Mark, Jim, and Sarge met just outside the walled enclosure. No other
trace of life was found in the village. Jim had found a cache of weapons,
small spears and swords, and had set the hut they were stored on fire.
"Just in case, y'know," he said, though all three doubted any of the
weapons could have hurt them through their armor.
"Lieutenant says new orders came down from Command, we're to sit put here like good soldiers and watch for any more 'indigenous life forms," spoke Sarge, as discontentment rained down all their faces.
"Great, just fricking great. Ya know, we were suppose to head back up to the battlecruiser when we secured this LZ. I need to take a God-damn shower, and-"
"Will you shut the hell up, Jim! It's bad enough we gotta stay here, I don't wanna spend it listening to you bitch," said Mark, the two in a deadly staring contest.
"Shut up, both of you!" Jim and Mark stared at Sarge, and looked down to the ground where he was staring at. "Do you hear that?"
All three stood still and listened. Their audio amplifiers were picking up a lot of sound. It was the sound of metal clinking against metal, the sound of voices, cheering, and songs, the sound of many feet walking in motion together. And it was coming towards them.
They did double time in the direction of the sounds, coming over one rise and lying flat at the next. Mark was the first to peek his head over the hill, and asset the situation. It looked to be a battalion of soldiers, all looking like the previous villagers, marching in column along one of the dirt roads leading from the village. Many were armed with short curved swords and wore studded leather, while several held aloft Partizans, staves with an elongated cutting blade at the top. Near the back of the marching procession were several beasts of burden, hairy things walking along their stumpy four legs, carrying several large loads and pulling some odd-looking devices. At the very front situated between two fluttering banners was what appeared to be the commander of the unit, wearing a suit of armor and a blue flowing robe, while the rest of his similarly officers trailed behind him.
"I don't know, do you think they knew we were here?" Mark was more inquisitive then fearful in his question when he came back down.
"Don't make me laugh, Mark. I'm quite surprised those beasts can stay marching in line," retorted Jim.
"Hold on now, looks like something's happening."
Mark and Jim followed Sarge's gaze back towards the soldiers. Someone, a scout probably, was running up to the commander and his staff. They could see he was winded, and when he reached the assembly they could hear him speak to the leader, though what he was saying they couldn't make out. The officer could though, and turned to his subordinates. After a brief discussion, they turned to the mass of troops and began shouting orders, in a rather high-pitch tone that reminded them of the little girl earlier. There was quite a commotion within the ranks, as soldiers began shifting around into three new columns and, to the three troopers' surprise, began marching right towards them.
"Well, this was certainly unexpected. Maybe they know right where we are?"
"Doubtful, they're taking the shortest route to the village. Guess they wanna find out just what the hell happened."
"Enough jabbering, we gotta do something to scare 'em off," said Sarge, who cocked and locked the grenade launcher underneath his gun. "Nothing like a little high explosive to frighten the natives," he spoke with a grin, and then stood up in plain view of the troops below.
They were quite taken back when Sarge stood up, but not as much as when an explosion ripped up the middle column of soldiers. The survivors began backing off, despite the coercions of their officers, and it seemed to take the group's leader to rally them back into line. That was when Sarge noticed the odd devices that had been pulled by the laboring beasts were now pointed at him, and he realized just what they were in time.
Sarge was again on the ground with Jim and Mark when the first blast hit to top of the knoll, followed by two more detonations. "Well, I'll give credit to the little buggers; guess they're smart enough to invent cannons. Mark, circle around their left flank and take out those mortars. Jim and I will have the pleasure of taking the rest of them out."
With a nod, Mark was off, running around the base of the hill towards the cannons. He passed another knoll when he came upon the cannons from behind. The four field guns were rather odd-looking, each oversized barrel resting on its own set of four wheels that looked like they were ready to collapse. A crank system raised and lowered its trajectory, and each crewmember was busy loading them for the next volley. That was when Mark opened up, spraying the four guns and their crews. When he stopped firing, a grotesque scene stood before him: the humanoid creatures lay sprawling over their still-hot guns, burning metal beginning to sear their flesh. Some were barely recognizable after receiving multiple high-caliber rounds to their small stature, and one creature's brain matter was seeping into a pile of cannon rounds. Mark had to swallow back down the vomit that was trying to force its way out of his stomach, like a condemned prisoner trying to break free of his gas chamber.
The sudden stop of their barrage forced many of the advancing infantry to look back, and that was when Sarge and Jim struck. Leaping back up on top of the cratered summit, they saturate the advancing columns with gunfire. The primitive battalion below them went into an all-out route as the soldiers, watching their fellows being mowed down like grain to the scythe, were compelled to value their lives over the order of their commanders. The unit's commander, trying to rally the troops once more, raised his sword up towards the two Marines, and began to say something when a bullet from Jim's rifle tore right through his left shoulder. Gazing at their commander fall to the ground, even the officers joined their men in running as far away as their legs could carry. Jim and Sarge kept firing pot shots into the fleeing group till they were satisfied they weren't in the mood to come marching back.
The three reunited amongst the dead and dying, Mark and Jim taking care to avoid the corpses while Sarge literally walked all over them.
"Like goddamn cattle to the slaughter," spoke Jim, as small moans and groans could still be heard. Mark nodded his head in agreement, and noticed Sarge walking over to the battalion commander. He seemed to still be moving, his wound painful but not mortal-yet. Sarge gave him a kick with his boot, and then turned to the privates.
"Looks like we got a souvenir to take back with us, boys. Thing's still alive, just barely. Get on the horn with the lieutenant, Jim, and radio in for something to pick us up off this damn rock."
"Lieutenant says new orders came down from Command, we're to sit put here like good soldiers and watch for any more 'indigenous life forms," spoke Sarge, as discontentment rained down all their faces.
"Great, just fricking great. Ya know, we were suppose to head back up to the battlecruiser when we secured this LZ. I need to take a God-damn shower, and-"
"Will you shut the hell up, Jim! It's bad enough we gotta stay here, I don't wanna spend it listening to you bitch," said Mark, the two in a deadly staring contest.
"Shut up, both of you!" Jim and Mark stared at Sarge, and looked down to the ground where he was staring at. "Do you hear that?"
All three stood still and listened. Their audio amplifiers were picking up a lot of sound. It was the sound of metal clinking against metal, the sound of voices, cheering, and songs, the sound of many feet walking in motion together. And it was coming towards them.
They did double time in the direction of the sounds, coming over one rise and lying flat at the next. Mark was the first to peek his head over the hill, and asset the situation. It looked to be a battalion of soldiers, all looking like the previous villagers, marching in column along one of the dirt roads leading from the village. Many were armed with short curved swords and wore studded leather, while several held aloft Partizans, staves with an elongated cutting blade at the top. Near the back of the marching procession were several beasts of burden, hairy things walking along their stumpy four legs, carrying several large loads and pulling some odd-looking devices. At the very front situated between two fluttering banners was what appeared to be the commander of the unit, wearing a suit of armor and a blue flowing robe, while the rest of his similarly officers trailed behind him.
"I don't know, do you think they knew we were here?" Mark was more inquisitive then fearful in his question when he came back down.
"Don't make me laugh, Mark. I'm quite surprised those beasts can stay marching in line," retorted Jim.
"Hold on now, looks like something's happening."
Mark and Jim followed Sarge's gaze back towards the soldiers. Someone, a scout probably, was running up to the commander and his staff. They could see he was winded, and when he reached the assembly they could hear him speak to the leader, though what he was saying they couldn't make out. The officer could though, and turned to his subordinates. After a brief discussion, they turned to the mass of troops and began shouting orders, in a rather high-pitch tone that reminded them of the little girl earlier. There was quite a commotion within the ranks, as soldiers began shifting around into three new columns and, to the three troopers' surprise, began marching right towards them.
"Well, this was certainly unexpected. Maybe they know right where we are?"
"Doubtful, they're taking the shortest route to the village. Guess they wanna find out just what the hell happened."
"Enough jabbering, we gotta do something to scare 'em off," said Sarge, who cocked and locked the grenade launcher underneath his gun. "Nothing like a little high explosive to frighten the natives," he spoke with a grin, and then stood up in plain view of the troops below.
They were quite taken back when Sarge stood up, but not as much as when an explosion ripped up the middle column of soldiers. The survivors began backing off, despite the coercions of their officers, and it seemed to take the group's leader to rally them back into line. That was when Sarge noticed the odd devices that had been pulled by the laboring beasts were now pointed at him, and he realized just what they were in time.
Sarge was again on the ground with Jim and Mark when the first blast hit to top of the knoll, followed by two more detonations. "Well, I'll give credit to the little buggers; guess they're smart enough to invent cannons. Mark, circle around their left flank and take out those mortars. Jim and I will have the pleasure of taking the rest of them out."
With a nod, Mark was off, running around the base of the hill towards the cannons. He passed another knoll when he came upon the cannons from behind. The four field guns were rather odd-looking, each oversized barrel resting on its own set of four wheels that looked like they were ready to collapse. A crank system raised and lowered its trajectory, and each crewmember was busy loading them for the next volley. That was when Mark opened up, spraying the four guns and their crews. When he stopped firing, a grotesque scene stood before him: the humanoid creatures lay sprawling over their still-hot guns, burning metal beginning to sear their flesh. Some were barely recognizable after receiving multiple high-caliber rounds to their small stature, and one creature's brain matter was seeping into a pile of cannon rounds. Mark had to swallow back down the vomit that was trying to force its way out of his stomach, like a condemned prisoner trying to break free of his gas chamber.
The sudden stop of their barrage forced many of the advancing infantry to look back, and that was when Sarge and Jim struck. Leaping back up on top of the cratered summit, they saturate the advancing columns with gunfire. The primitive battalion below them went into an all-out route as the soldiers, watching their fellows being mowed down like grain to the scythe, were compelled to value their lives over the order of their commanders. The unit's commander, trying to rally the troops once more, raised his sword up towards the two Marines, and began to say something when a bullet from Jim's rifle tore right through his left shoulder. Gazing at their commander fall to the ground, even the officers joined their men in running as far away as their legs could carry. Jim and Sarge kept firing pot shots into the fleeing group till they were satisfied they weren't in the mood to come marching back.
The three reunited amongst the dead and dying, Mark and Jim taking care to avoid the corpses while Sarge literally walked all over them.
"Like goddamn cattle to the slaughter," spoke Jim, as small moans and groans could still be heard. Mark nodded his head in agreement, and noticed Sarge walking over to the battalion commander. He seemed to still be moving, his wound painful but not mortal-yet. Sarge gave him a kick with his boot, and then turned to the privates.
"Looks like we got a souvenir to take back with us, boys. Thing's still alive, just barely. Get on the horn with the lieutenant, Jim, and radio in for something to pick us up off this damn rock."