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

but I'm not going to deliberately kill them in defiance of General Wallace's orders,' Mark replied, now completely calm.

- 'That's the way I want you,' the Father nodded to him.

Mark made as if he hadn't heard him.

Nearly half an hour had elapsed while this prolonged dialogue was being carried on, and the group prepared frantically, for the time during which the cacti were surfacing was limited, and if they missed it who knew when they would reappear. Paul adjusted his Myelite Zetkang 240 sniper rifle and stated:

- I'll cover you.

The others occupied various higher points of the Canyon, doing their best to avoid having direct contact with the sand beneath their feet. More than an hour passed, but not a single cactus had shown itself. A few of them were starting to get a little nervous, especially since the cold wind was blowing hard and kicking up clouds of dust and small pebbles, tossing them carelessly just a few feet away.

- 'Paul, can you hear me?,' whispered Mark over the cyclotron synthesizer. The device altered his voice, making it sound deadpan.

- I don't have a good enough view because of this wind, but hopefully the damn cacti will show up after all. Are you at the ready?

- 'Yes,' he heard Mark's, Wallace's, Long Jack's, Father's and finally Rat's voices in succession over the transmitter.

After a few minutes the wind seemed to die down briefly and the sand stirred slightly. Sweat trickled down the faces of the soldiers, but they strained their senses to use their lightning reflexes when needed. After a moment, several cacti showed themselves above the surface. They were definitely not pleasant to look at. They were about three meters tall. They had short and hard gray spines, sharp as nails. Their slimy trunks looked like caricatures out of a comic book. Their irregular shape was ugly, but it radiated a hidden menace. And near the bottom, they had an opening similar to...

- 'Oh my God!', Mark muttered. 'That must be where they feed from...'

- 'Fire,' Father muttered into the transmitter.

Suddenly the eerie silence around was split by automatic gunfire and the cut off and muffled whistle of a sniper rifle.

 

^^^

The camp fire crackled merrily. They had lit it in an alcove from where it was quite difficult to see. The civilians had stayed to the side, guarded by the few young men, while the old dogs had positioned themselves next to the fire they had lit from gathered trash that had been liberally doused with interron fuel.

- 'Good catch, wasn't it, Mark,' called Long Jack, 'Paul certainly did a good job. But Sammy's learning now too,' he added, giving Sam Wallace a friendly tap on the shoulder. 'A glorious boy he'll make, mark my word.'

- 'We cracked 'em up,' Rat grinned, exposing his mousy face to the light of the campfire. 'Three whole pieces. I wasn't expecting that many, honest. The others instantly hid in the sand and are unlikely to move anytime soon.'

- 'They're not rational creatures,' Father added. 'Just a pure physiological reaction.'

- 'A physiological reaction, yeah?,' the Rat made an obscene gesture with his hand and lips, 'Very accurately put,' and began to chuckle at his own witticisms.

Mark was lost in his own unhappy thoughts, and Paul who was keeping a watchful eye on his friend didn't have the courage to tear him away from them. In fact Private Lenner had fallen into a strange sort of reverie, in which he could distinctly hear the words of the battle-comrades clustered about him, but he seemed to be in another place also, thousands of miles away, a place far more visible to him than the surrounding wilderness. He recalled his first days as a young cadet at the Royal Academy in Ensarianan, the capital of Ubunder. A beautiful, ultramodern city whose population was huge. The futuristic dwellings that the people inhabited were shaped like bean pods, half driven into the ground and bore the name xentar. Perhaps the greatest equality that could exist in a human society reigned in this city. The only inequality came from the internal ploys. There was no division by wealth, background, or social standing. All that mattered was a brother's word, honesty, valor, manhood, wisdom. The city was encircled by three kinds of defensive walls. Mainly because of the guarrons, and because of the various unfriendly to humans creatures inhabiting the planet. Naturally, people were constantly discovering new and new of them, exploring previously undiscovered places.

Mark was valedictorian of his high school class, and under the influence of his father, he headed off to cadet school. His mother didn't quite agree with this, but she wasn't about to interfere in the father-son relationship. She knew very well that men had a different, different perspective on life, and there had been rumors of a brewing war lately.  Actually, such rants were not a novelty, but they were more like a joke than something really serious. Practically everyone scoffed slightly because they considered them unrealistic to say the least. On the other hand, inwardly some more farsighted people feared that they would come true, but did not dare to voice their doubts out loud.

One evening Mark came home. The truth was that he had been putting off this moment for a long time, but here it was at last. He found his parents in the living room, where the fire from the fireplace was crackling merrily. Winter was coming on and the blizzard was howling fiercely outside.

- Mom, Dad I'm here to tell you about a decision I've made.

His parents looked at him with some curiosity, but waited for him to tell them his intentions.

- I've decided to enter the Royal Academy as a cadet, I've even already submitted my papers.

They both looked at each other. His father nodded approvingly, but his mother's face showed some concern, which she tried to hide. It didn't escape Mark's gaze.

- What's the matter Mum, don't you like this line of work? Think you'll soon see me dressed in a shiny cadet uniform. And I'll be defending Ensarianan someday.

- 'On the contrary, your mother is pleased, my boy,' replied his father, George Lenner. 'Isn't that right, dear? A military career has always been worthy of respect.'

- 'Of course,' his mother tried to smile, but try as she might, her anxiety was evident. 'That Elohy wants to attack us, and that all the youths will soon be called to a general mobilization.'

- 'It's just idle talk, dear,' her husband tried to reassure her. 'After all, people can say what they like,' he added, though he didn't seem quite sure of what he was saying.

Mark could see his parents' split, though his father's approval and his mother's covert disapproval were evident. He decided to try his last resort to be properly understood. He paused briefly to sort out his thoughts before beginning. And mainly to be more convincing.

- Everyone in this room knows that all my conscious life you have wanted to raise me to be a conscientious and responsible person who will accept the consequences of my actions, whether they are good or bad. My friend Keith, whose father works for the Ensarianan Ministry of the Interior, has been visibly worried lately. He's obliged to maintain complete confidentiality, but...

His parents had listened carefully to his words, and even the semi-dark room had taken on a somewhat solemn air.

- 'According to what Keith has heard from various other places, which he didn't wish to name,' Mark continued with increasing confidence, 'the reason they attacked us had nothing to do with ideologies or understandings at all, but with our rich deposits of interron fuel and Zendorian kevlarite, which they desperately needed to maintain their military might if they wanted to 'flex their muscles' with us, and also to survive the Guarron raids. The problem is...

- 'The problem is?,' his mother half-voiced, her eyes, immersed in the darkness of the room, reflecting the flames from the fireplace like a smooth mirror surface.

- 'The problem is that,' they have failed to agree, on the redistribution of influence in the autonomous region of Synthros, where there are many unexplored areas, some of which are supposed to contain vast deposits of the vital raw materials we have in abundance.

- 'That is to say, the issue is more economic,' his father said, with only mild irony. 'Apparently, as long as the world keeps turning, things won't change much.'

A shiver tickled down his mother's back, she had a premonition that she was about to hear the most important thing.

- Like I said, without the raw materials vital to them, they wouldn't survive. Their capital city of Imgradon, though well fortified needed fresh resources to maintain its fighting capacity.

- 'Perhaps the situation is not entirely hopeless after all,' sighed his father, who had now become completely serious.

- Father, I'm afraid things are even worse. If our two opposing camps don't come to an agreement and we throw ourselves into this senseless war, the entire human population of the planet could be wiped out. After that, we will be too exhausted to fight off the Guarron attacks.

- 'So you agree to go to the slaughter?,' his mother asked quite sadly, her eyes fixed on nothing.

Something burned Mark inside, but he controlled himself and turned away:

- Look at it this way, Mum, the war will inevitably break out today or tomorrow. Would you rather I stand idly by and die under the rubble of our home instead of dying in battle defending it. That way at least I would have the hope that something could still change and the confidence that I was doing the right thing because I would be taking part in that change myself.

- 'You seem to have grown up quicker than I thought,' his mother pronounced in a slightly choked voice.

- 'I am proud to be the father of a real man,' his father stood up and hugged him.

Mark noticed that tears glistened in his eyes. He was under no illusions that if a general mobilisation was introduced the recruits would be sent to the front lines as cannon fodder, but strange as it was he longed for that moment.

Suddenly the picture in his mind shifted and he was transported to a very different place. A place far more sinister than the idyllic evening in front of their family fireplace.

 

^^^

- 'Private Lenner, what the hell is going on?,' a thick bass voice called out to his right.

He turned to see his commander, Long Jack, wearing a dust and mud stained spacesuit and crawling on the ground like a worm, hiding behind the corpses of soldiers already killed.

- 'I don't know sir, but they are too many. I don't think we're going to make it.,' shouted Mark into the transmitter.

- Whatever it costs us, we must succeed. Many of our own died to give us a chance to get out. Wiggle your ass, Lenner. That's an order!

- 'Fuck him!,' growled Grandpa Jack as an automatic plasma blast split the earth just inches from him.

- 'Are you alive, sir?,' asked Mark as if in a daze between the savage blasts he was sending at the enemy. He had hidden behind a low pile of stones, waiting for the opportune moment to roll to his next cover at the risk of having his skull blown open.

- 'Sir?,' Mark tried to get through again, as the radio had gone dead and a thick fog was gathering around him, formed by the dust that had risen.

- 'Sir, are you there?,' he repeated again with a note of desperation in his voice.

- 'Damn it, Lenner, it was a close call,' Long Jack groaned heavily. 'Keep going as planned.'

Chaotic running. Wandering. Vertigo. Crumpled corpses of comrades. Blood! Lots of blood! Corpses of Elohyn warriors. Or rather, parts of them! Scattered like a carelessly arranged jigsaw puzzle, arranged by an unfeeling hand that cares for nothing. Broken warships, completely out of commission. Craters from explosions. Tinnitus. The lullaby of death. Is it