Across the Rift 13
An Ex-soldier in a strange and distant land
Across the Rift
Chapter 13
Ghosts of Past
The Dragon Lord Kathragon, ruler of the territory of Karthra, and eighth most magically powerful dragon lord slowly limped down the dimly lit tunnel to his personal quarters, claws clicking loudly against the stone floor as he went. It was the deepest shaft into the side of the mountain that he could find, halfway through; it diverged into several other tunnels making it a veritable maze. On the true path he had spent months laying down magical wards that would stop anyone he didn't want in here from ever getting close to his quarters.
Finally reaching his quarters, he stepped inside and moved past his living space and into his other cavern, larger than the first. This cavern was his personal workshop, everything he had been working on for the last eighty or so years was in here. A large bench filled with tools for working not only magic but wood and metal dominated the center of the room. Large crystals nearly a foot across were embedded in the walls, casting a light that filled the room.
Scattered across the room were his experiments, for the past eighty years, ever since he had encountered his first human, he had been trying to replicate their weapons. In a place of honor lay a battered Type 99 rifle service rifle with a broken stock. All of his efforts had been to create a weapon that could do the same as that one weapon.
Kathragon winced slightly as he remembered that encounter. He had been flying over his territory, when a bright flash of white purple light in the forest below had caught his attention. Descending to investigate, he had glimpsed a single human, dressed in a tan uniform staggering unsteadily and calling out for his companions. When the human caught sight of him, standing only twenty feet away, the human had raised his weapon and fired. Kathragon still remembered the stinging pain in his chest where the 7.7mm round had hit him. They had stared at each other in shock for a moment, and then the human screamed something and charged.
Unable to believe the reckless ferocity of his tiny adversary, Kathragon had frozen. In the time it took for him to react, the human thrust his weapon at him, sliding the sixteen inch bayonet into him, just inside his ribcage. Finally acting, Kathragon ripped the weapon out of his guts and the hands of the human. Flinging it into a tree where it's stock shattered, he then proceeded to slash open the humans face with one strike of his claws. Only after dispatching the human did he think of its weapon, the power it could wield. Retrieving the rifle, Kathragon had then returned to his lair, determined to replicate the power of the device.
But now Kathragon had something better, on the table he now placed Jonesy's rifle, recovered after the assassination attempt. Staring at it, Kathragon felt an urge to crush the weapon, but he repressed it, it was too valuable, despite what it had done to him.
Kathragon's right shoulder was a ruin, leaving him unable to move his right arm at all. The explosive and incendiary cocktail of the Raufoss round had robbed him of his sight in his right eye, and severely burned his muzzle, making his words slurred and nearly unintelligible. Previously, he had been considered quite handsome for a dragon lord, but now he looked like something to be pitied.
But, looking at this new weapon, he felt an almost giddy excitement, it was a masterpiece of technology, and he already had noted several features he would incorporate into his next design. He almost felt that the injuries sustained had been worth it. With enough weapons like this, he would be unstoppable. With a few more adjustments he would finally be able to have a design that could be mass produced. His one remaining eye had previously gleamed with ambition, but now there was something new, madness.
"Do not eat that." Sean paused with a ripe, native, fruit shaped like an eggplant and with the coloration of pumpkin, inches from his open mouth. He lowered his hand and shut his mouth as he turned to regard Forana.
"Poisonous?"He asked after a second glance at the fruit. It looked rather delicious.
"For you, it might as well be. Do not eat anything unless you want to spend the next week sick. Your body will not be used to it." Sean gingerly let the fruit roll out of his fingers to the ground, resigning himself to another meal of MREs, which Sean had to admit were at least slightly more palatable than the FSRs he had eaten.
Sean looked over at Forana, standing at the far edge of the too small clearing they had chosen to stop at. By mutual consent, they had agreed to stay as far away from each other as possible. Not out of any personal dislike, but rather for the fact that neither of them cared for the pounding migraines courtesy of Draconex.
Sean was beginning to feel slightly nervous of the bond that was growing between him and the magical kukri. Not only was there the obvious affects that he had already noticed, but there seemed to be some more covert symptoms as well. Sean found that he now knew things about the world he was in, things that he could not ever remember having been explained to him. It wasn't overt, but when he thought about something, the answer seemingly appeared in his head. It was slightly unnerving.
He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, trying to take his mind off the slightly unsettling subject. In Sean's opinion, the biggest problem with the reactive combat armor was its weight. The armor was meant to be donned while gearing up for combat, not while in garrison. Although making use of the most advanced weight saving materials, the full body armor, with all ballistic trauma plates inserted, weighed in at slightly less than sixty pounds. Though Sean had removed all the plates except for the chest, and thighs, the armor still took its toll on the wearers load bearing joints such as the shoulders and knees. The armor was meant to be worn for hours at a time, not days.
Just the day before, they had been forced to cross a river. Arutha and Forana had easily forded the stream, but Sean, to whom the water came up to his chest, had slipped on a smooth river stone and been washed almost fifty feet downstream before he managed to clamber out. In short, the trip so far had not been enjoyable. Sean was just glad that they would be arriving later that day.
Just then Arutha came bounding up out of the bush chewing on one of the eggplant/pumpkin fruits, Juices matting down the fur on his muzzle.
"Sean, you should have one of these. They taste great." Sean just rolled his eyes. For the first day they had been out, Arutha had been pining over Syphis and generally acting like his dog had just died but he had gotten over it quickly enough and was back to his usual overeager self.
Jonesy strode through the large wooden double doors and into the throne room. Slightly ahead and to the left on him strode Shadow. On either side of the doors stood four guards, two meechan and two drakai. The walls of the room were covered in tapestries depicting a map of the surrounding area and what Jonesy guessed were scenes from the history of the region. At the back of the room up against the rear wall was a raised dais with a throne seated upon it. There sat the dragon lord Nithragon lord of the territory of Tantris, one of the most powerful and wealthy regions. Next to her on the dais stood a distinguished looking meechan with silvery fur. At the base of the dais stood two more guards.
Nithragon was not large for a dragon lord, maybe the same size of Corinagon, though it was hard to tell as she was sitting down. The throne she sat upon appeared to have been carved from a single piece of bluish gray marble. The blue gray complemented her blue and foam green coloration. The biggest difference between Nithragon and Corinagon was the horns. The Demon had two long horns jutted from his forehead, leading to his nickname, whereas Nithragon had none. Now that Jonesy thought about it, Kathragon had not possessed horns either.
The significance of that fact, whatever it may have been, was lost on Jonesy as he suddenly faced a more relevant problem. From behind came the sounds of a scuffle, Jonesy turned and quickly took in the situation. Only a few steps away from him a guard was running forward, sword drawn and held for an overhand blow that would crack open his skull. Behind the charging drakai, his three companions stood slack-jawed at the sudden attack.
Jonesy ducked forward trying to get close enough that the sword couldn't be used. He was only partially successful. A quick twist prevented him from having the sword crashing down on his head and ducking forward meant that instead of losing his arm at the shoulder the blade merely opened him up from his left shoulder to hip. While Jonesy was still wearing his MTV, the sword bit through it with only a hint of resistance, even cracking one of the boron carbide ceramic plates. The force of the blow drove him downwards combining with his momentum so that Jonesy bounced off the leg of his attacker and fell on the floor face up.
This gave him a perfect view of what happened next. The other guards finally arrived, the other drakai tackled Jonesy's assailant and bore him to the ground. One of the two meechan held a spear on their companion while the other did the same for Jonesy ensuring hostilities would not be continued. Jonesy couldn't have cared less at the moment as he found himself lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Jonesy could not have even begun to describe the pain, and mercifully blacked out on the floor.
"So we wait?"
"Yes."
"How much longer?"
"Until they get here."
"When are they going to get here?"
"I do not know it will probably not be much longer. Asking will not make them appear any faster."
Sean wished his helmet could keep out the sounds of Arutha pestering Forana. Lying on his back with his hands resting on his stomach, he stared up at the triple canopy above, listening to the strange, otherworldly cries of animals unknown and reflecting on his situation. He briefly wondered what sort of animal was making a sharp trilling noise. A half second later, he experienced a sensation like someone nudging him, but in his brain. He know knew that the cry was made by an aerial predator called a raldor, a four winged bird the size of a haast's eagle that hunted smaller birds and medium sized ground animals. Sean was glad for the triple canopy; the raldor would have considered something his size fair game.
As much as Sean appreciated the knowledge, he was still uncomfortable about its source. His mind was his own, and the last thing he wanted was something or someone crawling around in there.
A snapping of a twig, at an angle of about thirty degrees relative to him, alerted Sean to the fact that someone was moving around, probably watching them. Hopefully, the watcher wouldn't notice him, the camouflage didn't exactly blend with the leaf litter on the ground, but it could fool someone who didn't know what to look for. Moving his hand ever so slowly, he pressed the button to change the visual mode on his helmet, but was still unable to see much of anything.
Sean held still and wondered what he should do. His pack and rifle were near the others, the only weapon available to him was Draconex. Sean fervently hoped that this was the patrol, if they were not, or proved hostile, things would go badly. He wished he could warn the Forana and Arutha.
Then, Forana suddenly stiffened; Arutha fell silent and looked at him askance.
"What is it?"
"They have arrived."
"How do you know?" Arutha asked, glancing around trying to spot them himself. Forana stood up and strode directly towards the location where the sound had originally emanated from. Not long afterwards he walked out, accompanied by a half dozen drakai and meechan.
Forana then began an animated conversation with the leader, a drakai that loomed over Forana, in a language Sean didn't understand. Sean then got to his feat, an action that caused half the patrol to jump. The patrol leader then pointed at Sean and continued jabbering away, Forana calmly continuing the conversation. After a few seconds the leader turned away and starting talking to his men. Forana turned to Sean and explained the situation to him, which was that they were going to be escorted the rest of the way. The group then gathered up their supplies before setting off, the patrol on all sides.
Seven Years Ago...
The perpetually drizzling rain slid off Jonesy's back as he moved throughout the swamp, the water coming up to his waist most of the time, his chest in others, and in places he had learned to avoid, over his head. Living in the swamp for these past few years, Jonesy had learned to adapt. On his back, tied around his neck, was a cloak of sorts, created from the wide leaves of a plant that shed water well, and as Jonesy had found to his detriment, exuded a sap when broken that was as hard as glue when dried. Layering the leaves onto a blanket in a scale pattern had created a cloak that not only shed water well, but blended in quite easily with the surrounding terrain.
Mist hung above the surface of the water, water plants everywhere with the occasional tree, limbs twisted gnarled and sinister looming out at him. There were parts of the swamp that were dry; these portions formed almost a road, the only way to get from one part of the swamp to another without having to wade. Jonesy was heading for one right now.
Moving quickly, efficiently, and most important, stealthily, Jonesy made his way through the swamp. This was a road he had prepared several days ago, waiting for the enemy to pass through. "The Enemy" that's how Jonesy thought of the drakai he had been waging guerilla war on since the day he had come to this cursed place. Though he didn't know it, he was in the swamp portions of what would later become Nithragon's territory, but for now it remained in the hands of a rival dragon lord.
Jonesy finally found the road, raised a few feet from the surface of the swamp and nearly twenty feet across. Jonesy checked over everything twice before moving off the road, heading to a large tree. Adjusting the sling so that the M-14 he carried hung from his back, Jonesy quickly scaled the tree until he came to the firing position he had prepared before. Making himself comfortable on the limb, he settled in to wait.
He did not have to wait long, after only forty five minutes a group of six armed drakai came into sight, moving down the road towards him. They moved closer to the area he prepared, and then there was a cry from one of the drakai. Its companions clustered around it, the drakai's foot had become caught in a foot trap, spikes on the bottom of the small pit punctured the underside of its foot, and spikes embedded in the walls at downward facing angles prevented the easy removal.
The group gathered around, trying to dig out the sides of the pit when they encountered the second trap. A standard M-67 grenade under a flat rock the drakai pulled aside to dig, the weight of the rock had been keeping the spoon depressed, three seconds later it exploded. Steel splinters and shrapnel flew outward, instantly killing the drakai who unearthed it and one other. The drakai scattered outward, their trapped comrade still screaming in pain, now as much from the grenade as his trapped leg.
Jonesy held his fire, and after a few seconds the three drakai returned to help their wounded comrade, being extremely cautious about where they dug. Jonesy rested his rifle on a branch in front of him, slipping it into a firing notch he had cut into it a day earlier, before firing. The first round he aimed at the head of the farthest drakai, the round failing to penetrate due to the oblique angle, but still dropping the drakai to the ground unconscious with a cracked skull. The second shot took out the throat of the next farthest drakai, who had frozen at the sound of gunfire, distorted by the swamp. The third drakai had began running as soon as Jonesy had made the first shot, unfortunately running directly towards Jonesy, concealed in his tree.
Jonesy unslung his rifle and wedged it in place. When the fleeing drakai was almost underneath him, he dropped. The drakai went down under the weight, but almost immediately tried to scramble to his feet, his back to Jonesy. With his combat knife held low in his right hand, Jonesy struck. He buried the blackened blade low in its back, before quickly withdrawing it. Using his free hand to control its neck, he stabbed again, this time high on the side, slipping under the arm and penetrating through thin scales and the ribcage into the heart of the drakai. Two more stabs and the drakai was dead of exsanguination.
Jonesy rose to his feet and wiped off his fighting knife. He then returned to the site of the ambush and finished off the trapped drakai, unconscious from blood loss, as well as the one he had shot in the head. He then spent the next half an hour tidying up the ambush spot, removing any trace he had been there. He rolled the negatively buoyant drakai into the waters where they would likely be eaten by some of the smaller aquatic habitants of the swamp. Jonesy then retrieved his rifle from the tree and headed off into the mist of the swamp.
The Present...
"Hold Still!" Fiona snapped out as the large meechan warrior shifted. They were in the makeshift infirmary of the Citadel. The large, well lit room was one of the few all stone rooms. There were twenty beds in the large hall though only one was occupied, a meechan who had fallen from the top of the wall. At the rear were two other rooms, a stockroom and quarters Fiona would stay in when a patient was in critical condition and proximity was vital.
Right now she was attempting to cut the fur away from the flank of a meechan, Rauth, the captain of the guard himself, to stitch up a large slice received in training. Rauth was not making it easy, insisting he was fine despite evidence to the contrary. Fiona had been forced to threaten to stick him with a paralytic in order to get him to stay in place.
"Look, that was the longest part, just hold still for two minutes." Fiona put down the scissors and began to suture the wound. The needles were reusable, sterilized of course, but the thread was a local organic material. Fiona debated internally for a second, and then went with simple interrupted stitch, reasoning that Rauth was likely to disregard her instructions not to stress it. Quickly making the stitch, knotting it off, cutting it and repeating she quickly closed up the eight inch gash.
"Remember to come back in about a week so I can take them out!" She yelled to the retreating from of guard captain Rauth. She gathered up her medical supplies and moved to take them to the stockroom for sterilization. As she was returning to check on the unconscious meechan in the bed, there was a loud crump sound from above and a slight tremor in the ground. Fiona heaved a sigh and went back into the stockroom, returning with some medical supplies.
Sure enough, footsteps and voices in the hall confirmed her suspicion. Last time it had been a meechan who had found a grenade, Fiona hadn't been able to save him. Several meechan rushed into the room and placed another meechan they hand carried between them onto a table; Fiona was surprised to see that the wounded meechan was Syphis.
"What happened?" she asked the closest meechan, Daurass, in charge of training all new Nachi.
"We were practicing, her concentration slipped." She said simply, a note of worry in her voice. Fiona examined Syphis's right arm. From just above the wrist to slightly above the elbow the skin was burned on the outside.
"How bad is it?" Daurass asked. Fiona took a moment before responding.
"From what I can tell, it's not that bad as burns go. A relatively small percentage of total body area is effected, less than two percent. The presence of blisters and coloration shows that the dermis is only superficially burned."
"So she will make it?"
"She definitely won't die from the burn, although I am concerned about infection, but if we can control that and keep her hydrated, Syphis will most likely make a full recovery, probably without even scarring." Daurass gave a sigh of relief at this news.
"Right now I need to wash the wound, you should probably inform the Demon, if he doesn't know already." Daurass gave a slight frown of disapproval at the use of that name but hurried off anyways.
Chief Warrant Officer Katelyn "Kit" Kiturney turned to face towards the main compound as a muffled crump rolled out to the wall. As she turned to look, a movement in the air above caught her eye. A dark shape, several thousand feet up was moving across the sky in a southern direction. It was streaming dark smoke and pieces were flaking off even as she watched. Rapidly losing altitude, Kit could tell it was a helicopter, probably a transport based on the size and shape, but not what model. Still losing altitude, the helicopter went into a flat spin, a large flaming piece flung off, and then the helicopter was lost to view as it went down among the forest only a few miles south of the Citadel.
Immediately Kit was up from her seat and moving, reaching the ladder she slid down it quickly and ran to the citadel. Ascending the overly large steps as quickly as possible, she made it to the door to the top just in time to nearly run into Daurass coming out.
The Demon looked up as she came in.
"Warrant Officer?"
"I just saw a helicopter emerge and go down a few miles south; I want to take a fire team to check it out." Kit gasped out, slightly out of breath from running the stairs. This news immediately grabbed the Demons attention.
"Alright go, speak to Captain Rauth. The southern area is particularly dense this time of year, I'd advise you to take Mkaul and his scouts." Kit was already moving even as the Demon finished speaking. Stopping at her guard post to grab the rifle and helmet she had forgotten, she sprinted to the large cleared area that was the training ground for the small militia of the citadel.
Spotting, Rauth, who was already back to practicing melee combat with one of the guards, one of the stitches already ripped, she moved into his field of view, letting him now she was trying to get his attention without distracting him. Rauth backed off from his opponent, an aide coming to take both the swords they had been practicing with.
"Warrant Officer, would this by any chance have anything to do with what appeared in the sky?" She nodded.
"I need Mkaul, no one knows the southern approach better, and a few scouts to come with while I check it out." Kit glanced around. "Where is Mkaul?" The odd looking meechan scout was nowhere in sight.
"He is out practicing with his bow." Rauth said somewhat dismissively, he did not approve of ranged weapons beyond that of a javelin, claiming they were dishonorable, a viewpoint which was echoed by most of the drakai and meechan population. Only those found in the wilderness of the south, the 'uncivilized' regions used them.
"Alrighty, I'm gonna go get him; I need a couple of scouts waiting for me at the gate." Rauth called out three names, and three meechan jogged forward. He quickly outlined what was happening before sending them to wait by the gate. Kit for her part was walking towards the firing range.
Soon enough, she began hearing the rhythmic 'thwang' of Mkaul's bow. The scout was the only meechan Kit had encountered that used a bow, nearly sixty inches long and supremely powerful. The bow had been constructed from a wood found only in the wilderness regions, supple and strong at the same time and formed in the shape of a recurve bow. Kit had seen him accurately drive arrows deep into targets from more than sixty meters away.
Mkaul finished shooting the last arrow in his quiver and went to retrieve them; the scout had been shooting from about forty five meters, yet had still managed to put every arrow, six of them total, into a space smaller than three inches. Only after retrieving the arrows did Mkaul turn to facer her, Kit got the impression he knew she was there the whole time.
The first thing everyone noticed about the scout was his abnormal coloring. Instead of a solid pelt of solid color like most meechan, Mkaul had been born with fur of varying colors, varying shades of yellow and green. The second thing people noticed, was that he was short for a meechan, falling just short of the seven foot mark. What wasn't readily noticed was the fact that the non retractable claws on his right hand had been filed down to nubs, necessary for wielding a bow and a quite common practice among the people of his homeland.
Mkaul looked at Kit expectantly, the scout almost never talked, Kit had been at the citadel a full month before she had heard him speak, and then only a single sentence.
"Mkaul, the Demon wants you me and a team of scouts to check out a new emergence." Kit explained. Mkaul simply nodded and proceeded to unstring his bow, motioning for her to lead the way.
Jonesy opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings and shaking off the last remnants of his dream. He took stock of his surroundings. He was in a large bed, proportioned for something much larger than a human. The ceiling and walls were made of stone, cut to size rather than just simply placed together and mortared. A wood door was set in the wall to the left, the room lacked windows, illumination provided by a small glowing stone set into the ceiling. A table and two chairs were set against the wall.
His body felt comfortably numb, emanating from his back and spreading to the rest of his body. He tried to move but found that he was restrained, thick straps securing his torso, but strangely leaving his arms and legs free. Jonesy quickly undid the straps and was about to sit up when the door opened. Shadow strode into the room.
"Don't sit up." She said in a tone of someone who was used to giving orders.
"What happened?" Jonesy managed, his throat felt dry. "How long have I been here?" Shadow pulled one of the chairs away from the wall and sat down before responding.
"Apparently one of the guards recognized you, and decided to take some vengeance."
"Tell me, have you ever heard of the Swamp Spectre?" Shadow asked.
"The what?" Jonesy answered bewildered, the numbness had apparently reached his mind.
"It's a real thing; we have definite proof of its existence. It is said to be a vengeful spirit that haunts the swamps to the southwest. Over a period of several years, it killed almost one hundred soldiers, isolated or in groups." Jonesy had a sinking feeling in his chest; he knew where Shadow was going.
"It has been described as being a monstrous apparition, twelve feet tall with four arms and jet black skin. It is said to be armed with horrible claws and awesomely powerful magic, simply being able to point and kill things. Though it is unknown how anyone knows what it looks like, as the spectre appears with no warning, killing anyone who encounters it and vanishing into the swamp." Shadow continued in a level tone of voice.
"Now it is time for a brief history lesson. Until very recently, the swamps and the areas around them were not controlled by my mistress, but by another dragon lord. However, the chaos the Swamp Spectre wreaked forced this lord to reposition forces and had a terrible effect on moral. My mistress took the opportunity to conquer those lands and shortly afterward the Swamp Spectre disappeared."
"Jonesy, you are the Swamp Spectre, and you apparently killed this guard's brother. The guard easily figured out most of the tales of the Swamp Spectre was embellished, and almost immediately after it disappeared, rumors of humans working for Corinagon appeared. Wildly different physical descriptions but similar enough abilities. Seeing you, he decided to take his revenge." Shadow said with a simple shrug.
"How bad did he get me?" Jonesy was more or less indifferent to the fact he had killed the guards brother as well as the fact he apparently had quite a reputation.
"We have treated the wound, but it was rather extensive, there was quite a lot of blood. But if you can move your arms then it shouldn't be disabling." Just then a female drakai appeared in the door. Shadow walked over to converse quietly with her, and then the drakai left. Shadow moved the bed and held out a small earthen jug.
"Drink this, it will speed the healing process and allow you to sleep." Jonesy gratefully took the small jug, the numbness was beginning to wear off and the pain was making its presence known. He downed the bitter tasting liquid; Shadow took the empty jug from his hand. Jonesy felt himself slipping into a deep sleep as Shadow exited and closed the door.
Kit halted when Mkaul held up a hand to stop, the three meechan behind her freezing as well. The meechan scout had proved invaluable once they were in the dense southern forests. From the citadel, the site of the helicopter crash had been easy to spot, but once down in the thicket Kit completely lost perspective. Mkaul for his part had homed right in on it; the halt likely meant they were close.
Mkaul beckoned Kit forward, and then pointed ahead and to the right. It took Kit a few seconds to see it, and then a flash of light gleamed off the metal and gave away its position. The group moved closer, Kit gestured for them to hold back while she went ahead.
The helicopter had come down heavily on its side, the main rotor stripped of three of its blades and the entire tail boom missing, the pilot had tried to auto rotate down to compensate for the missing tail boom, but had most likely not been able to find a suitable area to land. When the helicopter came down among the trees it must have flipped over.
Kit was finally able to identify the helicopter as a NH90, a multirole transport used by several European nations. Kit moved around to the rear, the rear access ramp had become unlocked and was hanging slightly open. Bracing one hand, she pushed the ramp open farther.
Immediately a long burst of fire came at her. Kit felt an impact and dropped, her rifle falling from her hands. The ramp swung half closed, further shots ricocheting off it back into the interior. A hand grabbed Kit's arm and pulled her away from the helicopter. Mkaul extended a hand to help her up. Kit shakily got to her feet; it was the first time she had ever been shot.
"Fuck." She muttered under her breath.
She had taken one round directly to the chest, which had just barely been defeated by her armor, a minor miracle at such a close range. The second shot had hit her on the helmet as she was falling back and deflected away without penetrating.
Kit could hear a voice inside the chopper yelling something. She shook her head to try and clear it. It took her a while to figure out what the voices were saying, more the fact she hadn't heard German in several years. She concentrated; the voice seemed to be saying that they need help and won't shoot.
Kit hesitated, thinking it may be a trap, and then decided to risk it. She quickly formulated a plan, quietly conversing with Mkaul who nodded in agreement. They moved back to the access ramp, Mkaul grabbed the edge and pulled it back, keeping it between him and any potential gunfire. Kit swung around from the other side, rifle at the ready, and nearly went down again.
The inside of the chopper looked like a slaughter house. Broken bodies hung from straps or lay against the wall. Streams of sunlight were allowed into the troop hold by large holes in the skin of it, easily more than an inch each, possibly thirty millimeters. Kit hated to think of what they would have done to frail human flesh; unfortunately the answer was right in front of her.
A figure nearer the cockpit waved to get her attention. Kit climbed inside, almost slipping on the blood slicked floor and made her way over. Still strapped into the two forward most left seats where the only two figures who seemed to be alive.
The closest one was a Haupgefreiter, or lance corporal, who looked to be the poster child of the Aryan race. His helmet was missing, exposing short blond hair, and a G36 was cradled in his lap, probably who shot at her. Kit was inclined to excuse this at the moment as the young man, no more than twenty years old, was grimacing in pain from a calf that was nearly in two pieces. A round of whatever had shot them down had snapped the bone and only a thin piece of skin held it in place. A belt had been wrapped about it to form a tourniquet.
The second figure was wearing the rank of an Obergefreiter, or private first class, who had a much swarthier complexion and dark hair. One arm lay awkwardly at his side and he appeared to be unconscious.
"Hold on for a moment." Kit said in German to the lance corporal. She moved around the troop bay, trying not to vomit, and began checking the pulse of every other soldier she could reach. Several of the straps had given out and dropped troopers to the floor, making it difficult to walk without stepping on bodies. Her search turned up only two other survivors, one male one female and both unconscious.
Kit clambered out and dialed in the correct frequency on her helmet comm. She quickly described the situation to Fiona, who would bring medical supplies and several more meechan soldiers to secure the area. It was going to be hell to explain what was going on to four more people.