The Wars of Zegandaria - Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov, Atanas Marinov (most inspirational books txt) 📗

or forty. Few were those who had heard of the terrible bird-men that had appeared as a result of radioactive mutation following a malfunction in the polygon reactor at the mysterious Ninth Quadrant military base. It was rumored that secret human genetic experiments were being conducted there, something that was never officially confirmed to the general public. But these curious details would hardly be helpful in saving their own skins at the moment.

Still hearing the whistling, Mark crouched and leaned his back against a nearby boulder, jutting up like a phallic symbol, and took aim at one of the creatures. They were soaring, and their huge wings, with a spread of several feet, now obscured the sun, now its burning light protruded through the tips of their feathers.

Mark held his breath for a second and uttered a few fragmentary shots, but the creatures were too agile and he only managed to bring one down. Its large torso painted an irregular spiral in the air and stomped hilariously down into the dust like undead children's feet in a sandbox. The other creatures gave an ugly roar, but began to fall one by one. Evidently something was destroying them with systematic and cold-blooded methodicalness.

Mark noticed that his faithful friend Paul had turned his sniper rifle at a highly unusual angle due to the nature of the battle, taking cover between a small pile of low boulders that, while providing some cover, was not a safe enough refuge. And the feathers were still still pouring in, though slightly less than before. In spite of his tenseness, Mark was able to notice that besides himself, Paul, and the Rat, who occasionally dropped a brief bite of his cover into the alcove, the battle with the creatures was being fought by only 3 other warriors. One was his former company commander, nicknamed Long Jack because for some reason he sometimes pronounced the last word of his sentence elongated. Otherwise, Long Jack was not tall in stature at all, rather average, but he was an extremely wiry warrior who never backed down, even though he was approaching his fortieth year and some of the younger soldiers jokingly called him ‘Grandpa Jack’ amongst themselves. The other was Sam Wallace, the son of General Jacob Wallace, who was young and relatively inexperienced, but carried the heart and fighting spirit of his late father, and of course Father. Father was another strange figure. Although he was obviously an atheist, when he shot an enemy combatant he would mutter under his breath ‘God forgive him’. Some of the soldiers considered him a bit of a weirdo, for others he was a role model, because although he was not particularly talkative, he was a party pooper and a brawler, which by the way did not affect his military discipline in the least. It all went like a filmstrip through Mark's mind in a split second.

Meanwhile, after the creatures' unexpected rebuff from below, they seemed to give up the fight and flew away with a quick flap of their wings until their huge silhouettes were hidden over the horizon.

General Wallace's son was the first to call:

- What was that, Mark? I've never even heard of such creatures before!

- 'They're Archanayans,' he replied competently and with satisfaction, without being questioned by the Rat, who had meanwhile crawled out from under the alcove and was brushing dust and sand from his pathetic rags, 'Rumour has it that these creatures were the product of an artificial development to counteract the Guarron, at the expense of humans.

- 'I have heard that story too,' interjected Paul, who was bandaging his hand, which bore a slight wound from a feather that had accidentally feathered him, 'But how far that is true we can only guess?

- 'You know,' Mark approached the group, reloading his automatic, ‘I think this could just be further proof that we're moving in the right direction? Whatever these creatures are, apparently their lair is nearby, and they appear to be a perfect obstacle for anyone curious about these places. I have a feeling the city is pretty close to us.

- 'And where amongst all these cottagers could it be?,' asked Rat, in his typical querulous style, ‘I see nothing but sand and stones, and our supply of water is almost exhausted.

- 'According to General Wallace,' Mark began confidently, 'we should be less than half a day's journey away.'

Saying this, he paused for a moment and looked at Paul, searching his gaze for support, ignoring Rat's mutterings and contemptuous mutterings.

The rest of the group had also clustered around them, some still holding their assault rifles at the ready for fear of the return of the nightmarish feathered warriors.

- 'If nothing slows us down until then,' Father interjected for the first time.

There was a flurry of murmuring amongst the group, as he quite rarely spoke, but his word was always on the mark.

- 'I don't believe the General hasn't told you about the Zendorian Kevlarite hermetic gate guards, who have orders to shoot anything living within half a kilometre,' Father continued.

There were murmurs among the crowd again.

- 'Not that I want to frighten you,' Father began his sermon, 'but the road inevitably passes through the Landorian Pass, and what awaits us there God only knows. So it may take us a good deal more than half a day's journey, Mark.'

- 'And how do you know?,' sniffed Mark, 'The General...'

- 'The General, the General,' Father quipped, 'With all due respect to Jacob, and to you, I've been through here before. Allow me to be more aware than you.'

- 'And what was it you were looking for so much with those predatory bastards?,' called Rat.

The father only smiled sourly and replied:

- 'I was very much in the mood for roast chicken, so I decided to shoot one or two...'

 

 

 

^^^

Father's words were obviously not entirely without merit, for although the group sped up their progress as much as possible, they had not yet reached their final destination by evening. The canyon that Mark had assumed they would be able to cross in a few hours turned out to be much larger than expected, or perhaps everything around them was a deceptive mirage and they were just going in circles? In a circle, was that possible? And the general's instructions or the strange and even brutal ramblings of that renegade Father? Mark's men were growing weary, and drinking water was left in only two canteens. And after they ran out too? Then...Mark knew how many of his battle comrades had died for this simple and trivial reason, but...what could he do against nature!

- 'If we don't find some sort of spring soon, Mark, we're irretrievably lost,' Paul whispered to him, who had caught up with him and was pacing wearily, 'The civilians won't last either, and whatever we say, I don't think you're sure we'll find anything there at all either.

Mark paused for a moment, casting a cursory glance at the rest of his companions besides himself, Paul, Sam Wallace, Long Jack, Father and Rat, there were only a few young conscripts left who could barely hold a plasma rifle. And a dozen civilians.

Unnoticed along the way, several of the sick and wounded had died and the caravan had been reduced by about a third. They hadn't even heard them stomping in the dust? Was that possible. They'd lost nearly a dozen of their people, mostly civilians, without even feeling it?

- 'Mark, dump them! Strange things happen in these parts sometimes,' Father said in a slightly mysterious tone, 'But we can only turn them to our advantage if... '

- 'Only if? What?,' gasped Mark.

- 'Look, the only way we're going to find water in these dry places is to dig up some man-eating Enduaro cactus.'

- 'Please?,' Mark barely restrained himself from shouting.

- 'Nothing to be fooled about,' added the Rat with a wry grin as he approached the 'co-creatures'. 'Those civilians at the back, write them off. Even if they can last without water, which is impossible, they are completely unfit for combat. Only dragging them along like a condemned club of their own. If you ask me, directly shoot them and that's it!

- 'They are important prisoners,' objected Paul. 'Isn't that right, Mark?'

Mark nodded.

- 'Prisoner-prisoners,' the Father tossed at them, 'if you want us not to become prisoners on these rocks and sands, we'd better get our asses kicked. It is now really beginning to get dark, and soon it will be completely dark. We have less than an hour.'

- 'All right, since you're so aware of these cacti, tell us what to do,' Mark snapped at him.

Father was waiting for just that. Suddenly he became downright talkative, as uncharacteristic as that was for him. He described in detail how these predatory plants fed mainly on human carrion, as well as on living humans, from whose blood and secretions they got the water they needed. In fact, they spent the entire day underground, where temperatures were lower than on the surface, so as not to evaporate the processed water, and in the evening, when temperatures dropped, they came up to breathe.

- 'That's when we'll hit them,' Father expressed with mild satisfaction, 'Even if we only kill one, we'll have the water we need for at least two more days.'

- 'And how do you know they've eaten anything to contain enough water?,' interjected Sam Wallace, 'What if we just waste the last of our remaining strength?'

- 'Do we have any other choice?,' called Long Jack for the first time, loudly prolonging the last word. 'Whatever happens, I'll be glad to die among you guys.'

- 'You've lived your life, Grandpa Jack, but I've got more to see of life,' the Rat shrugged.

Despite the ominous surroundings, everyone burst out laughing. It was just that their nerves were stretched to the limit and laughter was the only possible 'outlet' at that moment. And the Rat was giving them some...

- 'Mark, what do you decide?,' asked the Father quite seriously.

- 'We'd better do something,' said Mark, a little excitedly.

- 'I'm with you,' said Sam Wallace enthusiastically.

- 'And me,' added Grandpa Jack.

- 'Well if that's so, write me too,' Rat winked at them devilishly.

- 'Well, Paul, what do you think?,' tossed in Mark.

He noticed for the first time that the sniper had moved to one side and was crouching slightly, checking his weapon and bringing it to the ready.

- Mark, I just wonder if those same cacti ate our civilians for lunch.

- 'It's possible,' Father said, completely dispassionate.

- 'Did you see them?,' asked Mark sternly.

- 'Mark they attack very quickly. The ground beneath the victim's feet dissolved and they dragged him into the sand.'

- 'Did you see them?,' repeated Mark.

- And yes I did, they were an unnecessary burden, Mark.

- You want to know that you suspected things might turn out this way and deliberately left them to die.

- Mark, they were sick and they were doomed.

Mark stayed as if numb for a moment, but suddenly delivered a lightning left cross to the Father's nose, good thing he was wearing the helmet of his spacesuit or he might have smashed his head right through. From the impact, Father just sat down on the sand. The others gasped in surprise.

Father stood up shaking the dust off himself, with no apparent desire to fight back at the provocation.

- 'Don't you ever do anything behind my back again,' Mark hissed quietly, 'We either stick together or die.'

- Mark, there's no need to react so emotionally. We would have died if I hadn't acted that way.

With a visibly more sober expression, Mark uttered barely audibly:

- You may be right, but still don't do it.

- 'Come on, bullies, let's catch one of those man-eating growths,' at tried to lighten the atmosphere.

- 'And what should we do with those?,' the Father pointed to the other civilians who were standing ten meters away and watching, trying to catch what the ‘bosses’ were up to.

- 'What should we do? If they survive, they survive,