Buzzsaw Ridge
By J. L. Young Winter’s wind bit down hard. It was so cold my friend’s tears froze to his cheeks. Gangrene had taken to his wounds. Maggots were his only savior. Alas, it was too cold. I dressed the wound from the German’s buzzsaw and shared with him the last can of beans. Our Seargent was killed several days ago by a grenade. Another was to be dispatched, but he has yet to arrive. Ammunition was nearly depleted. Our momentum slowed by a German cavalry column. The armor was too thick. It was a mess, but we succeeded. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my friend’s eyes drift closed. “Stay with me, Ellis.” I tapped his face. “I just want to sleep.” “A warm bed is waiting for you on the other side of that ridge.” “Bullshit.” “You kiss your mamma with that mouth?” “No, your sister.” His brashness put me off, and then I chuckled. Causing him to do the same, but the searing pain from his wound aborted it. A glance at the field to the east revealed a pair of men in German uniforms. Their breath looked like thick cigarette smoke. I tapped Ellis’s shoulder and pointed before aiming. “I got the right one.” Silence came from Ellis. I glanced at him. His eyes stared blankly toward the sky. My eyes snapped toward the oncoming Germans. I filled the Garand’s iron sights with his chest. I squeezed the trigger and cycled the next round. The Germans were now aroused by the gunshot. The right one hadn’t noticed the blood filling his woolen uniform. I aimed at the now crouched left German. The side of his head beneath his helmet exploded, painting the snow. I cycled my rifle. I was empty, switched to my Colt, and waited. Cautiously, the wounded German approached. My cover concealed me. I leveled my sidearm and squeezed. A click seemed to echo through the world. It drew his gaze. He approached with his submachine gun aimed directly at me. His eyes grew large as I leaped from the ground and took hold of his gun and elbowed him in the face. The gun shot a burst, throwing searing hot brass in my face. I gnashed my teeth, snapped the bones in his forearm, and drew my knife. I felt his weight slump down. Not realizing it until he fell, I had stabbed him twice under his ribcage and sliced his throat. I fell back against a tree. The warm blood dripped from my hands. I took my eyes off the German and they settled on Ellis. “I got ‘em.” He had vanished.
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Chapter Thirty-one
Garalisym Administration Building Main Bunker, Prazza Num, Suvavarion Sector Syrane stood among the debris still scattered across the floor. The meeting room had been sealed as per request. She opened the barrier and tapped on her wrist computer and opened her palm. A small sphere rolled from her gauntlet into the palm. A pair of wings folded out from the sphere and beat swiftly to gain lift. The sphere shot into the meeting room and scanned it. A detailed representation of the room filled her eyes up display giving her the feeling she was in the room. She began her examination, targeting different objects and the markers within each, determining the materials and something not too often discovered in the aftermath of such an attack. Several arni passed, Syrane noted aloud, “Strange, a chemical reaction produced a concussion wave tearing the bodies apart. Messy, but effective. A cleaner alternative would have been a biological electromagnetic pulse. Extrapolation of object trajectories puts the weapon, here, where the Throten name Prem was seated. From the dispersal of organic material coded with Prem’s genetic information, the weapon was implanted within his person.” She called the sphere back and left the building, ported to the spaceport where her dropship rested. After a thorough inspection, she lifted off, rendezvoused with the Irenic Relict birthed and clamped to the station. There, she was able to decontaminate her stateroom and her suit before removing it. Afterward, Syrane proceeded to sterile shower and delight in not having the armor affixed to her body. She dressed in a freshly cleaned decksuit. The detective opened a secure channel to the Constabulary Archive. There, she searched for other cases with similar aspects. Alas, none were found. She shifted her search to the governmental archives. There, she was able to locate a parallel. Before the archive could deny her access to the files, She copied them to a secure directory. As expected, a security program initiated a redaction procedure. After closing the channel, Syrane opened the file and began reading. ‘Augor fifteen, 6525 Local Calender An. A member of the People’s Liberation Unit, armed with a concussion weapon, infiltrated the Garalisym Administration Building on Prazza Num during a session of Congress. The weapon failed to discharge and the being was taken into custody. The explosive implant was excised, examined, and destroyed. Further interrogation proved ineffective in locating or identifying the leader of the People’s Liberation Unit. After a guilty verdict was handed down, Kofgen Nan Soqarnes was sentenced to death in the public square. His execution was carried out on Votace nine, 6528 Local Calendar An. Information regarding this incident was never disseminated to the public.’ She looked confused. “They killed the being in public? What were the people told? Was it simply that they were a member of the People’s Liberation Unit?’ Syrane opened a channel and downloaded information regarding the People’s Liberation Unit and closed the channel. She found the propaganda shaping the organization as a murderous band of thugs with no clear motive. Some internal documents have labeled it a terrorist group and refer to Operation Night Blade. “If the group is a terrorist group, they must have a political agenda. What is that agenda? What is Operation Night Blade?” ‘The outline of Operation Night Blade was sent to the Captains in a communique for their approval. The operation was given approval and documents were sent to Archival Center Thirteen.’ “What is Archival Center Thirteen?” The screen read, ‘Restate query.’ She opened a channel. “Access Archival Center Thirteen.” ‘Unable to complete task.’ “Open secure channel. Contact General Eit.” After a brief wait, the screen brightened with the General. “Captain, what have you gleaned from your investigation of the attack site?” “The investigation is ongoing. I’ll give you the report along with my recommendations when it is complete. I need access to Archival Center Thirteen.” “Captain, Archival Center Thirteen does not exist.” The screen went dark save for the words ‘end transmission.’ Syrane rubbed her fatigued eyes and rested on the bed. Her ear caught the slight shuffling of a foot on the deck beckoning her to consciousness. Eit stood beyond the sanitation field. Eit held a small black device in her hand and activated it. “My apologies for waking you, Captain. Your inquiry is incredibly sensitive. I couldn’t speak of it despite the secure channel. What information do you seek?” “The People’s Liberation Unit and Operation Night Blade.” “Put on your armor, Captain.” Eit piloted the dropship to a cave, in a crater, on the southern pole of a small moon, engulfed in a thick layer of scarred ice. Moments after touchdown, they deplaned. The cave surrounding them remained natural in appearance. They approached a stalagmite and the General rested gloved hand on the top. A beam shined through her visor and calculated the details of her face. Afterward, a port appeared before them and they stepped through. Curved gray walls with structural ribs surrounded them. Each section had several doors on the inside and the outside of the curve. Small screens on the left side of the doors presented numbers. Syrane surmised this was a ship intentionally buried in the ice. Eit led the Detective to a room. A computer stood several decks above and below them. It was behind a thick layer of transparent metal seamlessly built into the surrounding structure of the section. The General unlocked the airtight bearings securing her glove to the arm of the suit and pressed her palm against a shiny black surface on the bulkhead. A console flipped over allowing access to the computer. “Enter your query, Captain.” After thorough research, Syrane came across an undercover operatives within the organization. A proper name wasn’t given however, it listed a code name, ‘Pale Hammer.’ “I need to speak with this ‘Pale Hammer.’ Call them in.” Syrane suggested. “I’ll bring the being to your ship.” Syrane grew restless waiting for Eit to return with the operative. An incoming port warning was issued drawing her attention. A being stood before her. The figure was artificially distorted to protect his identity. “Pale Hammer, I presume.” “Your interest with the Unit could be a deadly one, Captain.” Syrane glanced at Eit. The General stood quiet. “Regardless, I need access.” “That is something I cannot do.” “You have already infiltrated their ranks. You know information….” He interrupted her. “I do and giving it to you will compromise the mission.” Syrane paced the length of the barrier, keeping the distortion field in her peripheral. “Did you know about the attack on the Captains before it was carried out?” “A bit presumptuous, aren’t you, Captain?” She paused, facing him, “Answer the question.” His smug demeanor was apparent through the field. “Yes.” “And you did nothing to prevent it.” He closed the gap. “There was nothing to be done.” “You could have warned them. They were your Captains.” “To you they are victims of a series of events unforeseen by anyone.” “You couldn’t put the pieces together?” “I was too close. I couldn’t compromise my mission. Operational jurisprudence.” Syrane hissed, “If there was a time to step out of the bounds of operational jurisprudence, that was it.” She realized the proximity to the isolation barrier and her voice fell calm. “Save what remains of your government, give me a name.” His voice expressed his broken pride, “Reier. He’s a Rowar. Friendly, if you got the dead Captains.” “Where can I find this Reier?” “Trev district of the underground city of Yonva, Chaheen 224. Don’t get captured by its splendor. Many people have been eaten by that city. I was never here.” He left toward the airlock. Syrane watched as the distortion field moved away. She muttered, “That was too easy.” After a long deep breath and looked at General Eit.” “Your conversation went well, Captain.” “That remains to be seen.” “What do you need now?” “Chaheen 224. Where is that?” “Near the outer end of sector. When I return to my office, I’ll send the coordinates.” “I need a ship capable of getting there.” “Your refit should be near completion. I can move the schedule forward.” The Irenic Relict came to a full-stop over a small moon. Syrane double-checked the coordinates Eit had given her. Dressed in her armor, she took to the dropship and powered it up. Moments later, she detached from the mothership and angled the bow toward the moon. A visual pass and the moon appeared to be uninhabited. A heat pass presented a clearer picture of the population centers beneath the surface. It is geologically stable. The surface was bio-diverse. The moon had a fairly strong magnetosphere and a life-friendly atmosphere. From the sensor readings, multiple large impacts had occurred within the last 100 million ani. None of the inhabitants were in any immediate danger from another object, yet the surface was devoid of sentient life. After cooling the hull, she settled the ship on a broken airfield close to a cave opening. A quick scan of the cave entrance revealed it was devoid of defenses. An alarm on the console chimed, drawing her attention. She tapped the alarm switch, which triggered the starscreen to present a weather report of the local area. An intense atmospheric gravitational current was inbound. Syrane took to the back of the flight deck and opened a compartment. Inside, she grasped a handle and twisted. Several tethered darts fired from the hull and embedded in the rock. There, the darts splayed outward as the cabling attached reeled in, pulling the dropship to the rock. This automatically disengaged the omnetic cushion. The wind lifted debris and carried it, battering the hull as electrostatic discharges cracked the air and filled the cabin with blinding light. Syrane tapped a few buttons and the starscreen armor snapped closed. She judged the severity of the storm by the sounds it produced and the weather report the ship had generated. The vortex made deep wailing noises as the cables strained against it. Her eyes opened. The storm passed, leaving her in silence. She glanced at the weather report. It agreed with her assessment. A quick check of the avionics and the ship produced an error. “Explain code.” “Engine coolant depleted. Operation not advised.” After deplaning, Syrane performed a check of the hull. There she found a single piece of debris, the width of her sword, severing an engine coolant line. Coolant drenched the soil beneath it. She gripped the slab and wrenched it from the side of the hull. More coolant ran out. Syrane looked quizzically at the blackened piece of debris and the armor. “The wonders of nature,” she said and tossed it aside. With a tap of her wrist computer and the ramp sealed and locked. She turned toward the cave entrance. None of the people emerged for the day. She reached the mouth of the cave and peered in. There, parked, were large wheeled excavation vehicles. People weren’t filing out of the cave to start these vehicles and begin the day’s work. The detective pushed deeper. At the far end, a single elevator waited. A glance at the controls and it was clear how the machine operated. Syrane cranked it to her level. Once inside, she pushed the archaic lever forward to disengage the lock and cranked the handle. The bore of the vertical tunnel was within arm’s reach. She waited patiently. The speed lever slowly shifted toward her as the contraption descended. The open cage slowed to a stop at the bottom. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the low light. She stepped out and could hear the dripping of water. Puddles have formed on the sides of the tunnel but did not affect the solidity of the avenue. It subtlely ramped downward as she walked. The deeper she progressed, the noise of the water subsided and the sound of a city grew. Syrane reached the outskirts and beheld the splendor of Yonva. Lights danced and music played. Street performers entertained the throng that moved through. She has seen carnivals such as this on other planets. There was one thing that set this city apart from the others. The people of various species wore only paint. It was a dazzling display of flesh and color. She progressed into the vast city. The men and women continued their dancing, unconcerned with the new arrival. If anyone glanced at her, it was blithely. The music remained cheerful as she pushed through. The detective spotted a rickshaw and approached. “Are you on duty?” The Shasharin inside grinned happily. His long neck undulated. “Ya ya. Where you go?” “Trev district.” |
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May 2024
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