John Davis: The Colony

“I know,” she replied, trying to remain positive. “I just pray the children made it to safety.”

“As do I.” the general replied, standing beside the besieged woman as he thought of a colony that once was.

Colony twelve-seven. At least that was its official name, though its name became irrelevant as the dying began.

A small group of miners had originally filed a report. A written account of strange writings they had discovered on the walls of a nearby cavern.

They had been thought mad, or perhaps even victims of exhaustion. But when the group made a second trip, returning with photographs of the writing, their report became the top priority of the colony.

Not that it mattered.

After sending an investigative group to the site with no return, and then a second, the general knew they were in trouble. Though the souls around him refused to accept the severity of their condition, the general had triggered the distress beacon himself.

And as the moments of their first encounter with the Succubus soldiers became a reality, the general had already began packing children away to safety. His quick thinking, along with the helping hands of Julia, had been the determining factor of the children’s survival.

And though, for hours, they were forced to listen to the pleading screams of colonists through the thickened-doors of their shelter, they remained positive. Julia knew of the general’s military background. And the general knew of the swift action that his military would take in order to help them.

He’d expected an entire Earth Defense carrier ship, though a part of him knew it was but wishful thinking. Their society had expanded far beyond the protection of such mighty ships. As predicted, they had sent a smaller ship filled with Earth Defense Marines. Investigate the beacon and report back to the fleet. It was protocol.

He’d comforted Julia’s fears many times with stories of Earth Defense soldiers by the hundreds, even thousands, landing to save them from such a dire enemy. But as a half-dozen soldiers of ill-manner and a look of aggravation showed up at their doorstep, the general felt as though his military had let him down.

That is until Jack and Renaldo had volunteered to go out into the rain, the entire area covered with a new species of damned-killers, for the sake of bringing supplies back.

Selflessness. The mark of a true soldier.

“Fuck man, I don’t want to die. You do it!” Renaldo said with conviction, though he did so in a hushed voice.

“I’m not asking, I’m telling.” Lieutenant Strong replied with a growl.

A supply crate nearly twenty-feet away. Luminous blue flashing being emitted from its top as a light blinked on delay. The thick steel case was one of two, with the second having fallen into a ravine nearby. Its blue light giving away the position.

“Remember back on Galveston Seven? Remember, you said that you owed me one,” Renaldo asked. “I took a hop for you and nearly died?”

“Shit,” Jack replied, knowing he’d been bested. “That was years ago!”

“There’s no expiration date on that one. I got shot!”

“Alright, damn,” Lieutenant Strong confessed. “But we do this my way.”

“Let’s hear it.” the sniper replied.

“You make it up to that hill,” Jack said, pointing out the direction of a nearby elevation of rock. “You pan the entire area and clear me to go. Then you double-time to the crash site and figure things out. When you come back through, I’ll have a pack filled and waiting in that spot,” the lieutenant said, adjusting his finger’s aim to a spot near the first supply crate. “You grab it and haul ass right behind me. Gun at the ready, just in case.”

“Got it.” Renaldo said with a nod.

“And Renaldo,” Lieutenant Strong said, grabbing the rushed sniper by his arm. “After this shit we’re even.”

“You got it boss. Good luck.” the sniper replied, nodding once more and then breaking off into the direction of the hill. Though he did so with caution and silence.

“Good luck?” Jack mumbled as he thought of their stumbling onto such a capable foe, a skiff filled with his soldiers crashing down and the prospect of having to load up satchels full of supplies. Doing so in the wide-open while praying none of the demons caught sight of him. “Now there goes a damn comedian right there.”

“I don’t understand?” Chandra said, stunned by the news.

“The whole damn chopper, I seen it with my own eyes,” Wesley replied, grabbing her above the elbows to enforce the truth. “They’re gone.”

She offered no reply. Just a heartfelt sobbing.

“Cry for them later. Right now, you need to forget about that shit and worry about these kids I brought up. They’re starving and scared. Alright?” Wesley said.

Though she continued to cry, Chandra began to close her emotions down for the moment, nodding and doing her best to calm down.

“If you can see them to the mess hall, it would be great. They won’t cause you any worry, they’re just scared shitless. I got to get on the com and send a wave to those who need to know.” he said.

“And the lieutenant?” she asked.

“He’s good I guess, hell I don’t know,” the soldier replied. “I’m sorry Chandra, I really don’t. I just know if he is, he’s starving his ass off and waiting for the cavalry to arrive. You good?” Wesley asked.

“Yes,” the beautiful woman replied, drying her eyes a bit. “I’m fine. I’ll get these kids some warm food.”

“Not too much though. We are talking marine chow here. It’s liable to land them in sickbay.” Wesley said with a grin. His attempt to lighten the mood a bit while making reference to the vomit-like food.

And though Wesley rushed quickly to the small bridge area, he stopped for a few moments. Nimble hands activating the ship’s two onboard mech units.

“Find Officer Bailey and assist her in serving chow to our guests. Then take a moment to look the ship over for anything mechanical.” Wesley said, firming his words to the two mechanical bots.

“Right away.” one of the masterwork machines replied in a throaty and digital voice.

They weren’t officially soldiers. They were placed two to a skiff, at least of this size, for the single purpose of maintenance. The maintenance units were a far cry from their soldiering cousins, which could dispatch death onto its foes with ease. But they looked mighty similar.

Tall by human standards, an exoskeleton of steel and an abundance of raw strength. Nearly a year before, the crew had even bartered for a mechanic’s shirt for each of the droids. One of them a solid blue, while the other was branded with the name Earl. Stitched with the finest bargain-bin thread.

So they had been effectively dubbed Earl and Hey You. Or some other, less PG-13 names, depending on who was shouting into their direction.

“Corporal Wesley, Earth Defense High Freedom. Please respond.” the soldier barked into the com system.

And as he waited, listening to the sound of steel boots hitting the floor in the distance, the soldier calmly waited for a reply.

“Corporal Wesley, Earth Defense high Freedom. Please respond.”

This time, after a moment of zinging through the com system, the desperate soldier found his response.

“You’re on a secure Earth Defense channel corporal, go ahead.”

It was a man’s voice, soldier no doubt. And it seemed hindered by the disturbance of Wesley’s transmission.

“We have one chopper down and a second in bad shape. Majority of my crew possible K.I.A. Need immediate evacuation under heavy guard.” Wesley said, as though he were admitting defeat.

“What’s your location corporal, so I can estimate a time?” the man’s voice asked.