A Soldier of Fedarn

2002 story by Jonathan Hicks

Thirty-eight years after Episode IV – A New Hope

Chapter One - A SOLDIER OF FEDARN

All I can think of is the cold.

I suppose my mind should be whirling with thoughts, those of the upcoming battle or the chance of being injured. Perhaps I should have been more attentive to the fact that I could die here, today, on a planet far from my home. My body could be trampled underfoot, under the mud that made the ground. Forgotten. My form rotting away unseen and un-remembered by later generations walking over my impromptu grave.

But no. It was cold.

I still find it peculiar as I watch my breath mist in front of my eyes as my air escapes my chest. It drifts long enough to be noticed and then is gone. I watch my fellows stretched out either side of me and watch them as they turn their mouths into an ‘o’ and blow softly, their eyes cast downwards to catch that fleeting glimpse of the mist. Some notice my stare and smile, blowing in my direction so that I see their breath. They are either as fascinated by the sight as myself or they are conveying their feelings towards the cold.

No sun today. We haven’t seen the sun in weeks, now, the cloud being the only sight in the sky, dominating what should be blue and bright above our heads, warming our faces and caressing our cheeks with heat.

Gods, how I miss my home.

I am on the second tier of soldiers. The legion is almost ready, now, as the great repulsor tanks and parabolic artillery are readied and primed. Soldiers check over their weapons, testing the charge and hoping, as they have these last few days, that the blaster won’t jam or the charge won’t give out. The weather takes it tolls on man and beast and belongings alike. It does not discern between them.

I am required to clamber up above the front rank of soldiers and I find the ground treacherous as I try to move up. After one slip too many, much to the amusement of my fellow legionaries, I feel an arm under my shoulder and I am pulled up into place. I express my thanks to the burly man who had aided me and he pats me on the back.

“I am not sure you can manage marching into battle,” the man says.

“No,” says another man to the other side of me. “We’re sliding to the enemy, were you not informed?”

There is a small collection of laughs in the rank I now stand in and I smile my embarrassment. The mirth is well contained as this was a serious moment and we did not want our commander to think we were taking the day’s possible outcome as some form of joke.

The chances of our being forced into battle are improving. Fleet Commander Dagger sent a messenger to the Setnin Defence Force, why we did not know, and he had not returned. Our Commander is a good man, we respect him as a leader and love him as a man, but his attempt to resolve this, possibly the last battle of the short campaign on Zelon, by peaceful means, did not appear to be a solution. Blood would be spilled today.

The big man next to me looks at me intently as I ready my large energy shield and my long heavy blaster rifle. “I have not seen you before,” he says with a frown on his face. “Are you from another troop?”

I do not wish to answer him. I do not want to tell him that my company had been punished for several of the legionary’s actions during an encounter to the south many days ago. For their cowardice we had all been decimated – every tenth man executed and the rest of us to eat enough to keep us alive. When the Fleet Commander had heard of this he had divided us and sent us to re-enforce other companies in the legion. Our rations had been returned and our status also.

I do not wish to tell him this for I was one of the cowards who ran from the Setnin raid.

I shrug and look out over the field. “I am from another company,” I say by way of explanation. The man is about to speak again and I fear it is to ask me what century I am from so I say quickly, “The conditions favour the S.D.F. They will have the trees as cover and we will have to approach over open ground.”

The man smiles. “I understand the Fleet Commander has a plan to make sure the enemy does not retreat,” he murmurs, eliciting several glances from those standing close to us. “If we do fight, it will be decisive as to the fate of Leogard, I am certain.”

“You always know the minds of leaders, Anto,” says the man next to him. “Perhaps you should wear the plume and ride with the Fleet Commander.”

There are more smothered laughs and the man appears indignant. “I know it is true. Prime Lord Atheus himself is here this day. Why has he come? To see the planet fall under Ki-Ki’s rule, that is why.”

He is waved at and receives several sounds of dismissal but he remains stoic. He shakes his head and appears as a parent attending an unruly child.

I simply smile and take a deep breath. The conversation has turned from me, now, and I am content to simply look over the open ground and try to ascertain what may come to pass.

The ground undulates and we are standing at one end of a huge clearing in the trees. The Fleet Commander has chosen the site well. There is plenty of open ground for us to traverse, for the thought of fighting within the trees where our offensive lines are divided by the huge trunks is discomforting, and the artillery we have lined up to support our forward push are on high ground. Still, the far end, where we expected the enemy to approach from, was high also. Although we call them barbarians it is merely a description to make the slaughter easier for us. They are intelligent beings, as are we, and the use of the term makes them comparable to animals. Men do not feel guilty slaughtering animals.

Barbarian is not synonymous with stupid. The beings of the Setnin Sector are hardy fighters and indulge in crude tactics but they use the terrain well. If we can lure them into the open area and trap them in a killing zone then we will turn the tide of the campaign in our favour. If they were as stupid as the Ki-Ki Sector and some of the men in the legion regard them then we would not have been fighting them for as long as we have.

Energy converters are being activated, now, for the artillery. I can feel the heat warm on my back and I revel in it, wishing that some of that comfort could reach my feet where it was coldest. I prefer it when we are on the move. Standing in the cold makes you appreciate the long march.

I notice that many heads have turned and I follow the gaze with my own eyes. The Fleet Commander is walking along the line, nodding and murmuring in his deep resonant voice to the men, his lizard-like features unreadable. They return his friendly words but the concern is obvious in their faces. I wonder if the Fleet Commander sees this. I wonder if he cares.

Before he gets to me he turns away to speak to another officer.

“It does not look good,” says the big man, Anto, who stands next to me. He still has his eyes on the Fleet Commander even though all other regard has turned to the field once more. He then looks at me and raises his eyebrows. He is a handsome man, if not for the ugly scar that makes his cheek appear incomplete, and his dark eyes shine. I return his smile and nod.

“I wonder what he is thinking,” I say.

“He is probably thinking of the fate of his messenger,” Anto replies.

We fall silent once more, adding our reluctance to talk to the rest of the men who are becoming more and more nervous. It is a tangible feeling, one you could almost reach out and pluck from the air and observe in your hand, which spreads quickly from the frontline to the rear. Even the riddabeasts of the mounted warriors appear nervous, shaking heads and stamping rough-shod feet.

“What are you thinking?” Anto asks suddenly. I look at him to see he is already watching me intently, awaiting an answer.

“I am thinking of my home. My sister who waits for me there.”

“Where is home?”

“I am from Udjein Major by birth,” I say and look away. I do not like talking of my home for I long to be there, back there plying my trade before the army. “You?”

“I am from Fedarn,” Anto says proudly. “My wife is from Udjein Major.”

As I turn to talk more of his wife I feel a sensation flow from the fore to the rear of the men. It is one of disgust, of revulsion, and I look up to see a ridderbeast rider approaching. From here I can see, by the clothing and armour worn by the rider, that it is the messenger the Fleet Commander despatched. I cannot understand why the men are feeling this way. The messenger is returning and surely that is a good sign.

But as the riddabeast comes closer I see why they are disgusted more clearly. The rider, still resplendent in the bright armour he wore as he set out to meet with the Setnin Defence Force, has no head. This appears to be the defining sight that assures us that many will die today.

As the riddabeast enters the forward ranks men are already beginning to ready themselves. Energy shields are raised and weapons are readied. I am breathing deeply now, trying to keep the feeling of fear I am prone to being afflicted by pressed down, trapped in a part of my soul where it will no longer be remembered. All I can see in my mind is the Commander walking down the line of men, counting to ten as he pointed to each one and then tapping the tenth with his vibrosword, the soldier following him taking the unfortunate soldier to be hanged. All I can see is him approaching, the numbers clear and precise.

I was a number nine. More than enough incentive to be sure I did not run from this battle.

Echoing through the forest, preceding the force of the barbarian army, come roars and screams. The remnants of the Setnin Defence Force flow from the trees, weapons of all kinds waving in the air above their heads. They chant and scream at us. We watch and wait, probably appearing relaxed to the barbarians who could not see our faces behind our energy shields. Behind me I hear the artillery clanking and the heavy blasters creaking as they are loaded and readied.

We will be the second line into battle. We are the second wall of Ki-Ki soldiers the S.D.F will throw themselves against. I dare not look at my fellow soldiers. I know that my strength is theirs and I know that if I see fear etched into the features of any one of them my courage will buckle and flee from my terror.

I watch as a huge man climbs atop a hillock and leads the chanting. He flings an object that bounces to the ground but I do not see what it is. His armoured clothes are dark and his face and head covered in long hair. He appears as an animal. He roars and gesticulates like a madman. I knew, however, he would fight like a demon.

As they all would.

Behind us, the riddabeasts of our mounted warriors ride. I take no heed of their exit as I am now focused on what is ahead of me. I stare at the weapons the S.D.F are using and try not to imagine how they will be used to kill me. Curved vibroblades, long blasters topped with bayonets, even some stolen Ki-Ki weapons, all in the air, all moving like a ruffled field of corn.

The order is given quickly and sharply. I close my eyes for I know what is to come. Although we are not moving yet I do nought but wait for the order to march for I know it will follow.

“Loose!” shouts an officer. The artillery and repulsortanks all snap into action. Huge blaster bolts fly over our heads and race to the S.D.F like small suns. They fly swiftly and accurately to cut into the ranks. The energy showers down onto the men like candles, setting them alight.

The barbarians are obviously shocked by this sudden onslaught of missiles. They cover their heads with their crude shields and back away, running through the trees as the rain of death falls upon them. The bolts slam into trees and the ground and shower them with fire. The artillery find targets and kill and cripple them. The huge bolts slice through the lines of the enemy and continue on until they have cut huge swathes.

But still they stand and chant after the initial fear of the attack. Still they bang their weapons and roar their curses at us. It is as if they know they are going to die and wish us to finish them as fast as we can. We could simply have stayed where we were and continued our attack. In fact, this thought crossed my mind but then I felt my line shift forward. The first line had already moved away, several men deep to keep them within the limits of the clearing. They tried to march in unison to keep the line steady but the uneven ground made it difficult.

The bombardment didn’t cease although we pushed forward. The fire and missiles continuously arced over our heads and exploded in the trees in huge plumes of fire and smoke.

Blaster bolts from the S.D.F swept to us but our forward line interlock energy shields and halted the onslaught, increasing their speed to close the gap as they started to ready their hand-to hand weapons. The battle for Zelon had been so brutal and devastating that energy is hard to come by, as strange as it may sound.

I cannot describe how I lost the next few moments. I think I must have been so terrified, so scared at the prospect of meeting a death I did not feel I was ready for I simply removed the thoughts and feelings from my mind. In doing so I remove the ruling emotion at the time.

That of fear.

And then they are on us. My eyes are on the line in front and I watch, incredulous, as the S.D.F fling themselves against the energy shield wall. Their weapons fired into the ranks as they approached, and then we fired ours over their heads as they engage the enemy.

Officers bark orders but the terror of the moment has overtaken our resolve to follow orders. To flee is a natural instinct – to fight is one that must be forced into the very core of a man’s being.

We see gaps in the front line and we rush forward to fill them. Now that my blaster is all but useless at close quarters I draw my vibrosword and raise my shield, moving forward on my left foot to block any attacks.

I do not see the first one. A blow forces me back a step and I see the corner of my energy shield fold. The enemy, clothed in brown and grey furs which increased his size and apparent ferocity, pulls back his heavy rifle for another blow. I raise the energy shield again and counter the impact but it almost knocks me off my stance. I fall back into another body, friend or enemy I cannot tell for the violence was all about me now, which in turn pushes me forward. I stagger, my right arm reaching out instinctively to steady myself and my vibrosword slides into the enemy’s gut.

He falls with a scream that threatens to burst my brain. Blood, mixed with lumps of flesh like that on a butcher’s block, splash over my arm as I wrench the blade free.

The man falls, appearing shocked that a stumbling legionary could take his life so easily although he was not to know my thrust was an accident, and does not move.

I’m alive.

The feeling begins in my belly and spreads out with a warm rush that makes me tremble. Something is coursing through my veins and I know not what it is but my sight is narrowed and all I can see is what is ahead of me. I release the breath I am holding and drawing it in makes me hack at the stench of soot and the taste of blood.

But I’m alive.

An insane madness takes me by the arms and flings me forward, the need to strike down another enemy so strong that it was overwhelming. I see a man - no, not a man, an animal – and I swing my vibrosword over my head and down towards him. He tries to raise his own weapon to counter but he is too slow and his face changes from rage to fear. I see the fear through my own rage and it makes me feel good to see him cower. The point of my sword slices down his face and then the return blow cleaves his skull. I swing and search the mass for another challenge.

Riddabeast riders have entered the fray and I see our Fleet Commander at the head, his blade slamming into one enemy after another. Cheers erupt but they are indiscernible over the din of the battle. Even the riddabeast’s whinnying is drowned by the roars and it is difficult to tell what screams are man and what are beast.

I am hit from behind and I stagger again, to see a legionary fall with a smoking hole in his chest. He is trying to scream but all he can do is gurgle blood. I do not know the man - perhaps he was from another company – but the need to revenge his death is great. I leap his body and before the barbarian can pull his weapon free I strike and he falls.

Then my energy shield is gone. The impact numbs my arm and makes me momentarily vulnerable. The barbarian who has removed it is pulling back his poweraxe for another blow and I try to turn to parry but I am strangely weak. My blade comes up and weakly slows the attack but it still cuts into my chest armour – luckily, that is all it cuts. Before I can prepare myself to attack a riddabeast rider who careers into him forces him sideways. The white riddabeast charges past and then I hear a roar and a braying sound – the rider has been dismounted and he crashes to the floor.

My enemy has righted himself and I jump forward before he has a chance to attack. My blade slices down and opens him from shoulder to stomach with the point. Looking about wildly I scan the terrain for another conflict and wish the feeling would return to my arm.

Anto is to my right. He has been trapped under the body of a fallen enemy, his vibrosword protruding from his foe’s back, and is struggling to get free.

I move forward, thinking the blood on my face and chest must have been the reason why Anto is staring at me with horror, and I reach out with my shield arm to help him up.

The reason for the loss of my energy shield is clear to me now. My arm has been amputated from just below the elbow and the strips of flesh mingle with the strips of my clothes. Two white bones, splintered and jagged, pump blood to the ground and then I wonder why I hadn’t noticed it before. Had my lust to kill overwhelmed my sense of self-preservation?

I reel and drop to my knees. All around me the battle seems to have slowed in time as I stare at what is left of my arm. I do not see fellow soldiers. I do not see barbarians. I do not see friend or foe, proud Ki-Ki soldiers or dangerous animal-men intent on destroying us.

All I see are beings. Beings screaming and dying, swinging their blades, slicing their enemies, pounding heads and bodies into pulp, dropping each other to the mud after skewering and bludgeoning. My sudden sense of clarity is then overwhelmed by the realisation that I no longer have an arm.

The battle is still clear in my mind – I would not have described it with such detail if I did not remember such details – but after the realisation that I was crippled the details become somewhat disturbingly irregular.

I remember screaming. Screaming for my sister, for my home. I remember hearing the shout of victory but I did not return the salute. Hands on me as I screamed, something hot and more painful than the wound applied to my stump. Someone was trying to force something into my mouth, a strip of wood I believe for I had already bitten the end of my tongue off with the pain. I remember seeing the sky many times, moving and swaying as I was transported off the field, or maybe it was my own vision swimming with the agony of the moment.

I did not dream in my stupor and for that I was glad. What horrible demons may have come to me in my feverish nightmares! All I remember was waking in the enviro-tent, Anto by my side cleaning his belongings and it seemed to me I had been off the field mere moments.

I was told it had been two days. The army was decamping and preparing to move now that the last of the S.D.F resistance on Zelon had been destroyed. The planet was conquered. Ki-Ki was, indeed, victorious.

But as Anto told me the news I could see that something was grieving him.

“Prime Lord Atheus is gone and has broken the peace agreement with Governor Ocern Gabe,” he said softly. “A great victory has been marred by the uncaring actions of our leader. Atheus intends to subjugate the Setnin Sector.”

I lay in my cot and stared at the white ceiling of the enviro-tent. I tried to think of Prime Lord Atheus, of the Fleet Commander, and tried to imagine the wash of feeling that must have swept the camp when he left, when he broke a promise, something that people of the Ki-Ki Sector do not do. I thought these things for I did not want to think of my arm. My wound.

“You are to go home, friend,” Anto said, smiling as he shifted the subject from his fears to a lighter tone. “Your wound makes you unfit for duty.”

I do not change my position in the cot and continue to stare at the cloth. “I have nothing to go home to, now.”

Anto was perplexed. “But your sister, your home. Did you not have a life before the army?”

“I did,” I reply and the tears leave clean lines down my dirtied face.

“Then return to it, my friend. What did you do before life as a soldier of Fedarn?”

I slowly turn my head to look with despair into Anto’ eyes. I lift my bloodied stump, wrapped in clean plastic and covered with sensor apparatus, but still stained with my body’s liquids.

“I was a sculptor,” I whisper.