Barbarians

You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain

Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain

Waste your summer praying in vain

For a savior to rise from these streets

Well now, I ain't no hero, that's understood

All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood

With a chance to make it good somehow

Tell me what else can we do now?

Bruce Springsteen - “Thunder Road”

Dhyaksh Jiyazh Ghuuyaz and the rest of the stragglers from Oathkeeper ran towards the nearest pocket of Khonhim fighters as if the Flaming Star of legend was bearing down upon them once more. The lines of battle were holding firm for now, but still more enemy reinforcements were being landed, and there was a limit to what he could ask his warriors to face. Unless the equation shifted, it would soon force their troops to pull back, and the probability of reaching the assault shuttles in time would be zero. Without that shuttle, he could not return to orbit and rally the fleet, and without the fleet...or what was left of it…then he, his warriors, and the Great Cause were all doomed.

The fighting was growing even more intense as they drew nearer, as an errant shot dropped one of the warriors with him. Jiyazh dove into the trenches as he worked his way forward, grabbing one of the ground officers who stared at him in shock. “Dhyaksh, what are you doing here?” he stammered in surprise.

“There is no time to explain,” Jiyazh said in a rush. “I must get to the shuttles, the fate of the crusade depends on it!”

The officer shook his head. “The enemy has cut off access to the shuttles, Dhyaksh. They are staged in a pocket near to here, but even if we could fight our way clear, they would shoot you out of the sky long before you rejoined the fleet.”

“We must try,” Jiyazh urged, “otherwise we might as well surrender now, and bare our throats to the enemy’s blade.”

“I understand, Dhyaksh,” the officer nodded. He scanned the trench line and then pointed towards the East. “There,” he said, “that is our best hope.”

“Then gather your warriors,” Jiyazh commanded, as he checked his own weapon. “Either we break through...or we die in the attempt.”

First Platoon hurled themselves into the narrow breach in the enemy line, with Nassat in the lead. Some would say it was foolhardy for the commander to rush into battle like some mere private, and yet not so long ago that’s what he had been. But it was more than just practiced habit that placed him in harm’s way, for he had learned his fellow soldiers would fight ten times harder when they knew their leader shared the danger with them.

Withering fire marched up and down their ranks, driving them into the ground as they sought cover. Nassat had his own weapon up and firing as they inched their way forward, forcing the enemy to at least keep their heads down as they attempted to break through. It was times like these he wished he were human...not only were they far more sanguine about combat, their thin bodies were much better suited for burrowing into the dirt.

Second and Third platoons were keeping a steady fusillade on the enemy positions, allowing them to creep ever closer to the trenches. Their approach was not without cost, as his soldiers died by ones and twos, but soon enough they were within grenade range. The Saurotaurs still alive armed their bombs and flung them against the enemy line, and were rewarded with a rippling succession of explosions that paused the incoming fire.

“Move! Nassat shouted, as the survivors of First Platoon leapt to their feet and charged forward, diving into the enemy trenches...as they found suddenly themselves fighting for their lives.

What had first appeared to be a calm within the storm soon became a whirlwind of enemy fire as the Triumvirate forced their way through the same cramped defile. The Khonhim warriors slammed into their adversaries like an ocean wave, pouring fire into the mass of soldiers when a dozen or more objects were thrown into their faces.

“Grenade!” Jiyazh screamed, diving for cover, as a line of explosions ripped his warriors to pieces. The concussive blasts disoriented the defenders, and as he staggered to his feet, a swarm of green-skinned quadrupeds thundered into the trenches. There was no time to rally his warriors, who they themselves were already fighting off their attackers. Jiyazh scrambled to retrieve his weapon and fired point-blank into the mass of bodies, dropping a handful of them at his feet before a hammer blow smashed into his chest and threw him back to the ground.

I’m hit, he realized in dull shock, as bright orange blood streamed down his side. There was no time to assess the damage, as yet another of the enemy galloped toward him, eager to finish him. His weapon knocked aside Jiyazh clawed at the sidearm holstered at his waist, yanking it free and firing twice more as the Saurotaur fell to the ground, its limbs kicking. His weapon felt as heavy as a boulder as he labored to breathe, pushing himself into a sitting position as he watched his wounded opponent fight to sit up as well.

The fighting around them seemed to be carried away by some strange current, leaving only he and his wounded enemy surrounded by bodies. Placing a hand on his wound he recognized the severity of his injury in a heartbeat...and resigned himself to his fate.

“...I am Dhyaksh Jiyazh Ghuuyaz,” he wheezed to his enemy, “...and I refuse to beg for my life. Do what you must...and finish it.”

The Saurotaur gazed into his eyes...as he raised a sidearm of his own, aiming at his head with trembling hands.

Nassat and the rest of First Platoon plunged headfirst into a throng of enemy warriors as a hail of weapons fire erupted on both sides. It flung blood and bodies in all directions as the murderous fire decimated their ranks. He paused only for an instant to bring up the other platoons...when he spotted a wounded Khonhim warrior drawing a bead on him. Time seemed to stand still as he fought to bring his own weapon to bear, but he was too slow...too slow by far.

Too slow to dive for cover as twin bursts of pain slammed into him like a shuttle crash, knocking him off his feet.

His body spasmed in agony as he struggled to pull himself up, gasping for air as he tried to crawl away, only to have his leg crumple beneath him. Blood poured from a wound in his forelimb hip joint, the complex mass of bone and tissue shattered and unable to support his weight.

Somehow, despite the pain, he sat up, taking the pressure from his mangled limb. The Khonhim who had gunned him down watched as he pulled his own sidearm free, raising it up with shaking hands. They stared at one another, the two wounded soldiers as if they were all alone on the battlefield...until he jutted his chin in defiance.

“I am Dhyaksh Jiyazh Ghuuyaz,” the Khonhim said, “...and I refuse to beg for my life. Do what you must...and finish it.”

Nassat blinked in surprise. The leader of the enemy fleet here? His mind swirled at the sheer improbability of finding himself in this situation, even as he stared down the barrel of his sidearm. The sight lined up between the Khonhim’s eyes as he prepared to honor his enemy’s last request...when his weapon dropped back down to the ground.

“I have no wish to kill you,” Nassat breathed. “Too many have died already...on both sides.”

The Khonhim…Jiyazh...watched as he murmured into his mic. “This is Sergeant Nassat, Bravo Company. We require Healers at this location…”

He paused for a moment before deciding. “...and I have a wounded prisoner as well,” Nassat said at last.

They brought another batch of wounded into the Medical tent, as Raichret stripped off her blood-stained smock and pulled on a fresh one. She’d lost track of how many mutilated bodies she’d labored over since the battle began, and there was no end in sight. Had it been dozens she had tried to save? More? She could barely recall the last patient she’d operated on, even as they carried him away...though each one she lost was burned into her memory. How much longer could this go on? How much longer could she go on, before the sheer numbing horror of it all destroyed what remained of her sanity forever?

She shook it off, as they lowered her next patient onto the table, her professional mask slipping over her face as she began her initial assessment. Male Saurotaur, two entrance wounds, comminuted fracture of the sinister forelimb acetabulofemoral joint, with possible pneumothorax involvement…

“...Raichret…”

The sound of her name yanked Raichret out of her litany as if someone had slapped her. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized who was lying on her table, crouching down beside him as she fought back sudden tears. “...Nassat...”, she whispered, as the words strangled in her throat.

She could see the pain in his eyes as he reached out to her. “Raichret...do not concern yourself with me,” he wheezed, confirming her worst fears, “...you must save him.” His gaze traveled to a neighboring table where another patient was being brought in and prepped.

A Khonhim patient.

“He can wait,” she snapped. “I will give you a sedative and prep you for surgery…” she began, only to be interrupted once more.

“...you must save him,” Nassat repeated, this time with greater urgency. “He is the Dhyaksh...the commander of the Khonhim fleet, and…”

But Raichret had stopped listening, as she stared at the enemy commander.

The one responsible for the deaths of her family.

…and he was within her grasp.

She had all but forgotten her own sidearm during the endless hours of surgery, but at that very moment, she felt its reassuring weight. Her hand seemed to have a will of its own as she drew her weapon and charged it, her eyes smoldering in cold fury as she began to squeeze the trigger…

Only to have Nassat reach out and grab her arm, pulling it from the target. “Raichret...do you not understand?” he pleaded with her, “He can end the war.”

Part of her refused to listen, wanting only to scream ”I DON’T CARE!” Her murdered family cried out to her, and she heard their siren call, even as Nassat fought to drag her back from the abyss.

“...you are a Healer,” he whispered. “Do not do this...please, Raichret, I beg you…”

Somehow...and even after many years she was never quite sure by what means it happened...her sidearm slid back into its holster. “...Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, “...but someone else can operate on him. I am saving you.”

A fragile smile appeared on his face. “...my fierce Healer…” he whispered, as the sedative took him under.

“WHAT?”

Admiral Fujimoto stared at her communications officer in shock. “Who did you say was down there?”

He was just as flabbergasted as she was. “Ma’am, they swear they’ve captured the fleet commander. He’s being operated on as we speak.”

She fell back into her chair, overwhelmed by the unexpected news. “...get Marshal Antuma on the horn,” she managed to get out. “He has to hear about this.”