The Storm Maker

by Sid K

  After around an hour or so of walking Relkyett informed the rest in whispers that now they were treading on the neighbor’s property. Relkyett picked up pace as they got closer and in one instance tripped near some birds’ feeding ground, sending tens of birds flying into the air.

  “A bit rusty, aren’t we?” Sthykar said turning around.

  “Yeah,” Relkyett laughed. “Momentarily lost my balance. Birds flying off is a tip off to the enemy.”

  “So who is this neighbor, anyhow?” Sthykar asked as they got closer.

  “His name is Sydhar; he is a writer,” Relkyett replied. “His last book sold over a million copies. He told me that sale gave him the money to buy this lot as well as the helicopter.”

  As they were talking they stumbled out into a place that had been significantly cleared of trees with some sawed off tree stumps still standing. A man in his early thirties with a Lockyett Repeating Rifle in his hand approached them and a woman of similar age stood and watched from the door of a large wooden mansion. It was a beautifully created place. A two story wooden house with four big square rooms, two each on both the floors made up the right and left parts of the house. In the middle was a large rectangular room that reached out front just a couple of feet ahead from the rest of the house and a triangular room on top of that with a circular window covered with light red colored glass. Wild grass surrounded the front of the house; the back sloped down to a small creek. On the right side of the house, some distance from the rightmost wall, was a large single story wooden shed that stretched back considerable length.

  “The helicopter will be in there,” Relkyett slowly whispered as the home owner walked to them.

  “Hey, new neighbor, Relkyett right?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Relkyett replied.

  “My wife heard the birds fly off,” he said. “I thought it was some wild animal so I came to hunt it.”

  “Would our neighbors like some tea, coffee or beer?” his wife asked loudly from the home.

  “No thank you, madam,” Relkyett said. “We are in quiet a hurry.”

  “In that case, I am going inside, Sydhar,” she said, and went into the house.

  “These are my hunting friends,” Relkyett said pointing towards his companions. “And this is Sydhar, he is a renowned writer.”

  “Well, I don’t know about the renowned part, but if you came to ask my permission to hunt on my lands you are certainly welcome to it,” Sydhar said, “There is a lot of game here and we will be heading back in a couple of weeks anyhow.”

  “Appreciate, but I came to ask to borrow your helicopter,” Relkyett said.

  “Why? Do you want to find someone who has gotten lost?” Sydhar asked.

  “Something worse than that,” Sthykar said. “I am Colonel Sthykar, by the way, of the Mountain Cavalry.”

  “The Colonel Sthykar?” Sydhar asked in amazement.

  “As far as I know there is only one me.” Sthykar was used to the reaction. He took out his Army ID card and showed it to Sydhar.

  “So it was true that you know him,” Sydhar said to Relkyett. He turned to Sthykar, “I thought he was telling tall tales when he claimed to have fought under your command.”

  “He was one of my capitans,” Sthykar said. “But Mr. Sydhar, listen carefully to what I am going to tell you now. There are some ruthless people out in these woods, south of Relkyett’s property.” Sthykar quickly summarized the situation and the need for the helicopter, and then said as a final assurance, “Now I will be honest, there is a great chance that your helicopter may be damaged or destroyed, however, the army will buy you a new helicopter. I will personally order and requisition it for you.”

  “Is it dangerous here?” Sydhar asked.

  “Your property is far away, but it could very well be in the middle of the battle zone,” Sthykar replied. “The whole warrior class will be charging in and there will be bedlam in these woods. You have another transport? A car maybe?”

  “I have a car,” Sydhar replied. “We don’t use helicopter for transport; only flew it a few times, more as recreation.”

  “Take your wife and drive out north,” Sthykar said pointing to a small dirt road on the right side of the house. “Don’t stop till you reach Southstar.”

  “You know I would have liked to take part in this fight,” Sydhar said tapping his rifle. “But I have to get my wife to safety.”

  “Definitely do that first,” Sthykar replied as the mention of Sydhar’s wife brought the image of Slyntya in his mind. He had pushed her away from his thoughts; he was trained to concentrate on the task at hand and ignore distractions including his own pain. But now worries about her came flooding to him. He summoned great will to once again push the thoughts of her out of his mind. He was going to carry out the rescue in same cold and calculating manner as if she were an unrelated woman.

  He suddenly realized that words were being exchanged between Relkyett and Sydhar and they were all staring at him. “Sorry, I missed what you just said.”

  “Colonel Sthykar,” Sydhar said, “I don’t care for a new helicopter if you bring mine back in flying condition even with dents and holes. However, I do have one condition for your borrowing it.”

  “Go ahead,” Sthykar said.

  “As your friend told you, I am an author,” Sydhar said. “Now I know you are a quiet, solitary man and you have refused all interviews with the newspapers and the radios. I understand you, I am a recluse myself. Let me write a book on your life. When this is all done, and it is all quiet and peaceful, perhaps months from now or even years. I will wait.”

  “That’s it?” Sthykar laughed. “You have the deal for your book.”

  “You will need to write multiple books to cover all of his adventures, battles, combats and deeds,” Relkyett said.

  “Even better,” Sydhar laughed. “The more books I can write, the better I like it.”

  “Alright, Mr. Sydhar,” Sthykar said. “Let us all be on our way. You get your wife to safety and we will take the helicopter.”

  “It’s in that shed,” Sydhar said. “Keys are on the wall.”

  “Take care,” Relkyett said

  Sydhar ran to the house to inform his wife of the matter. The others rushed to the shed and Sthykar and Relkyett opened the door. Pelyett got in the pilot’s seat up front. The helicopter was a five seater with two independent seats in the front and three adjoined in the back. As Pelyett drove the helicopter out of the shed, Sthykar pointed out a toolbox on a shelf near the wall.

  “Tulkar, grab that box; it will have tools for repair,” he said.

  Tulkar ran inside and grabbed the toolbox.

  “You get in the front with Pelyett,” Sthykar said to Relkyett. “You know the way. Tulkar and I will be in the back.”

  Relkyett climbed in the front side seat. Pelyett started up the rotors and checked on the instruments. Sthykar loaded up his bag, his radio, the explosives box and the rope and then got in behind the pilot. Tulkar loaded up the toolbox and got in from the other side.

  As they closed the doors they saw Sydhar and his wife get in the car and drive away. Sydhar waved at them from his window and then hit the gas.

  “Take her up,” Sthykar said, setting up his radio. “It’s time for me to call Colonel Jontvyk. Let’s see where they have reached.”

  Pelyett pulled the stick and took the helicopter up in the air. Relkyett pointed his finger while fumbling over a map and Pelyett pushed the stick forward and they were off to a flying start.

  * * *

  Capitan Haryett examined his map as the warriors around him took a final bite of the food or final drink of a coffee before they marched out. The townspeople were generously offering more to the soldiers, but most did not want to get full just before the battle. Haryett was a stout man with thick mustaches in his late thirties, commanded the sixth division of the region’s reserve army, and today was leading the sixth and seventh divisions as well, and commanding those captains.

  “I d
on’t like it,” Haryett said pointing to the road on the map. “Three lanes in each direction with a divider in the middle. Our men will have to cross six open lanes of concrete where they will be exposed.”

  “Why don’t we just get in the trucks and drive up to this compound?” another capitan said. “It would be faster that way.”

  “Apparently a hundred SPASI guards got ambushed on the road there. They think we would face similar fate, as if three thousand warriors can be just ambushed by a few yahoos,” Haryett scoffed, then moved his finger on the map to the elevation just beyond the road. “Perfect spot for the enemy to hole up in these mountains and pick us off in the open when we are crossing the road.”

  “Why don’t we go up north here?” the third capitan said putting his finger farther up north on the map. “That is flat topography, no hills overlooking the road.”

  “Orders. Colonel Weltar wants us to reach there as fast as possible.” Capitan Haryett folded up the map. “Alright, let’s go. Fast march through the woods, but we will stop a quarter mile from the road and reexamine our situation. Capitans, take your divisions.”

  All the soldiers, dressed in red and black uniform and carrying their ATRs, picked up their backpacks, and with some shouting and hooting from the townspeople started moving westward on foot.

  * * *

  Corporal Montex had arrived to take command of the Ranx Rangers who had positioned themselves on a ridge north of Coldwoods. They were atop of the ridge in one single file stretching from one end to another, dressed in all black with their Ranx rifles pointed down the slope. This was the topmost hill and Montex was handed a binoculars by a ranger. Montex looked out north. Farther than four small hills ahead of him he saw small characters moving down the slope of a smaller hill. There were so many of them that Montex rubbed his eyes and looked again. He had known that they would be heavily outnumbered, but seeing it with his own eyes made him fearful. But he had to appear confident for his men to hold their morale. He handed the binoculars back to the soldier who looked through them.

  “Thousands,” he said. “We can’t stop them.”

  “Three thousand,” Montex replied. “And we only have to delay them till Boss Hantex fires up the storm machine.” If it works, he thought.

  “They can flank us from either side,” the soldier said. “They don’t have to charge up this ridge.”

  “That’s even better for us,” Montex said. “Like I said we only have to delay them. If they try to go around the ridge, it will take them much longer. This is the fastest way to the compound. I believe they will charge up the hill.”

  “Unfortunately, tall trees on the slope give them cover while coming up.”

  “No doubt,” Montex replied. “Now let’s get ready. They will be upon us in less than an hour.”

  Corporal Montex then sat down on the ridge, behind a couple of high rocks, clutching his Ranx rifle and neatly stacking his magazines to his side. He pushed his rifle barrel out through a small crevice and aimed it down the hill and waited.

  * * *

  “Be careful now,” Capitan Jolvyt of the tenth division said to a soldier who slipped and only a friend’s quick reaction saved him from tumbling down fifty feet on a rocky hill.

  “This might be a good time to stop for coffee,” the capitan of the ninth division said, “final break before the battle.”

  “Yeah,” Jolvyt said, “give the orders. Ten minute stop and then prepare for war.”

  Jolvyt was a big man in his late forties, and most likely the next in line to be the colonel of this district’s warrior class after Weltar retired. So far they had the advantage of higher ground and thus were moving quickly without worrying about facing resistance. The enemy was said to be elite Ranx Rangers, they wouldn’t make the mistake of attacking up the hill against a numerically larger enemy. They had reached the last big hill and Jolvyt looked at the land. It was relatively flat and dense forest from here on out. They could expect a fight any time after they descended and made their way forward.

  “Capitan, your coffee.” A soldier handed him a large tin cup with steaming black coffee.

  “Appreciate,” Jolvyt said and took a couple of sips as capitans of eighth and ninth division walked up to him holding their own tin cups.

  “Capitans,” Jolvyt said. “Look about a mile and a half east; looks like a small creek there.”

  “There is one, I remember from the map” the capitan of the eighth division said, “More importantly I have fished there a couple of times.”

  “How wide is it and what is the topography around there?” Jolvyt asked. “That appears to be the most likely place where they will try to hold us off.”

  “Oh, I agree,” he replied. “Indeed I was about to mention it to you as soon as we started our march down the slope. The creek isn’t deep, my eleven year old son stood in the middle with water coming up no more than to his waist. It is about seventeen to twenty-two feet wide with dense trees and vegetation on both sides. If they have decided to fight, they will probably be on the other side.”

  “And we have orders to go straight ahead, no flanking, no maneuvering,” Jolvyt said taking the last gulps of his coffee. “They want us to reach there fast. Will cost us a higher dead count.”

  They stood there for a couple of minutes after finishing their coffee taking in the cool, light breeze and staring out in the direction of Coldwoods; soon thereafter Capitan Jolvyt ordered them all to march out.

  * * *

  “I know a better place for us to land,” Coldwoods police chief said to the pilot, “that will get me to the Capital faster.”

  “My orders are to drop you off at the Southstar airport,” the pilot replied. The police chief was being escorted in a helicopter by three Ranx Rangers along with the photos, the tape and the signed documents the boss had given them. One of them was piloting the chopper, the other two sat in the back with their Ranx rifles and holding the objects they were to give to the chief after landing.

  “Your boss wants me to get to the King Starryvk City as fast as possible,” the police chief said. “At the Southstar airport I will have to wait to catch a plane, which may be scheduled for hours later and then it will take more than three hours to reach the Capital.”

  “What are you suggesting?” the Pilot asked.

  “There is an Air Army base just outside of Southstar. Land there. They can put me on a fighter plane and I will leave right away and the capital in about an hour.”

  “They will let us land there?” the pilot asked, surprised.

  “You let me talk to them on the radio, I will explain.”

  “I will do that,” the pilot said shaking his head. “But the fighter planes better not shoot us down on the way back, or the Boss will kill some of his hostages.”

  “It doesn’t make a difference,” the police chief said. “The fighter planes can catch up to you in minutes even if you leave from Southstar. But I will tell them to let you go back.”

  The pilot looked back at his two mates and they nodded an affirmative.

  “Very well,” the pilot said. “Show me this Air Army base on the map.” He took a map from a side compartment and opened it up on the dashboard in front of the chief.

  The pilot changed direction and flew towards the Air Army base. As soon as they hit the army perimeter their radio cackled.

  “Hey, who are you fellas?” the Air Army air traffic controller asked. “I don’t see you on my list. And what are you flying? From your speed it appears to be a helicopter.”

  The pilot gave the radio mic to the police chief.

  “I am Coldwoods Police Chief in a helicopter,” he said. “This is an emergency. Please put your base commander on line right away.”

  “Alright, but we are going to trail you,” traffic controller replied. “And stay away from the runways till you have permission.”

  The radio went silent, but within a couple of minutes they heard two thunderous booms of fighter planes. All four of them looked o
ut their windows and saw fighter planes on each side, flying slightly higher.

  The police chief felt relief. Some fighter planes were always on the alert, but for them to reach the perimeter so fast meant that the army was most likely aware of what was going on in Coldwoods and was on standby.

  “This is base commander and Air Commodore Altar for Coldwoods Police Chief,” a voice came on the radio.

  “Commodore,” he replied, “this is the chief. Are you aware of what is going on near Coldwoods?”

  “The House of War told us,” Altar said. “We have a hundred fighter planes already in the air, circling this base, waiting for further orders.”

  “Commodore,” the chief said, “I was taken hostage and I am carrying a message from their boss. Please give us permission to land so I can get this message to the House of War promptly.”

  “You got it,” the commodore said.

  “Another matter,” the chief said. “The crew belongs to the boss. Please give them safe passage on their way back. They have our hostages.”

  “Sure,” Altar replied.

  The Coldwoods police chief looked at the pilot who smiled. Then the chief decided to take a gamble and added in formal Starfirian, a more complex and precise version of conversational Starfirian that the foreigners generally did not know. “Readvyk Stormyst Copyta.” Or ‘Be ready to storm the helicopter’.

  The air commodore clicked off the radio on the other end.

  “What did you say?” the pilot asked, slightly suspicious.

  “Formal army salute,” the chief lied. “That’s the protocol to address a commodore.”

  The pilot and the other Ranx Rangers had learned to speak and understand Starfirian at a simple level, but this higher language required formal education. They believed his last statement.