Duty

Part 1 – Invasion

(Art by LordOguzHan)

Index: Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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This is the excerpt I promised you Sakura, the full 1st chapter of my story titled “Duty”, from A Mandate Of Sword And Railgun story collection. This is perhaps one of my older stories and as my style and skill grew, I wrote more animated tales, yet I always go back and re-read the old ones. Love them to Sirius Prime and back!

You can find the book, one which contains many other stories, by clicking on the cover:

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Saitama stubbornly crawled towards the cave entrance, his arms tired beyond measure. His right leg got pierced by a mangled piece of metal, he left a bloody trail in the sand behind him.

Limbs numb from all the stress, nevertheless he kept going; Saitama was sure that he had at least three broken ribs, maybe four. Every time he attempted to breathe in more air, he could feel instant and sharp pain in his abdomen area too.

Part of his faceplate was covered with red fog, evidence that he spat blood either while unconscious or now, in between his painful heavy breaths. This could mean only one thing; multiple internals, ruptured blood vessels, and possibly even more broken bones.

Eyes locked on a combat medic’s backpack some twenty feet away, he aimed to reach it or die trying. His own emergency medisprays he used to heal members of his platoon, before, while the battle still raged. The doctor whose corpse lay facing the rocks – from this close one could clearly see him still clutching on his loaded with a fresh canister of medi-gel injector.

With half his head shaved off by a particle-beam, it was painfully obvious that this medic no longer had any use of said life-saving medicine. Saitama, however, could use some healing and would most definitely inject himself, he only need reach it. For dead soldiers saved no lives and he very much wanted to keep on living, do his duty.

One hour ago, he woke up screaming; surrounded by the bloodied corpses of his clansmates, it was painfully clear to him that the battle was lost. Their positions were overwhelmed and not only by martial skill and proper military strength, but sheer numbers.

The exact reason why the Alduri invaded this tiny colony was unclear; since the very beginning of their assault, no declaration of intent was received. The enemy did not send a single link and being telepathic, their star troopers rarely used comms. If these aliens desired an easy, bloodless victory, they’d shower the Terran colony with orbital strikes, overwhelm its shields and then, glass everything.

That these invaders could definitely achieve and since their vessels were equipped with stealth shields, they’d successfully evade most of the anti-orbital weapons fire. It would probably take the escorted by two corvettes, weirdly designed frigate a day or two, but in the end, the aliens would be victorious. Instead, the Alduri deployed a massive ground force; ten thousand soldiers supported by APCs, light tanks, and wings of grav attack craft.

The 565^th Independent Guard battalion’s strength was grossly insufficient to stave off such a tide. They could not defeat the Alduri, only slow the enemy down while the colonists were being evacuated. With evacuation protocols prudently set in place many years in advance, every settler had diligently trained executing them during the monthly defense drills.

Carrying only a small number of personal items and barely any luggage, the armed civilians drove their vehicles to nearby underground launch sites. Once there, every group boarded hyperspace capable, armored transports and, escorted by what few starfighters their colonial navy had left, they flew up in space. Despite the invader’s vicious attempts to intercept them, one after another, all ten transports entered hyperspace; the people were safe.

For certain, had the invader been another enemy – a pirate clan or one of the cartels – the armed civilian militia would stand and fight. In this instance the enemy was too strong; the invader’s force was properly outfitted and its commanders experienced.

While civilians evacuated and combat alarms rang, Saitama’s one thousand strong battalion assumed their prepared defensive positions. They have been training for this weekly; each guardsman kept extra combat supplies at hand since in an event like this one, every power pack counted.

All soldiers had brand new “Ashigaru” suits of field armor; these came factory equipped with reinforced armor plating, integrated grappler, and the signature gadget for Saitama’s unit – rangefinder goggles.

Star troopers or Sento Hohei, were traditionally armed with laser weapons, but ground troops favored the railgun instead. His battalion’s heavy weapon teams operated various support weapons like the compact 90mm mortars, Browning heavy auto-railguns, and RPGs. These veterans were rapidly moved into position by use of nimble jeeps; each weapons team was allotted one so they could be redeployed with speed and have greater ammunition supply.

Saitama however, was a rookie; assigned to one of the newly-formed rifle platoons, his job to hold the line, guard the flanks of these same heavy weapons teams. The battle soon raged on every street, each emptied of civilians reinforced building was turned into an improvised bunker, defended by a dozen or so Shimazu troops. Lightly armored and armed, nevertheless their power armor support platoon took to the streets, slaughtering a multitude of Alduri soldiers and blowing up their vehicles.

Detonating bombs and missiles shook the ground; the stench of burning bodies, polyplastic, and molten metal permeated the air. The city burned. Its coquette, beautiful streets were soon littered with smoldering machines and hundreds, later thousands of corpses. The screams of the wounded and the dying, weapons fire, earsplitting explosions – all of those combined were the ever-present “music” of war, which only the dead could truly escape from.

Saitama’s birthplace was but a tiny settlement, its population numbered only a few thousand. Soon after he concluded his five year long specialist training on Sirius, he returned home and immediately joined the Guards battalion.

Orphaned at an early age, he was adopted into the Shimazu clan by one of the most influential retainers on Luxa Secundis, Itsuki Sama. Saitama’s parents were geologists and perished in a freak cave accident, while they surveyed the nearby mountain range. He was a baby when they died and remembered nothing of them; while growing up without parents was not exactly a pleasant experience, it toughened him up.

Itsuki Sama’s household raised Saitama well. Even though the child was not showered with lavish gifts or given a lot of attention, he wasn’t neglected either. However, despite being the most influential clan retainer, his adoptive father was not exactly the richest man around. This is why, when Saitama was given a modest stipend and told he could choose his way in life, the young man felt overwhelmed. He’d always dreamed of becoming a true samurai warrior and being part of clan Shimazu, this difficult road was made available to him.

Since early childhood his mind was always preoccupied with a strong desire to protect others. So very much so, that oftentimes Saitama found himself in the most precarious of situations and more often than not, this happened as a direct result of his want to help.

The resident morale officer of his household told him, that this want to aid others stemmed from the fact that he’d lost his parents. Perhaps this was the reason or maybe his desire to help and protect people has always been part of his character and therefore, the boy fully embraced it.

Despite his many failures, others soon joined him; during the span of five years, many dozens of orphaned children gravitated around Saitama, followed his example. Most of the chores he and his friends helped others with were vehicle repair work, farming and picking up fruit, which was how Saitama saved a modest sum. These hard earned credits he invested in his education; the stipend Itsuki Sama’s household gave him was not enough for all the extra training courses he enrolled in.

On Sirius Prime local colonists built with their own funds a military academy, and anyone who had the credits could receive instruction from specialists. Saitama chose a lot of useful courses like first aid, field entrenchment construction, booby trap crafts, and passed all of them with flying colors.

Back on his homeworld he was part of its armed forces; sergeants and officers of the 565^th made sure a promising, skilled young man like him got all the extra training they could offer. Eager to achieve his childhood dream, Saitama soaked up every advice, all their wisdom and lessons.

His commanders taught him how to aim and shoot straight under fire, proper use of cover and formation tactics. Even the unit’s commander took note of him; the young man demonstrated aptitude in swordsmanship and was therefore given a katana. This vibrosword was shorter than what proper samurai warriors wielded, but he knew that this was his initial step on the road to becoming one of them. Shimazu retainers oftentimes began as common soldiers adopted or marrying into the clan and gradually, when they proved their merit, these men were made samurai.

Saitama invested every waking hour he could into his military study and physical exercises, further demonstrating his devotion to the Way of Peace. While he trained, the young soldier reached back to his community, made sure to reconnect with his old friends. The same orphans he roamed together around the city with, they were now grown ups like him. He was a soldier, his duty to protect his friends who became mechanics, farmers, cooks, and... parents.

For all his desire to help others, to become stronger, more skilled, and a capable warrior, Saitama did not find time to build a family of his own. Oftentimes, in his bed, before he fell asleep, the young soldier promised himself to go on a tour of his clan’s mecha bay. All power armor pilots, in true Shimazu tradition, were maidens who had successfully graduated from Earth’s top mecha academies. He even set a date for his visit, yet the Universe seemingly had other, more deadlier plans for Saitama...

The single biggest city on this planet locals aptly named Momo (peach in Japanese), because the mellow climate was perfect for cultivating peaches. Even the most capricious species grew up healthy and tall, their long branches bent, overburdened and heavy with fruit. From his current position, one of the biggest buildings in the city, he could easily see raging flames devouring each and every orchard.

All the hard work ruined; all these years spent cultivating, tending to the earth – wasted!

Armed with a long-range railgun rifle, Saitama took aim and fired at the nearest cluster of advancing towards his position enemies. His unit had been outfitted with brand new, Arisaka Type 300 rifle; its bayonet attached in case enemy melee troops assaulted his position.

Saitama pulled the trigger again. The 5mm railgun pellet found its target and, after tearing through the enemy’s light chest armor, left him dead on the ground with two near identical gory holes. He fired twelve power packs, shot more than three dozen Alduri soldiers dead, yet no matter how many of them he killed, more kept coming.

One after another, his unit’s PA support lost their mechs and enemy vehicles conquered the streets. Soon they blasted each of the reinforced buildings with heavy missiles, PPGs, and particle-beam cannons. Alduri had ample air support; GAV craft flew everywhere, the scream of their grav-engines made him constantly look up and scan the air for danger.

Japanese troops were not known for being easily routed, yet this assault was so well-planned and executed, the numbers their enemies threw at them so overwhelmingly great, that even they were forced to retreat in haste.

His own platoon was perhaps the last unit which managed to fight its way through Alduri forces and exit Momo city. Their goal was to reach Akane mountain range, take refuge in its extensive cave system, engage in guerrilla warfare, survive until reinforcements arrived.

Sadly, none of them managed to achieve this since after taking up cover in one mega concrete trench, Saitama’s troop was assailed by one GAV. The vehicle’s armor plating was near impervious to their small arms fire and it showered them with rockets. Those were followed by bursts of particle-beams and, to make sure these pesky, defiant Terrans were truly dead, a big plasma bomb.

The last thing he remembered before falling unconscious was one of his clansmates grenades exploding. On rare occasions, even Terran equipment malfunctioned.

After an arduous five minute crawl, Saitama finally managed to reach the medic’s body and reached to grab the injector. Something scratched his mind and soon it overflowed with new, alien to him thoughts:

“Why should he even heal his wounds? Wasn’t it better for him, a useless, dumb barbarian, to simply roll over and die? Indeed, there was no point resisting – nobody could defeat the all powerful Alduri! For they were destined to rule all of Fringe Space one day, soon after genetic failures like Humankind and its Clients were completely exterm...”

Saitama screamed as loud as he possibly could in his own head and for a short while, he was able to silence these vile cerebrations.

Taking one look behind him, he saw a dozen or so Alduri soldiers who casually walked towards his position. Arrogant and sure of his demise, they weren’t even holding their guns, but had them mag-locked on their backs. Reaching with the injector, his hand shook again and, immediately the thoughts of embracing his own doom came back.

Saitama had no power packs left for his rifle, however the dead medic was equipped with both sidearm and a Snub gun. He reached for the dead man’s laser pistol; with his best speed he aimed and then pressed the trigger. Hit by the blueish beam, one of the Alduri troopers wavered and then vanished in thin air!

It was then, when Saitama realized that perhaps not all of those alien soldiers were actually real – most of them probably existed only inside his mind. With the utmost of concentration and constantly fighting the ever-present alien thoughts who assailed him, he fired one shot after another. The second one of these troopers wavered, hesitated in his steps, he instantly emptied what energy remained in the pistol’s power pack at him.

Suddenly there were no more treacherous thoughts chipping at his sanity! There, mere fifty feet away, on the blood-soaked ground lay the smoldering corpse of ONE Alduri soldier. Hand shaking from extreme tire, nevertheless Saitama was able to inject himself. In any other situation he’d take his time and treat each of the wounds, slowly. That he could not do right now and teeth gritting from the intense pain, he emptied the injector’s container.

He could feel how his broken bones got rearranged by the medical nanites present in the gel. Abdomen burning, Saitama realized that some of his intestines may have been ruptured by missiles exploding near him. Still unable to walk, he exerted all of his strength and endurance after picking clean every useful item from the medic’s dead body, he crawled deeper into the cave.

Keeping his trusty Arisaka rifle, he now held the lightweight, ergonomic RM10 or how it was better known as the Porcupine. The Snub railgun had collapsible stock and could fire on short or full auto with the flip of a switch. It was so easily controllable, that oftentimes people with good aim fired from the hip or even one handed.

He removed the medic’s ammo pouch and grabbed four of his outer armor plates; the right leg, left shoulder, right forearm, and chest. Saitama had a tool kit and knew how to use it. Keeping ones equipment and especially the armor in good shape was essential to survival. He slowly stood up and using the cave wall, limped forward into the darkness while balancing the weight of his gear.

Echoes came from behind. The loud screech of grav-engines and the shouts of multiple enemy soldiers forced him to hasten his pace. Noticing one of the smaller side tunnels, Saitama decided to enter it, hoping he could increase the distance between him and the enemy. Hiding from telepaths was pointless unless your mind was supremely disciplined or you had a good quality psychic nullifier nearby.

Seconds after he painfully slid through the crevice, his eyes fell upon another Alduri soldier who lay wounded on the cave’s floor. The enemy had her pistol trained at him and immediately, he aimed the Snub gun. Right before he pulled the trigger, however, Saitama’s mind was overcome with doubt. What was this wounded trooper doing here? Even if a thought, one very persistent thought beckoned him to shoot, another part of his mind stubbornly resisted.

Common sense dictated that this invader would quickly receive aid and not hide deep in a cave, risking her life, while her kin was in full control of the battlefield. More and pushier cerebrations overflowed his tired beyond measure mind, calling him... no, commanding him to fire his weapon.

“Don’t shoot me, I am not an enemy!” – Shouted the wounded alien and lowered her weapon.

Saitama’s head hurt so much, he felt it could explode!

Nevertheless he fought with all his strength, ultimately blocking these thoughts and immediately witnessed the female form before him shift. Instead of Alduri he saw a Human girl. One of his own unit’s power armor pilots, her suit was burned and punctured, her left sleeve soaked in blood.

Hastily he reloaded his empty medical injector and treated the pilot’s deepest wound; gritting her teeth, the maiden successfully silenced her painful scream. She shouldered some of his weight and since her legs were not hurt, they quietly strutted even deeper into the crevice.

No longer able to probe his mind, the Alduri had to rely on scanners and their own survival skill to track the two Terrans. Feeling that some of his wounds were now almost healed, Saitama increased his pace and soon, he and the unknown pilot reached a subterranean river. She looked at the crystal clean, but freezing cold water, and after gently aiding him into the stream, she uttered:

“I sincerely hope you can swim and your helmet is still air tight.”

Saitama remembered that his faceplate was still open and checked the armored suit’s status.

“I can’t swim well and no, sadly my helmet is damaged.” – After he said this she slid open her own helmet, removed it and asked him to do the same.

Even in the darkness he could easily see her beauty. White, porcelain skin, jet-black hair, which she wore braided like most mecha pilots. A pair of gentle brown eyes followed his movements, explored his tired visage. Red, supple lips smiled at him, her hand reached with a clean vacfoam rug and wiped his bloodied face. Still smiling, the girl winked at him and whispered reassuringly:

“No worries, I am an excellent swimmer and will share my breath with you, Samurai San.”

The maiden filled her lungs with air and gracefully submerged, quickly swimming ahead. Saitama speedily followed her after breathing in as much air he could, hoping that his tired body would not fail him. Her legs moved in a well practiced rhythm and one hand holding his damaged shoulder armor, the girl helped him.

Saitama forced himself to move quickly, but as soon as he tried replicating her movements, the muscles of his wounded leg violently contracted. Suffering from one of the worst cramps he’d ever felt, he could barely move using only one leg and an arm. His lungs were burning, yet Saitama pushed himself even more until he could barely move.

He felt the girl’s lips on his while she shared her breath with him; mobilizing all of his remaining strength, he swam with her. Both of them almost drowned, but reached one small twist in the river, a rocky dome filled with air. They re-surfaced and hastily breathed, their faces mere inches away of each other.

“Are you not afraid we could die?” – Saitama asked perplexed, witnessing the girl’s happy grin.

“No, because I have you with me! The samurai protect, they always save others.”

He almost choked on this answer... the pilot still assumed that he was a samurai.

“Private 1^st class Saitama, adopted son of Izuki. What is your name and rank?”

“Junior pilot 2^nd grade Nozomi, Sir!” – She blinked smiling and answered, saluting him with her free hand.

“I guess we should keep swimming forward, Nozomi. The air here already feels heavy and I don’t know if we could find another pocket like this one.” – Saitama punched his thigh a couple of times, hoping the cramp would go away.

“Don’t worry Samurai San, the river continues for at least one hundred steps. On the other side we will have all the air we would ever need.” – Nozomi’s smile, if that was even possible, grew wider and he realized something.

“You... you know these caves, don’t you?”

“Yes, I often swim here for fun.”

“What... cough... what is on the other side?”

“Another tunnel which leads to a bigger cave, Sir. I and some friends built our secret base there, stored some supplies and gear, in case Momo city gets... You know, in case like what happened today.” – Saitama nodded and smiled; his leg somehow did not hurt so bad anymore.

They filled their lungs and submerged into the frosty waters, minds invigorated by the hope they gave each other.

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