Abreon and Nece sitting in the night, behind the burnt out warehouse. Abreon holding a small computer unit in his hand, “This is it. This is the key to our success; see they have one major flaw, all of them in that they give me too much power. They underestimate me and I bite back.”
Nece to him, leaning forward, “But doesn't that make you just as bad as them.”
“I struggled to save a few lives, more than would be lost, but it did not bring any good to anyone. I have failed, but I will not fail again. They have a profile on me and it says that I will not turn against them for the Xelon Dru, but they don’t understand that life is more complicated than a profile, that two men should die for one if it was just and right.”
Nece put her hand on Abreon’s thigh, “Yes.”
“Sometimes I don’t know, but I must help these people. There are only a hundred fifty left. I must save them. They represent what is good in this world, what we are losing.”
Nece began to unzip his jumpsuit, “Yes.”
“When I press the trigger on this device it will cut communication between the Srax ranks. I can only use it once.”
Nece kissing his chest, whispering to him, “I love you.”
Abreon pulled her up to his lips and began to kiss her, “I will be put upon the front lines. When the end begins meet me here inside the warehouse, basement level three.” For a moment, he thought of Marcy, pushed her image away and then sighed in pain. He felt like a fool, “Nece?”
Nece whispering back, “Okay.”
Eleven
He was on the front lines, in a trench facing the bridge, hesitantly watching as the two hundred heavily armed Nenthars began to cross the Unar River. Advanced scouting reports held they were the last in the region. The Srax kept their helmets low, in their trenches with their weapons ready; they waited for them to cross. The Nenthar could conceivably show a good fight, for there armor was thick, their offensive and defensive capabilities strong, but that was to remain to be seen. Abreon thought that within sixty days all of it would end, for before the Nenthar were the Tarnar, and before them were a division or two of the Xelon. He began to count the days down.
SIXTY
During the night, the Srax began to shell the Nenthar who had quickly buried themselves in dug out positions. The Nenthar in turn began to fire plasma back over, it arching into the Srax own trenches, the blasts burning many, killing some. It was such an effective defensive weapon that more fire was ordered from the second trench, which was south-west of Abreon and the Srax position. The Srax were forced to dig another trench behind their first with deeper bunkers. The Srax abandoned their forward position and retreaded to that second rearward line of trenches. In turn, the Nenthars dug in deeper and continued in their assault.
FIFTY-FIVE
Abreon began to pick at his wet uniform. It had been raining out for a few days. The sky was dark and he was cold. Although the Srax had given Abreon a new suit that was woven with steel fibers, which was flame resistant, apparently it was not rain resistant. It could stop a low powered laser, or a laser rifle at long distance but not a plasma mortar. Abreon’s helmet was made of metal as well, and camouflaged like his suit. He held his rifle tight next to him. Next to him a female soldier looked up at him from sitting In the mud, mortars flying overhead, “How many battles have you been in, 27?”
Twenty-seven was the rank of an enlisted man, “I’ve been in too many. People are just killing themselves for a title on their grave.”
“Maybe, 27.”
Abreon pulling out a food ration, “It’s an act of attrition to see who will run out of shells first.”
One soldier, “Who will run out first?”
A second soldier, “The Nenthars, but they have superior weapons.”
At this, the first soldier turned in disgust. Abreon shrugged his shoulders and continued eating ducking as a plasma shell rocketed toward them. They ducked to avoid the blast as it hit the ground near their line of trenches.
FIFTY-ONE
The day was long, the blood dripping from the wounds of the men who had fought against it. For most of that day, Abreon, sat inside one of the bunkers behind the lines. On that day, the sounds of launching plasma were constant, the whine or steel shells loud as they hit the earth and soldier’s they targeted. Abreon and the rest of the Srax soldiers who could fit in that bunker listened to the sound of all those projectiles being launched, the sounds of bursting powder and the impact moments later. Abreon heard the high-pitched scream of an incoming plasma shell, holding his breath as part of the shell burst hit the casing of the outer door of the bunker, the lower left comer of the door, turning to slag. A chunk of the door dripped away, the door buckling, warping from the heat. One soldier stood up screaming, “We can't get out!”
Another Srax yelling, “We can’t get out! Oh!”
Abreon stood opening the first door, “Everyone, everyone fire at the door!” backing away, he aimed and, “Now!” the door being peppered with holes, until all inside the bunker were satisfied. Abreon walked through it, “Now then.”
One soldier, “You'll die out there!”
Abreon crouching down in the trench walking away, finding a few others huddled in the dirt, “No, I won’t.”
The day waned into night. Word began to spread from intelligence, to officer and finally to enlisted man that a division of Tamar, which was approximately a thousand men, heavily armored and heavily equipped were only two days away. This was in addition to the two divisions of Xelon Dru that had set themselves before them, with still another five divisions of one thousand in route to combine their forces with the original two divisions. Once the two Xelon Dru armies combined, there would be a total of ten thousand moderately armored, heavily equipped men and women bearing down on the Srax and their conscripted soldiers, which included Abreon. This did not include the Nenthar his own people who were now playing defense against the Xelon and offence against the Srax. Abreon looked up from the trench over the sand bags, waiting for a flash, once Abreon saw it he began to count.
ONE
TWO
THREE
Abreon placed a well-timed duck into the Srax trench he found himself in as the massive plasma shot hit a buried launch truck, disintegrated the barrel splintering the hull of it, wrenching the axil into the air and slinging it a few hundred meters away. Abreon looked up at the ruin and then ducked again as a piece of truck landing near him. He opened his eyes, removing his hands from his helmet, eyeing the chunk of machine before him, it being a large bolt with metal encasing still twisted around it. He went to touch it. It burned him. It was hot. He felt like a fool for doing so.
FIFTY
The Tamar began to dig in deeper before the bridge, which was to the front of the Srax lines. For the Tamar, it was good fortune that they had crossed the bridge several days earlier for now the Xelon Dru were marching toward the Linar from where the Tanar had crossed. At least the Tamar had the water and the bridge to their backs. However, that did mean that they were between the invading Xelon and the defending Srax with the Nenthar toward the southeast of their position. The Tanar had progressed before began vaulting plasma across it into the town, both at the Nenthar and at the Srax to the south east of them. From the start, Abreon did not understand why the Tanar did not align themselves with the Nenthar however Abreon began, from overhearing the gossip between frustrated officers, to understand that the Tarnar did not care for either Nenthar or the Srax. The reason for their apathy in generating an alliance with the Nenther against the Srax was only because the Nenthar were a relatively small force and a small target. In addition, the Nenthar’s guns were not currently facing them and they were not in the Tanars direct path. As far as the Tarnar were concerned they could just ignore them, two hundred men were of little concern to them. Still though, they bombed them for some reason, perhaps just on accident or just because they could. The end result was that for every one volley sent over the Nenthar lines, four where sent over to the Srax. To make matte
rs worse Commander Dulo, could not explain why both the Nenthar and the Tamar were shelling his positions. It did not make sense that an enemy of his enemy was still that enemy’s friend.
Abreon stood before Dulo, in a shelter. Dulo was drinking coffee and pouring over computerized maps. He looked up at Abreon, “Tell me, why are the Tamar saving your people?”
“There not saving them. The Tanar are shelling them as well, but they are of little concern to them.”
Dulo was puzzled, “Then tell me why the Nenthar, don’t route us from the west?”
“Because, both trench lines run parallel to one another.”
Dulo: “I know.”
Abreon walked over to the coffee and produced three straws. He set two of the straws down at an angle, but still parallel to each other and pointing with the third, “They can come in from the west with cover from the Tarnar, but the-fire would burn them when the neared the second line. Fire would come from your first line of defense. The Nenthar only have two hundred men.” pointing at a spot on the table, “It is just not enough to sustain a valid assault, yet.”
Dulo put his cup of coffee down raising an eyebrow, “What do you mean, yet?”
Pointing at the table, in front of the trenches, “You have to deal with the Tamar, but before them you have a division of the Xelon Dru.”
Dulo angry, “How do