The Seryys Chronicles: Death Wish Read online

  “Understood, sir.”

  Ralm followed Khai through the maze of corridors and intersections. The bodies of Seryysan Soldiers littered the halls. The Vyysarri resistance was curiously limited. They only encountered two more squads of troops before they made it to the door of the command center.

  The layout of the building consisted of the command level and officers’ quarters on the main level, with lower crew quarters a level down and the engineering level one below that. The upper level was a massive hanger, big enough to house two Dagger-Class dreadnaughts, several wings of Raptor-Class fighters and Shark-Class interceptors. On top of the hanger were several high-powered, orbital laser cannons that could reach, bombard, disable and/or destroy capital ships in orbit over the complex.

  The command center, mission control and com relays were located at the center of the gigantic, rectangle-shaped facility. When the facility was fully manned, the command center was the safest place to be on the whole planet.

  The door was jammed open and there were several Vyysarri inside. In the split second that Khai peaked in around the corner, he counted fifteen total—seven to the left of the door and eight to the right settling into firing ranks. They were ready for Khai and Ralm.

  “These guys are making one huge mistake,” Khai said, dabbing a rag at the wound in his neck.

  “Yeah?” What’s that?”

  “They obviously don’t know who the fuck they are dealing with!” Khai said, grinning. “You ready?”

  “Born ready, sir!”

  “Then let’s get to it!” Khai was surprised that they had made it this far; but, with the uncharacteristically light resistance, they made it all the way to the command center relatively unscathed.

  Khai, being the shoot-first-shoot-some-more-throw-a-grenade-or-two-and-try-to-ask-questions-from-body-parts type of guy he was, tossed a flash-bang, followed by a frag grenade, and then charged in guns blazing. It was, after all, his style… and it had worked for him so far.

  The initial blast disoriented several Vyysarri; the disorientation was a perfect distraction for the actual grenade that splattered Vyysarri parts of at least seven soldiers all over the walls, consoles, bulkheads and floor of the command center.

  Then, as the Vyysarri were finally getting their heads back in the game, Khai threw more chaos at them by charging in. In the first second of Khai’s charge, he counted eight Vyysarri left, including a general. Khai put eight rounds into the Vyysarri general’s chest and watched him fall to the floor. Ralm was right behind him. Khai leapt ten feet into the air in a front somersault with a half twist over a grouping of three Vyysarri, raining bullets on them as he performed his acrobatic feat. All three of them fell dead where they stood.

  Ralm, being a bit older than Khai, opted for just running up and kicking a Vyysarri in the back sending him flying six feet into a support beam; his body wrapped painfully around the beam with a muffled crunch. The Vyysarri fell to the floor in heap and tried clawing his way back into the fight, but without the use of his legs, he was worthless. So, rather than dying many years later as a useless cripple, he opted to eat a bullet instead.

  Khai never skipped a beat. After landing his flashy, showboat move, he somersaulted over a consol bank for cover as the remaining Vyysarri tracked him and fired. Khai fired back blindly from his cover point to get the Vyysarri to back off a bit. It worked, they all dived for cover. Khai continued to fire until he heard the telltale click-click-click-click of his gun running out of ammo. He was out of extra magazines so he opted for his baby, the 92-30 pistol. He waited for the Vyysarri to stop firing and reload; he popped up, like a rodent from a hole, firing. With three quick shots, he put one in the head of an enemy—who was dead before he hit the floor—and two into the right leg of another. Khai was going to question that guy later… if he lived long enough, that was.

  There was one left. He was a particularly large Vyysarri with a missing eye and more scars on his face than Khai could count. At the moment, he was wrestling Ralm to the ground and rearing up to bite Ralm on neck. Khai took a step to intervene when a strong, taloned hand wrapped around his ankle. At that point, he knew this Vyysarri was indeed not going to live long enough to be questioned. He put a bullet hole the size of a man’s thumbnail in his forehead and an exit wound the size of a man’s fist out the back of his head. Black-red blood spattered all over Khai’s face, boots, armor and the floor.

  “Khai!” Ralm screamed.

  The Vyysarri had overpowered Ralm and was straddling him trying to get his fangs into the Ralm’s neck. Ralm had both hands wrapped around the Vyysarri’s neck trying to keep him away, and even though Ralm was superiorly strong measured against a normal Seryysan, this Vyysarri was simply stronger. But he wasn’t as strong as Khai. Khai pushed himself harder than most Seryysan soldiers when it came to lifting weights; he wanted to be the strongest and fastest of his platoon, and he was, by quite a large margin.

  Khai rushed over to help.

  The Vyysarri was too into his blood frenzy to even care that Khai was there. All he could see was the neck, pulsating with each rapid heartbeat, of Lieutenant Ralm’Es Ra. Using the Vyysarri’s single-mindedness, Khai put the muzzle of his gun to the Vyyysarri’s head and squeezed the trigger. The Vyysarri was more aware than Khai thought; before the bullet could leave the barrel, the Vyysarri ducked and bobbed out of the way, rolling to his feet and pulling a jagged knife—the same kind of knife that was buried in Ralm’s belly—called a Judac.

  Khai reciprocated by pulling both the knife from his belt and the knife from his boot. Ralm stepped in with his knife as well. The two attacked at once, the Vyysarri was well trained in hand-to-hand combat. He was clearly trained in the Kyyl’Jah Assassin Art. They fought for several minutes in a flurry of flashing steal so fast, the eye would have to strain to follow the movements. Despite their fighting prowess, they couldn’t get through the Vyysarri’s defenses. Eventually, the Vyysarri began to tire, fighting two foes of equal strength and comparable training. That was the plan all along: let the Vyysarri punch himself out and then go in for the kill. And that was exactly what Khai did. He nodded at Ralm who immediately feigned an attack. A fresh Vyysarri would have seen it for what it was, but with battle fatigue setting in hard, he missed it entirely and moved to block the attack with his steal gauntlet.

  While the Vyysarri blocked the fake attack, Khai struck with deadly speed. He first jabbed a knife into his side between the ribs into his left lung and the second knife into the stomach. He then followed up with a two-fisted uppercut that snapped the Vyysarri’s head back. He flailed, reeling from the blow and spitting teeth. Khai didn’t stop there. He let his hate of the Vyysarri people take over. He charged forward, tackling the Vyysarri with a roaring war cry.

  As the Vyysarri landed, he wheezed, coughing up blood that splattered all over his face. Khai pulled the knife from the Vyysarri’s stomach, prompting more hemorrhaging, and pressed the blade firmly against his throat. Khai held it there long enough for the Vyysarri to register that his life was about to end and then ran the sharp blade across his throat, leaving a deep and gory gash that sprayed blood all over Khai’s face.

  Once it was all over Khai stood up, his chest heaving from the fight and fire in his eyes. Ralm had never seen Khai quite so fired up, though he had only been fighting beside him for a year—which really wasn’t a long time considering that the war had been going on for centuries and Seryysans lived to be roughly a hundred and twenty-five years old.

  Khai stared vacantly at the dead Vyysarri lying in a pool of his own blood. Ralm approached him and put his hand on Khai’s shoulder.

  “Khai?” he asked.

  Khai spun around so fast that Ralm didn’t even have time to register the movement and put the knife to his throat. Ralm threw up his hands. “Whoa! Khai, it’s me Ralm.” Khai still held the knife to his throat. “Sir! Snap out of it.” Nothing. Ralm, with almost as much speed as Khai, swung around and slapped Khai across the face so hard it left
a handprint on his cheek. Khai blinked several times and shook his head.

  “You still with me, sir?”

  “Y-yeah. I…” He frowned, drawing his eyebrows together and shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Ralm said, taking a step back from the blood-soaked knife. “Let’s just finish what we have to do here and get the hell out!”

  “Agreed. You know how to use a targeting computer?”

  “Yeah-I mean… yes, sir.”

  “Good,” Khai said. “Target the Vyysarri warships in orbit while I bring the cannons online.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  There were four Dagger-Class ships losing a battle to the seven Vyysarri Fang-Class battleships in the space above Planet 128. Two of the four ships were venting atmosphere, but still fighting, one was still fully functional and the other was in the process of breaking in half from several internal explosions that rocked the ship from bow to stern. Only two Vyysarri ships were showing any signs of damage. One was missing the starboard wing and the engines and lights were flickering. The other was in far worse shape having gaping holes all over the hull that were venting atmosphere. The lights were out and main power was gone. It was dead in the water.

  The two remaining Seryys ships staggered their formation to overlay their shields and give them a little time for reinforcements to show up. Things were looking grim, Khai realized as he checked the tactical display. The cannons were warming up, eventually the screen showed full power.

  “Ralm!”

  “Sir?”

  “Pick your targets and fire at will. I’ll join you and take half of the cannons after I send another distress signal.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Khai worked the com panel sending a general distress signal to SC Command. He transferred the view of the battle to the main screen at the front of the command center, then ran over to the targeting computer and helped Ralm bombard the Vyysarri ships from the ground.

  From the main viewer, Khai watched as their efforts changed the course of the battle. Ralm and Khai focused their attacks on one ship at a time, each. Khai’s first ship started to break apart sending flames and debris out into the space around the battle. Ralm’s ship wasn’t far behind.

  “Sir, you see that?”

  “Yup. I got it!”

  One of the Fang-Class ships broke formation and headed toward low orbit. The cannons Khai controlled focused on that ship, but since it was in the best shape out of all the ships, Khai couldn’t deal enough damage to stop it before it got within firing range of the complex. When it did fire, it rained hell on them. The ground shook violently as salvo after salvo struck the massive building.

  Pieces of crete fell on the two soldiers as they poured fire into the shields of the enemy ships. They were going to stay there until the building fell on them or the ships were destroyed.

  “Khai! Take that ship down!”

  “I’m trying! Its shields are only at sixteen percent!”

  Finally, Khai broke through its shields and started hammering the unprotected hull. Khai thought it was over. But in its death throes, the ship launched a warhead that connected with and blasted through the facility’s shields, striking the power generator. The lights went out—except for the emergency lights—and the guns fell silent. Though the Vyysarri ship was dying and moving into decaying orbit around P-128, it still continued to fire, connecting with the base.

  Khai and Ralm could do nothing more from there, so they ran for the door. Just as they left the command center, a cannon blast ripped through the ceiling and engulfed the room with superheated plasma. The force of the attack threw the two soldiers several yards down the corridor slamming into the wall. As they struggled to get to their feet, another salvo rocked the foundation and knocked them to their backsides again. They both started crawling for a door jam in the hopes of avoiding getting crushed to death. Debris was falling all around them and the ship in orbit, though dying, wasn’t letting up.

  They waited for a lull, and when it came, they ran as fast as they could back the direction from which they came. Each blast that followed jolted them both and they bounced into the walls of the corridors and each other. Another volley collapsed the roof directly behind them. A Shark­­-Class interceptor slid down the sagging, slanted ceiling straight toward Khai and Ralm. They scrambled to their feet and ran as fast as their legs could carry them. The ship crashed and tumbled and fell through the floor behind them.

  They ran.

  The front door was within sight; the light at the end of the tunnel, as it were. There was a squad of Seryysan medics waiting for them, large piles of freshly-dead Vyysarri soldiers all around them. The Vyysarri must have had an ambush waiting for them and were intercepted by the squad of medics. When the medics caught sight of them, they ran to help them. The two soldiers were battered, bleeding and tired.

  As they approached, Ralm slid to a stop and yelled something to the medics. They didn’t hear him and in a split second, Ralm spun and pushed Khai as hard as he could. Khai flew back, confused and frustrated. Then, in a split second, a proximity mine went off vaporizing the medic behind Ralm and the force of the explosion ripped Ralm’s left arm clean off. Then, the roof collapsed from the explosion crushing Ralm’s other arm.

  Khai hit the floor sliding and watched helplessly as Ralm got buried alive under rubble.

  “No!” Khai screamed as he ran to start uncovering his friend. Another mine went off further towards the door and Khai dropped to his knees, staring at nothing, his eyes glazing over. The world around slowed down and all he could hear was a loud ringing in his ears.

  Another loud crash and he felt himself falling. The last thing he remembered was hitting the ground.

  And then, darkness took him.

  Chapter Ten

  He woke up under a pile of rubble. Instantly he started screaming and kicked as hard as he could as fear and panic took hold. He kicked at his dark prison with all of his strength. Suddenly, the sound of rocks rolling filled his ears. Then, a small beam of sunlight shone in. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath. He placed his hands on the rocks in front of him and pressed. His body started to lift and suddenly, he realized that he was facing down. Basically doing a push up, he was able to remove some of the rock laying on him. After another great effort, he was able to roll to his back and press up with his legs.

  The giant slab of rock hefted and fell off to the side. Then, it was just a matter of digging his way out. He climbed out of the hole and stretched his back, looking around at his surroundings. The first thing he saw was the last thing he remembered: the wall into which he crashed and caused the rockslide that buried him.

  The first thing he did with his freedom was run to the river, stick his face in it and take a long drink. Once his thirst was quenched, he was able to gather his wits about him. He shed the excess weight of his armor and extra guns, keeping only rations, his water canteen, his 92-30, a broken com unit and a small hand-held computer called a Seryys Combat Personal Micro Computer, or micro-comp.

  He took the transceiver out of the dead com unit and fused it to the circuit board of the computer. Then, he used to the micro-comp to uplink a satellite in orbit to give him his exact location. He also checked the news and learned a couple things: one, he was a wanted fugitive—so contacting the outside world would mean insta-death, and he had been unconscious for three days under that rock pile. He had to get back to the city and find Dah. Unfortunately, the broken com unit was the dedicated, secured one to contact him, so he would have huff it by foot back home and find him.

  The only problem was that Khai had managed to crash-land himself a hundred miles from Seryys City and eighty miles from the nearest city, which was Tanbarder, a small mining town of three thousand people twenty miles southwest of Seryys City along Kal’Hoom Canyon. He could use the micro-comp to send a text message to someone asking them to come scoop him up, but Seryys Combat Interplanetary Intelligence A
dministration, or SCIIA, would most certainly intercept that message and track it to the canyon. Most likely, now that he had essentially two death sentences on him, he would be shot on sight. So that was out of the question. He would need to get to Tanbarder and contract a shuttle to get him back, no questions asked.

  It was nearly night and he had a choice to make. He could travel under the cover of night or travel during the day, sticking close to the canyon walls for cover. Each option had its merits and flaws. Traveling by night was dangerous; most of the canyon’s top feeders did their business at night, not to mention all he would have was the light of Seryys’ two moons to aid him. Going by day would mean ample light and less predators, but he would be more visible from the sky. Either way, he would have to skirt the canyon wall, because the satellites in orbit all had thermal imagers that could trace his body heat. And since he didn’t move like a Canyon Sabercat, it would be pretty obvious that he was running through an uninhabitable canyon… and he knew that Trall wouldn’t count him as dead until his head was on the man’s desk.

  After five minutes of mulling it over, he decided to move at night. He wasn’t sure if that was the right choice, but he felt that, if nothing else, a patrol wouldn’t simply spot him running through the canyon. He sat for the next two hours until the sun went down. All he could do was sit there and think. He thought about that day. The day they dug him out of the rubble that was once the military facility on P-128. Six days later, a military psychologist diagnosed him with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder; the day they promoted him to the rank of colonel; the day they discharged him from active combat duty and the day they put him behind a desk.

  He was a fair tactician, but nothing like the generals of the ground forces or the admirals of the fleets. He felt like a fifth wheel. He lasted at that job for about two years before he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t take sending thousands of soldiers to their deaths in his stead. He wanted to be out there fighting with the others, bleeding with the others as he had fought and bled hundreds of times before on hundreds of planets across this section of the galaxy.