot, just to make sure that his voice was the only one that reported back. That too could help mitigate his position.

  Verjon pushed the soldier forward, the booby trap in the grave still foremost in his mind. He didn’t need a repeat of that debacle. Thank the gods above and the hells below that he had to piss, otherwise he would have killed by the explosion.

  “Go, check the body out.”

  He motioned for the rest of the soldiers to move behind the tracker. They walked forward, and he trailed behind them, stopping fifty feet behind them. The soldiers moved past the body, and set up a ring for security, facing out as the tracker knelt down next to the body. The soldier put his hand down on the shoulder of the man, and slowly turned him over. The soldier blinked in surprise as the muzzle of a pistol was shoved into his belly. Verjon jumped when the first shot rang out.

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  The team listened for hours as the sound of automatic gunfire echoed off of the mountains. They could hear the bellows of a dragon and the screams of the men that it was hunting.

  Mike looked over at Jendi. He could see lines of worry etched into Jendi’s face. Tom glanced back and saw Mike studying Jendi. He looked at Jendi, and saw the expression on his face. He was closer to Jendi than Mike was, so he leaned over and put his hand on Jendi’s shoulder, “It will be okay, I promise you. Matki is scary sneaky in the woods. Neither the soldiers or the dragon will get your father.”

  Mike watched as some of the tension left Jendi’s face. Of course, Jendi couldn’t understand all of what Tom was saying, but Tom’s words helped to ease some of his apprehension. Tom settled back, watching his section of their perimeter.

  Mike just hoped that this latest setback for the grey men would give them a good incentive to leave his team and Matki’s people alone. Truth to be told, he never thought that Matki’s plan would work. But, true to form, Matki knew the dragons better than anyone alive. He knew how they thought, what their base instincts were. Trust the man to turn one of them into a living weapon.

  Now, they just had to wait until Matki showed up so that they could move further back into the underbrush. Then they could travel on the south side of the river back up to Matki’s tribe. Once they got there, Mike and the team would leave Matki and they’d try to make their way back to the compound.

  They didn’t know there was a problem until they saw the aircraft flying south along the river. They’d seen it liftoff earlier, headed west, down the valley, to where the gunfire and the screams were. Then they’d seen it fly back up the valley. Now it was flying along the river.

  Mike was suddenly very worried for his friend. Matki had to cross the river to get to them. His worries were confirmed when gunfire erupted from the back of the aircraft and started streaming down to the river.

  Everett looked over at him, “Mike?”

  Mike nodded, “Yeah, I know. But we don’t know what they’re shooting at.” Mike didn’t want to say Matki’s name out loud. He didn’t want Jendi to know that they were worried about his father.

  “Who the hell else could it be?” Mickey asked. “They ain’t shooting at us or the dragon. I don’t think they’d be shooting at their own people, but with
these grey men, who the hell knows.”

  “You want to go get him?” Everett asked.

  Mike looked over at Jendi, and shook his head, “No, we can’t put the rest of the team in danger for one man, who may, or may not be there. Plus, we have an obligation to get his son back to the tribe. If we go charging out there, we put Jendi at risk.”

  Jendi was watching the gunfire down at the river. He turned his head to look at Mike when he heard his name. Mike smiled at him, and Jendi smiled back. Mike felt like a heel, not knowing if Matki was being targeted or not.

  “Tom, can you put a shot into the aircraft?”

  Tom nodded, “Probably.”

  Suddenly, a lone figure staggered up the river bank and started running across the field to a copse of trees. It was Matki, dressed in the familiar leather outfit that he wore when he was scouting dragons. He slid into the copse of trees and tried to get down behind the cover that the tree trunks offered. Even from here, Mike could see that the cover wasn’t enough for Matki to avoid the small arms fire.

  A cry rose from Jendi’s throat as he realized they were shooting at his father. Jendi started to rise and rush out to meet his dad. Geonti realized what was happening, and quickly tackled him to keep him from running out into the open field. Geonti held him down and started talking to him in a low voice. Caul came over to help when he heard Jendi’s sobs.

  “Tom! Take out that damn aircraft!” Mike yelled.

  Tom lifted his rifle and took aim. Matki chose that moment to bolt from cover, and the aircraft shifted precisely before Tom pulled the trigger. He missed the shot and started cursing. The rest of the team raised their rifles, knowing that the range was extreme, and that they would probably miss. Time seemed to slow down.

  Mike watched Matki use the training that the team had instilled in him, and he felt pride as he watched Matki run and shift, trying to run from tree to tree, using the cover that they offered. Mike knew it wasn’t enough, though. He saw Matki get hit, slow down, and then the ground around him erupted with bullets hitting the dirt. Matki went down.