Warriors’ Pride
Chapter 3
Terran Trenches
Chandler Front
Repleetah II
Night fell over the front, casting a cloak of darkness upon the trenches and tunnels that so many warriors on both side have called home for too long. Being of a species that evolved on a tidally-locked world, Kruq’nov’s night vision was nowhere near as great as the Terran cats he and his kind are often called. That sort of night-vision would have given the Kilrathi a great advantage. Of course, the Apes would just shoot off a bunch of flares in their faces and blind them. Many fires rages in the occupied lines. They were not so much for light as they were for food. Rats were just at home on this side of no-man’s land as they were on the other. A number of fat rats, some the size of his head, were already spitted and roasting over the fire.
The trenches and tunnels were sealed enough that the air was no longer lethal. Most warriors have discarded their E-suits for a bit of rest and fresh air, so to speak. In his bare hand rested the tag lifted from a dead Terran, and positively identified as Mac’Fearson. Or at least a Mac’Fearson. The Apes tended to identify themselves by their Prides and not their own namesakes. No other Ape with that name has passed through Kilrathi control lately, dead or alive. Come to think of it, only a few Apes passed through the lines alive.
He shuddered at the thought of prisoners. To die fighting or even to retreat were acceptable, and being taken by the enemy while incapacitated was one thing, but to voluntarily give up the fight. What shame these warriors– no, they did not deserve that title. These Apes bring great dishonor upon their Prides. Few Kilrathi warriors ever suffered this fate. Plenty have defected, but few surrendered. It would not be his fate. For the moment, he knew not what it would be. More than likely, death in battle, like so many before him.
With time of rest before him, Kruq’nov shared his fire with Nrsah, the warrior who he trusted more than any other. This was saying very little, since Kruq’nov was not one to trust another Kilrathi male so easily. He knew that any warrior in his ranks would chose himself as the one who should live, and sacrifice the others to make it so. Kruq’nov would sacrifice quite a few of them in return for his own survival, but not Nrsah. The young warrior reminded him of himself at that age– Kruq’nov shook his head in disbelief. Was he ever so young? Yes, but that was a lifetime ago.
Like Kruq’nov, Nrsah had no brother of birth to watch his back through the deadly game of life. Many warriors had stood in such a situation before them. Kruq’nov was already more than halfway through his life, while Nrsah still had much to learn. Though not brothers by birth, they were brothers by battle.
Kruq’nov stood ready. “I, Kruq’nov, hear by swear upon my honor my undying loyalty to Nrsah.” Kruq’nov extended his bare arm, and slashed open a few of the surface veins with his claws. This was an oath of blood, and one not taken lightly.
Nrsah stood proudly. Like many warriors before him, he had been taken under the wing of a veteran, a warrior from whose wisdom and experience he could learn much. Such brotherhoods nearly always involved an elder and a younger. “I, Nrsah, hereby swear upon my honor my undying loyalty to Kruq’nov.” He extended his own arm and slashed it open.
Each one grasped the other’s arm at the elbow, bringing the wounds together. Oaths spoken and blood mixed, the two were now Sworn Brothers. The Kilrathi had many ceremonies in their lives, but the more important ones tend to be the ones without pomp. Instead of celebration, Kruq’nov merely slapped Nrsah upon the shoulder. “Come, brother, let us eat.”
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Kruq’nov found himself abruptly awoken one morning by the sound of a thousand freight haulers roaring overhead. In the shelter that housed his squad and another, he grinned at the sight of several young warriors diving for cover. He watched them with some amusement out of one open eye. Such optimism by the youth; they still think they will be leaving this planet alive. Like all warriors this close to the Apes, he slept in his E-suit. When the first of the shells began to explode above them, he calmly reached over for his helmet and placed it upon his head.
Next to him, Nrsah sat with his back against the wall, still asleep. Kruq’nov reached over and smacked him upside the head. “Wake up, brother, the Apes are pitching another fit.”
Nrsah stirred and his eyes flew open at the sounds of explosions. “Artillery?” He only yawned in indifference. He then noticed the rookies taking whatever shelter they could find. “Do they not know that if a shell were to land on top of us, we’d be quite dead?”
Kruq’nov recalled when Nrsah witness his first barrage, and how he did the same thing. “True enough, but it would do you no good to sleep through it. It would be a shame if you died without staring Death in the eyes. Grab your gear and get ready to go outside.”
As Nrsah secured his helmet, Kruq’nov gave his plasma rifle a quick once-over. Far more warriors have died from not being cautious as opposed of being too cautious. Only a fool would jump into battle without knowing his weapon would work. The rifle had a full charge in it, and sparkled as brightly as any piece of equipment could in such a dank and filthy pit. The only comfort he ever took in the filth was that Terrans liked the dirt even less; hardly surprising, considering their ancestors fell out of the trees.
Over the roar of shells came one far louder. It sounded as if a freight train were burrowing down upon Kruq’nov. Rookies hissed in dismay at the strange sound. They had no idea what it could be. It did not explode, though the newcomers to Repleetah never considered that a bad thing. Kruq’nov heard the roar land with a loud thud that reverberated through his very soul. He knew that sound, a horrible sound he would have died happily never hearing it again.
As soon as it hit, the Apes let up their more explosive barrage. Kruq’nov looked over at his brother and jerked his thumb towards the door. Nrsah did not know the sound, not the way Kruq’nov knew. He did remember the stories his elder brother told him about the fighting before his arrival. Kruq’nov was first out of the bunker. It could be a ploy to draw as many warriors out before firing more shells, but he doubted it. If they Apes fired one of their combat drones over here, they would not risk damaging it. At least not until the machine inflicted the maximum amount of carnage possible.
Kruq’nov slowly stuck his head above the trench. The drone did not fall between them and the Apes. Instead, it fell behind the occupied trenches, trapping the Kilrathi against enemy lines. He did not like looking backwards. To be shot in the back of the head by a sniper was not a glorious death, though far from the least dignified this planet offered. He did not even relax when it was evident no sniper had a bead on him.
What he saw in the churned up and charred landscape that may have once been a prairie or a forest– over two shrik of fighting erased any former glory of this once marginal planet– came as close as anything could to strike fear into him. A long cone, looking much like a missiles, lay in a crater. That alone was not cause for alarm. Instead, the first of three legs emerging from the cone is what set that off.
“We have a drone!” Kruq’nov roared over his vox. That set every veteran in range into a frenzy of preparation.
Above the trenches, the drone had already righted itself. Once it stood on all threes, it towered over all Kilrathi warriors by a factor of four. The machine was too huge to have been fired from a regular gun. A launcher must be near, and perhaps a stockpile of drones. It was not the first time the Apes launched. He knew it could be worse; his first encounter with combat drones involved three of them.
An assortment of hatches on the polished durasteel surface of the drone slid open. Within the blink of an eye, deadly implements of war protruded from each opening. From what Army Intel managed to learn from destroyed drones was minimal. All they knew for certain was the drones were programmed to kill all Kilrathi, and were exceedingly proficient at the task. Kruq’nov dropped back into the trench the moment he saw the weapons. A few others were not so quick. The moment the drone went into its frenzy, a few others were a little more than dead.
Explosive rounds, plasma shots, and graser beams shot out in all direction as the drone lumbered forward. Any warrior who stood in its path did not stand for long. The quick and the smart took cover behind ruins and in shell craters, and fired blindly at the machine. Kruq’nov did likewise. Only the muzzle of his plasma rifle stood in view of the machine. Drones were not smart; if the weapon did not have a Kilrathi in sight of it, they tended to ignore it. Which was just as good; Kruq’nov has the same chance of downing this thing with a rifle as he did with a Terran armored vehicle.
Octaves of warriors began to pour fire down on the drone, and eighties more were killed where they fought. The drone had yet to come across the trenches, and Kruq’nov had no intention of being there when it did. The line dug deep into the ground– deep enough for the Apes at any rate– offered kill-fire zone no machine or warrior could resist. The trenches were not straight lines, but rather jagged, to minimize the damage caused should a shell land within it.
Explosions began to mix with the fire coming off the drone. The Kilrathi’s own guided artillery fell down upon the drone, chewing away at its armor and damaging its weaker weapons. Kruq’nov need not stick his head up to know what would happen. As sure as the sun rose every morning upon this planet, the drone turned its beam weapons upon the shells, detonating incoming fire. He watched on warrior with a shoulder-launched missile try to take aim at the drone, only to have the upper half of his body ripped to pieces by flechette rounds.
If the missile launcher was not melted into slag, he might have scooped it up and tried to launch it blindly. He mind was so focused on killing the drone, that he nearly missed the first of the Apes who dropped down into trench. His mind might have missed, but his rifle did not. A bolt of plasma slammed into the Ape’s E-suit, sending him flying back. For good measure, he rammed the bladed barrel into the warrior’s damaged chest.
A second Terran dropped in behind him and Nrsah, only to be cut down by the younger warrior’s lightning reflexes. A third and four Ape followed. It did not take the tactical genius of a Lord General to determine what was happening. The cursed Apes were using the drone as cover for a counter-attack. Kruq’nov swore loudly and venomously. Their attack would probably work too, and just how far back would the Kilrathi be pushed this time. Orders flowed across his vox, sounding a retreat.
“We better fall back to a more secure position,” Kruq’nov suggested, just ahead of the wave of Terran warriors. Both he and Nrsah fought a firing retreat, making their way through the maze of tunnels covered by their own plasma. Several other warriors linked up with them in the tunnels.
One of the warriors looked at Kruq’nov with a savage smile. “The drone is down.” The Second Claw noted he said down and not dead.
“How many warriors has it killed since it lost a leg?” Kruq’nov asked.
The other warrior growled. “Too many.” Unlike Apes, or even Kilrathi, combat drones were still deadly even after losing a leg. Or three for that matter. As long as its targeting system functioned, it would continue to fire upon all Kilrathi. They would have made a respectable foe, had they not been constructed to shield their creators from fire. Even as the Apes swarm over open ground and back into their lost trenches, the damaged drone drew a bulk of the withdrawing Kilrathi’s fire.
Kruq’nov was never one to be among the majority. He made his shots count. Even as he, Nrsah and the other warriors in his presence were forced back into the previous no-man’s land, he took aim at every Ape in sight. More than a few were cut down. He did not enjoy these kills from afar, never knowing the true face of his enemies. There was no glory here, not like when killing a seasoned and admired enemy. Of course, Kruq’nov enjoyed dying even less than sniping.
As Kilrathi fired up heavy weapons that remained in their previous positions, the Terran tide began to ebb. Few Apes were willing to cross an open, cratered field in the face of automatic weapon fire. Kruq’nov was one of the last Kilrathi to make it back to his former lines. He leapt back down into the trench, a trench of proper depth, while firing blindly at any pursuers.
Terrans continued their attack until night fall, when their numbers were sufficiently drained to prevent any breakthrough. Or rather when the Ape generals realized a breakthrough was no longer possible. If not for the clear and obvious fact that Kilrathi lines were in chaos, some great Lord General would probably order octaves of warriors to storm back across the dead zone. Kruq’nov had no great desire to die in a vainglorious attack.
As soon as the fighting died down, he stormed through one of the functioning atmospheric curtains and into a bunker. It was not the same bunker that was his home for the better part of two kahrik, but it did not look a whole lot different. He marched over to the nearest refrigeration unit and pulled the door open. As he suspected, no rations, but a couple of plasma rifles. Seems he was not the only veteran to survive today’s mayhem. He stood his rifle in the refrigerator, to allow it to cool. Had he been forced to fire it much longer, certain parts would likely have melted.
Nrsah joined him. “A good idea,” he said, imitating his elder brother’s example.
Kruq’nov let out a low growl, low enough so other warriors in the bunker could not hear. “I grow sick of this planet, and its endless battle. War is much more fun when you are winning.”
He did not fear death, not by a long shot. He would have lain down his life if it would lead the Kilrathi to victory. However, he refused to die in vain, like so many warriors did today. So many days of advance, wiped clean of the slate by one drone. That lone machine opened a breach in Kilrathi lines, allowing a wave of Terrans to sweep over recently conquered positions.
After depositing his weapon for cooling, he found himself a comfortable spot against the wall and slumped down in exhaustion. So much of his life wasted on this dying world, and for what? So he could have the privilege of waking up with fleas, eating rats, and being killed in glorious combat. He laughed at the thought. If cubs knew a half about what war with the Apes was like, they would never enlist in the army. The navy perhaps; in space, victory was at least possible.
No longer did he see any sort of victory as certain. When he tried to see into his future, he could only see the emptiness of the void. When he tried to imagine the future of the Empire, he could only see endless warfare, where the victor is the one who runs out of warriors last. When the last soldier to die is the winner, it is no victory.
What burned him the most was thinking what it was all worth. Nothing. He would gain nothing from victory or defeat, or dying for that matter. The preening, inbreed lords of the Eight and the Imperial Pride would gain all the booty of conquest. How many have they sent to their deaths, and how many of their scions have they sheltered, allowing them to take Prides of their own, and spreading their infected genes. How many of them have seen the true face of war. Kruq’nov own face was decorated by scars, one nasty one from a Terran melee weapon.
No more! Kruq’nov swore to himself that he and his brother would not shed another drop of blood for the nobles and their pointless war.
Forward Landing Area
“Come my brother, we’re leaving,” Kruq’nov said as he watched a great number of Kilrathi amble towards the cargo ships sitting outside of Terran artillery range. When word of a great many ships arrived reached him, he took Nrsah to investigate. He gave the excuse to the lord officer above him of gathering replacements. The officer told him he was wasting his time, but Kruq’nov insisted. He did a superb job of cleaning the blood of the blades of his rifle. Walking this far behind the lines with blood on one’s weapon would lead to too many questions.
Nrsah, naturally, knew nothing of the slaying. The officer had not seen much combat, being a replacement of his own. Had he not been a scion of one of the Eight, Kruq’nov disremembered which Pride, he might have merely incapacitated the officer. Or he might not have. No telling how long these ships would be on the ground, and he wanted no warning of his escape. Death in Thrakrik was one thing, killing without challenge what quite another. No matter what happens, he could not go back. That would be certain death.
Upon observing the columns of Kilrathi marching towards the ships, he determined there were two type. One were the wounded. That alone was unusual. Wounded in the Army survived depending upon their own strength. Males who were not strong, died. Who would help a strange male, even if he was a fellow warrior? After all, when healed, he could become potential competition for taking a Pride. As the wise Emperor said, before the nobility was closed to non-nobles, ‘no good deed shall go unpunished’.
Not only was it unusual, for plenty of future warriors were still growing to maturity back on civilized worlds, but it was deceitful. The majority of warrior– no, of males. They did not deserve the title of warrior. The majority were unwounded, and some looked as if they saw little battle. Nobles, lord officers, scions, and other Kilrathi that the Empire considered too important to die. They were leaving the planet in great numbers. Kruq’nov bared his teeth, ready to tear into any of their throats.
“Leaving?” Nrsah asked, puzzled. “We just arrived.”
Kruq’nov’s snarl turned to a smile. “You misunderstand, brother. We are not leaving the landing area. We’re leaving the planet.”
Nrsah started at the words. He whirled on Kruq’nov. “But, brother, the battle is not over.” Nrsah would not flee the battle. What warrior would. He pointed this out, in an attempt to correct Kruq’nov errant way.
Kruq’nov’s smile burst into a laugh. He swung his arm outward, gesturing to the lines of retreating Kilrathi. “They would. They are! If so many of these ‘important people’ are being evacuated, what does that mean?” When Nrsah did not answer, he continued. “It means they are abandoning the campaign here, and are abandoning us.”
Nrsah tried to digest his words. “If that is the case, then surely we shall all leave soon.”
“In a matter of speaking, the abandoned will be leaving. They will be leaving their mortal coils. The Emperor, in his wisdom,” Kruq’nov put a great deal of scorn into the word. “Decided he could not give up a planet battled for, for over two shrik. His pride will not let him admit this planet was never worth having. To evacuated all of us, he would look weak to his enemies among the Eight. So, to save face, he throws the rest of us into the fire.” Kruq’nov would not be surprised if no ships returned to this planet. Few brought supplies from off-world anymore. The fact that so many ships were here, and presumably all over the world, should be setting off alarm. Not to mention bringing down Ape attacks. Perhaps the Terrans were evacuating as well.
Of course, the more optimistic warriors might think of this as reinforcement and not desertion. Nrsah had hoped for reinforcements, to finally break the Apes on this planet. But as his brother said, Repleetah II was no longer worth having, if it ever truly was. Many warriors will spill the last of their blood, and for what? Even if they did overrun the Apes, the planet was nobody would care.
“Tell me, brother,” Kruq’nov asked. “Do you wish to die for those who care not at all for you?” Nrsah replied in the negative. “Nor do I. In fact, I’d like to see a world once more, where I did not have to wear this infernal breather, or a combat E-suit, in order to go outside. I would like to breath fresh air once again, feel the soil between my toes, and prey between my claws.” He looked down at his hand in sorrow. “Can’t even extend my claws in combat, not without risking contamination by some chemical weapon or other.”
Nrsah knew about that. He forgot himself before when he slashed the fact of that Ape officer. The air was only mildly toxic at the time, and the pain was low enough that it did not stop him from fighting. His fingertips were scared, and would be for the rest of his life. It was only a little damage, and caused discomfort occasionally when he unsheathed his claws. That would probably remain with him until he died as well.
“I do not like the idea of abandoning our post,” Nrsah admitted. Even after his time on Repleetah, his sense of duty had not corroded. He was still a male, and one that wished to live long enough to take a Pride of his own. “But I like the idea of dying for those who would leave loyal soldiers to perish, while they fled, even less. You are my brother now, and I shall follow where you leave.”
With that settled, he lead Nrsah down towards the line of Kilrathi preparing to leave the planet. He did not enter the lines of ‘important’ Kilrathi, but the wounded. They were cover for these cowards’ retreat, and would not likely be checked as careful as those who are intended to leave. He did not know where the wounded would be dumped in the end, and did not care, as long as it was not back here. No, they would be saved, healed, and sent back into combat. Kruq’nov had no intention to wear this uniform after he removed it for the final time.
The wounded boarded the ships, not into the passenger compartment, but the cargo holds. Marching up the ramp, he could see the holds have been converted for medical purpose. Those evacuating obviously planned to see their cover healed. He wondered how these lucky warriors were chosen. Probably just happened to be the ones wounded during the last Terran push. He saw plenty of burn wounds, where plasma bolts pierced E-suit and charred flesh.
One warrior, laying on a medical cot, had the left half of his face burned. Would they replace the damaged eye? Like all males born during the Ape War, he heard how the Emperor was wounded while battling the Varni. He lost an eye and arm in the war, and both were replaced. From what he heard of the glorious tales of battle in space, one his sons was killed early in the war. Another– he was executed after losing the Sivar. The rest of his sons– those lecherous fiends have left the Imperial Pride to take over other Prides in the name of Kilrah.
Kruq’nov growled at the thought of those unworthy males fathering so many offspring. How many skipped the war entirely? Too many. He imagined few of them ever smelled the scent of burned flesh and decay that choked the cargo hold turned medical bay. The stench of death was one of the things Kruq’nov would most certainly not miss. Nor would he miss having the reapers of the Gods pursue him during every waking moment.
The healthy warriors picked their way through the crowded bay, steeping around, and occasionally over, the wounded. Kruq’nov found an open spot against the bulkhead. The reddish-bronze metal looked as if never to have seen the ravages of war. Plenty of cargo, but never a shot fired in anger. He slumped down against the wall, leaning his rifle against his shoulder. He was far from free of Repleetah, and planned to be ready should any warrior try to remove him from the ship.
While sitting, he noticed a few warriors were not so badly wounded. The lord officers must have taken anybody with a wound, to make it appear as if so many ships were truly taking so many warriors off for healing. The doctors ignored them, focusing instead on those whose lives were still in peril. To be truthful, they were not real doctors, but medics. Doctoring was a role fit for females. Of course, war was only fit for males, and some males were forced to patch up the wounded long enough for them to be delivered to proper doctors. The Apes did not divide their labor as such– which went a long ways to explaining why their casualty rates among wounded was not so abysmally high.
Not another warrior in the cargo hold gave Kruq’nov a second glance. After all, if he were not authorized to be here, he would not. That showed just how little the true passengers of this ship cared. As long as their own worthless hides were saved, then they were content to extend their good graces to those who covered them. As long as they did not open the cargo hold to space, Kruq’nov might just live to see another planet. One thing was clear; if this were the evacuation he believed it to be, then not another warrior would ever leave this planet alive.
Chapter 3
Terran Trenches
Chandler Front
Repleetah II
Night fell over the front, casting a cloak of darkness upon the trenches and tunnels that so many warriors on both side have called home for too long. Being of a species that evolved on a tidally-locked world, Kruq’nov’s night vision was nowhere near as great as the Terran cats he and his kind are often called. That sort of night-vision would have given the Kilrathi a great advantage. Of course, the Apes would just shoot off a bunch of flares in their faces and blind them. Many fires rages in the occupied lines. They were not so much for light as they were for food. Rats were just at home on this side of no-man’s land as they were on the other. A number of fat rats, some the size of his head, were already spitted and roasting over the fire.
The trenches and tunnels were sealed enough that the air was no longer lethal. Most warriors have discarded their E-suits for a bit of rest and fresh air, so to speak. In his bare hand rested the tag lifted from a dead Terran, and positively identified as Mac’Fearson. Or at least a Mac’Fearson. The Apes tended to identify themselves by their Prides and not their own namesakes. No other Ape with that name has passed through Kilrathi control lately, dead or alive. Come to think of it, only a few Apes passed through the lines alive.
He shuddered at the thought of prisoners. To die fighting or even to retreat were acceptable, and being taken by the enemy while incapacitated was one thing, but to voluntarily give up the fight. What shame these warriors– no, they did not deserve that title. These Apes bring great dishonor upon their Prides. Few Kilrathi warriors ever suffered this fate. Plenty have defected, but few surrendered. It would not be his fate. For the moment, he knew not what it would be. More than likely, death in battle, like so many before him.
With time of rest before him, Kruq’nov shared his fire with Nrsah, the warrior who he trusted more than any other. This was saying very little, since Kruq’nov was not one to trust another Kilrathi male so easily. He knew that any warrior in his ranks would chose himself as the one who should live, and sacrifice the others to make it so. Kruq’nov would sacrifice quite a few of them in return for his own survival, but not Nrsah. The young warrior reminded him of himself at that age– Kruq’nov shook his head in disbelief. Was he ever so young? Yes, but that was a lifetime ago.
Like Kruq’nov, Nrsah had no brother of birth to watch his back through the deadly game of life. Many warriors had stood in such a situation before them. Kruq’nov was already more than halfway through his life, while Nrsah still had much to learn. Though not brothers by birth, they were brothers by battle.
Kruq’nov stood ready. “I, Kruq’nov, hear by swear upon my honor my undying loyalty to Nrsah.” Kruq’nov extended his bare arm, and slashed open a few of the surface veins with his claws. This was an oath of blood, and one not taken lightly.
Nrsah stood proudly. Like many warriors before him, he had been taken under the wing of a veteran, a warrior from whose wisdom and experience he could learn much. Such brotherhoods nearly always involved an elder and a younger. “I, Nrsah, hereby swear upon my honor my undying loyalty to Kruq’nov.” He extended his own arm and slashed it open.
Each one grasped the other’s arm at the elbow, bringing the wounds together. Oaths spoken and blood mixed, the two were now Sworn Brothers. The Kilrathi had many ceremonies in their lives, but the more important ones tend to be the ones without pomp. Instead of celebration, Kruq’nov merely slapped Nrsah upon the shoulder. “Come, brother, let us eat.”
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Kruq’nov found himself abruptly awoken one morning by the sound of a thousand freight haulers roaring overhead. In the shelter that housed his squad and another, he grinned at the sight of several young warriors diving for cover. He watched them with some amusement out of one open eye. Such optimism by the youth; they still think they will be leaving this planet alive. Like all warriors this close to the Apes, he slept in his E-suit. When the first of the shells began to explode above them, he calmly reached over for his helmet and placed it upon his head.
Next to him, Nrsah sat with his back against the wall, still asleep. Kruq’nov reached over and smacked him upside the head. “Wake up, brother, the Apes are pitching another fit.”
Nrsah stirred and his eyes flew open at the sounds of explosions. “Artillery?” He only yawned in indifference. He then noticed the rookies taking whatever shelter they could find. “Do they not know that if a shell were to land on top of us, we’d be quite dead?”
Kruq’nov recalled when Nrsah witness his first barrage, and how he did the same thing. “True enough, but it would do you no good to sleep through it. It would be a shame if you died without staring Death in the eyes. Grab your gear and get ready to go outside.”
As Nrsah secured his helmet, Kruq’nov gave his plasma rifle a quick once-over. Far more warriors have died from not being cautious as opposed of being too cautious. Only a fool would jump into battle without knowing his weapon would work. The rifle had a full charge in it, and sparkled as brightly as any piece of equipment could in such a dank and filthy pit. The only comfort he ever took in the filth was that Terrans liked the dirt even less; hardly surprising, considering their ancestors fell out of the trees.
Over the roar of shells came one far louder. It sounded as if a freight train were burrowing down upon Kruq’nov. Rookies hissed in dismay at the strange sound. They had no idea what it could be. It did not explode, though the newcomers to Repleetah never considered that a bad thing. Kruq’nov heard the roar land with a loud thud that reverberated through his very soul. He knew that sound, a horrible sound he would have died happily never hearing it again.
As soon as it hit, the Apes let up their more explosive barrage. Kruq’nov looked over at his brother and jerked his thumb towards the door. Nrsah did not know the sound, not the way Kruq’nov knew. He did remember the stories his elder brother told him about the fighting before his arrival. Kruq’nov was first out of the bunker. It could be a ploy to draw as many warriors out before firing more shells, but he doubted it. If they Apes fired one of their combat drones over here, they would not risk damaging it. At least not until the machine inflicted the maximum amount of carnage possible.
Kruq’nov slowly stuck his head above the trench. The drone did not fall between them and the Apes. Instead, it fell behind the occupied trenches, trapping the Kilrathi against enemy lines. He did not like looking backwards. To be shot in the back of the head by a sniper was not a glorious death, though far from the least dignified this planet offered. He did not even relax when it was evident no sniper had a bead on him.
What he saw in the churned up and charred landscape that may have once been a prairie or a forest– over two shrik of fighting erased any former glory of this once marginal planet– came as close as anything could to strike fear into him. A long cone, looking much like a missiles, lay in a crater. That alone was not cause for alarm. Instead, the first of three legs emerging from the cone is what set that off.
“We have a drone!” Kruq’nov roared over his vox. That set every veteran in range into a frenzy of preparation.
Above the trenches, the drone had already righted itself. Once it stood on all threes, it towered over all Kilrathi warriors by a factor of four. The machine was too huge to have been fired from a regular gun. A launcher must be near, and perhaps a stockpile of drones. It was not the first time the Apes launched. He knew it could be worse; his first encounter with combat drones involved three of them.
An assortment of hatches on the polished durasteel surface of the drone slid open. Within the blink of an eye, deadly implements of war protruded from each opening. From what Army Intel managed to learn from destroyed drones was minimal. All they knew for certain was the drones were programmed to kill all Kilrathi, and were exceedingly proficient at the task. Kruq’nov dropped back into the trench the moment he saw the weapons. A few others were not so quick. The moment the drone went into its frenzy, a few others were a little more than dead.
Explosive rounds, plasma shots, and graser beams shot out in all direction as the drone lumbered forward. Any warrior who stood in its path did not stand for long. The quick and the smart took cover behind ruins and in shell craters, and fired blindly at the machine. Kruq’nov did likewise. Only the muzzle of his plasma rifle stood in view of the machine. Drones were not smart; if the weapon did not have a Kilrathi in sight of it, they tended to ignore it. Which was just as good; Kruq’nov has the same chance of downing this thing with a rifle as he did with a Terran armored vehicle.
Octaves of warriors began to pour fire down on the drone, and eighties more were killed where they fought. The drone had yet to come across the trenches, and Kruq’nov had no intention of being there when it did. The line dug deep into the ground– deep enough for the Apes at any rate– offered kill-fire zone no machine or warrior could resist. The trenches were not straight lines, but rather jagged, to minimize the damage caused should a shell land within it.
Explosions began to mix with the fire coming off the drone. The Kilrathi’s own guided artillery fell down upon the drone, chewing away at its armor and damaging its weaker weapons. Kruq’nov need not stick his head up to know what would happen. As sure as the sun rose every morning upon this planet, the drone turned its beam weapons upon the shells, detonating incoming fire. He watched on warrior with a shoulder-launched missile try to take aim at the drone, only to have the upper half of his body ripped to pieces by flechette rounds.
If the missile launcher was not melted into slag, he might have scooped it up and tried to launch it blindly. He mind was so focused on killing the drone, that he nearly missed the first of the Apes who dropped down into trench. His mind might have missed, but his rifle did not. A bolt of plasma slammed into the Ape’s E-suit, sending him flying back. For good measure, he rammed the bladed barrel into the warrior’s damaged chest.
A second Terran dropped in behind him and Nrsah, only to be cut down by the younger warrior’s lightning reflexes. A third and four Ape followed. It did not take the tactical genius of a Lord General to determine what was happening. The cursed Apes were using the drone as cover for a counter-attack. Kruq’nov swore loudly and venomously. Their attack would probably work too, and just how far back would the Kilrathi be pushed this time. Orders flowed across his vox, sounding a retreat.
“We better fall back to a more secure position,” Kruq’nov suggested, just ahead of the wave of Terran warriors. Both he and Nrsah fought a firing retreat, making their way through the maze of tunnels covered by their own plasma. Several other warriors linked up with them in the tunnels.
One of the warriors looked at Kruq’nov with a savage smile. “The drone is down.” The Second Claw noted he said down and not dead.
“How many warriors has it killed since it lost a leg?” Kruq’nov asked.
The other warrior growled. “Too many.” Unlike Apes, or even Kilrathi, combat drones were still deadly even after losing a leg. Or three for that matter. As long as its targeting system functioned, it would continue to fire upon all Kilrathi. They would have made a respectable foe, had they not been constructed to shield their creators from fire. Even as the Apes swarm over open ground and back into their lost trenches, the damaged drone drew a bulk of the withdrawing Kilrathi’s fire.
Kruq’nov was never one to be among the majority. He made his shots count. Even as he, Nrsah and the other warriors in his presence were forced back into the previous no-man’s land, he took aim at every Ape in sight. More than a few were cut down. He did not enjoy these kills from afar, never knowing the true face of his enemies. There was no glory here, not like when killing a seasoned and admired enemy. Of course, Kruq’nov enjoyed dying even less than sniping.
As Kilrathi fired up heavy weapons that remained in their previous positions, the Terran tide began to ebb. Few Apes were willing to cross an open, cratered field in the face of automatic weapon fire. Kruq’nov was one of the last Kilrathi to make it back to his former lines. He leapt back down into the trench, a trench of proper depth, while firing blindly at any pursuers.
Terrans continued their attack until night fall, when their numbers were sufficiently drained to prevent any breakthrough. Or rather when the Ape generals realized a breakthrough was no longer possible. If not for the clear and obvious fact that Kilrathi lines were in chaos, some great Lord General would probably order octaves of warriors to storm back across the dead zone. Kruq’nov had no great desire to die in a vainglorious attack.
As soon as the fighting died down, he stormed through one of the functioning atmospheric curtains and into a bunker. It was not the same bunker that was his home for the better part of two kahrik, but it did not look a whole lot different. He marched over to the nearest refrigeration unit and pulled the door open. As he suspected, no rations, but a couple of plasma rifles. Seems he was not the only veteran to survive today’s mayhem. He stood his rifle in the refrigerator, to allow it to cool. Had he been forced to fire it much longer, certain parts would likely have melted.
Nrsah joined him. “A good idea,” he said, imitating his elder brother’s example.
Kruq’nov let out a low growl, low enough so other warriors in the bunker could not hear. “I grow sick of this planet, and its endless battle. War is much more fun when you are winning.”
He did not fear death, not by a long shot. He would have lain down his life if it would lead the Kilrathi to victory. However, he refused to die in vain, like so many warriors did today. So many days of advance, wiped clean of the slate by one drone. That lone machine opened a breach in Kilrathi lines, allowing a wave of Terrans to sweep over recently conquered positions.
After depositing his weapon for cooling, he found himself a comfortable spot against the wall and slumped down in exhaustion. So much of his life wasted on this dying world, and for what? So he could have the privilege of waking up with fleas, eating rats, and being killed in glorious combat. He laughed at the thought. If cubs knew a half about what war with the Apes was like, they would never enlist in the army. The navy perhaps; in space, victory was at least possible.
No longer did he see any sort of victory as certain. When he tried to see into his future, he could only see the emptiness of the void. When he tried to imagine the future of the Empire, he could only see endless warfare, where the victor is the one who runs out of warriors last. When the last soldier to die is the winner, it is no victory.
What burned him the most was thinking what it was all worth. Nothing. He would gain nothing from victory or defeat, or dying for that matter. The preening, inbreed lords of the Eight and the Imperial Pride would gain all the booty of conquest. How many have they sent to their deaths, and how many of their scions have they sheltered, allowing them to take Prides of their own, and spreading their infected genes. How many of them have seen the true face of war. Kruq’nov own face was decorated by scars, one nasty one from a Terran melee weapon.
No more! Kruq’nov swore to himself that he and his brother would not shed another drop of blood for the nobles and their pointless war.
Forward Landing Area
“Come my brother, we’re leaving,” Kruq’nov said as he watched a great number of Kilrathi amble towards the cargo ships sitting outside of Terran artillery range. When word of a great many ships arrived reached him, he took Nrsah to investigate. He gave the excuse to the lord officer above him of gathering replacements. The officer told him he was wasting his time, but Kruq’nov insisted. He did a superb job of cleaning the blood of the blades of his rifle. Walking this far behind the lines with blood on one’s weapon would lead to too many questions.
Nrsah, naturally, knew nothing of the slaying. The officer had not seen much combat, being a replacement of his own. Had he not been a scion of one of the Eight, Kruq’nov disremembered which Pride, he might have merely incapacitated the officer. Or he might not have. No telling how long these ships would be on the ground, and he wanted no warning of his escape. Death in Thrakrik was one thing, killing without challenge what quite another. No matter what happens, he could not go back. That would be certain death.
Upon observing the columns of Kilrathi marching towards the ships, he determined there were two type. One were the wounded. That alone was unusual. Wounded in the Army survived depending upon their own strength. Males who were not strong, died. Who would help a strange male, even if he was a fellow warrior? After all, when healed, he could become potential competition for taking a Pride. As the wise Emperor said, before the nobility was closed to non-nobles, ‘no good deed shall go unpunished’.
Not only was it unusual, for plenty of future warriors were still growing to maturity back on civilized worlds, but it was deceitful. The majority of warrior– no, of males. They did not deserve the title of warrior. The majority were unwounded, and some looked as if they saw little battle. Nobles, lord officers, scions, and other Kilrathi that the Empire considered too important to die. They were leaving the planet in great numbers. Kruq’nov bared his teeth, ready to tear into any of their throats.
“Leaving?” Nrsah asked, puzzled. “We just arrived.”
Kruq’nov’s snarl turned to a smile. “You misunderstand, brother. We are not leaving the landing area. We’re leaving the planet.”
Nrsah started at the words. He whirled on Kruq’nov. “But, brother, the battle is not over.” Nrsah would not flee the battle. What warrior would. He pointed this out, in an attempt to correct Kruq’nov errant way.
Kruq’nov’s smile burst into a laugh. He swung his arm outward, gesturing to the lines of retreating Kilrathi. “They would. They are! If so many of these ‘important people’ are being evacuated, what does that mean?” When Nrsah did not answer, he continued. “It means they are abandoning the campaign here, and are abandoning us.”
Nrsah tried to digest his words. “If that is the case, then surely we shall all leave soon.”
“In a matter of speaking, the abandoned will be leaving. They will be leaving their mortal coils. The Emperor, in his wisdom,” Kruq’nov put a great deal of scorn into the word. “Decided he could not give up a planet battled for, for over two shrik. His pride will not let him admit this planet was never worth having. To evacuated all of us, he would look weak to his enemies among the Eight. So, to save face, he throws the rest of us into the fire.” Kruq’nov would not be surprised if no ships returned to this planet. Few brought supplies from off-world anymore. The fact that so many ships were here, and presumably all over the world, should be setting off alarm. Not to mention bringing down Ape attacks. Perhaps the Terrans were evacuating as well.
Of course, the more optimistic warriors might think of this as reinforcement and not desertion. Nrsah had hoped for reinforcements, to finally break the Apes on this planet. But as his brother said, Repleetah II was no longer worth having, if it ever truly was. Many warriors will spill the last of their blood, and for what? Even if they did overrun the Apes, the planet was nobody would care.
“Tell me, brother,” Kruq’nov asked. “Do you wish to die for those who care not at all for you?” Nrsah replied in the negative. “Nor do I. In fact, I’d like to see a world once more, where I did not have to wear this infernal breather, or a combat E-suit, in order to go outside. I would like to breath fresh air once again, feel the soil between my toes, and prey between my claws.” He looked down at his hand in sorrow. “Can’t even extend my claws in combat, not without risking contamination by some chemical weapon or other.”
Nrsah knew about that. He forgot himself before when he slashed the fact of that Ape officer. The air was only mildly toxic at the time, and the pain was low enough that it did not stop him from fighting. His fingertips were scared, and would be for the rest of his life. It was only a little damage, and caused discomfort occasionally when he unsheathed his claws. That would probably remain with him until he died as well.
“I do not like the idea of abandoning our post,” Nrsah admitted. Even after his time on Repleetah, his sense of duty had not corroded. He was still a male, and one that wished to live long enough to take a Pride of his own. “But I like the idea of dying for those who would leave loyal soldiers to perish, while they fled, even less. You are my brother now, and I shall follow where you leave.”
With that settled, he lead Nrsah down towards the line of Kilrathi preparing to leave the planet. He did not enter the lines of ‘important’ Kilrathi, but the wounded. They were cover for these cowards’ retreat, and would not likely be checked as careful as those who are intended to leave. He did not know where the wounded would be dumped in the end, and did not care, as long as it was not back here. No, they would be saved, healed, and sent back into combat. Kruq’nov had no intention to wear this uniform after he removed it for the final time.
The wounded boarded the ships, not into the passenger compartment, but the cargo holds. Marching up the ramp, he could see the holds have been converted for medical purpose. Those evacuating obviously planned to see their cover healed. He wondered how these lucky warriors were chosen. Probably just happened to be the ones wounded during the last Terran push. He saw plenty of burn wounds, where plasma bolts pierced E-suit and charred flesh.
One warrior, laying on a medical cot, had the left half of his face burned. Would they replace the damaged eye? Like all males born during the Ape War, he heard how the Emperor was wounded while battling the Varni. He lost an eye and arm in the war, and both were replaced. From what he heard of the glorious tales of battle in space, one his sons was killed early in the war. Another– he was executed after losing the Sivar. The rest of his sons– those lecherous fiends have left the Imperial Pride to take over other Prides in the name of Kilrah.
Kruq’nov growled at the thought of those unworthy males fathering so many offspring. How many skipped the war entirely? Too many. He imagined few of them ever smelled the scent of burned flesh and decay that choked the cargo hold turned medical bay. The stench of death was one of the things Kruq’nov would most certainly not miss. Nor would he miss having the reapers of the Gods pursue him during every waking moment.
The healthy warriors picked their way through the crowded bay, steeping around, and occasionally over, the wounded. Kruq’nov found an open spot against the bulkhead. The reddish-bronze metal looked as if never to have seen the ravages of war. Plenty of cargo, but never a shot fired in anger. He slumped down against the wall, leaning his rifle against his shoulder. He was far from free of Repleetah, and planned to be ready should any warrior try to remove him from the ship.
While sitting, he noticed a few warriors were not so badly wounded. The lord officers must have taken anybody with a wound, to make it appear as if so many ships were truly taking so many warriors off for healing. The doctors ignored them, focusing instead on those whose lives were still in peril. To be truthful, they were not real doctors, but medics. Doctoring was a role fit for females. Of course, war was only fit for males, and some males were forced to patch up the wounded long enough for them to be delivered to proper doctors. The Apes did not divide their labor as such– which went a long ways to explaining why their casualty rates among wounded was not so abysmally high.
Not another warrior in the cargo hold gave Kruq’nov a second glance. After all, if he were not authorized to be here, he would not. That showed just how little the true passengers of this ship cared. As long as their own worthless hides were saved, then they were content to extend their good graces to those who covered them. As long as they did not open the cargo hold to space, Kruq’nov might just live to see another planet. One thing was clear; if this were the evacuation he believed it to be, then not another warrior would ever leave this planet alive.