Kruq’nov squatted in a bombed out building, its walls still crumbling from the air raid two days past. He was not sure what part of the compound this building had once belonged. Judging by its small door, the only one he could find lay on the ground, its frame all but shattered; it was once home to the M’krah Pride’s slaves. A great number of Terran slaved died in the bombing, not a terrible loss in the King’s opinion. Unfortunately he knew the Matriarch well enough to know she would soon replace them. He advised Firekkans, if for no other reason than Birds lacked the guile of Apes.
To his surprise, Gherelith agreed with his advice though not for the same reason. Apes bred like vermin but Birds were far rarer. They were a luxury item in the slaver industry, one that only truly wealthy or powerful Prides could afford. When the Shrekhar were dealt with, the M’krah-Mercher alliance would effectively rule the planet. It would be an impressive feat had Ghorah Khar a large population. Still, to be King of a planetary Pride was an achievement far beyond the former noncommissioned officer’s most insane dream.
He was not alone in taking cover. After the bombing he expected the Shrekhar to follow up by moving their soldiers into M’krah to finish the job. Some high born officer might choose the dead of night or the crack of dawn to launch an attack, but not Kruq’nov. For one, he did not feel like waking up that early. For another, more important reason, he knew the enemy’s infrared sensors would be useless with the sun directly overhead. M’krah was already as hot as a Kilrathi’s blood, allowing Kruq’nov and his militia to blend in with the rubble.
On the outskirts of the city, Nrsah reported the enemy moving in force with perhaps eighty soldiers riding in eight-and-four armored vehicles. Nrsah had to kick and slash to keep his warriors in line. They were not to attack at first sight. Kruq’nov wanted them to wait until the enemy to retreat to spring their ambush. With such a small invasion force, the Shrekhar obviously expected most of the M’krah to be dead. Even at their reduced state, the Pride still numbered far more than the paltry eighty sent by the Shrekhar.
As he sat with his cheap Terran-built plasma rifle in his grasp, he could not help but feel insulted by the small assault. Did the enemy really think so low of the M’krah? The smugglers obviously kept their shipments secret. Had his enemies known how well armed they were, they would have to send the whole Pride to attack. Kruq’nov knew the effectiveness of Terran weapons first hand, but he could not help but feel silly holding what appeared to be a child’s toy in his massive hands. With the trigger guard still in place, he was forced to extend a claw to reach the trigger.
Next to him in the crumbling ruins sat Kral, holding a puny should-launched missile in one hand. He felt as ridiculous as Kruq’nov when he held the weapon. He was assured that the missile would penetrate armor, but it looked no larger than an ancient, hand-thrown javelin. “Get into firing position,” Kruq’nov ordered him, along with two-eights other missile launchers. As soon as the armored vehicle rumbled on to the property, he would give the order to fire.
Kruq’nov roared in delight as the rear most armored personnel carrier erupted into flames. The first shot he insisted should disable the rearguard. With the road blocked, the rest of the convoy found it difficult to escape. They found it impossible when the second missile took out the lead vehicle, trapping the rest between two burning wrecks. Shrekhar warriors poured from the remaining APCs. A few of them managed to take cover before the concussions of exploding trucks sent them crashing to the ground. Kruq’nov watched several of the warrior writhe in agony, chunks of durasteel sticking from their backs.
Shrekhar’s untried warriors stumbled around the field, unsure where to go or what to do. Kruq’nov knew better than to place untested Kilrathi into the spearhead of the assault. Perhaps his enemies all thought he was dead. It was a mistake these invaders would not live to regret. After two more vehicles blossomed into flowers of durasteel and flame, Kruq’nov rose from cover and began methodically picking off survivors. Seeing their lord open fire, all others in view did likewise. Kruq’nov noted with some disappointment that they missed more often than they hit.
With each shot fired, Kruq’nov let out a growl of delight. This was the way wars were meant to be fought. Not in toxic trenches but out in the open, advancing on the foe as they fell. It was as the ancient philosopher once said; wars are much more fun when you are winning. He picked off one of the Shrekhar officers the moment he tried to impose order on his warriors. The bulk of the invaders were amateurs, males who never fought in anything more dangerous than a drunken brawl.
In only a minute, the Shrekhar invaders were reduced to nothing. The last enemy warrior fell with a curse on his lips. Kruq’nov appreciated that sort of death. Even as the dark gods of the underworld reached up to claim his soul, the male managed one final defiant taunt. Kruq’nov stood over the dead warrior. He cast aside his puny Terran rifle and scooped up the Shrekhar plasma rifle. The sharp edges were as familiar to him as his own brother. It was the same model used during his army days, the same model used by warriors for generations.
“Salvage whatever you can!” he barked over the crackle of fire. He sought and found Nrsah quickly in the mass of victorious warriors. The brothers exchanged knowing glances. Now that Shrekhar blood was drawn in the open, this could only end in the complete destruction of the Shrekhar or M’krah and Mercher and to the winner would go the frontier world of Ghorah Khar.
To his surprise, Gherelith agreed with his advice though not for the same reason. Apes bred like vermin but Birds were far rarer. They were a luxury item in the slaver industry, one that only truly wealthy or powerful Prides could afford. When the Shrekhar were dealt with, the M’krah-Mercher alliance would effectively rule the planet. It would be an impressive feat had Ghorah Khar a large population. Still, to be King of a planetary Pride was an achievement far beyond the former noncommissioned officer’s most insane dream.
He was not alone in taking cover. After the bombing he expected the Shrekhar to follow up by moving their soldiers into M’krah to finish the job. Some high born officer might choose the dead of night or the crack of dawn to launch an attack, but not Kruq’nov. For one, he did not feel like waking up that early. For another, more important reason, he knew the enemy’s infrared sensors would be useless with the sun directly overhead. M’krah was already as hot as a Kilrathi’s blood, allowing Kruq’nov and his militia to blend in with the rubble.
On the outskirts of the city, Nrsah reported the enemy moving in force with perhaps eighty soldiers riding in eight-and-four armored vehicles. Nrsah had to kick and slash to keep his warriors in line. They were not to attack at first sight. Kruq’nov wanted them to wait until the enemy to retreat to spring their ambush. With such a small invasion force, the Shrekhar obviously expected most of the M’krah to be dead. Even at their reduced state, the Pride still numbered far more than the paltry eighty sent by the Shrekhar.
As he sat with his cheap Terran-built plasma rifle in his grasp, he could not help but feel insulted by the small assault. Did the enemy really think so low of the M’krah? The smugglers obviously kept their shipments secret. Had his enemies known how well armed they were, they would have to send the whole Pride to attack. Kruq’nov knew the effectiveness of Terran weapons first hand, but he could not help but feel silly holding what appeared to be a child’s toy in his massive hands. With the trigger guard still in place, he was forced to extend a claw to reach the trigger.
Next to him in the crumbling ruins sat Kral, holding a puny should-launched missile in one hand. He felt as ridiculous as Kruq’nov when he held the weapon. He was assured that the missile would penetrate armor, but it looked no larger than an ancient, hand-thrown javelin. “Get into firing position,” Kruq’nov ordered him, along with two-eights other missile launchers. As soon as the armored vehicle rumbled on to the property, he would give the order to fire.
Kruq’nov roared in delight as the rear most armored personnel carrier erupted into flames. The first shot he insisted should disable the rearguard. With the road blocked, the rest of the convoy found it difficult to escape. They found it impossible when the second missile took out the lead vehicle, trapping the rest between two burning wrecks. Shrekhar warriors poured from the remaining APCs. A few of them managed to take cover before the concussions of exploding trucks sent them crashing to the ground. Kruq’nov watched several of the warrior writhe in agony, chunks of durasteel sticking from their backs.
Shrekhar’s untried warriors stumbled around the field, unsure where to go or what to do. Kruq’nov knew better than to place untested Kilrathi into the spearhead of the assault. Perhaps his enemies all thought he was dead. It was a mistake these invaders would not live to regret. After two more vehicles blossomed into flowers of durasteel and flame, Kruq’nov rose from cover and began methodically picking off survivors. Seeing their lord open fire, all others in view did likewise. Kruq’nov noted with some disappointment that they missed more often than they hit.
With each shot fired, Kruq’nov let out a growl of delight. This was the way wars were meant to be fought. Not in toxic trenches but out in the open, advancing on the foe as they fell. It was as the ancient philosopher once said; wars are much more fun when you are winning. He picked off one of the Shrekhar officers the moment he tried to impose order on his warriors. The bulk of the invaders were amateurs, males who never fought in anything more dangerous than a drunken brawl.
In only a minute, the Shrekhar invaders were reduced to nothing. The last enemy warrior fell with a curse on his lips. Kruq’nov appreciated that sort of death. Even as the dark gods of the underworld reached up to claim his soul, the male managed one final defiant taunt. Kruq’nov stood over the dead warrior. He cast aside his puny Terran rifle and scooped up the Shrekhar plasma rifle. The sharp edges were as familiar to him as his own brother. It was the same model used during his army days, the same model used by warriors for generations.
“Salvage whatever you can!” he barked over the crackle of fire. He sought and found Nrsah quickly in the mass of victorious warriors. The brothers exchanged knowing glances. Now that Shrekhar blood was drawn in the open, this could only end in the complete destruction of the Shrekhar or M’krah and Mercher and to the winner would go the frontier world of Ghorah Khar.