by Candy Rae
With that pronouncement his eyes glazed over as he made the supreme telepathic effort required to send the news of the finding of the core over the miles to those waiting for the call. After what seemed like a lifetime to the three watching humans, Inalei relaxed and his eyes began to focus on his surroundings once again.
“It is done,” he said and shut his eyes. He looked about ready to fall asleep.
“Is he all right?” asked Tala.
“He is tired,” explained Danal. “He had to send a lot of information over a long distance.”
“Inalei will be fine after he has rested,” added Asya.
“So what now?” Grainne asked.
“We wait,” answered Danal, indicating that Tala and she should follow him round the outcrop and into the shelter.
“Wait for what?” she asked as they settled themselves under the awning.
“For the others to arrive.”
“Others? What others?”
“The power-core is not a weapon in itself,” Tala explained, “the others will bring the other bits we will need, I will need, to change it into one.”
“Who are the others?” Grainne asked, “more Lind?”
“No, not Lind,” a tired and aching Danal answered, trying to make himself comfortable on top of his sleep bag (it was too hot to actually get into it). “Settle down and I’ll tell you a story.”
“A true story?” asked the intrigued Grainne.
“Very much a true story,” said Danal, “about a group of flying creatures that call themselves the Lai.”
* * * * *
Hilla
“Warrant Officer Taplin?” shouted out the breathless Militia Coronet, looking round.
Wilf Taplin looked up from where he was sitting and looked at the young man, no more than a boy, standing in front of him.
“I am Taplin.”
“Orders from Major Bellahouston.”
Wilf Taplin took a deep breath. The moment had come, he had been waiting for this boy or one like him for the last two bells, ever since the previous order had come down the line to ready the Officer Trainees for battle and to advance into the forward trenches.
“The Major asks that you reinforce the line to the left of the Sixteenth Foot.”
“Very well,” he answered, standing up. “Go back and tell the Major that we are on our way. Where is he?”
“In the line with the Sixteenth. He’s taken command of the battalion. All their senior officers are dead. They’ve taken a drubbing Sergeant-Major.”
The warrant officer nodded. He had sat watching what appeared to be a never-ending column of stretchers and walking wounded pass him by for some time.
“The Larg?” he asked.
“They fell back a half bell ago. Major wants the reinforcements on the ridge before they attack again. I’ve to go back and bring forward the rest of the Militia. The Major expects the next attack will be a bad one. The kohorts have been attacking more on the wings than yesterday.”
Wilf Taplin nodded again. The previous day the Larg had concentrated on the centre where the Vada and the majority of the Lindars were holding and had been driven back with heavy losses. Their Kohortangan had obviously decided that he would have more success on the right and left wings that were held by infantry, supported by the rest of the Lindars.
The Kohortangan had sent his kohorts forward many times already this morning and now he was about to order another thrust. It was on old Larg tactic, to try and force a way through one section of the defence line whilst keeping the other sections so busy that they could not go to their compatriot’s assistance. The kohorts had failed to punch through the centre, now it was the turn of the wings.
But which wing, right or left, would bear the brunt of the attack? Wilf Taplin rather thought it would be the right wing, where he and his Officer Trainees were. The approach up the ridge was less steep here. Susyc Julia was very well aware of this. She had positioned more reserve Lindars here than anywhere else and also the Garda Heavy Horse, the Light Horse having been sent to the eastern edge of the ridge.
He took out his whistle and blew two short blasts, the signal to the Trainees that it was time to form up.
Hilla heard the blasts and glanced at Jen Durand. The two of them had joined the Garda at the same time and had been friends from day one. Together they had got through their first year of training and had entered their second, final year some months before. In the normal course of events they would have finished their training at the end of this summer and have been gazetted with the rank of Coronet. They would have been posted as junior officers to one of the Garda battalions charged with the protection of the Argyll coastline. They might even have been sent to one of the islands in the Great Eastern Sea, those affiliated to Argyll. Never in a million years had they suspected that they would be here, in the southern continent, fighting the Larg.
Hilla took her place in the column. Beside her stood Jen and in front of her Dolvin Annson, another of the second year Trainees and a good friend took his position.
Hilla felt excited, scared and calm, all at once. She felt confident in her abilities as a soldier. Had she not come out top, or near the top of all her Academie classes but one?
Wilf Taplin was talking to them, telling them not to panic, to remember the drills and above all to keep in formation for therein lay the strength of the Garda. They fought side by side and protected each other.
The ‘long unbroken ranks of the Garda’ were famous the length and breadth of more than just the northern continent. A well known saying amongst them was, ‘the south may have its Regiments but the Garda is the best’.
“Remember your training,” repeated Wilf Taplin, “and you will come out of this alive,” and so confident did he sound that Hilla relaxed.
Then they were marching, marching forward up the lines, past the stretchers and the walking wounded.
They reached the immediate area behind the ridge line and passed through the waiting Lindars. The Lind looked weary, but not so tired that they could no longer fight. Some were lapping up water from the butts, others were munching through the meat ration bars, unappetising and tasteless as Hilla well knew but packed full of energising protein. Some were lying down, injured and Hilla spied the maroon Vada uniforms with the red cross of the Holad on their sleeves as the medics tended their wounds. She smelt the spicy odour of blood and smaha ointment. Hilla tried not to look at the pain-filled eyes.
She looked away then wished she hadn’t as she saw a group of black clad militia soldiers dragging several somethings to one side. With a shock realised that these were bodies, blue-clad bodies, the men and women of the Garda who had died during the morning’s fighting. Hilla shivered.
“Halt,” ordered Wilf Taplin to the column of Juvenis and Senis Trainees. A battalion of Militia marched up beside them. Some of the men and women looked familiar to Hilla and then she recognised her brother Zak.
He recognised her that same moment and blew her a kiss.
Hilla stood silent as did the rest of the Officer Trainees but Hilla heard the whispering from the Militia ranks as her presence was noted and commented upon.
Then Regimental Sergeant-Major Wallaceson appeared, his uniform still as immaculate as if he was going on parade. He sported a gash on one cheek that had been sewn up and smeared with ointment. Traces of dried blood showed through his morning’s beard-stubble.
“Officer Trainees,” he began in the remembered parade-ground voice. Hilla and the others came to attention. “You are about to go into action. You will take position on the ridge between the Sixteenth and the Fifth battalions. You will hold this position. Warrant Officer Taplin, march them out.” He stood to attention, watching as Hilla and the others marched by.
As they were passing out of earshot, Hilla heard him begin his address to the Dunetown Militia. They were going up on to the ridge as well.
* * * * *
The silence was oppressive as the right wing waited for the next charg
e of the Larg.
The centre divisions were already under attack.
Hilla bit her lip. She was in the front rank, which was made up of the Senis Staticum Trainees. The first years were formed up in rank behind them, ready to step forward if one of their seniors fell. The Lind she knew were behind them, in fact, she glanced behind her to confirm, they were pushing forward to take up defence stance between the Juvenis Trainees.
“Shields,” shouted Warrant Officer Taplin. Hilla lifted hers and thumped it down hard on to the dirt in front of her toes. Beside her Jen did the same and the shield-wall began to come together.
With apprehensive determination the Garda Trainees, only a small part of the shield-wall, waited for the command to brace. Hilla watched, half-fascinated, half-mesmerised as the kohorts began to run up the hill towards them. It seemed to Hilla that they were all heading straight for her, then realised this was but the natural reaction for a soldier facing an enemy for the first time. The other trainees would be feeling the same. The ground was shaking under her feet. The air felt oppressive. Hilla had to tell herself to keep breathing.
“Brace, Brace, Brace!” Warrant Officer Taplin’s voice rang out and Hilla tightened the muscles in her shield arm. Arrows whirred overhead but there were too many Larg for them to do more than fell a few. The Larg at the front of the charge reached the shield-wall and leapt.
Hilla staggered as a heavy body thumped against her shield. Although she had thought about what it would be like, she hadn’t expected the Larg to be this big and heavy.
The Lind are like beautiful racehorses, the Larg are like ugly carthorses, Warrant Officer Taplin had told them. When they leap at you, you’d better be ready.
As more Larg reached the wall, the line of shields wavered and some fell backwards as Officer Trainee after Officer Trainee buckled under the weight. Hilla was conscious of the Juvenis Staticum Trainee behind her pushing at her back in an effort to keep her upright.
She could hear the menacing growls.
I’m going to get you, they were saying, I’m going to get you and eat you all up. It gave a whole new meaning to the old nursery rhyme of Hilla’s childhood.
A huge hairy head appeared over the shield and Hilla looked into what she imagined the the gates of hell must look like.
The Larg had his front paws pushing down on her shield. His mouth was open, showing a set of very large and very sharp yellow teeth. The drool from his mouth splattered over her face as he panted. It stank.
Hilla’s sword arm moved upwards as she had been taught and she stabbed at the creature’s neck, once, then again. The head disappeared with a howl of pain. Hilla glanced at her sword, it was glistening with blood, his blood. Hilla felt exultant, she, Hilla Talansdochter had made her first kill but this feeling only lasted for a moment.
A second head appeared.
The heads kept on coming.
Endless shrieks.
Endless howling.
Endless crying.
And the yelps.
And the shouting.
The pressure on her shield arm eased.
“Form up,” ordered Warrant Officer Taplin, “fill the gaps.”
It was only then that Hilla realised that her friend Jen Durand was no longer standing by her side. As she glanced down she saw her body. Her throat had been ripped out. Jen was dead.
And I never even saw her fall.
There was no time for tears. The Larg were coming at them again.
* * * * *
“Is the right wing holding?” asked Julia.
“Just,” answered Alyei
“Order forward more reserves. General Sainjon will know which ones.”
“Wilco.”
* * * * *
The second charge was even more ferocious than the first but the shield-wall held. Hilla began to believe that Wilf Taplin had been right. She would survive this, this blood-splattered hell.
Then she heard frightened calls and shouts to her right.
“The Duchesne levies are overrun.”
Hilla’s heart sank.
The kohorts had attacked with such ferocity that the Duke of Duchesne’s lines hadn’t so much broken as disintegrated.
The Larg were swarming up and over the western end of the ridge.
Hilla glanced over.
Lai’s wings, they had broken! She could hear cries and shouts of alarm from behind her, RSM Wallaceson’s booming voice calling for reinforcements. She even thought she could hear a distant whinny from one of the horses of the cavalry but she wasn’t sure.
Emboldened by their success at the section held by the first division, the Larg attacking the second pressed harder. A battle crazy Larg was trying to get hold of Hilla’s helm.
There were alarmed shouts to her right and even as she managed to dispose of the Larg Hilla realised that the kohorts had mounted the ridge top and were fighting through what remained of the Sixteenth Foot and the Dunetown Militia.
Is Zak still alive?
Then Hilla felt herself falling, falling and she crashed to the ground, her shield on top of her. A heavy something landed on top of the shield, she was finding it hard to breathe. The weight wasn’t inert either; she felt it moving, struggling. She couldn’t move her sword arm.
Her heart thumped very loud and she closed her eyes as she concentrated on breathing.
The struggle on top of her ceased, but the heavy weight remained, it was too heavy for her even to try to move it. She lay listening, forcing her lungs to keep breathing in and out.
Unconsciousness came quickly when another body fell on top and breathing became impossible.
She was dead when the Vada Ryzcks and the Lindars of the third division, led by Niaill and Taraya led the charge that would oust the Larg from the ridge.
Of the one hundred and three Garda Officer Trainees who had marched up to the ridge that morning, seventy-four were dead and many more were wounded. The Dunetown Militia had died almost to a man, reminiscent of the bloody days of what was known in the history books from man’s originating planet as ‘The Great War’ when the young men of entire streets and villages who had joined up to form the pals battalions died together under the withering fire of the enemy machine guns.
* * * * *
Rilla
In the first division’s sector of the line, Rilla and Zawlei with Duncin and Stasya had been keeping the communications links open between the divisions, the command post and the different segments on the right wing.
The previous day of the battle hadn’t been too bad for Rilla and Zawlei, Rilla hadn’t had to draw her sword.
“It’s our turn next,” said Duke William to Rilla as he surveyed the kohorts reorganising below. “Tell Susyc Julia, she’ll know already no doubt but it’s best to be sure.”
: Zawlei? :
: Done. I spoke to Alyei himself. He says that the Heavy Horse has been alerted and the Militia moves forward :
Rilla reported this to the Duke.
“Good,” he said.
: The young ryz in the lain have also been alerted : added Zawlei : if the kohorts try to get through there they will stop them. Tell Duke William :
“They’ll not,” said the Duke when Rilla relayed that information. “In all my years I’ve never known the Larg to enter wooded areas but Rilla, would you ask Zawlei to ask their commanders, Susas is it not?”
Rilla nodded.
“That just in case, just in case, to be on their guard and come to our aid if they are needed. They’ll know when, no need to wait for my order. Susyc Julia told me that their commanders are very experienced.”
Zawlei relayed Duke William’s request and after a short delay Rilla informed him that the Susas understood what was expected of them.
The good thing about the Duke, reflected Rilla as she readied herself for the attack (Duke William led from the front and expected his immediate circle of retainers to fight beside him) was that he didn’t ask unnecessary questions. He gave his orders, received
acknowledgement and that was it. He trusted his sub-commanders to carry them out. He trusted Rilla and Zawlei.
Heart in mouth, Rilla prepared to follow Duke William to the front line. The Duke eyed her as he settled his own helmet on his head and tied the chin flaps.
“You two go and stand on the rise back there with Vadeln Duncin and Stasya,” he ordered. “Observe from there and keep Susyc Julia informed about all that is happening.”
“Sir … but …” protested Rilla.
“No buts young lady,” he insisted with a stern look.
“What if you need to send a message?” she asked.
“There’ll be no messages while the kohorts are charging,” he replied. “You and Zawlei will be of far more use back there where you can see what is happening. Go on now.”
Dismissed, Rilla had no alternative but to obey.
As usual, the Duke did not pay the two of them any more attention now that he had issued his order. He assumed Rilla and Zawlei would obey and so they did. They turned away and began to make their way through the jostling soldiers towards the small rise where Duncin and Stasya stood.
She did not hear the Duke turn to his son and say, “brave girl that. She’s obviously scared but was quite prepared to stand with us if I’d let her.”
“That’s what true bravery is,” agreed his son as he walked with his father to the ridge edge.
Stasya made room for Zawlei.
“We’ll take over communications for a bit,” said Duncin to Rilla. “Zawlei retains contact though and don’t be afraid to jump in with anything important that you see.”
“I won’t,” promised Rilla and Zawlei looked wise.
“Another thing young Rilla. If I say move, you move. You jump down and you run, as fast as Zawlei’s paws can take you until you reach the first Ryzck you come across and join up with them.”
“But what about you? We won’t leave you and Stasya behind. She can’t run with her bad leg. Vada stick together.”
