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Fatua Forest
Cadaen City
Caer Seus
Fortress Worlds
Second Church Protectorate


“What are you doing, Meds?” asked Walsh, watching Medina tug at his satchel.

“We,” he grunted, “are not going to make a big difference down there, but,,,got you, my beauty…”

He held up a cartridge of ammunition, slipping one round free and passing it to Walsh.

“That’s heavy,” said Walsh, surprised.

“Yeah,” Medina said, clicking the round back in place, “I’ve been keeping these for a special occasion.”

“What are they…armour piecing?”

“Of a sort,” agreed Medina, finishing bolting his tripod together, “now stop asking questions and help me. If we’re going to do any damage to the shuttle, we need a steady platform.”

“But how?” interrupted Walsh.

“Watch and learn, my boy,” said Medina, “watch and learn…”

Medina was a hoarder, he originally was picked for his marksmanship to represent his regiment and that opened doors. Like-minded individuals traded ideas, weapons and even ammunition. These rounds were just such an item, giving to him by an armourer from the Protectorate Testing Station. Medina had never believed that they could do what he had been told, but now he would find out first hand.

They were more of a shell than a bullet, a specifically designed triple action Sabot round. The first charge opened the armour piercing which punctured the target metal. Secondary action detonated a smaller charge containing a deadly explosive cocktail, which was released in a devastating tertiary reaction.

Pain, injection and instant sunshine was how his friend had described it. Now he would finally see.

“Spot me,” he muttered, finally relaxing into his firing position.

“Target identified,” said Walsh, “painting the rear of the shuttle now.”

“Target acquired,” replied Medina, then with a single exhalation of breath, “firing…”

*

Tepid water trickling into his nasal passages brought General Franc coughing and spluttering back to reality. It was dark and the sound of cascading water was loud to his ears. There was a muffled thump of heavy fire, but the water effectively deadened the noise.

With a free hand the General tried to orient himself, but debris impeded him; up and down had no real meaning and panic settled coldly onto his shoulders. A sudden lurch and then the Command Vehicle was tumbling. Something had hit them, but identification was impossible. Rolling over and over, the General’s disorientation was complete; weakened by cold, shock and blood loss, the mad gyrations were suddenly too much. He gave in. opening his mouth in welcome to the water.

A natural gagging reflex brought him back to his senses; vomit and dirty water mingled, adding a new stench to that of the already confining space.

The vehicle lurched again, but then slowly began to move backwards. Light filtered into the cabin and General Franc scrambled desperately for a weapon, any weapon.

A screeching of metal against metal signaled the end, and General Franc watched helplessly as the roof of the vehicle was peeled away.

“Hey General,” asked Korovsky, squatting on the vehicle’s roof, “you still in there?”

“Don’t worry,” he croaked, “the crusty old goat finally got his arse in gear.”

Korovsky had the good grace to blush and then offered his hand.

“Good to see you Sir and,” he grunted as he pulled his Commanding Officer clear, “I’m sure you’re going to want to see this.”

General Franc stared open-mouthed at the battle before him. Armoured figures ripped into the Tauran forces, their ferocity seeming to increase with each passing moment. He grunted in pain as the Medic continued treating him, but twisted impatiently away as the man’s ministrations impaired his vision.

“Who are they?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“I think,” said Korovsky, “that these must be the Elite that the captain spoke of.”

The General had already reached the same conclusion and was astonished at the destruction that these few soldiers could hand out. At their front, and dwarved by those around him, was the most ferocious of all. No obvious weapons were in evidence, the soldiers relying on his armoured fists to deal out his punishment. Franc watched as he caught a fleeing Tauran, punching his fist through the man’s back, dragging him off his feet and stomping him into submission.

“Sir!”

Korovsky’s cry caught his attention and he followed his subordinate’s pointing finger towards the Attack Shuttle. Doors now closed and the craft powered up, rising from the ground and turning to bring its weapons to bear.

Things are about to get a lot worse,” he muttered, remembering the vessel’s firepower. He held his breath and prayed.

*

“Now!” shouted Walsh, “Shoot it now!”

“All in good time Walshie,” said Medina, “all in good time…”

Medina waited until the Attack Shuttle cleared the remaining Church Guard vehicle, and turned, presenting its engines towards him.

“Come to papa…” he said and squeezed the trigger.

The big rifle boomed, the first explosive charge igniting the round as it cleared the muzzle. Its recoil was enormous, slamming Medina backwards as the now released shell sped towards its target.
Medina’s armourer friend had played up the round’s effectiveness, or at least that had been his intention. This particular charge had never been used in anger, rather it had been the fulfillment of a Technician’s crazed imagination. On the firing range it had performed ably against static targets. What it had now in front of it was a living machine, charging its plasma batteries ready to cleanse the earth of Eldrid and his men.

The shell pierced the skin of the rear-most engine nacelle, boring its way through metal before reaching the fuel cells. There the secondary charge released a heady cocktail of chemicals which needed no tertiary charge. It exploded anyway.

General Franc saw the initial round hit and the Shuttle sway slightly. The craft appeared to shrug off the impact and steadied itself prior to attacking Eldrid and his men. As the General waited for them to die, the world was suddenly bathed in brilliant blue-white fire.

Not only had the third charge exploded, but it did so rupturing the fuel cells and adding to the already lethal mix. Engine, plasma cells and shell exploded simultaneously, disintegrating the Shuttle in a ball of pure hellfire.

Eldrid and his men were the only ones safe from its ire, their visors automatically darkening as their suits reacted to this new threat. Even so they were smashed to the ground with the sheer power of the explosive wave. Their rivals were not so lucky.

The General was saved by Korovsky and the Medic who both charged into him, tumbling together behind his already destroyed vehicle. His scream of pain as new burns and old wounds reopened was lost amidst the cataclysm of sound and light.

Gorkus was the first back to his feet and he and Elana helped steady Eldrid. Elana heard strange sound from Eldrid’s suit and shook him gently.

“Lord,” she asked, “are you alright?”

“Yes,” gasped Eldrid, “and you said his weapon was useless…”

With that he doubled over in helpless laughter, as the perplexed Elite looked on.

Crator heard the firing, thinking at first that his men’s natural lusts had gotten the better of them. Cursing, he threw his latest victim aside and reached for his communicator. It was then that the alarms began to wail.

He kicked his way to the window, heaving bodies aside in his haste. When he reached the terrace overlooking the plaza, he roared in indignation. There were Elite below.

“Weapons,” he shouted, “bring me my weapons.”

A stray round smashed against the coping, splintering wood into Crator’s face. He looked down and saw a young Tauran aim again. Reaching behind, he dragged his aide forward as a makeshift shield, feeling his body jerk with the impact of the bullet. What was happening?

*

Loki saw the youth fire and swiveled to find his intended target. There was something strange here, something he should know, but now was not to time to lose himself in idle thought.

“Retreat,” he ordered over his communicator, grabbing the still snarling Technician by the arm and dragging him away.

“...and bring the Tauran prisoners.”

His men obeyed, snatching the rifle from the young Tauran’s hand and shoving him roughly after Loki. Three humans tried to follow the four Technicians and two Taurans still standing. With a backwards glance, Loki dismissed them, but the Technician by his side clutched his arm.

“Lord,” he pleaded, “you cannot leave them.”

Loki was tempted to strike the Technician, but honour demanded some amount of respect for the strange warrior.

“Well…”

“Thomas, my Lord.”

“Well, Thomas,” said Loki, moving to one side, “then they are your responsibility.”

The young man nodded and turned to help the woman and two children. What surprised Loki more, was that the Tauran rifleman also went to help.

*

“So you survived,” said the General as Eldrid approached, flanked by two of the enormous Elite.

“It seems that way, Sir,” replied Eldrid, wincing at the extent of the General’s injuries.

“My nephew too…”

The General sounded ashamed, which made Eldrid wary, counseling him to silence.

“Well, you will hear soon enough,” continued General Franc, “he seems to have inherited nothing in the way of a backbone, although I do not think that I’ll be doing anything in the way of fighting, for a while either.”

He waved away Eldrid’s protests and motioned Korovsky to his side.

“Listen, both of you,” he said, grimacing against the pain, “my nephew cannot be allowed to lead. He is senior to you, Korovsky, and will try to take over. For some reason, he has taken a dislike to you Eldrid, and I cannot risk dissension throughout our forces. Apart from that, no offense meant my friend, Korovsky here is Artillery, and we need Infantry on the ground”

“No offense taken, my General,” replied a grinning Korovsky, “at least I got you to obey my orders.”

“That you did,” acknowledged the General, “but Eldrid here has one or two things going in his favour.”

Korovsky looked at the enormous Elite, and nodded at the General.

“Therefore,” he continued, “I’m giving you a field commission, Eldrid.”

“But Sir,” protested Eldrid, “I’m just a Sargeant.”

“Have you forgotten, Major,” he said, “you are whatever I say you are…”

Fatua Forest
Cadaen City
Caer Seus
Fortress Worlds
Second Church Protectorate

Their pace was slow; one air-car full of wounded restricted their movements. Korovsky led them north, twisting and turning in an attempt to leave no obvious trail.

“He will not accept you,” said Gorkus, “we will have to fight.”

“Who?” asked Gorkus, although he already knew the answer. Captain Franc was well past the bounds of reason.

“The Captain,” confirmed Gorkus, “in order to retain his status, his leadership, he will have to challenge you.”

“A serious error on his part,” muttered Eldrid, checking on their progress.

“Indeed,” agreed Gorkus, “but apart from these few like Medina and Walsh, the rest of us are not strictly human.”

“Neither am I, either in reality or in his mind,” said Eldrid, “and we can do without more trouble, when what we need to do is concentrate on the defeat of the Taurans.

Gorkus shrugged. He took no offence at the general term used, as Eldrid had not named the Elite, nor did he and his brothers and sisters consider themselves the same as the rest of the Taurans.

“That is true,” he said, “but I must insist that you do not underestimate this Captain. Without the General we are seriously exposed.”

Eldrid instinctively looked at the air car to his rear. General Franc was heavily sedated as his burns proved much worse than at first glance. Without his backing, Gorkus’ concern began to have real weight.

“Very well,” said Eldrid, “warn our people to be ready. I do not wish to kill other Church Guard, but it would be best to be prepared for any outcome.”

“Lord,” acknowledged Gorkus, turning away.

Eldrid smiled, he was almost becoming used to the honorific. A cough caught his attention and Medins sidled forward.

“Sarge, or should I say Major,” he said, his tone serious for once, “where do you want Walshie and I?”

“Prepare our soldiers and the Technicians,” replied Eldrid, as a shout announced their arrival at the base’s entrance, “we may well need to beat a hasty retreat.”

Medina nodded, checking his ammunition belt before casually sauntering towards Walsh. With Eldrid around there was never a dull moment, and this one promised to be more interesting than usual.

*

“Captain?”

Franc responded to the query and saw the contacts outlined on his screen. They turned from red to green and he gulped in anticipation. This could only be the General, or at least some of his party.

“Call out the men,” he growled.

“…But Sir,” queried his aide, “the signal transponder confirms that it is the General.”

“Transponders can be stolen,” snarled the captain, “ now call out the men!”

“Yes Sir!” acknowledged his aide, shutting away his own doubts from plain view.

Franc checked his sidearm and moved to the main area. He appeared relaxed, his armed men relaxing him with their readiness. Most were literally his own, hand-picked to follow his orders. They knew to whom they owed their allegiance.

“Move out,” he called, “weapons hot.”

He was met by grins of anticipation, rather than questions. Yes, he thought, he had indeed chosen well.

*

Eldrid held back as he watched soldiers stream from the base. He let Korovsky move forward, his suit’s systems warning him of the aggressive targeting of weapons directly lighting him up.

“Sir,” Korovsky saluted Captain Franc as he pushed past his men, “we have the General with us and he’s in a poor state. He needs immediate medical attention.”

Franc ignored him, turning instead to face Eldrid.

“You will surrender your arms,” he called, “you are all traitors and will obey or be fired upon!”

“Sir!” insisted Korovsky, “Major Wild saved us from the Taurans!”

“Major?” spat Captain Franc, “Since when?”

“Since the General promoted him, Sir,” said Korovsky.

“Show me his commission…anything proving your outrageous claim,” sneered Franc, “there’s nothing is there?”

“The General was injured,” replied Korovsky, “and we are all witnesses.”

“Traitor!” screamed Franc, “Do you think me fool enough to believe this fabrication?”

“It is the truth,” insisted Korovsky.

“You have been infected by these scum,” said the Captain in a calmer voice, and then waving to his men, “take them.”

“Stop!”

Eldrid’s augmented voice boomed from his armour. France in his eagerness had moved too far from the protection of his men and his actions left Eldrid no option. Elite moved rapidly, cordoning off the Captain and interposing their armoured bodies between him and his men. Stray rounds pinged off the metal of the suits before Franc’s strangled “Cease Fire!” brought calm once again.

Eldrid moved closer to the sweating Captain who now held Korovsky in a headlock, his pistol muzzle pressed into the man’s forehead.

“I will kill him,” he whined.

“Then you will die,” the words were spoken with a cold certainty, “and none shall mourn you.”

“You would not let me kill him,” sneered Franc, “you are too weak…”

“True,” said Eldrid conversationally, “but I know someone who will…”

A rifle barked and Franc screamed, his hand shattered at the wrist.

“Thank you,” said Eldrid moving through the ring of Elite.

“You’re welcome,” laughed Medina through his communicator, “you sure that you don’t want me to finish the job, Sir?”

“Quite sure,” said Eldrid, “but thanks for the offer anyway.”

He watched the Church Guard in front of him, sighed and then spoke. There was no other way.

“You have a choice,” he said, “pick up your Captain and walk away or simply you can die.”

Rifles dropped from their ready positions and men shuffled uneasily, leaderless and uncertain.

As Korovsky appeared by his side he heard a muffled “well that’s a real shame” through his communicator and could not find it within himself to disagree.

Chapter Eleven

Fatua Forest
Cadaen City
Caer Seus
Fortress Worlds
Second Church Protectorate

Crator was frightened, a state he found less than palatable. Failure within Tauran society usually led to death or disgrace. The first was more common and the second more likely under his current circumstances. However, he could not rule out a combination of both options. A change in leadership meant opportunity, yet he had made his name on the back of Artur-Ap-Naib’s victories. His new Lord would more than likely use that fact against him.


“We are ready.”

Crator acknowledged his Aide’s comment and managed to suppress his own anxiety with respect to his new situation. Although Ap-Ban was approaching the planet, Crator still had a small window of opportunity.

“Deploy the troops,” he growled, “it is time to make our move.”

The air-car surged forward as the attack commenced. These humans were stupid. A secret base indeed, anyone could be convinced to give up information, you only needed to use the right incentive; a promised end to intensive torture usually worked fine.

*

Eldrid felt the earth tremble as the shelling began. His decision and that of Capitan Franc taken there was no turning back. That did not however mean that they could not take a hand.

He looked at the small group of those who followed him; armoured figures flanked the group with the battered air-car in the center. The Tauran Technicians grinned happily, whilst the ex-Church Guard fell back on the comfort of discipline. Eldrid had been surprised of the number of those willing to turn their backs on Capitan Franc. Korovsky had stayed to protect the General, but the rest of his crew had followed willingly. Medina and Walsh were a given, yet a few others had joined them, leaving to Capitan Franc’s cries of “Traitors…”

“Gorkus?”

The Elite responded to his call, “Yes, Lord?”

“I would like to make a statement,” said Eldrid, as his men filed past, “one which leaves our Tauran enemies with no doubt of our future intentions.”

“The Capitan has made his decision,” commented Gorkus dispassionately, “and we are not honour-bound to save him.”

“That I know,” replied Eldrid, “but many of the humans there are only following his orders.”

“A poor excuse,” grunted Gorkus, yet he too understood duty.

“Leave one of our Elite here,” said Eldrid, eyeing the advancing Tauran troops, “the rest will come with me.”

*

Shells screamed overhead, tearing through the fragile sky. They slammed to earth, pulping men and machines in their fury. Church Guard tried to respond,
but their secure fortifications proved to be little more than a well-constructed trap. Slowly they retreated as the barrage increased.

Korovsky knelt by the supine General, blood streaming from a gashed forehead. He watched as the Capitan attempted to rally his men, but picking men not for skill in battle but rather ill-placed loyalty was a sure recipe for disaster. They died where they crouched or ran for cover, self-preservation their only objective.

“To me!” shouted a raucous Capitan Franc, yet his commands and entreaties were ignored. Korovsky made his decision.

“You!” he grabbed one of his remaining men, dragging him away from the battle, “stay here and keep the General safe.”

“Sir!” acknowledged the soldier, kneeling by the General and pointing his auto-rifle towards the enemy, whilst keeping a wary eye on the now frantic Capitan Franc.

Korovsky ran hunched over, tapping selected soldiers on the shoulder and physically forcing them to his side. He spotted a working air-car and sent one of his men to start it, whilst he tried vainly to attract the Capitan’s attention.

“What do you want?” snarled Franc, taking his anger out on Korovsky.

“We need to break out,” shouted Korovsky over the deafening din of battle, “this is a rat trap. If we stay, we die!”

“Another traitor!” snarled Franc, reaching for his pistol.

“Give me a reason,” said Korovsky slowly, the combat knife in his hand pricking Franc’s stomach.

Franc looked down, shocked by the insubordination.

“We’re leaving,” stated Korovsky flatly, “try to stop me and I will take great pleasure in gutting you where you stand.”

“Do whatever you want,” squeaked Franc, trying hard to maintain his dignity. He failed.

“That I will,” agreed Korovsky, “you should have listened to Eldrid, instead of playing the fool, as should have I.”

“Get out of my sight,” spat Franc, “the next time I see you, I’ll kill you.”

Korovsky laughed, “That’ll never happen…”

“What?” asked a seemingly astonished Franc, “You doubt I am capable?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt your capacity for mindless and ill thought-out acts,” said Korovsky as he backed away, “it’s your survival I find hard to believe…”

Chapter Twelve

Cadaen City
Caer Seus
Fortress Worlds
Second Church Protectorate

Loki studied the supply train; there was something odd about it. Five hover trucks with an armoured air-car in front and back. For a war zone, it was invitingly light. He sent his men to scout and ducked below the ridge.

“We need food,” said Shean, hunger making him bold, “this woman and child are suffering.”

“Me too,” said Bort, before lowering his head in submission under Loki’s gaze.

“What do you suggest?” asked Loki, curious to hear Shean’s ideas.

“You are Elite,” said Shean, emboldened by Loki’s apparent interest, “surely two air-cars are no bother for you,
and there must be food inside the supply train.”

“True,” agreed Loki, “but there is something strange here which is pushing me towards caution.”

Shean though, surely not fear! No, it had to be something else.

“It’s too easy,” he said thoughtfully, “they want to be attacked.”

“Correct,” said Loki.

“So we do nothing?” asked Shean.

“Oh no,” said Loki, “we are going to attack. Just not in the way they are expecting…”

*

Shean wished he had kept his mouth shut as it appeared that the Elite’s plan involved his sacrifice. At least he hoped that Loki’s plan was a little more complicated than laughing at Shean’s predicament. He sighed, stood and moved from cover, raising his arms in signal.

The lone Tauran who suddenly appeared waving his arms towards the supply train brought an unexpected dividend. Soldiers boiled from the second truck, the gun turrets from the leading air-car swiveling at the same time to cover him.

“What do you want?”

The voice boomed from external speakers, causing Shean to pause convincingly. In truth, his fear was no act.

“I’m lost,” he said, slowly walking towards the air-car with his arms raised high, “and am I glad to see you.”

Silence greeted his admission and movement on the ridge line only augmented his fear.

Shean dived for cover, hoping that Loki’s plan was just a little more thought out than it appeared to be.