Hope In A Time Of War: A Science Fiction Romance

Chapter 1

Gar

Softly falling snow whinnies away the sound of my footsteps as I creep around the edge of our perimeter. The sky overhead is a solid sheet of gray, reflecting the lighting of our camp and creating the illusion that it’s much earlier in the evening than the actual hour of midnight.

Snow keeps creeping into the hole in my boot. I have to get Sipri to cobble it for me again. Right now I’m moving, so body heat melts the snow as fast as it can pack itself in, but if I have to stay in one place for any length of time I’m at risk of frostbite. While my Kreetu flesh is durable compared to other Sapient species, I’m still just as vulnerable to the cold as anyone.

Which makes out here in the wilderness the worst possible place to be. But orders are orders. We’ve been told that the communications tower, a vaguely conical collection of steel support struts and satellite dish relays, cannot be allowed to fall into enemy hands.

I glance up at it on my rounds, looming dark against the steel gray sky. While I intend to do anything possible to gain access to it—I’m a soldier and I carry out my missions no matter what—at the same time I’d shed no tears if the Alliance blew it up tomorrow. Then we could get out of this freezing hell.

Hell. An interesting concept. The Ataxian religion has no such thing. Everyone, no matter how wicked, has a chance for immortality if they pay their penance to the goddess. Usually if someone is unworthy of paradise at her side they are sent back to this life to try anew.

I often wonder how many times I’ve been sent back. Maybe none, maybe a thousand. But I doubt I will be allowed in once I breathe my last. I’ve done too much, seen too much, and my heart is a cold lump of iron in my chest.

All I have is being a soldier, a Skulker, to be exact. I can walk across a branch no thicker than the width of my finger without stirring a leaf, or tromp through the snow with nary a sound.

Not much I can do about my footprints, but the falling snow will fill them in soon enough. I crouch down and check my tripwires, and see that they are intact. So far, so good. My feeble traps won’t stop more than a few of the Alliance brutes across the field, but every little bit helps.

Right now this system is ground zero for one of the most brutal and pervasive battles ever fought between the Coalition and the Alliance. Armstrong, the only inhabitable planet, is but one arena in which this contest will be decided. Months ago the fleets of both sides reduced most of the cities on this planet to rubble. Now it’s time for the ground pounders to come in and secure the territory, but the alliance are just as determined—or stubborn—as we are.

I can see their campfires across the roughly half mile separating our two lines. For the first few weeks we were deployed here, the fighting was intense. Most of my original unit was killed, and I wound up being reassigned to one of the reinforcing companies air dropped down to take that precious comm tower.

But there will be no more reinforcements from either side. From what reports are making it in, both the Alliance and the Coalition are spread very thin. The IHC has by and large given up on Armstrong as a loss, and turned their attention to trying to wrest Luvon from the clutches of the Kraaj. There will be no reinforcements because there are simply none to be had.

So it’s become a battle of attrition. We’ve taken to burning our dead rather than burying them, so the opposition won’t have any idea how many we’ve lost. They thought it was such a good idea that they have been doing the same. I’ve skulked around their perimeter somewhat, but getting an accurate count is difficult with everyone bundled up in similar heavy coats. I mean, you can discern Vakutan from Pi’Rell, but that’s about it.

One thing is for certain sure. The only way that either of us is going to capture that tower is with a ton of bloodshed, on both sides. So far, neither of our commanders has given such an order, but that could always change. The pressure is on from further up the chain of command, and I know that our CO, Riven, is at wit’s end.

I freeze—no pun intended—under the wide boughs of an evergreen tree. Peering intently across the snowy field, I notice a lot of activity on the Alliance side. They could be gearing up for an assault, or they could be building bulwarks or better shelter. It’s impossible to tell, and my far seeing lenses can’t penetrate the high walls of snow they’ve build around their camp.

Our walls aren’t quite as high, but it’s not like they stop bullets anyway, just visuals. There’s no point in building up another few feet, and besides, the way it keeps snowing our defenses, such as they are, will continue to accrue.

Creeping back to our own line, I clamber over the snow and ice wall and nearly get skewered by a skinny Grolgath youth. My hand catches around the barrel of his rifle and carefully pushes the business end of his bayonet away.

“Careful, Jinn. I’m friend, not foe.”

He sneers and snatches his weapon out of my grip.

“You don’t have any friends, Gar.”

“I did. They died.”

Jinn looks away from me, guilt writ large over his features. I don’t care either way, really, but I said what I did to get him to shut up.

This new unit are a bunch of cry babies. Complaining about the cold, about the fighting, about damn near everything. They would rather sit by the fire and play hands of Twonk than bolster our defenses or sharpen their skills through training. Am I a killjoy? Perhaps, but I’m also alive. Something they won’t be for long if they don’t pull their heads out of the snow and realize that this is war.

I trudge through the compacted snow which has already been tamped down by hundreds of feet until I reach the command tent. Riven is inside, poring over a series of maps while the generator cranks out warm air. As a commander, he has a few luxuries in his tent that the rest of us do not. Power has been a constant problem, so he’s been eschewing his data pad in favor of physical maps.

He looks up at me when I enter amid  gust of chill air. Riven is an older Grolgath, his flesh stretched tight over thin bones. Like the rest of us, he has been on half rations for some time.

“What is it, Gar?”

“The Alliance may be mustering for an attack.”

He nods sagely and goes back to his maps.

“I thought that they might, after you informed me the other day of their new commander.”

“He’s a Vakutan, so he probably thinks he’ll find glory in overrunning us.”

Riven chuckles and motions me closer.

“See this?” His finger traces a blue line across the map. 

“Yes. Looks like a river or a stream.”

“It’s a river, but it only shows up during the thaw in springtime. Guess where our foes have put up their camp?”

I don’t share his elation. Spring is a long time off.

“A strategic advantage, to be sure.”

Riven shakes his white head of hair.

“A cold assessment as always. It is no wonder that the cold doesn’t bother you, with ice water running through your veins.”

I can’t keep a sneer from twitching across my face.

“The cold bothers me, I just don’t see the point in complaining about it.”

We both start when the sound of gunfire reaches our ears. I grab my rife and head toward the tent flap, but Riven calls out to me.

“Stop. You will not take part in the defense.”

I turn and glare at him, aghast.

“But—“

“No buts. You are my last remaining Skulker. I’m not going to lose you on some pointless errand.”

“Our men are dying, Riven.”

His eyes narrow at my informal use of his name.

“Yes, they are, but they will hold the line. The Alliance commander is just probing our defenses, as we knew he would. Besides, I have another mission for you.”

I want to ignore him and run out to join the others on the front line. It doesn’t seem right that I am in here, safe, while they face possible death at the hands of the Alliance scum. But one more gun wouldn’t make much difference.

“Very well, sir, I am at your disposal.”

Riven sighs, and sinks into his chair. Every shot, every scream, tears him to the core. Not for the first time, I think of how happy I am not to be in command.

“As you know, Dr. Filakas has been fighting an illness in his chest.”

I nod.

“The  humans call it pneumonia, I believe.”

“Quite right. He lapsed into a coma last evening. I haven’t been able to wake him from it and he’s getting weaker by the minute.”

“I see, sir.” What does he want? For me to provide the good doctor with the final mercy?

“No, I think that you do not. We won’t last the winter without a physician, the Alliance be damned, and from the sound of things we’re going to have more casualties soon. I need you to hike to the ruins of New Rios to find a replacement.”

“New Rios?” I scoff. “You think there are still people living there?”

“I’m counting on it. There are reports of survivors there, some of them with fresh bandages. Someone in that city has medical training. I want them here. You are to facilitate this. Can it be done?”

I nod grimly.

“It can.”

He gestures toward the tent flap.

“Then go. The battle will provide you with a nice distraction with which to slip away.”

“Understood, sir.”

I march for the door, but he calls out one more time.

“Gar.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t bother coming back  unless you can find a doctor.”

My gaze narrows, and he holds up a restraining hand.

“I don’t mean what you think. I mean we are all as good as dead without one, and there’s no point in adding your corpse to the pile.”

My anger fades, and I nod curtly before heading out into the snow. If I keep a good pace, I can reach New Rios’s outskirts by dawn.