by Brian Dorsey
Desro had done little to help his status by taking a barmaid for a bride. Stone remembered feeling sorry for Lana, his wife, at the last regimental banquet. The enlisted wives would not speak to her because she had married an officer and the majority of officers’ wives were elitist social climbers always trying to prove their superiority. She had held up well, though, and eventually became good friends with Captain Martin—their mutual hatred for snotty, over-privileged bitches being a common bond.
Confident, but cautious of the mission, Stone took up a position beside Desro as his men fanned into the wilderness.
***
A week had passed since the battalion had dispersed to conduct reconnaissance operations, and Stone was pleased. No contact reports had been received from the other companies and things were going well in Delta. The company had been in the moss fields for a day and a half, and there had been no major problems. Aside from the headaches caused by the toxic red moss and the bites from blood beetles, things were almost going too well. The company was deployed in its normal formation. Second platoon, under Lieutenant Alister Lowstreet, was assigned to the scout patrol operating a thousand meters ahead of the main body.
“Any reports from the other companies?” Stone asked Delta Company’s communications officer.
“Nothing other than required checks, Sir,” the young lieutenant replied.
As he moved along in the formation, Stone strained his eyes to focus. Orchid petals drifted slowly to the ground, partially suspended in air by the constant gentle breeze blowing over the red moss fields. As the petals floated toward the red moss below, the scene reminded Stone of the mid-winter snowfall in the Northern Hills of Alpha Humana. He had warned his men, as he always did, about becoming complacent in the visually stunning environment, but he often found himself being lulled by its deceitful beauty.
‘Contact two hundred meters ahead,’ came through the comms link into Lieutenant Lowstreet’s earpiece.
“Terillian patrol; squad size, approaching from 025.”
‘Roger. 2nd squad, take position for ambush,’ responded Lowstreet, after activating the command frequency so the Desro and Stone would hear his platoon’s comms.
2nd Squad took up positions quickly and quietly. In a matter of seconds they had blended into the landscape completely.
***
Lying prone near the trunk of an orchid tree, Lowstreet steeled himself as the noxious spores from the red moss burned his nostrils and throat. His position gave a perfect vantage from which to watch the approaching Terillians. After freezing momentarily to allow a viper to slither over his rifle, he slowly shouldered his weapon and brought the scope to his eye. Through the white haze of the orchid blossoms, Lowstreet saw the Terillian patrol gradually materialize. He gently rubbed his index and middle fingers against his thumb and then placed his finger in the trigger guard and listened over the comms circuit.
‘Last man,’ was whispered over the circuit, telling Lowstreet that it was now his call.
Lowstreet selected his target, breathed out his stabilizing breath, and passed the word, “Fire. Fire. Fire.”
With the third order, the field erupted with the sound of gunfire. Out of the corner of his eye, Lowstreet saw a tiger break across the field for cover in a dense copse of orchid trees. He had apparently been lying in wait and had been startled by the Elite Guard depriving him of a meal.
Quickly returning his attention to the kill zone, Lowstreet was pleased with his squad’s work. It was over in an instant. The patrol had disintegrated in the precision attack before the echoes of the first gunshot died away, replaced only by the screeching of the orchid monkeys.
Lowstreet slowly rose from his position and finally let out the deep cough against the burning moss spores that he had been holding back. “Delta command, 2nd squad,” reported Lowstreet, “All clear, twelve engaged, twelve neutralized. No casualties.”
‘Roger 2, on the way,’ replied Stone.
***
“Regulars,” stated Stone, his jaw clinched slightly and his brow furrowed in thought as he viewed the fallen Terillians.
“These are the first regulars I’ve seen,” confessed Lowstreet. “They seem less savvy than the Scout Rangers we usually encounter.”
“Less savvy, yes, but they make up for that in numbers,” sighed Stone. “Regular troops are like roaches—where there’s one, there are thousands.”
“It looks like there must be a significant Terillian operation underway on Sierra 7,” said Desro.
“Significant and close,” replied Stone. “This patrol is lightly provisioned. They are probably no more than two days from a base of operations.”
Stone was concerned. Lowstreet’s confession about never having seen a Regular was no surprise. Very few soldiers had encountered regular troops. Stone himself had only seen Terillian Infantry three times in his eighteen years of service, each time much closer to the Terillian side of the Dark Zone. Regular troops on patrol meant that at least a full regiment, probably more, was nearby. With that many Terillian troops in the area, a company-sized reconnaissance was much too large and would soon be discovered.
“We must withdraw to the river and consolidate our forces,” said Desro.
“I concur,” answered Stone. “Inform REGCOM and get the company back as quick as you can.”
“Will you not be returning with the company?”
“I want to get more intel on the Terillian force strenght first. I will take Lieutenant Lowstreet and Sergeant Kilgore and recon the enemy position. Inform the Colonel I will contact REGCOM with extraction data in the next ninety-six hours.”
***
Having shed the rest of the company, the trio made good progress. Once they were clear of the Red Moss fields, they made their way up the gently sloping forests toward the Silent Plateau above.
The Plateau was a wasteland of volcanic rock that covered a long-dormant volcano. Stone hoped that from this vantage he could survey the vast plains below as well as gain intelligence on the status of Slocum City, the first in a series of trading villages that dotted the seemingly endless plains leading to the Great Ocean.
Underneath these plains lay substantial amounts of Uranium, Cobalt, and Titanium—all of which were important to both Alpha Humana and Terillian military and industrial pursuits. The series of villages created an economic tie between the ore mines and the black market traders and slavers. Miners would bring their ore into trading villages where they traded for mining equipment, luxuries, and slaves.
As the men neared the Plateau, the soft undergrowth of pine needles and the pleasant smell of evergreens began to mix with scattered lava rocks and an occasional whiff of sulfur.
“We’re getting close,” said Kilgore as he wrinkled his nose against the now pungent smell of sulfur.
“That’s the problem with this planet,” replied Lowstreet. “It stinks.”
It was not long until the cool, refreshing forest scene completed faded away into a landscape of jacked rock, sulfur springs, and acid fumes. Lifeless and deserted, it would be a long, miserable trek across the Silent Plateau.
After a few exhausting hours, the men reached the peak.
“I’m going to see if I can get a look at the plains from those rocks,” said Stone. “We should be able to see the lights from Slocum City from up there,” he said, pointing to a large outcropping.
Lieutenant Lowstreet and Sergeant Kilgore supported Stone as he started his climb up the rock formation. He moved quickly but quietly; too much noise would attract the Terillian patrols Stone was sure were nearby.
The smell of volcanic sulfur filled Stone’s nose and the chalky bitterness of the dust coated his mouth as climbed the formation. ‘I hate this freakin’ planet,’ he murmured to himself.
Near the top, he slowly pivoted his body to look between two large rectangular rocks perched at the peak of the stone formation. As the plains slowly came into sight through his night vision scope, what he saw nearly caused him to lo
se his footing.
Dozens of transports, Alpha attack craft, and heavy hover tanks dotted the landscape. The Terillians had turned the plains into an immense military camp.
Stone had seen enough, and he quickly retreated down the rock to his companions.
“Anything?” asked Sergeant Kilgore as Stone reached the bottom.
“The Terillians are on Sierra 7 and in force. At least a brigade,” replied Stone as he wiped his charcoal-covered hands against his trousers. “They have either violated the treaty by allowing transport carriers through their side of the Gateway or this operation has been underway for some time.”
“Looks like we’re going to have a real war to fight after all these years,” replied Lowstreet, his face showing a mixture of excitement and concern for the unknown future that lay ahead.
“That’s up to the Forum and the Xen Alliance to determine,” said Stone. He was trying to be stoic but he knew the lieutenant was right. “Either way we need to get this information back to REGCOM. Let’s get the hell out of here and make our way back down the opposite slope. From there we can call for extraction.”
Chapter 3
Stone leaned against the base of a large evergreen tree while Lowstreet contacted REGCOM. Feeling the sticky sap of the tree tug against his fatigues, for the first time in the mission he took a second to contemplate his physical condition. Although they had been out of the Red Moss fields for a few days, the blood beetle bites still irritated his skin. The sulfur from the Silent Plateau had immediately taken the place of the Red Moss spores in causing his throat and nose to feel raw. Now the sap of the evergreens had provided the perfect glue to combine the pine needles and volcanic dust into a prickly-sandy mixture that coated his face and hands. ‘Still better than wearing that damn dress uniform,’ Stone thought as he let out a slight chuckle.
“What is it, Sir?” asked Lowstreet.
“Nothing, Lieutenant,” replied Stone. “But we do have a great job, don’t we?”
“Yes, Sir,” replied Lowstreet. “For the Republic,” he declared.
Stone chuckled again. “What’s our status, Lowstreet?”
“Yes, Sir. REGCOM has been contacted with the intel and extraction is to occur near the base of the volcano at 0800,” reported Lowstreet.
“Roger, Lieutenant,” replied Stone. “All we have to do now is to stay quiet and unnoticed for the night. We’ll set up a two-hour watch rotation and head out at 0600.”
“Sounds good, Sir,” said Kilgore, who had been lounging nearby. “I’ll take the first watch.”
As Kilgore moved off to take up a defensive position, Stone found a small log that was just the right size to pass for a pillow. Finding a good spot to lie down, he leaned his rifle against a nearby tree, removed his sword, and settled in for a quick nap. The log was actually more comfortable than he had anticipated and he quickly drifted off, holding his pistol over his chest.
***
“Wake up, Sir,” whispered Sergeant Kilgore. “We’ve got company.”
“What is it, Sergeant?”
“There is a group of slavers setting up camp about 500 meters down the slope. Looks like they have collected some captives.”
It was known in most of the higher social circles that these immoral and lawless acts were perpetrated daily in the Dark Zone, but for the most part it was overlooked. Although he personally despised the slavers, mercs, and other forms of evil that roamed the Dark Zone, he had always tried to focus on the mission. He also knew the official complacent stance by the Senate was partially due to the economic gains reaped by wealthy Humani from their secret patronage of the black market. But with each mission it was becoming more difficult for him to ignore. Over the last few decades the activity of the slavers had increased and become more violent. Most of the remote settlements in the Dark Zone, even small towns and cities, were under constant fear of raids. On most occasions, however, slavers avoided Xen troops and in turn the Xen paid little attention to them. The Terillians, however, seemed to engage the slavers almost as often as they did Xen troops. Stone always assumed this was an attempt to limit Xen profits from the illicit trade economy.
“Lieutenant Lowstreet has been observing for the last hour and recommends we move clear of them and inform REGCOM of a new extraction site,” said Kilgore as he subconsciously grasped his rapier.
“Take me to him,” whispered Stone as he locked his sword into place.
The two men made their way to Lieutenant Lowstreet without a sound. Positioned behind a large felled tree and some heavy undergrowth, Lowstreet signaled to Stone and Kilgore that there were five slavers and approximately eight captives.
Moving quickly, Stone shifted his glance from the ground to Lowstreet’s position as he and Kilgore quietly made his way to the lieutenant.
“Looks like it’s mostly women, probably for the Plains brothels,” whispered Lowstreet. “There’s a clear path for us to move around them,” he added, pointing to a small slope covered with heavy undergrowth.
“I’m going to take a closer look,” said Stone.
“But, Sir,” whispered Lowstreet, “we need to get to our pickup.”
“I understand, Lieutenant. You and Kilgore maintain your positions here while I move in a little closer,” ordered Stone quietly.
“Yes, Sir,” replied Lowstreet faithfully.
Lowstreet signaled to Kilgore and the two slowly moved into good locations to provide cover fire if required.
Stone quickly and quietly moved into position, kneeling in a growth of heavy laurel and briars a few meters from the slavers’ camp. Ignoring the thorns puncturing his skin, he scanned the area. From his position he saw six women and two children locked in a large hover wagon.
Examining the group more closely, one of them stood out. She had black hair that fell to the middle of her back and although she was wearing the clothes of a subsistence farmer from one of the many settlements surrounding the Red Moss fields, something was not right. She seemed too…healthy. Also, while the others huddled together and were outwardly shaken by their ordeal, she sat alone. She showed no fear or anxiousness. Instead, she exuded a dogged determination that made her conspicuously different from the other captives.
Stone shifted his observations to the slavers.
Through the flashes of light created by the crackling fire, Stone could see two men wearing a mixture of military and civilian clothing. In the orange hue of the fire, he could also see that each slaver had a top-of-the-line assault rifle at their side. Paying more attention to the cheap wine they were drinking than their captives, they laughed loudly as they passed a bottle back and forth.
Stone’s attention was drawn to a noise behind the hovercraft. At first they were indistinguishable, but eventually he recognized the sound of voices. Slightly shifting his position and sucking in a deep breath as a thorn tore at his skin, he focused on the voices.
Three dark shadows silhouetted the dimly lit hovercraft and slowly grew taller as the men came into view. The additional slavers slowly made their way from behind the ground rover that towed the hover wagon. Stone could see one of them walking with an obvious limp.
“I can’t believe you let that farmer wench get the best of you,” the largest of the three said to the limping man.
“Maybe we should sell you to the brothel and have her work with us,” quipped the other, clearly taking joy in his companion’s pain.
“Screw you both,” said the injured slaver. “That cow attacked me while I was trying to gather up the children. I was obviously distracted.”
“So it only takes a few children and a woman to overpower you,” joked the large one. “That’s enough,” complained the slaver. “I shouldn’t have wasted my time with the little brats anyway.” He smiled, licking his lips like he was about to dig into a steak. “This one looks a lot more…sturdy,” he added, slowly reaching his hand into the cage and rubbing the woman’s thigh.
“She’s definitely of better stock than the typical bro
ken-down bitches we see around here,” he said.
Stone’s attention returned to the woman’s face; her determination remained. As the slaver moved his hand over her thigh, the woman took a deep breath as if she was trying to gain control of her emotions. The slaver’s hand moved up her thigh, between her legs.
“Maybe we should—”
The woman quickly grabbed his hand, braced her feet against the bars, and pulled back hard. Stone could hear ligaments popping from his position as she snapped two of the slaver’s fingers backward.
The slaver let out a scream and fell back away from the cage grabbing his hand.
“She got you again!” shouted one of his companions.
The injured man held his hand in front of his face. His middle and index finger were mangled and disfigured from the woman’s attack. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a neural-inhibitor and injected his hand. The painkiller worked quickly; after a few seconds the slaver inhaled deeply and snapped his fingers back into their joints. “That bitch is going to pay,” he said as he grabbed a stun stick and garrote rod from the hover wagon. “Come here, bitch!” yelled the slaver as he made his way back to the cage. “It’s time this beast was tamed.”
The woman tried to scoot to the back of the cage but could not escape the reach of the slaver. He quickly struck her with the stun stick and before she could recover he slid the rope over her neck and tightened it by pulling the excess through the rod.
“Get her out,” he ordered to the other slavers.
“I guess Lor is going to break her in before we sell her,” laughed the largest of the slavers.
The remainder of the captives quickly scrambled to the opposite side of the cage and cowered in fear as the slavers opened the door and yanked the woman onto the forest undergrowth. Letting out a groan as her body slammed onto the ground, the woman attempted to gain her footing but the slaver pinned her head to the ground with the garrote rod.
“Lay her on that rock over there,” shouted one of them.
