by Brian Dorsey
Using his uninjured arm, he attempted to rise again to look for them. Almost immediately, he felt a crushing blow to his ribs. He rolled over, grasping for his knife.
As he looked up he saw a familiar pair of burning green eyes, then a rifle butt crashed into his forehead and darkness consumed him.
Chapter 9
The nightmares were continuous and always ended the same way. As Stone rushed toward Jackson and Martin, he could see the Terillian thrust his sword into Jackson’s back as he held Martin. He tried to raise his weapon in time, but no matter how many times the scene replayed in his head, he was always too slow. Then there were those green eyes again.
As the current nightmare passed, Stone struggled to open his eyes against the brightness of the light overhead. His whole body ached as he started to move.
Coming to his senses he realized he was lying in a bed. He tried to raise himself but the wrenching pain pulsating through his arm and shoulder stopped him and reminded him the dreams had been all too real.
“You are finally awake,” came a woman’s voice from nearby.
“Astra,” he replied, thinking for a moment he had been rescued from Juliet 3.
“I’m afraid not, Colonel,” responded the voice. “You have been in and out of consciousness for the two days while the genetic patches were repairing your injuries but it seems as though you’re well on your way to recovery.”
As his eyes adjusted to the room, he realized his bed was in the center of what appeared to be a prison cell. Looking toward the voice, he saw her. “You!” exclaimed Stone as he recognized the Terillian standing outside the clear cell door.
It was the woman from Sierra 7.
“It looks like you are now my prisoner,” she replied. “Captain Mori Skye at your service.”
“How many…what is the status of my regiment?” asked Stone as he worked out the cobwebs.
“Your regiment is destroyed, Colonel. We took five prisoners including yourself. The rest were killed in the final assault.”
Stone felt sick. He knew that few would survive but he had hoped more than four were left. Cataline and those fools at High Command had led his men to slaughter. “Where are they?”
“The other survivors are still on Juliet 3, being held for interrogation and transport to prisoner of war facilities.”
“Did any of my officers…”
“No. The other four were enlisted. I do want you to know, Colonel, that your regiment’s performance was honorable. I should not tell you this, but as your regiment inflicted over three thousand casualties in your defense of the Lunari fields. General Fallingrock has ordered that all of your dead be placed on a morgue barge and transported to Xen territory so that the appropriate honors and burial rites may be administered.”
“There’ll be no burial rites,” shot back an angry Stone. “Once we’re dead we pass into nothingness, as does our flesh. All that remains is legacy. Have the general send a report of our deeds and do whatever he wishes with the bodies.”
Mori cocked her head to one side. “I do not understand you Hanmani. We are so similar but you are so aggressive by nature…and there is your unwillingness to acknowledge that there is more to us than flesh and bones.”
Stone struggled against the pain from his injuries, the haziness of the neuro-meds, and the anger over the death of his men. And she was getting under his skin. “Captain, spiritual beliefs are for people who are afraid to face their mortality and the struggles of life,” said Stone. “We purged our society of the evils of religion after it nearly destroyed our civilization. When we have conquered your people, we will wash away your barbaric notions of spirituality as well.”
“Oh yes,” replied Mori. “I forget that you Hanmani have forgotten your ancestors and taken on the atheistic dogma of your Xen masters. It’s a shame.”
“You mean our allies,” retorted Stone. He could feel his rage growing. “And as for our aggression, your people have tried to cover up your warmongering with propaganda about our civilization for centuries. I have grown numb to your lies.”
“Lies!” she shouted. “You are a prisoner of the Terillian Confederation. You no longer have to spin your web of deceit. It sometimes amazes me that we come from common ancestors.”
“Never!” shouted Stone. “I have heard that same Ter propaganda before. Your kind used similar lies as one of the pretenses for the First Terillian War and you are doing it again!”
He rose from his bed, groaning against the pain pulsing down his leg.
Mori slammed her fist against the table next to Stone’s bed. “It’s you that are the liars!” She paused, regaining her composure. “That or you are simply fools.”
Stone lunged toward his captor but fell back onto his bed in agony, his shoulder and leg sending bolts of pain throughout his body.
“Your wounds are healing but you are a long way from being fully recovered, Colonel. Perhaps you should lie back down.”
“You should have killed me on the battlefield,” snapped Stone. Death was a far more attractive option than living out the life of a prisoner or even worse as an adopted family pet, which was rumored to be the case with some of the Terillian groups.
“Sorry, Colonel,” Mori replied. “A captured Colonel is much better than a dead one. Besides, I guess I owed you an unwelcome rescue from Sierra 7.”
“I thought it was you.”
“Yes, Colonel. I am a little intrigued about how you went from a major in the Elite Guard to a Colonel of the Line but I’m sure that will come out during your interrogation. I think we have chatted enough today. You should rest.” Mori turned away from Stone. “Sleep well, Colonel,” she added as she walked out of the cell.
Stone looked up toward the overhead and exhaled hard, fighting the searing pain pulsing through is body. Luckily, once he allowed himself to calm down, the meds quickly took effect and he soon drifted off to sleep again. As his eyes closed, he was running toward Jackson and Martin. Maybe this time he would be quick enough…
***
The sting of cold rain peppering her face brought Martin out of her semi-conscious stupor. Slowly regaining her senses, she noticed the tingling numbness of her extremities and burning of her face, which felt raw against the pelting rain. The darkness told her she had been unconscious for at least a day. Martin listened for signs that someone was nearby but all she could hear was the spatter and low rushing flow of the downpour as the drizzle gradually increased in volume and intensity.
Then the pain hit her.
Martin sucked in a deep, loud breath of agony as a wave of pain centered in her stomach rippled throughout her body. Attempting to sit up, the moan was replaced with a loud cry as an intense, sharp pain in her shoulder nearly caused her to lose consciousness again. Breathing heavily through the pain, she closed her eyes tightly then let out another long breath and turned her head toward her right shoulder.
Martin could see the hole in her uniform where the Terillian round had entered her body near where her arm met her shoulder. The smooth circular hole, soaked with blood, gave little indication to the actual damage underneath. “Shit,” she cursed as she began to comprehend where she was and what had happened.
Another wave of pain pulsated through her body and she let out a low, guttural moan as she closed her eyes again, unable to stop her muscles from spasming against the pain. Groaning against the throbbing in her right shoulder, Martin pushed her head and left shoulder off the ground to look at her stomach. She could feel the resistance of her left arm to the suction of the mud, which was slowly consuming her body as the rain continued to intensify.
She looked down the length of her body.
Steam from her open wound drifted upward from her abdomen and the blood that had pooled around her waist mixed with the muddy water.
The air left her lungs when she saw him.
At her feet lay what was left of Captain Hugh Jackson. Jackson’s body had absorbed most of the blast from the explosion that had blown them
apart. Twisted, mangled, and distorted, Jackson’s wrecked body had shielded Martin from the full force of the blast. “No!” she groaned.
Jackson’s eyes were frozen in death, staring in Martin’s direction. His glare was empty and vacant; he was gone.
Unable to endure the pain of seeing Jackson’s body or the wound to her shoulder any longer, she let her left arm go limp and her head fell back to the ground. She could feel the splash of the water and the cold mud ooze around the back of her head. The depth of the water had increased so that the muddy fluid began to fill her ear canal.
Martin looked up at the night sky. She could feel the tears of anguish and loss run down her face contrast with the burning sensation caused by the near-freezing rain. Slowly closing her eyes, she contemplated her impending death. As Martin slowly faded into oblivion, thoughts of her father came to her.
In her vision, Martin was still a child and her father in his prime, wearing the uniform of the Praetorian Guard—hand-selected bodyguards of the ProConsul.
“But, Father,” the young Martin had asked, “why do you have to be gone tonight?”
“It’s my duty, Emily,” replied her father. “I have to stand watch at the Eternal Flame tonight, and if I don’t go someone else will have to.”
“Well, let someone else do it!” pouted the young Martin, wanting her father to stay with her and her mother.
Martin’s father looked sternly at her, but after a quick pause and a sigh of understanding he leaned down and put his hand to her cheek. She could feel his calloused, powerful hands against her face, but his touch was gentle and calming.
“Emily,” he said softly, “you’re a Martin. And Martins are soldiers. Our society has to be able to count on us. Even if it’s hard, even if it seems impossible, we do whatever we have to for our people. We can’t give up on our duties, no matter how hard it is or how much it hurts.” Martin’s father rose and repositioned his belt to align perfectly with the lines of his tunic. “Can I count on my little soldier?” he asked.
“Yes, father,” replied the adult Martin out loud as she began to summon the strength to move. “You can count on me.”
Martin clinched her teeth and sucked in a deep breath. With all of her strength, she quickly rolled up onto her knees. Martin’s head slumped toward the ground and she let out a piercing scream which echoed across the abandoned battlefield as the pain from her stomach and shoulder enveloped her. Clenching her left fist, she struggled against the almost unbearable pain to raise her head.
There was carnage all around her. Wrecked equipment and torn bodies littered the ground as far as her agony-blurred vision would allow her to see.
The pain in her stomach seemed to subside to a dull ache in her kneeled position but only made the intense pain in her mangled shoulder more prevalent. A slight shift in her position caused her shoulder’s position to change, causing exposed bones and tendons to rub against her uniform. She let out another moan and fell forward, catching herself with her left arm. As she did, the pain from her stomach wound raced up her spine. Her arm gave way and she fell forward. Pain pulsated through her body as her face fell into the deepening mud and muck.
Rolling onto her left side, Martin let out several rapid heavy breaths of agony. Each quick, short breath pushed out muddy water from her mouth as the ever-increasing rain began to turn the battlefield to an even more horrible lake of mud, metal, and flesh.
Slowly focusing her eyes, she saw the body of a medic lying nearby. His hand, half buried in mud, held a medical pack.
Using her left arm and head for leverage, Martin slowly pulled her body forward as she struggled to reach the pack. Every meter felt like a kilometer as she fought to ignore the pain and maintain consciousness. In a few moments that seemed like an eternity, Martin reached the pack.
Rolling unto her back to free up her left arm, she reached blindly into the bag. Feeling a few items in the bag, she pulled them out and held them to her face.
Martin let out a sigh of relief as she read the labels. There was a coagulant to slow the bleeding from her abdomen and shoulder and a few neuro-inhibitors for the pain. Ripping the cover from the coagulant with her teeth, she shook the bag and a small can fell onto her chest. Taking the can, she quickly sprayed the sticky fluid onto her stomach and shoulder. It was ice cold, and she could instantly feel the area around her wounds tighten as the chemicals constricted vessels and slowed the flow of blood to the wounds.
Next she took one of the neuro-meds in her hand; this would not be as easy. Again biting off the protective cap, she exposed a thick metal injection pin. Gripping the back of the tube tightly, she let out a deep breath and then drew in another, holding it. In as powerful a motion as she could muster, Martin rammed the injector into her thigh. She let out a grunt as she felt the sharp sting of the injector followed by the burning hot sensation of the meds entering her body.
Martin felt her breathing slow and the intense pain in her shoulder transition from a searing, stabbing pain into a dull ache. After taking a moment to ready herself, Martin rolled onto her stomach. Her right arm was useless despite the medication; it flopped clumsily by her side as she moved. Spitting out the mud and water that had accumulated in her mouth, she pulled her left arm under her body, gritted her teeth, and pushed herself up to a kneeling position.
Grunting again, she could feel the tightness in her stomach along with a nearly unbearable pain in her gut. On her hand and knees Martin positioned herself beside a dead Humani officer to her left. Another painful repositioning and she rocked back on to her knees so that she could take the pistol from dead man’s holster. Reaching backwards, Martin stuck the pistol into her waistbelt.
She slowly crawled her way to Jackson’s body.
Again sitting up on her knees, Martin put her hand on Jackson’s head. Through the pain of her wounds, the mud caked on her face, and stinging cold rain, she could feel tears flow down her cheeks. Sucking in the mucus running from her nose and wiping the tears from her face, Martin struggled with a pain more intense than any bullet could create. Placing her hand on Jackson one last time, she spoke. “They will pay, Hugh. I will make it out of here, and I will make them pay.”
***
An explosion and the force of the ship lunging to port startled Stone to consciousness. Another explosion almost knocked him to the floor.
Rolling off his bed, Stone let out a loud grunt and cursed as his injured leg bore the full weight of his body for the first time since his injury. His muscles were tight and his vision blurred from the medication and the pain, but he tried to keep his composure. Steadying himself and taking a deep breath, Stone moved toward the door of the cell to try to see what was going on.
Crewmembers ran in all directions. Another explosion rocked the ship and the lights dimmed.
‘All power shifting to emergency sources,’ came across the announcing circuit.
Stone felt his prison door move. The shift of power had caused Stone’s door to partially open.
He struggled to squeeze his body through the opening.
Stone was halfway through the door when another explosion ripped through the ship. He let out a yell as the blast knocked his wounded shoulder into the door. The pain was intense and Stone felt his vision start to grow hazy again. Exhaling heavily, he pushed through the door grunting and grimacing as flashes of pain washed over his body.
‘All hands prepare to abandon ship. All hands prepare to abandon ship. Nearest safe planet is November 5. All hands prepare to abandon ship.’
Once free of his cell, Stone leaned against the bulkhead, taking a second to recover from the pain and gain his bearings. The emergency lighting created an eerie glow as it lit the passageway in both directions. A repair crew was hard at work fighting an electrical fire and structural damage forward of Stone’s position. Their frantic efforts were partially concealed by a smoky haze slowly moving downward from the overhead. Suddenly the panel on which the crew was working exploded in a bright flash of li
ght. Stone’s eyes burned from the brightness and his body ached as the concussion from the blast knocked him against the bulkhead.
Regaining his senses, Stone looked toward the explosion. The fire engulfed the forward passageway, consuming the repair party. His only choice was to move aft.
Pushing himself as fast as his injuries would allow him, he turned a corner of the passageway. As he did, he crashed into a Terillian Marine. The collision sent both men to the deck.
The Marine quickly recovered and reached for his sidearm but before he could draw his weapon Stone’s foot crashed into the Marines jaw, knocking him unconscious.
Stone let out a loud moan as the pain exploded from his wounded leg and raced throughout his entire body. He pounded his fist on the deck as he absorbed the pain. “Damn it,” he mumbled to himself as he crawled to the Marine. Taking the pistol from the marine’s belt, Stone slowly rose to his feet and hobbled down the passageway.
His search for an escape pod became more frantic. The ship wouldn’t hold together much longer and Stone knew it. Turning down another corridor, Stone had only made it a few feet when he stopped. Small fires of debris that littered the passageway were starting to flitter, then die down—
hull breaches and the hunger of the fires onboard were robbing the ship of its oxygen. It wouldn’t be long until it could no longer sustain life.
Peering down the passageway Stone finally saw them—rows of escape pod compartments. Hopefully there was enough air in the passageway. Taking a deep breath, and hoping it would not be his last, he sprinted through the passageway trying his best to ignore the almost unbearable pain from his injuries. By the time he reached the pods he was breathing heavily and his head grew light; the air was getting worse.
“Empty!” he grumbled. “Damn it, this one too,” panted Stone as he limped from one empty pod to another, his breathing more labored with every moment.
Finally he found one remaining pod. As he reached up to pull the latch that would open the entrance to the pod he felt someone behind him. He quickly spun around, raising his weapon.
