Blood-soaked silence

Guardians

Index:

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 8

This story is part of my first anthology book, A mandate of sword and railgun, and I intend to post all chapters on my Substack. If you like the story and want to support me, you can find the book here.

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Chapter 7

Belazem shook as more and more ice shards struck the ground. What was just one hour ago a sturdy wall made of thick lumber, now lay in ruins. Like a thick blanket, the fog which concealed the faithful before the battle, once more shrouded their bodies.

Through the broken palisade, teeming with unnatural rage, poured zhatarn-swinging leht and their many alien allies. Despite having faced resistance most vicious, inspite their many hundreds of casualties, and the Terran constantly assailing them with his powerful Words, still they persevered.

Wood splintered, stone cracked – it would seem that nothing could stand before the almighty magics of the Prophet of Rot. Jubilant shouts echoed across the blood-soaked battlefield! Finally, the stubborn, foolish heretics were near vanquished. Leht and alien troopers, shouting orders and prepared code words, so none would suffer from each other’s weapons, advanced forwards.

Yet instead of hearing the pain-filled moans of their enemies or seeing their broken bodies littering the battered entrenchments, what greeted them was... silence. Then one of their first lehta stumbled upon a layer of traps and the faithful once more wailed in terror. The screams of their injured brethren, the ones who fell into concealed holes, filled with sharp sticks, soon joined with the death throes of those who tripped the many, well-hidden wires.

Booby traps blew up more of the Prophet’s troops to gory bits. In but an instant gone were their jubilant shouts – the dying now sought the mercy of Rot and begged for aid. The march of hundreds halted once more; leht and narcos dared not leave the relative safety of their fog. They feared walking forth since it was beyond clear that this village was a killing ground.

Lothorian soldiers quietly crawled out of their dugouts and strongboxes. Bayonets in hand, they swiftly ended all enemies in reach and stripped the aliens of their combat supplies. Then, just as before, their grizzly entrenchments swallowed their ghostly shapes without trace.

The fog’s presence, so thick and reassuringly safe, to Rot’s faithful and their allies now felt like a cold, wet prison. They feared leaving it, yet everyone knew that for their Prophet to use his powerful magics, he had to dispel it. Many of them, those who were more aware of their surroundings, quickly noticed that they stood knee deep in what was left of their comrades.

Then the quiet, confident and rather merciless-sounding laughter came.

The voices of grown men, women, and even children, ominously echoed across the battlefield. Rot’s troops, not all of them, but many – their feet were now shaking, and with cold sweat covered faces they exchanged horror-filled looks. Finally, both to leht and narco, it dawned on them that they would most probably die here.

They’d leave their bones in this no-name, insignificant village, bested by a handful of peons and heretics. There would be no glory, no riches for them and certainly, no endless nights spent in the pleasurable company of slaves. People like them found fulfillment in the suffering of others and/or taking everything from those whom they viewed as weak, inferior.

Rot’s chosen they were! Destined for greatness, their lives filled with innumerable pleasures, living in opulence and living long. Why should they perish, when there were others marching behind to reinforce them?!

What was left of the fifth wave, minds shaken and legs quaking, made a few steps back. Then, after exchanging hand signs, they made their lines sparse, waited for soldiers from the sixth wave to move forward. With the fog dissipating, their cowardly ploy would be made apparent, therefore and ever so hesitantly, they joined their comrades.

Yet, despite their skulduggery, and the fact that they now marched behind their comrades in arms – nothing could change their fate. Indeed, mere seconds after the fog withered away and sunlight once more conquered the field, the closely packed, slowly moving formations heard a whistle... of sorts. Immediately followed by a loud boom, many among the leht assumed that it was one of their Prophet’s blessed magics. The narcos, instead of following their allies, screamed something about artillery and with their best speed, darted away.

Their flight was not to be successful, for this barrage had been ordered in advance, and aimed with great precision. Railgun shells fell from the skies and wherever they hit, big craters appeared. Those who survived, blinded or deaf, ears bleeding, were forced to run through grotesque mishmash of earth, rocks, metal, and... bodies.

Minutes passed in blood-soaked silence.

The chosen of Rot temporarily pulled back, and while their Prophet and generals showered newly-arrived soldiers with a frenetic torrent of orders, Lothorian riflemen once more crawled out of their dugouts. While the dust clouds created by their railgun barrage lingered in the air, the tireless men planted more booby traps.

They scavenged grenades from the corpses of their enemies, in some instances even used their grizzly remains to fashion traps. Sharp eyes examined the new enemy formations, focused minds made detailed mental count of every heavy weapon team and space tech carrying alien officer. Then, undeterred by the host which was about to assail their position once more, the riflemen crawled back to their entrenchments.

Indeed, most had been wounded and some more than once – their armored uniforms tattered here and there. Where others would bend, break, and retreat, these men thought not of escape, but how to ensure the doom of their enemy. Trained by Masters of Peace, their Terr’aan teachers taught them how to use everything as a weapon. Their own fear was now one of these mighty armaments and, with every action they took, these soldiers feverishly reminded themselves what would happen should they falter.

Hands steady as ancient rock, the Lothorian riflemen aimed at the strongest enemies. Their machine gunners quickly planned for accurate barrages, such that would mow dead those armed with heavy particle-beam weaponry troopers. The sergeant’s sturdy rifle was now trained at the nearest scanner carrying Narco officer, its iron sights aimed at the alien’s faceplate.

Trained well and hard they did; Lothorians learned every piece of the life-saving wisdom Terr’aans taught them. They could stand on their own and would do so, nevermind that their degenerate enemies thought them inferior. Even now, the two Terr’aan warriors fought hard to protect them. For their debased enemy had called forth the aid of invisible warriors and, just as expected, those would stab them in the back.

Crush Lothorian spirit by slaughtering those who could not defend themselves; this enemy targeted women, the elderly, and children. Yet Lothoria’s soldiers stood like an immovable bastion, knowing that those whom they came here to defend would be safe. For their trust... nay, their faith in their liberators was immeasurable and no amount of lies could ever shake it.

Calmly did their sergeant aim, then pull the trigger of his gifted armament of peace. Squarely hit in the kisser, another Narco officer fell to the ground and then the Bren began singing her deadly song. After reloading his powerful rifle with a fresh, taken from the enemy power pack, the sergeant calmly said:

“You know what to do men. We are on the nekhtu field and they,” – he pointed the crawling enemies to his machine gunners – “they are your crop now. Make sure your baskets are full.”

No longer these former serfs and dilapidated peons feared their own demise. Split in dedicated fire teams, each covering the other, these expertly trained riflemen began their entrenchment dance. From one pillbox to another their Bren machine gun changed positions; constantly moving, always two steps ahead of the enemy.

Learning the Terr’aan ways transformed these men into proper soldiers. They made every conceivable effort and blocked all enemy attempts to surround them. Instead, and whenever possible, the Lothorians bayonet charged the closest leht or narcos, those who were just about to enter their trenches. It was never a frontal attack, but a flanking one and in most cases foreshadowed by yet another devastating grenade barrage.

Everything was now covered by blood, theirs and their enemies. The riflemen’s measured breathing saved their strength; the daily runs through combat challenge courses prepared them well for the tire of battle. Now they had the advantage – those who once struck fear into the hearts of millions, came at them.

Legs wobbling, eyes full of fear and hands shaking, their “betters,” their “lords” straight into the killing fields they walked...

* * *

Einar and Holden, alerted by a timely link from IMS White Star, quickly left the walls. Before the supplies could land, they hoped to take care of these new, stealthy enemies. Truly devastating, the chosen few warriors who joined the Coalition were gifted with new gear and weapons. The two companions were warned beforehand that anyone part of this new alliance should not be underestimated.

“Jaern, I dare thee to face us!” – shouted loudly Einar.

“Yes, fight us you cowards!” – added Holden, while he bypassed the linked scan data to his friend’s faceplate.

The Ops officer of IMS White Star made extra sure to relay all of her data, therefore they now had the exact positions of the cloaked Jaern. Twelve strong, these big, armored monstrosities, were armed with something rather strange. Medium range PPG gun was fitted on the back end of a halberd-like vibro weapon.

Their cannibalistic enemy was cautious, yet they did still assume that the two couldn’t see through the cloaking shields. Six of the twelve aimed to surround and kill, while their brethren attacked the redoubt.

It was a well-planned and executed sneak attack; if successful, this bold move would effectively deliver victory to the Prophet’s army, neatly gift wrapped with a colorful ribbon on top. These Jaern warriors need only take a few of the farmers, reach their new master’s camp and then... they’d know exactly where all food caches were.

“Here, I shall maketh it easy for you, degenerate slime.”

Einar purposely knelt, rested the edge of his broad shield on the ground and impaled his sword in it. Immediately, the feedback from their allied starship showed the Jaern moving, three of them dashing with full speed, their blades aimed at him.

Unfortunately, IMS White Star could not stay in this position forever and, after she launched her supply-filled escape pods, the vessel left Lothoria’s atmo. The otherwise clear sensor shapes, which the two friends could see just a moment ago on their faceplates, now became shadows. However, both had plenty of time and could, with greater chance of success, predict the Jaern movements for the next couple of seconds.

Bodies half-cloaked, the shadowy warriors leapt at them in near-perfect unison. Holden rolled on the ground, his hands holding the snub gun as steady as he possibly could. The venerable weapon bellowed a wall of armor piercing pellets, which, from this range, ripped through newly-developed Coalition armor, Jaern flesh, and shattered bone. One of the two who aimed to slay the young Morale officer nearly lobbed off his leg, yet instead of engaging the tall monstrosity in melee, Holden swiftly threw his vibro dagger at it.

While the last of Holden’s attackers fell, a Terran blade stuck deep inside his skull, Einar rapidly unholstered his M5. All the training he went through paid off now, and triply so! With calm hand he blasted gory holes into two of the three attacking Jaern. Then he bashed aside the vibro weapon with his shield and, after getting shot in the shoulder by the attacker’s PPG, fired what was left in the M5’s power pack.

The last pellets blew his enemy’s belly wide open; despite the new and efficient armorplating this Jaern was wearing, Einar’s weapon was beastly!

Screeching with pain, the dying cannibal attempted not to run or even use a medispray. No, instead the debased monster used his last breath to fire the PPG.

The filth aimed and shot straight at Holden’s unprotected back!

Einar’s hand moved momentarily and with his best speed he threw the shield. Such was the battlefield awareness of his young, still unexperienced self, that miraculously, the sturdy metal stood between the PPG blast and his companion. With a loud crack, his trusty shield flew back and hit the ground some feet away from them.

Holden stood up, injected a medispray in his severely wounded leg and quickly reloaded the snub gun. Teeth gritting and eyes slanted, he nevertheless fought off the pain and said:

“Great throw, Brother! I will endeavor to return the favor one day.” – he limped towards the redoubt, aiming his weapon at something in the distance.

“ It is the duty bestowed to me by the Office. I shan’t be called a proper Guardian nor a real shield bearer, if those whom I swore to defend casually fell dead before my feet.”

With one careful motion, the Asgardian warrior picked his wounded companion up and positioned him upon his shoulder.

“Inject one of your medisprays in my arm and prepare to rain swift railgun doom upon our enemies.”

Einar reloaded his M5 with the last power pack he carried with him. There was another spare, but this one was in his shield’s ammunition pocket and they had no time to recover it. Before the entrance of their redoubt, a dozen brave Lothorian men stood guard with zhatarn in hand, ready to face any enemy.

Perhaps had they clashed with a couple of leht, some of these farmers could’ve emerged victorious. Against six Jaern warriors, outfitted with cloaking shields, they stood no chance whatsoever.

With his Asgardian stride, Einar ran and as speedily as he could. Leaping above the first line of fortification baskets, he saw the enemy emerge from stealth. Straight off, they slew two of the Lothorians, then shot another two men with PPGs, as he aimed and emptied his last power pack. Thanks to his extensive firearm training, he was able to hit the Jaern and not the desperately fighting farmers. Both targets he fired at fell dead on the spot, yet his ammunition was spent.

Charging at them, his sword already drawn and raised, he gave Holden clear line of fire. Short bursts aimed at the enemy’s feet slowed the Jaern down, which saved another Lothorian life since Einar was able to split the monster’s head in two.

“Lothorians, keep your distance, avoid their spears! Remember, dead men save lives, not. Roll on the ground when you see their guns flash – just like we trained before.” – Holden encouragingly shouted from the Asgardian’s shoulder, using the few seconds of relative quiet it took him to reload his snub gun.

Between the Asgardian’s ever swinging blade and the Terran’s railgun, finally, all three Jaern fell dead. Seven armed farmers survived; they miraculously dodged what would’ve been deadly attacks and even managed to finish off a wounded Jaern. Though victorious, they once more found themselves in mortal danger – their shields fizzling, six more stealthy warriors appeared.

Reluctant to fight an Asgardian in melee, the Jaern aimed their PPG’s at Einar and Holden. Two of them managed to fire and each shot found its intended target. The morale officer fell and nearly to his doom, but two Lothorians managed to grab him, cushioning his landing. Instead of his neck snapping, Holden was left with a broken leg.

As for Einar, the PPG blast bore through his chest armor and severely singed his flesh. He screamed and held his bleeding wound, raised the blade in preparation for what could be his last charge. One shot wasn’t enough to fell an Asgardian warrior and the Jaern knew it.

In these few seconds, what the Terrans had no knowledge could occur, happened. The Lothorians, each holding their zhatarn high, immediately placed their bodies between Holden and Einar. Willing to die in their stead, the farmers charged the Jaern screaming:

“We die for Terr’aan! We die for future!”

Though, before all six Jaern were able to correct their aim and fire, the skies shook. With their engines bellowing plasma fire; six escape pods, painted in pure white space paint, descended through the atmo. How was it even possible that each landed atop one of the Jaern and crushed the monsters to death, the two Terrans and their Lothorian allies were soon to learn.

Still hissing and emitting heat, the pods immediately opened; from each, one Terran woman emerged. Perhaps in their late hundreds, nevertheless these venerable females came fully equipped and ready to wage war. Armed with holo-scoped laser rifles, they carried medical bags and on their spacesuits’ left pauldron, Einar saw the logo of IMS White Star. On their suits’ right arm, the women had a red cross painted atop a round, gray shield, which was surrounded by twelve, golden stars.

These Humans were field medics!

“I was... cough... told the pods carry... cough... supplies.”

The Asgardian took one painful step towards them, after he made sure that Holden was alive.

“Of the life-saving, shooting kind.” – with a tired voice answered one woman.

“The pods are full of stuff, of course.” – the tallest Human stated, motioning at the jam-packed with spare power packs, grenades, and whatnot pod behind her.

“Come, our shift starts now, girls... ” – another said, and pointed her weapon towards the still raging battle.

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