The Last Hero (23 page)

The menacing waaa, waaa, waaa sound filled the air again. Much louder this time, heard easily over the hum of the MRG on full auto.

Feeling the situation growing desperate, his mind shouted, ordering the body to follow.

Fall back, you idiot!

Obeying the command, Trent switched to grenades, launching several at the encroaching semi-circle to cover his retreat toward the lake.

The lake! Amanda!

The distraction, while brief, proved costly.

A dart bored deep into his left shoulder. Two more impaled themselves into his left thigh before he could react. Screaming in pain, he failed to dodge another one that pierced his right arm.

Rising onto the balls of his feet, while keeping his body low, he resolved to flee the attackers as fast as he could.

The tactic may have succeeded, if not for the four darts hitting his left mid-section. He still might have escaped, but a final dart to the back of his head turned him off like a switch.

The MRG fell to the ground ahead of his knees slamming down. The rest of him landed with a thud, face first into a small batch of blossoming wildflowers

***

Disappointed at Trent’s premature departure, Amanda stalked toward her clothes when his distress call rang out to the entire Legion. Still wet and naked, she only delayed long enough to throw on a pair of white panties and bra before snatching up her MRG and charging to his aid.

Even without the CAL, the nanos and communication device implanted in the ear coordinated to give the direction of any signal received. The sense of where to go came through to her as a feeling, as if a natural instinct.

Unfortunately, the most direct line her instincts told her to take was blocked by the slope. Too steep to climb and too high to jump, Amanda sprinted up the shoreline looking for a path inland. Her bare feet plowed into the moist soft soil. She paid no heed to the tiny cuts suffered from small rocks and sharp shells.

Coming upon a dip in the height of the slope, she changed course toward the water, pausing to gauge the necessary effort as a wave rushed over her feet. A look of grim determination draped across Amanda’s face. She stared down the two and a half meter natural hurdle. Slinging her weapon onto her back, she leapt into a full sprint, reaching top speed in a matter of meters.

At the right moment, she channeled all of her speed and strength into a desperate jump. Flying through the air, she immediately knew that she wouldn’t make it cleanly.

She smacked into the soft earth hard, the breath rushing out of her in a startled gasp.

One hand gripping a clump of grass and the other a rock, Amanda prayed both held long enough for her to get the balance of her weight over the edge. Gritting her teeth, she slowly and carefully pulled herself up.

The strange waaa, waaa, waaa sound greeted her achievement.

Quickly standing, she brought the MRG around and readied it for a fight.

***

A series of bams increased her fear, until she recognized the sound of an MRG grenade detonating. Amanda lowered her body and charged toward the blasts.

Hearing Trent’s cries of pain flooded her nerves with adrenaline. Emotion trumped tactical sensibility. She increased the speed of her attack into an unknown situation.   

Her reckless charge took the enemy by complete surprise. That was important because the mere sight of them astonished her.

From a small rise, she looked down on the attackers; furry black creatures, a little over a meter in height. The little bastards fired blow darts by the dozen in Trent’s direction. One of them looked up, and she got a good look at its all black eyes before hurling a barrage of grenades at the outflanked enemy. Walking her fire along their line, each round met a cluster of the enemy. Black fur flew in all directions. Their purple blood stained the prairie grass.

Exhausting her limited supply of grenades, she reached for another tube only to realize she was half-naked, without an ammo belt.

Undeterred, she switched the MRG to full auto and proceeded to hose down the area. Her merciless fire cut her opponents in half. Their courage failed them. They fell back.

Amanda’s victory rush faded when she noticed a second wave of attackers on her right. This force had now targeted her.

Diving to her left, she evaded an untold number of darts. Rolling to a stop at the bottom of the rise, she sprang to her feet, frantically searching for Trent.

The strange waaaing began again.

Guessing that the sound meant nothing good, she panicked at her inability to locate Trent. Not wanting to give away her position by calling his name, she continued to search.

Finally, just as she heard the rustling grass of approaching attackers, she discovered her bloodied comrade. Fear shot through her at the sight of his motionless body. A quick finger on the neck spoke to the strength of his heart.

Slinging both of their weapons on her back, she squatted down to cradle him in her arms.

A dart nicked Amanda’s ear as it zipped past her face. Taking the hint that time was short, she stood and ran as fast as her legs could carry the weight.

More primitive projectiles zinged by as the rushing attackers kept pace. Sharp, stinging shots of pain indicated a growing collection of wounds on her back and legs.

Despite trampling the tall grass at a furious rate, Amanda felt the enemy closing. She contemplated dropping Trent, to turn and fight, when salvation appeared overhead in the form of a scrambled shuttle.

Hitting the deck, she cleared the line-of-fire for the shuttle to open up with its railgun and rockets. Explosions in between weird screeches of pain washed over the wounded soldiers.  

The firing ceased, surrendering to an eerie silence. A booming voice projected from the shuttle broke the calm, “It’s clear, get in!”

Needing no more encouragement, Amanda rose with Trent in her arms and ran for the back of the shuttle, where the lowered door awaited them. Hopping onto the hovering craft, she breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her. 

Setting Trent down for a medic to attend to, she remained standing because of the darts sticking in her back. She soon noticed her fellow passengers staring intently at her. Looking down, she realized what held their attention.

From chin to toes, a thin layer of mud coated her body, the result of the leap and climb over the small cliff. In the heat of the moment while pulling herself over the ledge, she failed to notice her bra being dragged down, exposing her breasts for all to see.

Looking back up at her brothers-in-arms, she flashed a pleasant smile before casually pulling the bra cups back up and shrugged her shoulders.

***

“What happened?” Trent weakly asked the sandy haired brain surgeon shining a light in his eyes.

“Well...from what I understand you got yourself in a bit of trouble.” The doctor clicked the penlight off. “Came in here with a pile of darts sticking in you. Dam’dest thing I’ve ever seen. I never thought I’d be treating legionnaires with blow dart injuries when I joined the Fleet Medical Corp.”

Groggy, Trent processed the doctor’s words cross-referencing them with his final memories.

“Blow darts. Yeah...that’s right. What the hell was shooting at me? I never got a look at them.”

“Some indigenous  primitive species from what I’ve heard. I don’t have the details.”

“You got your butt kicked by a bunch of pygmies...sir.” Thomas opened the curtain to limp in and half laughed.

“Pygmies?” Trent said still not fully with it.

The doctor shook his head. “Try not to confuse the colonel, Captain. He did just wake up from a head injury.”

Trent reached up with both hands to feel the bandage on his head.

“You took a dart to the head,” Thomas offered an explanation.

“Hit you in just the right spot,” the doctor carried on. “Knocked you out cold.”

“How...how did I...”

Thomas said, “Roth got you out. She was swimming near you.” She winked at him. “Heard your call for help and fought her way to you, saved your life.”

Oh yeah...Roth swimming. That’s right.

For a few seconds, a boyish smile threatened to show itself before Trent wiped it away. Not before Thomas took note.

“Is she all right?”

“She sustained a number of dart hits too.” The doctor examined the data displayed over Trent’s head. “They were all superficial.”

“Good. What exactly happened?” he directed the question at Thomas.

The doctor excused himself.

“I only know what Simms told me,” Thomas said. “Some holes you guys discovered led to an underground network where an intelligent species lives. Must be huge ‘cause there were a lot of them. They like it dark and didn’t like us there, so they attacked as the sun was coming down.”

“Did they get anyone?”

“No.” She shook her head. “They tried hitting us at a number of points in a coordinated strike. Running into you so early on must have shot their timetable all to hell. After your alert, we were ready and slaughtered the poor little bastards. Don’t expect them to be any more of a problem while we finish bringing the last of the water on board.”

“So much for being a cupcake mission.” Trent felt around to examine his other injuries. “Blow darts. Fucking blow darts. I must be the first human blow dart casualty in at least two hundred years. How long was I out?”

“Not long – six hours or so. Doc says you’ll be ready to get out of here in less than a day.”

“That’s good. I would have guessed the darts would be tipped with poison or something.”

“Oh they were. Just wasn’t poisonous to us. “She poked a finger into his chest. “You got lucky.”

“Sure sounds like it. Just glad Roth was nearby and didn’t get hurt too bad. Can you track her down and ask her to stop by. I’d like to thank her.”

Thomas couldn’t keep a big smile from showing.

“What?” Trent asked.

“Well...you see, Colonel.” She cleared her throat. “When a sergeant wearing nothing but panties and a bra saves your life because she happens to be the only one around you...well, let’s just say that’s how rumors get started.”

Shaking his head Trent said, “Just go get her, Captain.”

“Okay, okay.” Thomas held her palms out. “Far be it for me to get between you two love birds.

Chapter 26: Prisoner

S
teadying his aim on top of an empty missile crate,   Trent zeroed in on the out-maneuvered foe. The unsuspecting enemy believed their flank was secure, unaware that moments ago, their brethren quietly fell before his blade.

Those in his sights were already dead. He could pull the trigger and dispatch them with little thought or effort. But he wanted more. He didn’t just want them, he wanted to collapse what remained of the enemy line with one thrust to the jugular.

He waited.

He waited for the squad under his direct command to catch up to him so when he did fire, they could rush into the gaping hole created by the deaths.

Trent grew frustrated with the delay.

He wanted his kills and knew it wouldn’t be long before the deceased comrades on the right flank would be missed.

Still, he waited.

He waited because the prospect of earning a spectacular victory with little blood shed on his part was too alluring.     

Finally, the rest of the team finished weaving their way through the obstacles.

“Listen up.” Trent lowered his weapon and settled behind cover to avoid spoiling the surprise. “Sweetie, show them the diagram of the enemy position. Once we take the five in front of us out, I want fire team one to move along their forward line, and team two to get in their rear area and raise hell. Move fast, they’re not going to stay disorganized for long.”

Reapplying his weapon to the chore at hand, Trent unloaded the MRG on full auto. He didn’t stop until the last of the targets lay dead on the cold metal floor.

“Go. Go. Go.” He rushed out to join team two’s invasion of the rear.

Team one almost immediately engaged the confused and stunned enemy units, piling up kills by pouring fire into their exposed sides.

Team two initially found few prey. After the enemy regrouped to confront the new threat represented by team one, they managed to pounce on a weak point in the new right flank, trapping the bulk of the enemy in a hellish crossfire.

Two dozen withered under the relentless rain of supersonic BBs.

The chaos and reduction in manpower created by the raid played out as the enemy front grew thinner and thinner until it broke all along the perimeter. Trent’s forces smelled blood and surged forward.

The defeated enemy didn’t surrender. They fought valiantly against the hopeless situation to the last man.

His blood ran hot. He surveyed the conquered foe littering the floor of the fighter bay. Holding the MRG overhead, he let out a terrible battle cry, “
Victory
!”

“Give it a rest,” Lt. Colonel Beth Cutter said from her position on the floor.

“Match over! Team Colonel Maxwell wins!” the judge announced.

The dead rose from their metallic graves.

Cutter picked herself off the floor and removed her helmet, flipping her ponytail in the process.

“You got lucky, Colonel. How the hell did you flank us like that?”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” He removed his own helmet.

“You cheated.”

Trent laughed. “Ha, I didn’t need to cheat. Stop being such a sore loser. Maybe you’ll win next time—as long as you’re not playing against me.”

The irritated colonel stomped off to debrief the soldiers she thought had guarded her flank.

Trent liked seeing her upset at defeat. Sure it was just a training exercise or a game if truth be told. Its real purpose was more to entertain than prepare for actual combat, but being disgusted at the very idea of defeat was an important attribute of a good commander.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he closed his eyes to savor the moment, attempting to squeeze out every last drop of joy. A commodity in rare supply as the caged crew traveled in the fourth month of their journey.

The moment soon faded as an all too familiar vision again haunted his mind, the image of an aging Anna. In her nineties, the little girl who once stumbled around in her father’s large shoes now had gray hair and a weathered face. In this waking nightmare, he pictured her standing alone over an open casket, weeping at the sight of her lifeless mother.

Forcing his eyes open, he shook his head in an attempt to expel the image. At best, the desperate action would buy him a short reprieve from the tormenting demons infesting his conscience.

Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. Something that helped soften the pain by its mere presence, Amanda.

Today, she served as a member of the defeated team, filing out of the fighter bay with the rest of the vanquished sporting sour faces.

As if sensing his gaze, she turned her head. For a second, one that could hold eternity but failed to satisfy either’s cravings, their eyes locked.

They turned away from one another, severing the energy that flowed between them.

Since the events by the lake, they carefully kept their distance from one another. Discipline was the only thing holding the ship together. A colonel carrying on an affair with a sergeant would set a dangerous precedent. Too many scandalous, and grossly exaggerated, accounts of Amanda’s “naked” rescue mission floated around for them to be seen together.

With a racing heavy heart, Trent exited out the opposite door as Amanda.

***

Ignoring his stomach’s cry for food, he went to the holding cells. Completing the security checkpoint routine for about the hundredth time, he again found himself staring silently at the caged beast.

MRG draped across his back with his helmet under his right arm, he looked deep into the Bearcat’s yellow eyes. For no particular reason, perhaps out of boredom, he decided then and there to speak to the prisoner. 

“Hello.”

The yellow eyes opened wide. The word, not translated via a speaker or visible machine, simply appeared in his native language in his ear as easily as if it came from one of its own kind.

“Neat isn’t it.” Trent removed his gear and took a seat. “During one of your...feeding session I guess you could call them, we took the liberty of implanting a translation chip directly onto your auditory nerve. I have one too so we can communicate. You know, become good friends.”

Even with countless differences of biology, environment, and culture, the pissed off look appeared to be universal in nature. After staring hard for a few seconds, the prisoner’s gaze drifted to the wall.

Trent continued, “Hope you don’t mind. It wasn’t anything compared to removing that little surprise you were keeping in your head.” He tapped his temple with an index finger. “Why if we left that there for you to detonate it, then we wouldn’t have this chance to get to know each other. What would have been the point of me capturing you in the first place?”

The lion head jerked back, retuning its eyes to the conversation.

“That’s right. I’m the one who captured you. Blasted your friend inside the door, wasn’t any trouble. Then cracked you in the back of the head, easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Trent let the inflammatory comments sink in. Hopefully, they would sting enough to ignite a response, any response.

“I didn’t fight back, your victory is hallow and meaningless,” it said. The translation popped into Trent’s mind as a deep American male voice.

“I beg to differ. You’re sitting here alive, are you not? I wouldn’t call that meaningless. Even if you fought back, I still would have won. I wouldn’t even need my rifle here.” He pulled the knife from his boot. “Back on another world, I killed one of you with this knife.” Holding the blade on display, he plunged it down. “Stabbed him right in the heart.”

Bolting from his chair, the massive warrior paced around his cell.

“You lie!”

“I most certainly do not.”

Frustration boiled over. The wild animal threw itself against the cage, banging against the bars.

Startled, the guard with the tranquilizer gun jerked and readied the weapon.

“Hold your fire!” Trent didn’t startle at the aggressive display. He rose and took the weapon from the nervous man’s trembling hands. “Can’t you see that we’re trying to have a polite conversation here? He was just conveying a deep sense of dissatisfaction at learning that his race isn’t the invincible warriors he thought they were.”

Looking back, Trent saw the huge chest of the beast heave in and out with each angry breath. He could feel the warmth in the air generated by the exhalations.

“Sit down, and we can keep talking, or I’ll have to let him put you down, again.”

Its eyes burned. Its extended claws curled up into fists, resembling fury sledgehammers. Trent made intense eye contact and in the most forceful voice he could muster said, “Sit. Down.”

The guard’s jaw dropped when the prisoner slowly backed up to its seat and sat down. While he didn’t show it, no one was more surprised than Trent that it had actually worked.

“Now.” He returned to his own seat. “Where were we?”

***

The chilly fall air blew against Trent’s skin, causing goosebumps to sprout. Dying grass and dried leaves crackled with each step as he approached the old woman in a heavy black coat, standing under a barren tree.

Trent’s conscious mind shouted as he struggled to escape the nightmare. As always, he was powerless to stop the scene from playing out.

He came closer to the old woman and heard muffled crying. Now just at an arm’s length away, he realized that he stood in the middle of a graveyard. He felt he knew the crying woman but couldn’t place exactly how.

The urge to comfort her came from deep within. Reaching out, he placed a hand on her shoulder. The woman turned, burying her head in his chest.

Through her cries, she wailed, “Why didn’t you come home? We waited. We both waited so long.”

Still confused as to her identity, the horror of the dream came into vivid focus when the name on the tombstone caught his eye.

Madison Maxwell.

The wind picked up, throwing leaves about. The cold air cut deep.

“I missed you.” The woman spoke in a frail voice. “I missed you, Daddy. Why didn’t you come home?”

Space opened between them. She raised her eyes to his. In her ancient gaze, he saw pain and abandonment.

He wanted to speak. To tell her that he was sorry. Before the words could be said, before the healing could begin, her eyes transformed, replaced with the cold, dead amber stare of the Kitright Ambassador. He jolted awake. His body convulsed from the self-inflicted torment.

Soaking in sweat that swamped his clothes and bedding, his eyes opened. Encased in darkness with only the sound of his pounding heart greeting him, it took a second for him to remember where he was.

Standard practice for awaking from a nightmare was to tell yourself that it was just a dream. Those words held no meaning to Trent in this situation. While it might have lacked in a few details, the dream was closer to reality than not.

Almost every night ended, or began depending on his perspective, the same way.

Swinging his feet to the floor, he sat up. Sweat rolled off, splashing on the metal below. Too afraid to attempt sleep again, he changed into a dry gray t-shirt and black shorts. After slipping on a pair of self-adjusting shoes, he left the haunted room. Sadly, he was the one who caused it to be haunted.

With no destination in mind, Trent aimlessly wandered the corridors. Occasionally his path would cross a crewmember working the third watch or another restless legionnaire. Most of the time, he found himself alone.

That’s exactly what he didn’t want.

His feet eventually carried him to the shuttle bay. He entered for lack of any better idea.

In the middle of the walkway separating the twin lines of shuttles, he stopped.

“What brings you here?”

The unexpected voice propelled him into the air.

The person laughed.

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Pivoting around on the balls of his feet, he came face to face with a smiling Amanda. She was dressed just like him with her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Crap. We can’t be seen here...at this hour… alone.

Seeing the panic on his face, she sought to claim him down.

“Relax, Colonel. No one ever comes in here on the third watch, just me. And I guess you on rare occasions.”

Jerking her head to the side, signaling him to follow her, she walked to the back of a shuttle and up its ramp.

She sat.

Trent took a seat across from her.

“Do you come here often?” he asked.

“Most nights. It’s kinda crowded since we closed off a lot of space to store water. I’m surprised more of the Legion doesn’t hang out here. I guess they don’t mind so much company all the time. What brings you here?”

Leaning into his seat, he said, “Can’t sleep.”

“Bad dreams?”

“More like dream, same one almost every night. I spend a lot of time roaming around the ship and just happened to end up here.”