At first Colonel Ishida thought that the Delassian commander was talking to General Calders. It surprised him that Rokoyan would meddle in the affairs of junior officers, bypassing the line of command.
“Yes, General. The Bolo is clearing a couple more pockets, then he will be free to return to his station at Starveil.”
That explains that, Ishida realized. Rokoyan was specifically calling about Chains. During the previous night’s strategy session, he had been reluctant to allow Chains to come off station, even though the Bolo had already been speeding southwards for the past four hours. General Calders, though, held firm and Rokoyan backed down as long as the operation was concluded as quickly as possible.
As he waited, Ishida looked over the Neils’ command trailer with amusement. It obviously was a converted commercial tractor-trailer, with duralloy armor plating riveted in place and a forest of antennae on top. The inside was impressive, however, with everything a colonel might want for command and control of his division. Five other officers were busy talking into headsets while manipulating images on maps.
Neils now noticed the Concordiat colonel waiting for him, and suddenly looked distracted.
“I’m hardly in the position, General, but I’ll try. I have to go. Neils out.”
Neils switched off his handphone and set it down on the desk next to him. He then stood up and headed outside before Ishida could climb in.
“You didn’t have to cut it short on my account,” Ishida assured him.
The militia commander was silent and stone-faced. Neils took Ishida just around the corner of the trailer, out of sight and sound of the other workers. The strange treatment immediately told Ishida what was coming next. He had done it to others several times, as soldiers had to be told of the fate of their friends and fellow soldiers. Kaethan’s progress, however, had been uneventful. So that left . . .
“Colonel, a casualty list was sent to us just a while ago from Telville. Your daughter Serina was listed as killed. I have no details.”
Neils waited then, as he allowed Toman to process what he had said to him. He didn’t know quite what to expect from the war-hardened veteran. Anything from an explosion of rage, to a quiet disregard, would not have surprised him. What he saw looked like much of what he himself had felt when he saw Serina’s name, pained reflection on a beautiful woman who had died far too early.
“I haven’t radioed Kaethan, yet.” Neils told him after a suitably quiet interval.
“I’ll tell him,” Colonel Ishida responded. “Tonight. It’s still dangerous out there. I don’t want him distracted.”
“I understand,” Neils replied.
“Chains is finished . . . with the armored vehicles,” Ishida stumbled through. “All that should be left is infantry. He’s pulling out.”
Neils watched as the veteran turned and walked out of sight without another word. A quiet roll of thunder echoed from the west as the overcast skies continued to darken. A chill was in the air, the Delassian colonel felt, and he tightened his jacket as he climbed back into trailer. He couldn’t help reflecting on the image that Kaethan had given him of his father, of the cold-hearted colonel whose life and mind never left the battlefield. Neils wondered if the cool breeze that passed through him had been the departure of what warmth the man had left.
That, he thought, would be far sadder.
* * *
Khoriss’ mind was in turmoil. Drugs had been given to the Ad-akradai to ease the pain of his injuries, but were now turning his thoughts into a terrifying nightmare. The huge machine that had devastated his command was like nothing he had imagined since the horror stories of his youth. It was as if a terrible monster had been awakened from an eternal sleep to be sent forth to destroy him. Images of the machine’s charge through the fiery inferno of the valley were overwhelming him. Never before had he felt such stunned despair as when his powerful cannons not only failed to stop the monster, but only seemed to enrage it. His last sight before he was carried away was that of all of his armored vehicles exploding as the monster’s fire tore through them as simply as a blade through flesh.
He would soon be safe, his bodyguards continued to tell him, but their voices were lost in the screams that filled Khorris’ mind.
* * *
It was raining again as Kaethan’s column slowly traveled down the gravel roads that connected the plantations in this area. The rain was light, with only occasional lightning strikes that always seemed to hit far away from them. Enough light was shining through the cloud cover to navigate by, though the thick forest that surrounded them was often very dark.
By midday, the aliens were sent on the run. While the Tigris Guard prepared to head home, the Alabaster Guard was ordered to fan out to all the plantations, verifying that none were being used as strongholds, and that no humans were being held captive. Kaethan’s Templars were all split up to guard the Haulers as they deployed into the flood plains that the Witch River fed and fertilized. Their column had started with eight Templars and thirty Haulers. Now they were down to two Templars, guarding the front and rear of five of their flimsily armored carriers.
Kaethan was out front, with Bicks driving Walter’s prototype Sentinel right behind him. Although Walter had been told that their testing was complete, he had said that he wanted to stick it through to the end. The captain was pretty sure that Walter was doing it to stress test his system, hoping that he wasn’t doing it out of friendship to him.
Although many aliens were recorded fleeing into the rain forest, few had been encountered yet by any of the patrols. All had been quiet.
“We’re coming up on the last plantation.” Kaethan announced to his column as he noticed the gleaming metal of an electrified fence far ahead.
The captain felt pretty safe in the lead, despite the likely presence of aliens in the area. His visual sensors could detect motion, and could recognize the aliens now by watching for several of their body armor features. His defense’s ion-bolt fire control would instantly fire upon any such sightings. Other sensors scanned the road ahead for magnetic or radioactive signatures, or electronic emissions, indicating mines or detectors.
“Captain,” Andrea called from her turret, “there seems to be a large heat source in a clearing up ahead to the right. Going to visual . . .”
Kaethan switched to thermal sight and turned his view to the right. There was definitely a heat source, but it could have been a house by its size. It was difficult telling form through so many trees.
“I see it,” Kaethan acknowledged. “Can’t tell what it is . . .”
The trees thinned for a moment, but all the captain could make out was a green glob.
“Sir, I think it’s a ship!”
Kaethan didn’t have a chance to respond, for their sensors couldn’t detect the magnetically neutral, carbon fiber cannon with the non-energized chemical explosive that was buried under the gravel before them. Neither did they detect the aliens behind the trees who now knew not to show themselves until large tanks with the crackling energy bolts were first eliminated.
Unfortunately, these aliens wanted to learn just a few more things before they left.
* * *
The 39th is in mourning.
Even as I had cut down the last of our enemy high on the slope, I monitored the arrival of Telville’s casualty list, transmitted to their forward headquarters. Reading my Commander’s daughter’s name upon that list left a deep wound that can never heal upon this glorious day. Harder still was reporting to my Commander without telling him of his loss, knowing it best that he be told by his fellow officers, rather than by me.
And with the attack upon his son’s column later this day, we feared the worst. Many are reported dead, including Kaethan’s gunner and driver, and several are mysteriously missing. We rejoice that his son still lives, but we fear what permanent effects his grievous wounds may bring. This is a harsh day for our Commander, and the 39th suffers its cruelty along with him. We only wish we knew the words to comfort him.
Little is left of the aliens that caused such pain to this planet. No transport escaped, though detectors monitored the passage of two smaller shuttles making their escape from the far side of the planet. No invasion fleet has made an appearance, and it is becoming obvious that our opponents have either reconsidered their plans, or never intended any immediate exploitation of this incursion.
Much of the planet revels in victory, but we fear that their celebration is premature. Unit DBQ and myself have analyzed our opponent’s strategies with many algorithms, and we are convinced that this attack was a raid meant only to test our defenses and learn our methods. The invasion will come only after the Enemy prepares their army for what they have faced. Our Commander agrees, and we now must convince the Concordiat that the danger from these aliens has only grown with our successful campaign, not lessened. This may be difficult, however, as time passes, and memories dim.