Disclaimer: Bom is not mine. Neither is the cover. Bom is an OC, as well as the cover, and they were created by a friend who had generously allowed me to use the both of them for my story. For reference, please check the link in my profile.
Happy reading !
Chapter One
Outskirts of Vasclorein City
Town of Tu'Val, "Sector DH-42"
Five years prior to the invasion of Irk
'The unthinkable had occurred. In the human calendar, it was on the date of the twenty-seventh of June. Year of two thousand and twenty one. The Russian Federation encircled the city and advancing on the Tallest Tower, street by street. The sun barely broke through the clouds that day, and the presence of dust was so heavy, it was almost as if oxygen was non-existent. Where do I start? What are the right words? As a language specialist I've travelled to twelve different planets. I visited Vort, Keplar, and even Earth. I enjoyed those planets. But I came back. I wanted to be a part of it. My name doesn't matter. I was just one of many who believed in my Empire's destiny. Doubts were those of the weak minded and defective. Vort, Keplar, Earth. A never ending triumph of conquest.'
"The Earthen governments lack leadership," Said the ruby eyed Irken in uniform in front of her. "By the time they recover," He took a moment to look up in the mirror, gazing into her bubble gum pink eyes as he pushed his antennae flush to his head, smiling all the while. "We'd have already disorganized them enough for the killing blow."
The Irken grasped the towel wrapped around his neck and set it down upon the sink, ever so gently. Then coming back up and twirling around.
"Sorry for barging in, but we happen to be at war."
The Irken reached back to the sink, grasping a small watch off a small flat tin, then wrapped it around his left wrist, securing it by the magnetic clasp on the back. After securing it, he turned around with a smile on his face, slowly approaching the female standing in the doorway, stopping in front of her, gently resting his forehead on hers. The Irken was wearing a grin on his face, and the female shyly looked to the floor, trying to suppress her own smile.
'The day Ger left, his boots echoed through the house. We were convinced we were right. We all breathed the same air and it was intoxicating.'
Five years later…
"Run!" A male voice had broken through her dazed state in Irken amidst the dust filled air. "Get out of here! Go!"
Bom was stumbling, barely able to see the ruble at her feet, barely able to hear the native and foreign weapons a like exchanging fire between one another. She couldn't hear it, but she felt the artillery rumbling in the distance beneath her feet.
She couldn't remember how many, but she had run past several Irken defensive positions. Their weapons blazing, casting purple auras around them as the muzzle flash and resulting plasma lit the area around them. She didn't like to admit it, but if they were already here, Bom knew those weapons wouldn't help those Irken soldiers fighting meaninglessly in the streets.
"Here!" An Irken female called out, waving. "In here!"
Bom looked to her right; the other Irken was still calling out to her, pointing downward into a small cellar like doorway, more than likely into the advanced network of underground tunnels that lie under the surface of Irk.
Bom pushed her way past the cramped entrance, shaking off the small concussive wave she had suffered from the explosion in the streets. She briskly made her way down the stairs, trying not to trip down the flight of stairs she guessed to have ten or so steps downward into the dimly lit corridors.
She reached the bottom, looking around, finding no way but forward, so she decided to run until she found a safer place to hide. She ran for what she guessed to be ten or so seconds before she came to another, wider, corridor, where an Irken male stood, ripping his helmet off and casting a hologram over himself to hide his uniform in civilian clothing.
"No uniforms and no weapons or they will shoot and kill us all." He said.
After the first Irken was satisfied he looked the part, he took off down the larger corridor, causing three more males and another female to drop all their combat gear and activating their own holograms. Bom looked the opposite direction, and for a moment considered running that way, but realized the tunnel must have collapsed due to the fact no light was visible, so she decided to run with the soldiers as they took off after their leader.
Bom ran with them, for maybe another ten seconds or so until they reached a room, where more Irken civilians funneled into, and more soldiers disposed of their combat gear and weapons, then disguising themselves and entering.
"Has anyone seen my daughter?" A female asked from inside.
No one had answered her, and she simply turned around and ran further into the room.
"No news. No orders." One male spoke to another, standing inside the room near the door as Bom walked in. "Nothing!" He yelled, slamming his closed fist into the concrete wall. "Nobody give's a Dookie about us."
Bom didn't recognize any of these Irkens in here. She found it odd that she didn't. She knew everyone in her town quite well. Had they all retreated into the city for more protection? Perhaps even past one of the defensive walls? But how had they found their ways past them? She would probably never know. She, along with ever other Irken in the shelter would eventually be found... And killed.
"Pavonal? Where are you?" Called the same Irken female, still looking for her daughter, with still no answer.
Bom continued deeper into the room. Trying to find a place to set down her bag, the sling thrown over her right shoulder.
"In some parts of the sector they're even welcoming them. Russki loving swine." Said another Irken.
'Some of them had been booksellers. Shop keepers. Gardeners. That was the pharmacists widow. Her husband had once cured Proog of a horrible headache. But now that's over. Now we step on the corpses of our own dead. Her, she's Khrelan Fallapadax, a natural born Irken and a musician. Her husband is missing. There was never a military presence here; that's not until the Russians announced the liberation of our own planet.'
"Someone help!" Yelled an Irken female. "She can't breathe!"
Behind the Irken calling out for help lie another female on a makeshift bed crafted from pieces of wood that made the frame and blankets folded over more blankets to make a soft mattress. But where the Irken lay was not a problem at all, the fact was she was more than likely born out a tube, and she was convulsing on the floor, her PAK missing from the exposed ports on her back.
There was nothing anyone could have done for her. Even if they had a spare PAK hanging on the wall, she'd simply turn into a shell of her former self and no longer exist.
'I'll write it all down, Ger, for you to read.'
Bom kept quite as she sat down on a small wooden bench, taking the bag off her shoulder and gently set it down on the cold concrete floor.
"Stoooy!" A heavy voice called out in Russian, halting the grinding noise of the tank tracks, the boots of soldiers stopping in the streets as each one took aim at the doors and balconies of the streets.
The man in the grey woolen greatcoat with a portupeya belt wrapped around the waist, it's sling resting over the right shoulder board that held the rank of Major, adjusted his visor cap as he made his way over to the second T-99 Armata tank behind the lead one, and held out his hand as one of the tank operators handed him down a small device.
The Major set his rifle down on the base of the tank and cleared his throat before pushing a few buttons with his index finger and holding the device to his mouth.
"Residents of Tu'Val!" The Russian spoke in Irken. "Residents of this street! All weapons must be handed over at once! This is your last chance. Surrender your weapons at once. This is your last chance."
The Major pressed a few buttons on the device and handed quickly back to the tank operator who had handed it to him and retrieved his rifle from the tank, taking aim with the other soldiers who had taken cover either behind the other tanks or behind fallen debris from buildings.
There was an eerie and near deafening silence in the street.
The dust had settled and the sun had broken through the clouds, which made up for more visibility in the streets; but there was no telling what waited either in the buildings or around the corner of the intersections ahead.
Major Sergei Kuptsov of the 8th Russian Army was ready.
And none too soon.
Sergei guessed perhaps a nitrogen cooled, triple barreled heavy plasma cannon; but whatever it was, it lit up from a balcony and took two Russian soldiers down the instant those bolts of energized plasma struck them.
The rest scurried and took aim, but as the first couple shots were thrown at the enemy from the first balcony, Sergei had spotted more plasma cannons being unveiled from under the lengthy pieces of cloth as their operators prepared to fire. Soon after, Irken troops started to appear in the streets ahead of them. The lead T-99 pintel mounted machine gun lit up alongside its co-axial machine gun, each one engaging targets high and low.
Sergei took aim with his AN-94 rifle, a much older one in comparison to the newer rifles, and squeezed off a few rounds, striking an Irken in his helmet on one of the balconies across the street. His partner came up, pissed, and held the trigger down, spraying rounds in a blind fury, Sergei ducked… And the two men who had been by his side fell to the concrete below.
"We have to secure that building!" Someone yelled in Russian from one tank back. Sergei recognized his voice; it was his younger brother, the companies Captain.
"Pashlee! Duvay, duvay!"Another Russian called out as a team of them ran down the street from the rear and entered the building off the Segrei's left side.
Sergei threw his weapon over his shoulder and let it hang off the sling, then leaning down beside the soldier who had fallen closest to him, and secured the flamethrower he had in his hands along with the fuel tanks attached to his back.
"Simnoy!" Sergei yelled as he followed the group of soldiers who had advanced into the house.
When Sergei had reached the end of the small corridor to the stairwell, Russian soldiers had already taken aim and started to exchange fire upward as the enemy fired downward down the center of the spiral staircase. Sergei didn't bother to stop and made his way up, fuel tanks secured to his back and flamethrower in hand.
Sergei had reached the third floor when he kicked in the door, held the flamethrower to waist level and waited for an Irken to investigate the sound of the door coming off the hinges. It was not five seconds until one came around the corner, and Sergei squeezed the trigger, torching the bottom half of the enemy in front of him, causing him to scream and drop his rifle. Sergei squeezed the trigger again and started sweeping the room with the inferno.
Sergei dropped the flamethrower and unslung his rifle from his back, walking over to the rail and looking downward, soldiers still firing their rifles as a female medic wearing her arm band and pilotka began gently dragging a downed soldier out of the fray.
"Soldaty!" Sergei called down below. "Poluchit' zdes'!"
He pulled his exposed head away from the railings and started making his way up to the next floor. Sergei stepped back a moment, raised his foot, but halted and looked over his shoulder as someone rested their hand on it.
"Comrade Major," The Captain started to speak in Russian. "It's not wise to enter yet. I and Sergeant Tamarkin will take the second door down the hall to this room, on our mark."
Sergei simply nodded and waited by the door as his brother took off down the hall with his rifle ready, Sergeant Tamarkin in tow. Sergei kept his eye on the Captain as he prepared a grenade and gave the Sergeant a nod. Sergeant Tamarkin opened the door, and Captain Kuptsov let the RGO impact grenade fly through the doorway. Irkens screamed, the grenade thumped, and then it went off. Sergei kicked the door in and looked left into the kitchen as Sergeant Tamarkin walked into it. The Sergeant was about to complete his sentence saying, 'all clear,' when he had taken a round to the head. Sergei aimed toward the kitchen as an Irken soldier walked into his line of sight. Captain Kuptsov walked into the door Sergeant Tamarkin walked through and aimed his rifle. Sergei pulled the trigger and followed his barrel followed the body dropping to the ground.
"Get medical up here!" Sergei called out, knowing Sergeant Tamarkin was dead the moment that bolt was fired.
Sergei turned around at the sound of something heavy and blunt falling to the floor.
There was a door.
Sergei slowly made his way toward it, trying to keep his boots on the hardwood floor as quiet as possible. Rifle at the ready. He kicked the door in, revealing two Irken soldiers standing there; they both had their hands in the air with their rifles. Their combat armor and helmets lie on the floor beside them.
Sergei took aim, dropped the first one, and before the second had time to react, he effortlessly moved his right to the left and put a round in his head.
Sergei was standing over the combat engineer who had the long range communications unit attached to his back, the connecting phone unit pressed to his ear.
"Tovarish Polkovnik! The men have almost reached the station." He waited for a moment for the Colonel's response. He got it, and Captain Kuptsov saw the change in his expression, and didn't like it.
"The orders were to proceed to Miyuki Square!" Sergei screamed. He waited another moment, straightened out his posture and said through gritted teeth, "Yes, sir, Comrade Colonel."
Sergei threw the phone downward as it clanged off the long range communications unit, making the combat engineer below him flinch. Sergei stomped his way outside, gathered his men, and explained to them what their new orders were.
One man took off his helmet and tossed it as hard as he could against one of the tanks. Voices lifted amongst the men in argument. A Junior Sergeant stepped forward from the crowd.
"No Miyuki Square? Why not? It's so close!"
"Nyet, nyet!" A Sergeant Major stepped forward as he protested. "We're going on, dammit!"
The crowd of soldiers started to gain momentum and questioned their commanding officers orders, Sergei knew if these men caused too much attention the others would start agreeing and eventually, they'd have the whole armoured column moving on.
"It's an order!" Sergei called out. The crowd ceased. They knew. They knew that if they disobeyed an order, they'd do what they'd done in the Soviet Union. Except you wouldn't be shot for disobeying an order or even retreating. You'd be shot out into space like an Irken.
"Secure the flanks!" Shouted Sergei; but no one moved. "It's an order!"
(End Chapter)