Lawrence White - Knights of the Chosen

“They are, sir.”

Washburn noticed the Raider lieutenant and his squad hunkered down behind desks. “Lieutenant, I want you out of here, now.”

“Sir, we’re pretty good at this.”

“I know you are, but there are too many guns in here. We’re trained to work as a team. Get your guys out, and organize a medical response. We’re going to need it. Move, soldier.”

The building shook, then shook again. “They’re on the roof,” Krys said calmly. “I will fire as soon as I sense them entering. Follow my lead.”

“Sound off,” Borg called out. Each of the Protectors responded with his assigned number. “Pair off,” Borg ordered. “One and two follow her first shot, three and four follow her second shot. We’ll all deal with the remainder of the gleasons as we can. Remember, when seriously wounded, the gleasons will lose their ability to blend with the background, but the creatures are very hard to kill.”

Krys turned suddenly toward a window to her left and opened fire. Two Protectors opened fire toward the window, following her aim. Moments later a shadow filled the window. It fell into the room, its dark green body hideously wounded.

The Protectors continued to fire at it as Krys turned toward a corridor entrance on her right. She fired again, and backup fire wounded the gleason, but it didn’t stop moving. She didn’t know, and the Protectors kept up a continuous barrage toward the creature.

She turned and fired again, straight ahead, then again to the left, standing straight up so as not to hit her own men whom she could not see. Another gleason came through the corridor entrance to her right at the same moment another came through a window directly in front of her. She loosed two shots at the first gleason, but was late shifting to the second. Borg saw the window shatter and pushed her to the floor as he leaped in front of her, firing continuously. Tarn fell on her to protect her. Borg wounded the creature, but it closed the distance instantly and was upon him. Borg grabbed the gleason’s head as it forced both of them to the floor, and his great hands twisted mightily, killing the creature.

Stven saw the another window shatter, but the gleason was invisible. He didn’t think, he just gave way to his instincts. He sucked in a breath, then a great flame issued from his nostrils as he swept his head around the room above everyone’s head. The flames caught the gleason, and Stven leaped toward it. As the flames guttered out, he grabbed the gleason, his sharp claws digging deep into its body. He and the gleason disappeared out the window.

Blasters continued barking for a few seconds, then stopped. Washburn leaped to Krys and pulled Tarn from atop her. “Are there any more?” he demanded.

She considered, then shook her head. “No more.”

“Clear!” Washburn yelled, “but stay ready. She might have missed some.” His eyes surveyed the room, but it took a while for the heavy smoke from Stven to thin. Borg rose weakly to his feet, bleeding profusely from great gashes along his body, then collapsed.

“Jacobs!” Washburn yelled.

Jacobs took one look at Borg and called two Great Cats to his side. “Direct pressure, wrap him tightly, but not so tightly he can’t breathe.” He tossed packages of bandages and gauze to the two cats, then turned to Tarn. Rib bones protruded through a gash in his back. Scissors appeared in Jacobs’ hand, and he quickly cut the uniform away.

He looked up at Washburn. “Not good, sir. It’s deep. He’s bleeding heavily inside. It probably got his liver and a kidney, and certainly a lung. He’s going to drown in his own blood. I can’t stop it. He needs immediate surgery.” He reached into his pack for an airway, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“Who is it?” Krys asked in a frightened voice.

Washburn knelt down beside her. “I’m sorry, Krys. It’s Tarn.”

Blank eyes stared back at him in horror. “Tarn! What’s he doing here?”

“Protecting you, Krys.”

Across the room, a gleason twitched and a shot sounded. Krys’ mind stopped functioning, but her Rider’s mind did not.

›Jake set the example, Krys. I must leave you for a time. Let me go to him.‹

Krys did not respond.

›Krys!‹ Maelia demanded,›I can’t do this by myself. You must be in contact with him.‹

Krys reached out, and Washburn guided her hands to Tarn’s face. She felt around, then seemed to gather strength. Her hands went to his back, sliding through blood, and reached into the wound.

Jacobs reached gently for her hands to remove them, but she fought him.

“My Rider is going to him. I don’t know how long it will take. Send for help. Make certain the doctors know he has a Rider.”

Tears streamed from her eyes as she held her hands inside the horrible wound, but Maelia had given her hope, and she would not let that hope die.

The doors to the operations center opened, and Korban entered the room flanked by a squad of Imperial Marines. His eyes surveyed the carnage and settled on Krys.

Washburn intercepted him and pulled him aside. “Is medical help on the way?”

“It is. Who are you?”

“Terry Washburn, Queen’s Protector.”

Korban’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed. Is it over?”

“Lady Krys tells me it is.”

“Lady Krys? She was a Friend of the Family when I last saw her.”

“She’s a Knight now, sir. So is Tarn Lukes. I don’t know if he’s going to make it. Did you get the rest of the life boats?”

“I believe so. Most never reached the ground.”

“The gleasons are elusive, sir. If any slipped away, they’ll come after you. Don’t let your guard down.”

Korban walked to the body of a gleason and studied it. “Hideous creatures. I thought their planet was blockaded.”

“Not my problem, Admiral. We’re going to focus on our wounded now.”

“We’ll do what we can for them, I promise. And thank you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We have a fleet of Rebels inbound. It’ll take three weeks for them to get here.”

“Maybe they’ll turn back now.”

“I hope not. My replacement is probably with them, and I won’t let him take over as long as I’m alive. I expect Chandrajuski will be here soon with some fast ships.”

Four Terrans and one more Great Cat had been wounded, but all were capable of walking. The whole team went to the hospital, some for care and the others to protect. Borg came around long enough to order two Great Cats back to sector headquarters to guard Korban, then he was ushered into surgery.

Stven was brought to the emergency room on a flatbed truck. He walked in, but only on three legs, and his right wing dragged on the floor, again.

Washburn leapt to his feet when Stven entered the emergency room. “Captain! I forgot all about you. What happened?”

“The landing was a little hard, Terry. Nothing serious. The wing is broken again. I heard Tarn is in a bad way.”

Washburn nodded, still mortified. “Krys sent her Rider to him.”

“Hmm. How is she?”

“About like you’d expect.”

“If he doesn’t make it, her Rider won’t either. She’ll be devastated.”

Hours later, Tarn came out of surgery and was immediately ensconced in a tank. To everyone’s surprise, his prognosis was fair, particularly in view of the fact that he had a Rider. His recovery would be long, however. When Krys went to him, he was completely sealed within the tank. She settled into a bed next to him and was soon fast asleep.

A doctor came to her bedside with a portable scanner. “She’s next,” he said to Washburn.

“Uh, she’s not wounded.”

“She most certainly is. She’s blind. We were told it’s not a recent injury, so we’ve left her to last.”