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HorZone

Men and women in heavy, bulky green plastic/kevlar suits charged at my side. Some slower, some faster, but all in the same direction. The sand crunched softly under my boots, making movement almost impossible, as we leap-frogged among porous boulders skirted with red blood-tinted sea-water and foam. I see others toss off their heavy packs and do the same, as crossing streams of lightning-like tracers from machine gun nests zip all around me, hitting a few of the people in my squad. One man in front clutches his throat in a pointless effort to staunch the blood, as it squirts between his desperate fingers.

I do not mean to be cruel, but he is in my way, and he is dying while impeding others' survival. I butt him painfully out of our path with my rifle end, watching him writhe on the ground, dying, even as I regret my own wicked cruelty.

A mortar crashes behind, flinging blackened hot sand onto the back of my neck. I give it a cursory rub with one hand, accidentally looking behind me.

One guys legs have been blown off; he's crawling with a smooth red-stained trail through the sand following him. A woman is perched against a boulder, her entrails oozing out like donut filling, as she tries to hold them in place and bandage. As I stare at her, she returns my look, patching up and grabbing her L85 rifle with an expression of set determination, nodding at my paused form.

She was going to die, and chose to go on fighting while she could.

These are the valiant crusaders our military produces.

She charges forward, as a female sniper takes cover from a concentrated barrage. She leans out precariously...

A heavy caliber bullets obliterates her head like a watermelon, exploding out the back.

Holy fucking god!

I panic a brief moment, catching my breath behind another giant rock. Something gleams nearby.

Her rifle is on the ground, shiny with blood and curdled gray-matter.

I lean over, take it, and take aim.

I never used a scope, but how hard could it be?

My first target I focus on is a machine gun operator. I hold my breath. Squeeze slooowly on the trigger.

BAM!

The single 30-06 pierces through all the loud gunfire and explosions with its own unique hollow boom sounding blast. The gunner clutches his chest, which is sputtering geysers of his blood uncontrollably. His muscular black uniformed body tumbles down forward off the gun and down the steep cliff face.

"Yeah! Nice fucking shot!" Jeers a Hispanic looking Sgt. nearby, who's clutching a bleeding shoulder.

Everyone ducks down as the fallen enemy is replaced swiftly with another gunner. Overhead, the tracers spiral by like a shiny white laser show. The Sgt. returns fire with his desert eagle .357 handgun. The semi-disemboweled woman empties at least three mags worth of bullets in the fortified nests above.

Another black form tumbles off the side from another portion of their above defenses.

"Fuckin' A! Who got that one?" The Sgt. asks, quickly crouching behind the rocks as the machine guns return our fire.

"Who the fuck cares? Our asses are still between a rock and a hard place, man." I declare.

The Sgt. taps his cover.

"Naw, man. The rock is between our asses and a hard place." He jokes.

I lean out quickly, take aim again, and fire.

Due to my haste, the heavy bullet glances off a sandbag with a small puff of dust. Those behind duck and cringe for a second in response.

As I have my back to the boulder, my ass soggy in the drenched blood-mixed waters and sand, I notice something floating idly about in the surf.

A long rectangular wooden crate painted tactical grey.

I point at it nervously, my finger shaking.

"Someone grab that fucking Banshee! We'll blow our way in!"

The woman with the L85 runs for it, twenty yards away as she leaps over the man with the blown off legs like a frantic deer in flight, grabs it by one steel carry handle, and drags it slowly back toward us.

The stress of her pulling undoes her crude bandage job; with one muscular dragging heave, her intestines spill forth from her battle dressings like slick effluent smelling tentacles.

"Oh, Fuck!" I stare in awe at her suffering; at her death.

"Don't stand there staring like a fucking numbnuts! Cover me, Goddamnit!" The Sgt. demands.

I nod uncertainly, leaning out to aim and fire at another gunner high above in the distance.

The 30-06 slashes through his muscular neck like a burning knife. His blood fountains out as he falls backward.

I quickly take aim at another.

BAM!

I miss, but he ducks. With the several other machineguns occupied by more landing troops along the beach, the Sgt. is clear.

"Go! Go now!" I yell over the sound of whistling and exploding air-burst shells, mortars, and the occasional tossed grenade.

He can barely hear me, but he knows what I mean. In a flash, he's after the box like a Receiver going for a touchdown. Instead of dragging it, he tosses the heavy shipping container by me with a heave of his bulky muscled body, as he stoops over to get the woman with the severe stomach affliction.

"She's dead, Sarge! Leave her!" I scream.

"Fuck you, Private!" He snarls, with her ghastly white form heaped over his wide-shouldered back.

I cheer for him, chant for him to make it back, resume operating the rifle with the twenty round extended 30-06 mag.

As I zoom in on one gunner, I realize where he has the big MG barrel pointed. I turn hastily back toward the Sgt., who is halfway to my cover.

"Get down! Get down!" I scream helplessly.

Too late...

Too late...

Heavy rounds criss-cross his body, tearing up his chest in a jagged diagonal line, zipping out his back like flies.

"Fuck!" I exclaim.

He collapses to his knees, blood dripping copiously from his wounds and out his lips, refusing to let the woman fall from his back.

He's still alive.

Barely.

He uses the rest of his strength to crawl on his knees forward to cover. Tossing the woman toward me, falling to his face with a sick thud in the soggy sand, never rising again. I look at the woman.

She's still alive.

Barely.

I shake her sluggish body.

"Soldier? Soldier! Soldier!" I yell at her.

Her eyes are wide, uncomprehending, unfocused with fierce lines of agony carved into her dainty, elegant face.

I give her another rough shake.

"Soldier! Please! How do I operate the Banshee system?"

I was more than willing to kick the ass of the person who said, "Not all soldiers need to be trained in the use of the Banshee anti-tank missile system."

And I owed him two more cheap shots for the two poor bastards who died to retrieve it, only to leave an inexperienced soldier with it in his possession.

Ain't war a bitch?

Yep!

"Open it, shitfucker." She mumbles.

My eyes frantically focus on her.

"Yes! Yes! Okay!"

I get it close to my side and rip the top open with my carbide-steel combat knife using one hand, revealing the dull green-painted hollow steel of a dual-tubed missile launcher. I slide it out of the wood box.

"Now what?"

"pop open...O-open the sights."

I look at it further, doing so.

"Pull the safety fuses from the two missiles. They'll..." She breaks off, fatigued.

"Wait, please don't leave me alone!" I shake her some more.

Her next responses are groggy.

"The fuses are in...in th-the rear-looksh like grenade pinsh."

I frantically look for the two hanging rings and rip them from the ends of the rockets, as they stick out from the breech slightly.

"Slide arma-armaments back in. Aim. Fire."

"Okay, Okay." I set her down softly, mindful not to let her drown in the surf that looks eerily like reddish-green wine, as the tide comes in, drowning others who are on the beach and helpless to move.

I push the ends of the missiles into the Banshee, preparing to fire.

Click!

Fuck!

"Turn on targeting scope, retard!" She mumbles in an apathetic, distant, floating way.

I Do so. The eyepiece is now red-tinted with black diagonally intersecting crosshairs.

"Now, fire in the hole. Say it, retard." She grunts.

I take a bold standing stance, bullets bouncing off the high beach boulders about me.

I hesitate, looking around.

An eternity.

One man is running around with an arm missing. Another soldier has a bandage where he likely lost an eye. Another gets hit in the back with an air-burst shell, which doesn't explode until it connects with him, pulverizing his spine and flesh beyond all recognition. Men taking cover in a deep shell crater are all obliterated with the accurate shot of an enemy rifle grenade.

One man with bars on his helmet and an SMG clutched in one ashen-colored hand looks at me and double-takes.

"Sonofabitch! A man got out a Banshee! Everyone! Cover fire...NOW!" Then he points at the positions on the cliff above, men and women lean out of cover, firing sporadic and hectic bursts from their weapons.

Some get sliced down where they stand, others are resting in pieces.

"Go, retard! Fire-in-the-hole!" The woman snarls.

I look up as the outline of a gunner begins to swivel towards me.

This is for planet Earth!

"Fire in the hole!" I scream.

The soldiers repeat what I said, rapidly passing the message along.

I depress the thick dual handles.

Two screaming, shrieking, whistling shells streak out the tube with thick trails of white-as-snow-smoke trailing behind.

Banshee; a spirit who wails, keens, to foretell death.

Death.

The C.O. shakes his gun emphatically in triumph as the two large bore missiles crash into the side of the cliff, causing the edges to collapse out from under the defenders' like a landslide. Several black-clad enemy soldiers fall down the steep face, smashed, tumbling constantly to be battered against the jagged protruding crags and outcroppings. Some of them are unmercifully torn apart by the sharp-edged stones in the course of their fall.

But after all the things I saw today, I say fuck 'em..

Above in the sky, there are clouds of black exploding all around, deterring our bombers.

I drop the Banshee, pick up the woman's L85, the Sgt. 's magnum, and shoulder the powerful sniper rifle by the leather strap, going on forward with the rest of the landing forces.

On the way, the C.O. accosts me, marching at my side.

"Private! You're getting a medal for this. Everybody's hero. You'll be the poster child of the Intergalactic crusader army!" He boisterously proclaims.

Just like an officer, to be so full of shit.

"What about them, Sir?" I reply, pointing at my fallen comrades.

"Medals of Valor! Posthumously awarded to their families!"

I really want to kill him right now, but I bide my tongue-and trigger finger.

"Yes, Sir!"

I belonged to the Intergalactic crusader army, a force sent by the governments of Earth after an attack by a supposed weaker race on the Pentagon.

This-all of this-these lives, this blood, these resources, this hatred.

All of it for the retribution on behalf of the planet Earth after these "inferior" "animals" wreaked havoc right in our own backyard, no "I come in peace" or "live long and prosper" bullshit, no, aliens came, and they hit us good; like Pearl Harbor, like 9/11, like the motherfucking nuclear bombing of the Statue Of Liberty by the Russian Mafia, or the Sarin gas scare of the former IRA on the London subway system.

But this time...

We were fucking sick of having the past repeated on us, so no more mercy from the decent folk of the human race!

The main objective never changed; destroy their initiative to carry out effective war upon us, dispose of their long-range inter-space ballistic missile platforms, make them surrender to us, their superiors.

Unconditional surrender.

Unconditional hatred.

The Captain charges toward a stunned enemy shaking his elongated helmeted head, piercing through his black kevlar/canvas cruelly with his knife, driving it into the Horzeghan's chest with a powerful, malicious downward slashing swipe, then kicking the Horzeghan crudely from his stuck blade, now slick with the ruby shine of enemy blood.

"Have a fun time in hell, fucker!" The Captain jeers, tearing into another enemy unmercifully, even despite the fact that the Horzeghan was missing an arm.

Oh, fuck! Carnage!

Another enemy, who comes to his senses, plants the jagged spear-like ornament of his helmet's forehead section right between the ribs of a charging Earth soldier.

The Captain draws his pistol, executes those standing dazed and idle from the fall, with single shots to the head using his magnum.

Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck!

The Horzeghan who impaled the soldier, tosses the man's dying form from his steel horn-like lance with a nonchalant toss, now focusing angry red eyes on the Captain.

The Captain sees him.

"Oh, you wanna play, Mr. unicorn? Come get me!" The C.O. snarls, waving his serrated K-bar menacingly.

The Horzeghan lowers his metal horn, trumpets loudly, and charges like a bull.

The Captain jumps away the last second, planting his knife deep in the enemy's back.

"Nice try, Mr. unicorn! Maybe you should have stayed home and minded the fucking family!"

Suddenly, the wounded Horzeghan reels about, jamming a knife of his own neatly through the Captain's neck, striking through both arteries.

The C.O. would succumb quickly to that blow. The Captain drifts slowly to the ground, dying.

The fierce-eyed Horzeghan watches me wearily as he tears the knife from his back with a primal and quite feral-sounding scream, and his own knife from the Captains' squirting neck.

"What the fuck should I do with YOU?" He growls, his eyes narrowed with hatred and pain.

I stand there, stunned.

He is close enough to breathe on me. I've NEVER been this close to the enemy before.

"I-I-I..."

I am so fucking nervous! This is NOTHING like the movies OR training films!

"I could kill you easily, human. Just like I did to your pompous over-dignified bastard of a Captain, and all you can do is whimper like a scared little puppy dog?" The enemy reasons.

Oh god, he...

He had me, dead to rights.

"Y-Yes you could. I am weak. Useless. I cannot kill you before you stab me."

The Horzeghan gives a triumphant whinny, turning to leave me in his wake, as he slices easily through the ranks of my allies with his two knives, moving toward a trail leading up to the top of the mountain, before turning to look back at me.

Despite the people and aliens fighting, stabbing and shooting each other in a frenzy of bloodshed, I see his expression through the ruby tinted goggles. Through the chaos of the battle.

His eyes tell me that I will remember this forever. His eyes mark me as HIS forever.

Nearby, a Horzeghan soldier shoves his knife through the shoulder of an Earth crusader, pulling out and stabbing frantically through his green uniform covered flesh over and over.

An Earth soldier who is severely wounded jumps on a Horzeghan's back and rips the pin off a grenade viciously with his teeth, making both of them explode even as the alien desperately tries to shake him off.

Blood and bits of fabric and fried meat splatter against me.

Another Earth crusader takes the Captain's SMG and fires into several Horzeghans' torso's, accidentally fragging an ally in the head with a careless shot.

One of the Horzeghan's he shot, his shin blown apart from .45 fully jacketed slugs, raises an enormous standard-issue revolver of his military and obliterates the soldiers' head with one well-aimed shot.

Unconditional hatred.

In hell.

As the chaos winds down, I look at the body of one of the aliens.

It looks somewhat like a horse, this fucked up, bled out pony.

But at the legs and hands, all similarities between the Horzeghan and regular Earth horses' end.

Close enough though, for people to crack jokes.

One soldier nearby, observing the familiar equine form of the alien's dead, remarks to no one in particular,

"Hey, doesn't this count as animal abuse?"

Another soldier points at the dead body of a comrade and muses,

"I knew THAT guy used to work for the Humane Society, and he ain't complaining!"

Other Earth crusaders have already carved their initials into black-clad buttocks of the dead Horzeghans like derogatory brands, or have even pissed on their corpses.

One quite ingenious, yet morbid fellow, has taken to removing the Horzeghan's pants, cutting off the corpses' testicles, and placing booby-trapped grenades in the now emptied spaces instead.

When they come to bury their dead, the aliens would get one explosive surprise.

And of course, this man stuffed the organs in their mouths to hide them, not as if the aliens were going to do much bitching about it.

I don't know what to do at this point; I mean, they killed my friends, but their fiercest soldier spared my life.

Nearby, enemy corpses are stacked carelessly upon each other like some childs' perversion of Lincoln Logs. I almost retch as the smell of shit and putrefied Horzeghan blood roars over me like a feral euphoric beast of Ares making'. In a day or two, they would smell a hundred times worse, a cross between shit, rancid flatulence, and rotten fruit.

And we would be gone before those couple days, thank god!

Our own soldiers are afforded more dignity; They are zipped up in rain-proofed forest-green body bags in neat little rows predetermined by rank. I can't help but think where I would be, towards the end, if the Horzeghan officer didn't show me mercy.

Or perhaps arrogance?

Someone taps my shoulder from behind, snapping my grim attention back to reality. Even with the battle over, I can't trust that the situation is secure. I have the Sgt.'s magnum aimed at a woman.

Her look was priceless.

I scared the fucking bejeezus' out of our battallion hanger-on media broadcaster; a reporter with a camera guy standing next to her.

She herself was beyond ridiculous, wearing camo, an oversized green kevlar helmet, and trying unsuccessfully to carry herself with the nonchalant attitude of a veteran who had seen too much shit to care.

The camera dude was more sensible; he was useless as shit, and he knew it. Not like Suzy-one-O'- the-guys-Mallory.

Before I can blink, I find a microphone before my face. Not something enormous, just a pea-sized thing attached to a couple of feet of cord leading to a little camcorder held nervously by her partner.

"Private! How many did you kill?" She asks, her mic up in my face, pissing me off.

I flash her a wicked grin and reply,

"Which ones? The ones in the green or the black?"

"Soldier, are you kidding?"

"You've never seen a soldier quite like me. Not only does his job, but does it happily."

"You're either joking or going nuts."

I shrug, getting into my 'at attention stance', and salute to her.

"You're the expert on people. Which is it?" I muse.

"Joking-you're joking-Y-Yes...joking."

She takes the mic, speaking into it.

"You've seen it here, first, folks. A bonofide veteran just shared a little bit of morbid battlefield humor with us. Right..."

I leave these two idiots behind. I had a fucking war to win.

"Soldier! Where are you going?! The interview isn't over!" The reporter demands.

Something shining above catches my eye on the cliff. It could be some enemy M.R.E. trash, a mirror, or a broken bottle, but I knew what it was. The scope glass of an enemy sniper looking for tempting targets.

"Yes it is." I say, not turning back as the explosive blast of a thirty caliber zips easily by me, striking something behind with a wet thumping crack of obliterated bone, flesh, and the hollow whump of rapidly caving-in of kevlar.

There is great comotion behind me, as something heavy slowly thuds in the sand with a crumple of fabric somewhat like a flag billowing in the wind.

"Holy fucking god! She's dead! What the fuck happened?!" The camera guy screams.

Whoops, I guess that's why they tell us not to salute our commanders in the field.

"The first amendmant doesn't protect you here, you nosy bitch." I whisper, elated with some sick amount of pride.

From that point, no reporters ever wanted to interview me, despite that I was usually the most experienced person at all the conflicts-but that comes later. Now, there was more to be done.

After hours of struggle, I am the only soldier up the trail to the enemy defensive bunkers, while everyone is too busy fucking around with transporting the casualties.

To my left, a Horzeghan casually pops out the steel sheet door of a bunker on the left of the path I walk. I imagine he needs to take a piss, not realizing that though most of the allied forces were still on the beach preparing for an invasive strike (I destroyed all the defensive nests and mortar positions by blowing the ground out from under them), I was right here behind him.

They now bide their time in the squat tan concrete bunkers with the slitted rifle holes. Well, all except this unlucky bastard.

Two shots in succession from the L85 makes him collapse in the middle of his impromptu bathroom break; and in the middle of the sand stained by his musky horse piss.

The place erupts around me like a fucking fire-ant hill, with shots all around, frantic.

There goes the neighborhood.

All of them have their stout rifle ends poking from once vacant slits, firing to suppress, firing to kill randomly.

They don't realize that the allied force did not attack, that it was one man stirring the nest, the bee's hive with what amounted to a twig.

And as I duck down, they still don't. Some even fire into others' bunkers, causing a confusing chain-reaction.

Horzeghans killing Horzeghans.

The very poignant nature of war.

I hold a bet with myself out of curiosity as I wait, wondering if they'll figure out if they're being played, or if they'll simply kill each other off.

I don't have long to wait, smoking half of my pack of cigs' in the recess of a bombed out stairwell leading to a howitzer emplacement further upward.

Little black shiny shards litter the ground. These are what came out of the bombs and air-burst shells (flak), as they detonated about. Though the trash is pretty, it is not wise to pick it up. You hear stories of children who pick these things up; collect them like rocks and have hands and fingers blown off if they grab the unexploded pieces by mistake, when both varieties look the fucking same.

"Fuck! There he is! Fire! Fire! Fire!" I hear nearby.

Perhaps I did not point this out before, but as I run my ass to cover from a sudden barrage of hellish fire, bullets screeching about me, I carry the latest in translation software interface,

In my head.

The Babel chip. With it securely positioned in one's cortex, nicely sitting atop your Hippocampus maybe, one can get a basic undertstanding for another's language.

What Babel comes down to, is that every language has root terms. Agua; Aquarius; Aqua; Water. Feld; Field. It's entire purpose to define these root terms into a comprehensible language is almost seamless in this age, but a decade ago, the prototypes were pretty fucking hilarious; made the other person's language sound like the Chinese to English translations on rip-off generic products. A funny example was for some guy asking to use the bathroom; a French guy. What he had to say pretty much came out like this, "Fun times looking for bathroom please direct for my friend."

At first, I thought he wanted to film a porno!

For one portion of that phrase, Babel translated the French word for relief to the English word for leisure, subsequently then assuming that leisure referred to a fun time to relax.

Well, Babel chip vers. 1. eventually became Babel chip vers. 125. Seamless automatic translation, and there were fewer reported cases of brain hemorhhage due to subsequent defective software in the silicon housing, causing it to fry and explode.

Whoopsie. Not the thing you want consumers to know; a product that can help you travel the world without learning a damn word of foriegn language, but could possibly kill you.

Warning: Babel chip may cause permanent immobility. (nice technical way of saying, "goodbye fucker!")

Now, those injuries occur less often and the Babels have sophisticated A.I. to determine not only the translation of the words, but the composition of the whole message.

In laments terms, that means the Babel will *hopefully* know better than to infer that a French guy wants to use your bathroom to direct a smut film.

Now, our enemy had cheap Babel language technology themselves, but it wasn't so invasive. Their translation gear was affixed to the inside of the black helmets with the red goggle eyes like something from a science fiction movie. Like a mean black dressed dude with a voice box, bug-eyes, a light-brite on his chest, fucks people up good, and destroys planets with one shot.

Fuck it, THIS could be a sci-fi movie when you thought about it.

"He's behind the crate. Flank to the left. I'll cover you!"

About the only thing Babel didn't do was give you directions to a McDonald's.

It did everything else, including acting as a liason for an air-strike, if you had the military vers. 127., a little ahead of the civilain market.

All I had to do was talk to myself like a fucking idiot, let it analyze my voice pattern, unlock coordinate strike safe-routines, and...

I would render all my foes permanently immobile.

Then a new idea strikes me.

I had fucking Babel chip! Air-strikes were outdated!

"Hello? Babel chip unlock safety sub-routines for GT platform and connect me to an operative working there."

Yes, Babel was a fucking cell phone! Meaning that it could kill me twice as fast.

The Babel chip beeps once, sends me an unusual electric shock which makes my dick jump for some reason. (I swear to fucking god that the technician's never check what happens if they don't place the fucking hardware in the exact right goddamn place!)

"Crusader designation five-oh-four. Calling from encoded Babel I.D. code eight-fifty three-twenty nine-eleven. Contact confirmed. This is Galactical Tactical satelite laser platform. Specify request for grid three-hundred, twenty-five, LM (landmark) DH (death hill)." Replies the very imperious voice of some arrogant bitch at what amounts to a desk job.

"LM DP (death plateau). Three-hundred, twenty-eight." I respond.

"Sir, according to this...that would put the cannon blast on top of you. Do you have the master code to override my friendly-fire protocols?" She asks, now a little concerned.

"Master code; Wrath Of God. Delay time four secs. Read it back to me." I respond, firing around the corners of my cover to keep the enemies at bay as they stalk toward me.

"Master code; Wrath Of God. Delay time four secs. Repeated. Course of action to evade?"

"Negative. MSU (making shit up)."

"God help you, Sir. Countdown four secs...Run...Now!"

Whoo! Holy shit!

I throw a grenade towards them, making them scatter as I run for it.

Four secs...

I leap over a wrought metal barricade of barbed wire towards the cliffs.

Three secs...

The magnum flies loose from my waistband, clattering to the ground. I run past, forgetting it.

Two secs...

The cliff is looming toward me. My two choices are to become Kentucky fried crusader or put my faith in god as I fall down the steep cliff, maybe to my death.

One sec...

Above, the sky is bright with electrical activity, and a very narrow pre-emptive targeting beam.

I Jump over the side of the red colored clay cliff, as behind me, a deafening blast erupts from above on the plateau with the bunkers.

Babel beeps with urgency, telling me that the GPS is malfunctioning.

No shit, I'm falling down a fucking cliffside!

A sudden stop jams me painfully in place, almost ripping out my arm. Looking up, I see that the strap from the sniper rifle saved me from a plummet to my death.

I'm stopped, but Babel still tells me I'm off course. Then I realize how fucked up it really is.

I'm not off course, Galactical Tactical is. It dawns on me, even as the massive girth of the white laser strides toward me like a glowing premonition of doom. If that beam drifts off the cliff edge, I would be vaporized like a burrito nuked in the microwave for half an hour, and there was no time to go through all the stupid protocol to shut the fucking thing off.

"Babel I.D. thirty-five. Repeat request."

"I said, shut that fucking thing off! The laser is drifting. You're about to frag one of our own!"

That was a voice I did not know.

"Cancellation code, Col.?"

"Cancellation code; Genesis."

"Copy. Running sub-routines to shut off GT systems."

I looked up to see the white laser drifting ever so slowly toward me.

"Negative Col. Code isn't responding. The crusader used a WOG (wrath of god) encoded request. Require complementary codex for WOG."

I couldn't help but smile, as the beam ever so slowly came towards me, about to go right off the cliff, and all I could think about was military beauracracy at it's finest.

"Cancellation code; Olive Branch."

"Copy. Code accepted. Have a wonderful day, Sir."

"Fuck off, paper pusher. Your carelessness almost killed one of our guys, and all you can say is "have a nice day?" Who the fuck is training you?!"

"Why, the same people who are training soldiers to kill themselves in suicidal WOG attacks." The operater replies.

Ouch. It doesn't help that only a few crusaders have the balls to call down artillery on themselves, but the few major cases are so sensationally brave,

...and recklessy stupid.

Well, in a 'I don't win, you don't win' sorta fucked up way.

I manage to get down the cliff, shoulder feeling like shit, but at least I escaped my encounter with not so friendly fire.

I wonder why I did that, such a recklessly idiotic idea.

"Wow! Fucking shit! We get our Seraphs back! I'm so sick of using outdated shit! EVERYONE! SERAPHS ARE HERE!" Exclaims a private, holding up a green carbide bull-pup configured assault rifle with a blue tinted scope and an M350 grenade launcher attachment.

Wow, that DID totally kick all ass. For the past week we had to learn to use weapons without built-in computers while in this area, where the Horzeghan army had set up hidden EMP stations that would render them useless. But now, with their defeat, it was assumed the EMP stations had either been taken down in the retreat or just destroyed by the GT laser satellite.

He was currently helping to pass them out by corresponding serial number and date of manufacture. That meant that the lower in rank you were, the older the Seraph you would recieve. But for all that, I didn't care; I loved all Seraphs like old friends.

"Private Gordon! Come get your rifle!" Yell's the private giving these out.

When I go up, I expect him to pull one of the severally scratched and battered units from the rack, but he surprised me by handing me a long cardboard box with black stenciled letters on it.

S003-335-334

This was fucking brand new!

The private catches my confusion.

"The Col. thought you could use something special."

I frown.

"Special?"

"It's a prototype for special forces. I don't know what that means, so ask the Col." The private says.

I have the weight of the thing in my arms, machine oil and steel dust wafting from inside the box. I inhale deeply in ecstacy.

Holy fuck, the Seraph WAS brand new.

"Hey soldier! You look like you died and went to heaven." A voice in front of me jokes.

"Isn't that all any crusader wishes for?" I jibe in response, looking up.

There's the Col.

I can't salute, so I just stand at attention and snap my boots smartly together.

"Sir!"

"At ease, private. You're probably wondering if a mistake was made in you getting a shiny new toy. Rest assured, it's yours. Forever. IF...you agree to go on another WOG mission deep in enemy territory. You got the balls we need to take this war to their home turf and set their tails' on fire."

"Okay, Sir. Before I agree, I want to know what I'm holding."

The Col. nods.

"Open it up soldier. You'll be able to tell right away that this isn't your typical Seraph infantry weapon."

I open the box, noticing that the design is mostly the same, but the Seraph looks like it's really pissed off with a different color scheme. The carbide steel and hardened plastic is all done in an angry violent ruby red.

Whoa. What the hell?

"That's not a Seraph. It's our secret weapon the Archeangel. The Archeangel, or hell's bane rifle has been given an S serial number to throw off spies and saboteurs. It is capable of firing twenty millimeter anti-personel air burst shells, forty millimeter grenades, and the common Seraph five point fifty-six snub nosed penetrator bullet."

Holy shit.

"It has a scope as good as any a sniper can get today. The A.I. can calculate grenade trajectory, auto-update, and offer possible tactics depending on the situation. Hell's Bane can also be set up by itself as a sentry on the built-in monopod, provided you find dirt or sand to shove it into to hold it upright."

"With such a lovely rifle, I'm almost obsolete." I muse.

"Not so, soldier. Guns can't kill guns yet."

I thought over everything he said. Interesting new toy. I would love to see how the air-burst worked. And Hell's Bane was mine forever, if I survived.

The deadliest, state-of-the-art weapon. MINE.

I smile wryly.

"Where do I sign?"

It had been several days since I had been established in Horzeghan territory as a special forces soldier. Most of the shit they tell you is obvious;

Don't go on roads, bury all your trash and shit, don't engage unless necessary, basically live like a ghost.

Some stuff isn't;

Don't smoke; Horzeghans never smoke, and if you do it, they can find you easier if you have the smell all over your uniform wherever you hide for the night. Don't take M.R.E.'s with meat products-they're all vegan, and can smell it in your shit and sweat. To get protein, just eat the damn sports bars; they don't taste so bad, and they won't get you killed.

The most obvious is not to let ANYONE see you. This place was their homeland. There were farmers and villagers as well as soldiers about. There weren't supposed to be ANY humans here. It would be awfully fucking suspicious to see a human this far in the country (and holding a huge fucking gun). Only two types of humans were in Horzeghan territories; spies, and escaped P.O.W.'s.

Well, so far I'd been lucky in regards to MSU.

How long could I expect that to last?

"Surveillance Sat Eight detects an enemy patrol coming onto our path towards the left. Recommend stopping until they get past." Replies the A.I. program of Hell's Bane.

"Copy HB (hell's bane). recommendation considered and accepted." I whisper to it, slowing to a crouch.

To most people, a guy talking to his gun might be weird, but in this case, the HB and operator counted as a two-person unit.

"Patrol passing by in five seconds. Requesting further data of more troop movement up ahead."

"Copy HB. Carry out request and give further recommendation." I say to it.

I wait ten seconds, hearing the noise of boots sliding through grass and glimmers of black uniform not twenty meters away, moving farther.

I sigh. That was pretty close. That could have been a hard shoot-out if not for the advance warning.

"Enemy APC dropping off troops one-hundred meters ahead. Troop radio communications indicative of possible counter-attack on beach. Submit report for beach command codename 'Strangle-hold?'"

If they were here, days away from the beach landing, it would take them some sufficient time to get there. It was not a priority to warn the Strangle-hold position immediately.

"Negative. File report to be sent exactly one day from now."

"Affirmative. Report will be filed at seven twenty tomorrow evening. New requests?"

"Negative. Operate on hibernation mode to conserve battery life, but keep me posted if enemies come closer again."

"Affirmative. Request accepted. Hibernation mode activating in five seconds after the clock strikes seven twenty-one."

"Copy HB. Over and out."

The rifle in my arms rumbles to life suddenly without my request. I stop immediately. Secondary request has been activated.

"Note at eight forty-six. Orbital TAC SAT forty-five has detected new activity close to our position; an enemy camp resting for the night with heavy armor in reserve behind the perimeter."

Dammit. I get myself in a prone position, looking through HB's scope which now doubles as nightvision. Before I could function on the two moons above in the night sky, but for accurate firing, spook eyes (night vision) is required.

"Can any of your ordnance disable the armored vehicles?"

"Negative. Request for air-strike with Piranha bombers?"

"Denied. If they miss, we'll be given away as the bomber liason."

"Secondary request GT vers. Thor five?"

Whoa, I never heard about this one. I guess the military had more secrets than a shiny new gun!

"General specs requested for Thor five."

"Confidential. Requires Captain rank or higher to access data."

"Does Thor five cover this range?"

"Confidential. Requires Captain rank or higher to access data."

I sigh, frustrated.

"Can Thor five kill all enemies and destroy all equipment present?"

"Affirmative. Request Thor five mega cannon strike?"

Holy shit! Did the HB just say mega cannon?!

"Fuck, yeah."

"Reformat request."

"Affirmative. Request granted."

"Sending coordinates and unlocking Babel GPS safety sub-routines now. Thor five will discharge in ten minutes. Recommend moving the minimum safe distance of five klicks away."

Five Klicks in ten minutes?! That's insane! And that meant the mega cannon was the most powerful and widest laser ever created. Galactical Tactical was Kindergarten compared to this thing!

And I was in it's fucking way, where I stood.

Then something struck me; there were no friendly fire WOG request protocols in operation.

Which meant...

Which meant nothing. I signed to be a WOG operative behind enemy territory for a reason. WOG was always the most efficient targeting coordinate system; only a two percent failure rate. The whole thing allowed for accurate tactical strikes when the designator (me) marked the target with, you guessed it, me.

"Thor five preparing in nine minutes. Minimum safe distance not reached. Current speed calculated to get you out of range in twelve minutes."

Dammit! That was too close!

"Recommend two courses of action."

"Affirmative. Recommendations?"

"Evasion tactic one; start to run. Evasion tactic two; sneak into enemy camp, steal motorcycle or ATV."

Hmmm. If they had a troop craft lightly guarded, I could fly away.

"Does the HB combat system contain a vehicle compatibility jack and piracy programs for piloting and hijacking enemy air vehicles?"

"Affirmative. Piracy jack hardware present in drive. Negative. Enemy camp contains no air-based vehicles."

I look back.

"The APC's. Can you drive one?"

If I took the APC-no, too slow, and the enemy would be dead, anyway, so they wouldn't need-or have-the APC to attack codename Stranglehold.

Besides, how do I continue a covert op in a giant armored vehicle?

I make it back to the ridge where I had first initiated the strike, now instead formulating a plan to get through the camp.

Below, they had big olive green open-air tents set up. Some were carelessly patrolling the area in a bored way with assault rifles across their chests or passively holding up a full-automatic rotary cannon that fired thirty caliber incendiary armor piercing shells that could shred a crusader in half even if he was wearing armor.

Toward the middle, a lithe Horzeghan mare in her slimmer black armor was operating the satellite dish comms of the base.

"HB. Jack the line. Tell me what that horse bitch is saying."

"Affirmative. Creating hack sub-routines to confuse anti-hack barrier."

Then it came in fuzzy at first, but I could soon hear her.

"...succeeded. Our last... to destroy...prepare shuttles...escape-invasion coming...casualties great...cannot continue...repel...last chance...over and out."

What the hell did that mean? Were we winning?

Why the hell would they start a war they could not win, when their technology was inferrior?

And what was their last chance?

A gun cocked behind me.

"A very industrious species, aren't they?"

I look back, at a man wearing the bars of a Captain.

"I see I'm not alone behind this shithole, but I never knew they'd send a Private. I'm actually surprised you made it this far."

It was too awkward to salute, as I lay prone watching the enemy camp.

"Sir. Sorry Sir."

"Call me Ed. Everyone does-and don't fucking salute me out here-you never know if a sniper hasn't revealed our position on purpose to get a nice shot at the C.O."

"Sorry."

I look at his rifle; it looks exactly like mine.

"Oh, I see you're looking at my gun. It's the Archeangel with Poltergeist mods."

"Poltergeist?"

"Just watch, stupid."

Far up in the air, several dozen tiny parachutes floated down to the ground. When they were within twenty feet of the ground, they launched tiny glowing sticks and shrieked like some sort of bug, as the sticks split off and detonate like super firecrackers.

All the noise disoriented me, making me clap hands over my head as the offensive racquet burst through my brain regardless.

"God! Oh God! Make it stop!" I scream, as behind me, the Captain merely laughs like a demon, ear-plugs visible on his head.

The Horzeghans are freaking out down below, screaming in the equine way, uselessly writhing about and rolling on the ground. They were even more sensitive to it than me.

He says something, but I can't hear him. He grabs my arm and leads me down a path to the camp, where all the Horzeghans are either knocked unconscious, or rendered disabled with terrible headaches. As we make it to the center with the satellite towards the motor pool, the Captain grabs the cringing Horzeghan female by her arm and pulls her along, saying something to her I can't hear.

We make it to the ATV's, But see something else even better. pulling the rear door open with a rough jerk, he tosses the disabled prisoner into the back, pointing at the machine gun on top. I climb up and take both massive handles in my hands.

We're stealing a Horzeghan vehicle styled after the six-wheeled strykers of the twenty-first century.

Ed drives it like a fucking pro-in the opposite direction-deeper INTO Horzeghan territory.

"How you doin' soldier?" He asks.

He cleverly chose to speak to me through the Babel interface, while my ears were still shot to hell.

"Don't ever fucking do that to me again."

He laughs, waving me carelessly off.

I look into the cab-no wonder there's such good driving!

His Archeangel has interfaced into the strykers' dashboard with a vicious strike of an electrical harpoon, now driving the autopilot itself.

This is probably the most redundant thing I've seen; a gun driving a car.

"Where the hell are we going?"

"You activated Thor five-we're going to let it chase us towards their bases and cities. We'll be fast enough to keep ahead of it, as it destroys everything right behind us."

"How the hell do you know this shit, Ed?"

"I decoded your personnal request for a mega cannon strike and used my rank to access the files. To use Thor on a base camp is a waste, when you could lead it into more destruction. I altered the protocols so that it would chase behind us. Then, while it cools down for another strike-roughly maybe a few hours-we can interrogate this Horzeghan about her transmission."

I look at the pathetic form below me, at the crippled prisoner.

"Interrogate?"

"The fucking horses are planning to use shuttles to get to their ballistic missile platform hidden in space somewhere. My purpose is to follow them to it, kill all witnesses, and turn it against them. I need her to tell me where it is, or at least where the shuttles are, so we can jack a ride up to stop them."

"Sounds good, but I want to interrogate her first. A little good cop, bad cop-don't want to throw out the easier route before getting rough."

"Don't be such a dumbass. She's a fucking HORSE! We'll kill her afterwards, anyway!"

"But she's a P.O.W.!"

"Horses can't BE P.O.W.'s" Ed declares in a hollow voice.

My shock was rising. I'd never MET a passive Horzeghan before. All the ones we fought at the beach were suicidal, justifying their destruction, and you couldn't very well ask all of them for surrender, for the one's we were going to fry-but-something about her just screamed helpless.

Mercy.

Unconditional surrender.

Unconditional hatred.

Mercy.

Death!

Die!

Fuckers!

EAT SHIT FUCKING HORSES!

Mercy...

It was less than one minute in the countdown, as we made small talk.

"Why the hell didn't YOU just call Thor five?" I ask.

"I can't. Any officer ranked higher than a LT. cannot interface with WOG GT or artillery protocols. The Generals automatically prevent us because, "good officers are hard to find, and we can't afford to lose any." And as you know, they (the enemy) have scrambler tech present all over the place, making it hard to get a target lock, unless there is a object or person as a designator."

"So you used me, because you can't use friendly-fire designator attacks by yourself."

"Yes. That's why I hijacked you in the middle of YOUR mission. With your balls and my tactical knowledge, we can hit the fucking ponies where it hurts."

"If it puts an end to all this shit, I say yeah; let's fucking do it."

Ed nods with a smile.

"Eager to get home and put this shit behind you. That's the talk of a veteran."

Below, the prisoner, with her red-tinted eye-pieces and black elongated helmet with steel spike attachment rouses. The uniform almost looks like latex, canvas, or leather, but it's all actually black painted kevlar. She has a diagonal chest band on her back with the round drums of assault rifle mags, for which gun, we had tactfully left behind. There's a re-breather tube coming out the end of her helmet, where her nose is.

She looks up to stare at me with red round glowing eyes. Eyes that glow in the dark.

That's why the enemy was so fearsome! They dressed like minions of hell!

"Where the fuck am I, you human retard?" She growls out.

Whoa shit!

Ed jams his elbow painfully into her side, making her grunt out.

"Fuck up, horse bitch." He snarls back.

She repositions herself and gives Ed a smooth kick to his helmeted head.

"Ow! Fuckin' dirty bitch! Private! Get down there, tear down her mask, and fucking mace her!"

What?!

"Sir. I don't have mace. I lost it on the beach awhile back."

I lied.

His look is studious, angry, and severe, when I see his expression reflected off the rear-view mirror.

"Don't let me down, Private. Do SOMETHING to her, GODDAMNIT!"

I hesitate. I don't want to hurt her. Besides, he started it.

"Well? Are you going to follow your masters' orders like a good doggie?" She cruelly teases.

"Or are you that rare gentleman who doesn't hit defenseless women?"

Ed hits her again.

"He's the type who does what he's fucking TOLD! Just like you should as my prisoner!"

"Is it my imagination, or did you say, "She's a fucking horse. We'll kill her, anyway...HORSES can't BE P.O.W.'s"

"Fuck! You heard that, did you?"

"Oh, yes. And apparently your subordinant doesn't want to play your game." She muses.

"He fucking better. This is WAR!"

"War? A funny term for a one-sided conflict."

"Shut up bitch!"

"Did you tell him why Earth forces are here? The REAL reason? The one only the high-ranking officers and Horzeghans know?"

"Shut the fucking fuck up!"

"Manifest destiny...you pompous little human bastards. Earth not big enough?"

"Wait, isn't it only right to claim these spoils, when your leaders (Horzeghan) started all this?"

She gave a shrill and quite cruel whinny-like laugh.

"Human. So irreversably human. From the teachings, to the mind-set! This is all-"

Something shuts her up, and it's not Ed...or me.

She looks back, her eyes filled with wonderment and fright.

I follow her stare.

Thor five is starting the discharge phase. Above, an enormous cloud of white lightning and a tiny beam forms.

Then, a roar of sound, like metal crushing times a thousand deafens my ears again, as an enormous beam crashes to earth and immediately decimates grassland and trees, turning them to blackened earth.

Thor five's beam is enormous, as big around as Rhode Island, creeping behind us absurdly like a puppy following it's master, blinding us with bright white light like staring into the sun.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" I scream in surprise.

The prisoner mouths some bad words of her own I can't hear over my yell.

"Impressive, isn't that, horse bitch? That's why we're going to win; because we're going to batter everything down in our way as your fucking leaders WATCH!"

Ed drove toward a city, down a main highway, and shouldering civilian cars out of his way.

"Coming through!"

Behind, the laser hit the outer fringe of the city, melting buildings, metal utility poles, and vaporizing panicked Horzeghan civilians wearing the non-military issue orange re-breather masks.

Why did they live on this planet, if they couldn't breathe the air?

Was their homeworld always like this?

"Why do they wear masks?"

"We dropped a DNA altering virus into the air, hoping that by making their lungs compatible with gaseous Sodium-Nitrate instead of Oxygen, they would either die off or leave the planet." Ed reasons.

"You're so full of shit, human! You did this to us-made us wear these ugly fucking things-made us struggle with breathing-just so you could kick us off our planet! Rather nice of you to give the virus a delay, too, so we'd have more time to leave. Too fucking bad our scientists figured out what the fuck you did to us, so we could mass-produce these masks for the whole population before their lungs changed completely to this absurd composition of yours, hoping we'd conveniently migrate to the gas giant nearby. Well, we shit on THOSE plans, didn't we? Now, you had no choice, but to come take the planet yourselves."

"But YOU started the WAR! You bombed the Pentagon! How did you expect us to act?!"

She begins to say something else, when Ed suddenly stops.

"Damn. They've figured us out. They fucking know we're the one's leading the laser through town. There's a fucking roadblock ahead barring our way. I'm gonna rev this thing to the fastest speed and batter our way through."

I saw the laser creeping towards us, melting the streets into tar, making parked and abandoned cars explode, flattening concrete office buidings and wooden homes to flames and ash piles.

"Any day, Sir!" I shout over the loud crinkling noises of melting and popping muffled explosions.

Thor's beam rumbles like thunder and lightning against the street; it's amazing we could hear anything!

"Switch to covert Babel comm." Ed orders.

I do so, now the prisoner won't hear our conversation, as all our words have been encoded. We can say any shit, and it would be translated through codex to what we mean.

"What's up with the D'trick (a video game platform) systems on Earth?" I ask, but really mean,

:What the fuck are you thinking?:

:That horse whore. She's manipultaing you. Don't listen to what she's saying. Who cares what we want with her world? They started all this!:

:True. Okay. Just fucking move!:

Removing himself from hidden-speak, Ed replies,

"Your wish is my command.",

Flooring it like hell, as the giant laser is rapidly approaching from half a mile away, and closing in faster than I could imagine.

As we accelerate just out of range, the laser's edge manages to clip and melt the rear fender of the stryker.

Talk about escaping by the skin of our ass!

Ed has his foot all the way to the floor, the front of the armored vehicle slamming head-on with Horzeghan police cars, viciously flinging the vehicles away, as behind, the laser incinerates the road-block and all those manning it.

More roadblocks appear ahead, slowing us significantly, but the team of Captain Ed, and his driving gun manage to get through each time, as the laser now glows a bright red.

"Fuck! We better get out of here!" Ed declares.

"What? What the hell?!" I yell back.

"The laser-it's OVERHEATED! We're gonna lose the support and have helmet pony ripping us a new asshole!"

"Oh, FUCK!"

"Okay, okay. Don't panic. We have maybe a minute more of power before it has to cool down. Where is the exit for this fucking place?!"

The Captain looks frantically about, trying to see if any of the side-streets leave the city.

"Fuck. This is no good. All the road signs are in Equus." Ed growls.

"Koo-Lum-Shek, you fucking moron. Not Equus. The signs are in Koo-Lum-Shek. I'll tell you how to get out, IF, you let me kiss your cute little Private over there."

"What?"

"What?"

Both of us say at the same time.

"Why the hell do you want to kiss a fucking human?!" Ed yells.

"I've become attached to him over our lovely adventure." She dryly muses.

"Fine bitch, but no tricks. After you get what you want, tell us how to get the fuck out of here!" Ed snarls.

"Come here, Private." She said.

I hestitate.

"Kiss the fucking horse already and get back on the gun!" Ed orders.

I climb down to the back-seat of the stryker from the hatch by the gun, crouched next to her.

Her red eyes peer curiously into my own.

How the hell is she going to kiss me? She can't remove her helmet-it would be like a gasping fish out of water.

Her chest heaves; ballooning up.

She slides her long helmet off easily with a practiced motion, revealing white fur and blue eyes. Similar to a pony's head.

She has me roughly seized in her arms, engulfing my mouth with her own.

A little of her strange gas is accidently forced into my lungs, making me gag and cough.

She shoves her tongue into my mouth, I am lulled into peace by this, doing the same, relaxing, closing my eyes.

:Wake up stupid!:

I shrug from this sluggishness, surprised by a feminine voice in my head.

:What-what the fuck?:

:The Brass (human) didn't tell you that the Horzeghans were telepathic if we were connected?:

:Is that what this is about? You wanted to talk to me?:

:No, I want to fuck-YES I want to talk, stupid!:

:Why? Why all this elaborate planning to get to me?:

:Because there are things about this war you're leadership never told you about. Don't trust what your Captain says. He's in this shit deep.:

What? Wait! That's what HE said about HER!

Suddenly to distract me and further fool Ed, she has my hand, leading it slowly along the smooth kevlar covering her ass and the slight bulge that covered her tail.

At last, she breaks off contact, and rapidly shoves her helmet back on. Now, knowing how cute she was, I was ashamed to see it all covered by the grotesqueness of her re-breather military helmet.

"How was it?" He jokes.

I inadvertantly catch an undertone from his voice; he's expecting something from me.

I knew what it might be, but how much did lower ranked officers know about Horzeghan abilities?

If he knew, and I lied, I would be in truly deep shit-marked as a traitor and maybe killed by this crazy bastard, but if I told him what she said, I would betray her confidence in me.

Oh, FUCK!!!

Who was right? Who should I trust?!

What if I hit the middle ground?

I grab her ass in both hands and give it a good and playful squeeze. she catches my hint, resting her helmeted head lovingly on my shoulder.

"She said she was in heat and emphatically horny for me."

"Huh? I didn't hear her say anything, you horse-humper!"

I break off nervously. He was baiting me-testing me, testing her, both our reactions by feighning ignorance. He wanted to see her get pissed off at me for revealing her secret.

"Sir! They're telepathic. They can speak mentally by touch or kissing!"

"Perhaps you should FUCK her to find out what else you can, you fuckin' fucking liar!"

More tests. He has to be wiry, clever! He has to be feighning ignorance and exposing me as a traitor!

Run with it-

"Maybe YOU should, you asshole. I'm telling you the TRUTH! She talked to me! She wants to fuck me! She's fucking crazy! Why won't you believe me?!"

His mouth breaks into a grin.

"Oh, I do. So animal bitch is horny, is she? And you're not interested? That's what you talked about? Are you SURE? Is that ALL you talked about?"

He goes back to driving.

Suddenly, he snakes around the chair, a knife against my throat before I can react.

"Nice fucking try, fucker!. I jacked your Babel; I KNOW what you talked about!"

What?!

"ArcheAngel, playback this Private's mental conversation!"

The gun, while driving, begins to play a recording of my voice for all to hear.

But it's not my voice. It sounds like it, but it's not.

"Why the hell do you want to kiss me?...What? You like me?...Um, okay...Wait? What?!...I make you hot?!...Fuck?!...Oh, okay, sure. Maybe we can do it when he's not looking or something."

This is supposedly what I said. Her answers were omitted, but it's pretty clear where this converation was going.

"Sneaky bastard! You were gonna hit on an animal! She's the fucking enemy, you know."

I look back at the Horzeghan, see her wink at me through the red of one eye lens.

The Captain removes his knife and has a good laugh over it.

"Private! If you want to have a pony poke, you didn't have to hide it! Shit, yeah! I'm horny myself, but I can wait till we get to base."

"Well, I kept thinking that I would rather fuck a Horzeghan than die and not fuck anything. Besides, she gave me the idea!"

"Really?"

Then Ed has the knife dangerously close to her breathing hose. With one quick slash, she could die.

"Sir! What the fuck are you doing?!" I yell, trying to throw myself in the way.

He laughs wickedly.

"You DO love her!"

I see his muscle twinge a little-he's gonna fucking do it!

I grab the blade of the knife in my hand before he can act.

"Private! What the fuck are you doing?!" He tries to get his knife back, shredding up the flesh of my hand.

I scream from the pain, as the Horzeghan mare gives him a hard mule-kick to his head with one hoof-like boot, knocking him unconscious.

Ed slumps forward, letting go of the knife.

I stare at it, at the blade still secure between my palms and fingers, at the rivers of blood dripping out in moderate red streamers.

FUCK!

The Horzeghan grabs my hand slowly, gently unfurling the fingers and looking at the sharp edge embedded in my palm.

A slight tug; slight jiggle; slight tug.

The weapon is out with a cascade of spilled red droplets flung about the air.

She proceeds to take the knife and slice up thin strips from the black clad ubholstery of her seat.

I Groan out as I try to talk.

"Wait.OW! Fuck! What about...getting out of here?"

"There's no need. I'm special operative Calen Bree, and you're both prisoners of the Horzeghan army."

"What?!"

Her bandaging is almost done.

She looks at me full on, in her fearsome, hellish helmet.

"I said you're my prisoner." She mused with a wink.

She said me, not Ed.

"Come on, we'll leave that bastard to the wolves." She orders.

"Wait."

I shoulder my weapon and go to Ed's, still stuck in the stryker's infrastructure.

"ArcheAngel disengage-your operator is dead. We need your services further."

"Negative. Babel I.D. code eight-fifty three-twenty nine-eleven is locked out of entry system."

"Fuck. Okay, let's go."

She leads me to an abandoned building which has been half-way fried by Thor.

Inside one room, where we are hiding, there are aluminum office desks with stacks of papers carelessly sorted on top with more of the strange writing like on the signs.

"Why the hell are you helping me? I thought I was your enemy."

"Enemies normally try to kill each other. You didn't try to kill me. You're not my enemy." She reasons.

"What was your message? The one you sent to your commanders?"

"I'm guessing you only heard the bits and pieces that the Captain wanted you to hear. When my comm. line was jacked, right before his special little show, it had two seperate hijack signatures. The superrior was his, doctoring what you heard, making you more pliable to his will."

"What did you say?"

"I said, "The Crusader enemy attack succeeded. Our last hope is to destroy the enemy satellites with their own missile system. Prepare shuttles and organize evacuation of cities for escape. Invasion coming through soon. Casualties great, so we cannot continue to repel the forces. Our last chance is to colonize a new world. Over and out."

Something struck me as odd.

"OUR missile system?!"

"More specifically, India's missile platform, but yes."

"What?"

"The missile that struck your planet-it was not launched by us. It was launched by India at the behest of one of the major nations."

"Why?"

"There is money to be made in war; I imagine one of the major arms companies paid India to start a war so that it would raise their profits and allow them and the other coutries to exploit our vast stores of unrefined plutonium for their space travel."

"Dammit. I hate being played. So, there's no reason for me to be here? Were the other attacks on America just complex political ways to justify swallowing another country?"

"Not at first. We've recieved reports that while Pearl Harbor and 9/11 are legit, someone got the inspiration to fuck around behind your backs after that."

"Wow."

That was a total bomb shell.

"So you're going up to the missile platform to take it over and blow up the GT platforms. What about after that?"

"We're getting the antidote to the virus at the Crusader orbiting station."

"Antidote?"

"Yes, one thing I left out, was that your leadership had the nasty plan of giving us this virus, having us move to this planet where we could breathe, and then dumping the antidote on us, which had NO time delay. As soon as it hit, we would suffocate as our lungs burned for Oxygen."

"Those sick bastards! I thought they would let you live in peace on another planet!" I protest.

"In your history I have read about the famous saying of an infamous hateful man. He said to his officers, "Who today remembers the Armenians?"

"Armenians?! Who are they?!"

"Exactly. The man who said that was an Adolf Hitler, in regards to the genocide of the Armenien population by the Turkish people and military. What he meant, was that, whoever wins the war can do any number of horrible things to others and not stand accused. The victor writes the history. Why was America not called to task and punished for dropping atomic bombs on innocent civilians? Because America was the victor. Why was Saddam not chastised for gassing the Kurds? Because he was an ally on the winning side against Iran, even if his strategy planning sucked shit."

"So...Earth is doing to you what the U.S. did to the Native Americans?"

"NO! They are trying to wipe us off the face of existence! No one will remember the Horzeghans! Soon, if we fail, someone famous decades later will say, "Who here remembers the Horzeghans?", and the younger generation of your people will be ignorant of this history, and your racist bigot elders won't remember us in too flattering a way! Greed ALWAYS begets colonization. There is no getting around this truth. It's the whole reason why your kind fought each other for Texas and California. Manifest Destiny; it's what drives all your ambitions. Why you now go to conquer space."

"What the hell do you want ME to do?"

"Fight for us. WITH us. Be our sympathetic ally."

"But that's treason!"

"What they did to get your people halfway across the universe to fight us for our planet not for "revenge", but to die so assholes in tweed suits can line their pockets with green, is that not the greatest treachery, when your governments are supposed to protect you and not EXPLOIT you?"

"Yes, but..."

"What?" She muses.

"Earth is my home, my loyalty."

"Are you going to let your people take my planet for the wrong reasons, when you have the honor in your soul not to let that happen?"

"No."

Mercy.

Unconditional hatred.

For Earth's greed.

Outside, I hear loud shots and yelling.

"Sleeping Beauty's up. Let's get the fuck out of here; he'll distract the police and MP's while we make it to my team at the shuttle bay."

At the shuttle bay, a couple days later, six or so Horzeghan soldiers are lazily leaning at attention by one of the darkly painted troop craft.

One catches sight of Calen.

"Major Bree! I see you caught yourself a human prisoner!" He announces boisterously in a stallion voice.

"No, Alkan, he's working with us."

The other troops stand at attention, staring at me in my green special forces duds curiously.

"Are you joking, Calen? The humans fucking hate us!" Comes the shrill voice of a slightly shorter mare holding a specially silenced sub-machine gun.

Calen gives an ironic laugh.

"Well, this one is just fucking us." She jokes.

They lose their composure, breaking into a laugh.

"Five seconds to launch." The pilot announces.

Calen, who is strapped in a seat across from me, asks,

"Any last thoughts?"

"It's too late to have regrets at this point." I reply.

"That's not what I asked."

"What are you asking?"

"When we take off, you'll be a different person than you are right now."

"What?"

"The experience of take-off tends to wizen people a little."

"Oh, well my last thoughts are-"

"Taking off!" Declares the pilot.

The engine thrums to life, as the troop shuttle is hoisted vertically up to face the sky-and two moons, and with orange tinted stars. I feel my seat rumble under me like the tension of a coiled snake about to attack.

The engine roars, shaking us uncontrollably like a toy rattle, even despite being strapped into seats perfectly molded to hold us fast. Looking out one window, I see a wing unfurl, and know the other side is following suit.

What I wanted to say, was that I thought that she was fantastic.

We hit the atmosphere, and slowly decelerate, rifles floating on straps, empty brass bullet casings bouncing about carelessly in the small bay.

I'd gone through space, but this was different. I'd never done it on such a small craft.

"First time on an orbital shuttle?" Muses Alkan.

"Don't give him a hard time. He might not be a Horzeghan, but he's got cahones to be up here fighting against his own people." Calen threatened.

"Relax, Sir. I'm just making small-talk."

"He's a small man. Are you sure your words are small enough?" Jokes the mare with the special forces gun.

"Please continue to talk down to me, and I'll let you know when you're low enough." I playfully retort.

The Horzeghans had a good laugh over that one. Alkan, who is seated next to me, rubs my hair in a strange sort of brotherly way.

"Heh. Calen's little friend is all right." He muses.

I learned from that instance that they could come to see you as one of the bunch if you managed to make them laugh.

"What's the mission?" I ask.

"Well..." Alkan pauses in contemplation. "We're gonna blow some shit up. How's that for a mission?" He continued.

"Sounds great. Real straight-forward specs for the rest of those retards." I retort.

Another round of laughs.

"Hey, hey. I got a good one-NATO excuse for bombing the wrong target: Headquarters dinner order for "take-out Chinese" grossly misunderstood."

"Oh, god, that's funny! Got another one?"

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step-and a lot of bitching."

"Keep going! I hope we die from laughter before we get to the fucking platform!"

I tip my head.

"Here's to hoping! Anyway-A military woman wrote, "We have women in the infantry, but they don't intentionally put us on the front lines. Why? Because they don't know if we can kill. I think we can. All the general has to do is walk over to the women and say, 'you see the enemy over there? They say you look fat in those uniforms.'"

"Heh. What else you got?"

"Okay, a soldier goes to his commander and said, 'Sir! Our enemies in the west are attacking!' The commander replies, 'We don't have any enemies in the west.' The soldier responds, 'We do, now!"

"Haha! Classic!" Alkan declares.

"What about flying?" Asks the mare pilot, getting in on the fun.

"An FNG about to take his first helicopter ride asked the crew chief why the choppers didn't have doors. The crew chief said, 'if they wanted them to be safe, they would call them Volvos.'"

Our pilot breaks into a chortling laugh, accidently yanking us a little to the left.

"Things you don't want to hear in a submarine: 'Captain, the flooding put out the fire.'"

"Shit! We're almost there! One more joke human."

"The reason why the Army, Navy, Marines, and Air Force bicker among themselves is that they don't speak the same language. For instance, take the simple phrase "secure the building." The Army will post guards around the place. The Navy will turn out the lights and lock the doors. The Marines will kill everyone inside and set up a headquarters. The Air Force will take out a five year lease with an option to buy."

Alkan laughs, rubbing my hair askew, as he rises from his seat.

"Haha. Let's go to work."

I rise from my own chair, a little clumsily. My legs feel weird and wobbly.

"If you think sex is exciting, try incoming." Alkan jeers, on one side of the slowly opening hatch.

"How is being in the Army like an orgasm? The closer you get to discharge, the better you feel."

I got the other, HB gripped in my arms and ready to be fired. The A.I. had self-destructed to deny treasonous activity, but surprisingly, the weapon still worked.

"Speaking of discharge..." Alkan raised his auto-cannon to his muscular hip, proceeding to fire a burst into a crusader welcoming committee.

One goes down, clutching his throat in the process of his death. The other four take cover around a corner, leaning out to fire at us.

"Alkan! Cover us! We're going ahead!"

The enormous draft stallion with the equally enormous gun gives a slight nod with his helmeted head.

"Go!" Then he charges to the right of the corridor, hugging close to the wall and firing short random bursts from his weapon, which light up the poorly illuminated hallway.

I'm crouched, going forward on the left. At the end, I have my back against the wall, leaning by the edge. Taking my rifle, I hold it out with one hand, firing blindly around the bend. Some bullets ricochet and spark off the walls. A few smack into the crusaders with the sickening thud of meat being punched.

"Go! Go! Go!" I order, waving a few ahead.

I cannot see what is going on-merely that the halls are flashing and echoing with random bursts of gunfire. I lean out, check the few bleeding corpses of crusaders nearby, and rush to overtake those Horzeghans who went ahead of me.

A Horzeghan is blown apart right in font of me from the direct hit of a plutonium fragmentary rail-gun.

"Holy Shit!"

Calen is right behind me, tugging my shoulder in assurance.

"You okay, love?"

"Ye-Yes. It seemed like an eternity ago when I thought that watching a Horzeghan die was a good thing." I reason.

"Dying is never a "good thing"."

Behind, the heavy-footed Alkan trudges to greet us.

"Hello, there, what's this lover's?" He teases, going past us and firing a huge rocket from his gun.

It spirals out, impacting something with a horrible wet thud, and doesn't explode.

What the fuck?

We peer around curiously, seeing that a crusader has the rocket through his abdomen, impaled even as the motor slowly fizzles out and dies.

"Holy shit, Alkan! You got a hole in one!" Calen declares at the man's confusing situation.

He just stood there, surprised, completely oblivious to everything else and pretty much okay.

"Too bad I'm TWO under par!" Alkan roars, firing another.

This rocket hits the man in the chest, making him fly off with the impact.

"Fore! I think I got a birdie!" Alkan jokes.

"I THINK you MADE a birdie!" I retort.

"Shoot him again, you might get a stroke." Calen muses

"If I hit him in the right way, HE'LL have a fucking stroke!"

Me, Calen, Alkan, and a few others have split into the one team, as the pony in the special forces split off with the smaller members of the platoon to do internal damage to the station and sow confusion.

We come across a dining area with nice scenic windows of space and rows of tables with a cat-walk overlooking the place.

"Wow, those Hindu guys sure know how to make a nice view." Alkan remarks.

"That's more than I can say for their Technical Support Services." I jeer.

High on the catwalk comes a voice.

A familiar voice.

A ghost back from the dead.

"I suppose it's to be expected. You would never have been content with playing soldier like some fucking school boy for the top brass. We are merely fighting to claim what belongs to us. The Horzeghans started the war. They deserve no pity, no mercy."

Captain Ed.

"The Earth forces were the aggressors; the Imperialist invaders. All this stuff about Horzeghans destroying the Pentagon is total bullshit." Then I raise my rifle, aiming it at him.

He laughs in response, unconcerned.

"What are you going to do? Kill me? It won't solve a GODDAMN thing. You got your new toy, but it wasn't enough, was it? No, you and your little band of FUCK-UPS had to come up here and SAVE the day!"

"Fuck-ups? I think we did rather well to get this far." Calen spat.

"Without the satellites, our attack will come to nothing, but the crusaders will be back with more forces. Even as I speak, this platform is going to blow up, your little horsie friends are being captured and killed. Don't you understand? You don't stand a FUCKING chance!"

His two body guards raise their rifles to fire as Ed runs off, locking a porthole behind him.

Alkan fires a rocket at the ceiling above them, shredding the two crusader soldiers with fiery shrapnel.

"Dammit! Did you hear what he said? The missile platform is going to self-destruct!" Calen squeals out.

"Fuck! If that happens, we won't be able to kill their satellite stations!" Alkan said.

No one wanted to say the obvious; if we lost the platform, we lost the war.

"Let's split up. Calen, take that hall to the left. Alkan, give me a boost to the catwalk and go through the right tunnel."

I position myself right under the edge. Alkan is at my side.

"Ready jester?"

I nod.

He has me by the thighs in his muscular hands, slowly lifting me up the two stories required. When I have my fingers on the rim, I pull myself up, now stepping over the smoking bodies to the locked door.

They wait anxiously below to see if I can open the hatch before heading off on their own tasks.

My HB jack would be good in this situation, if my rifle hadn't committed A.I. suicide. I spy the green carbide plastic of the regular Seraphs. Could they do it?

I aim the harpoon jack at the keypad and fire.

The Seraph combat infantry series was amazingly basic, but maybe it COULD do the job.

The keypad glows green, the hatch slides open with a screech of rarely oiled gears.

"Give him an ass-kicking for US too, human." Calen said, the two Horzeghans separating to their own tasks.

I step through.

The door shuts behind me suddenly, a gun cocking in front.

Captain Ed ambushed me.

"Drop your weapons, Private." He snarls.

I let the Seraph and HB clatter to the floor.

"Didn't I say NOT to listen to the horse bitch? But this is perfect. Working together, we can crush their last hope for victory."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I lied. Made up that lovely speech to lead you on, lead all your friends on so I could see you alone."

"Why?!"

"Don't worry, we're not going to explode."

"That's not what I asked!"

The Captain lowers his weapon, turning his back to look out the window at the three heavenly moons glistening like silver orbs outside.

If I wanted to kill him, now was the chance, but...

"Why the hell do you need me?"

"They trust you. We can use that to protect our world."

"What?!"

"Your horsie mate wasn't completely honest with you. We didn't bomb them with the virus-they created it and accidentally released it on themselves. How do you think they developed all this re-breather tech so fast? For the WHOLE fucking population?!"

"Why would they do that to themselves? That's stupid!"

"They didn't mean to. It was an accident; a fluke dispersal that scattered like wildfire from one Horzeghan to another like a cold."

"What the hell are you saying, Captain?!"

"Those things Calen described "we" had done to them; releasing a virus so that they could no longer live on their world without help from cumbersome equipment or having to move away to an ugly brown dusty world-they intended to do to us FIRST. The attack on the Pentagon was our desperate plan to justify a pre-emptive strike on their world before they could infect us with an alternate strain of the virus they had been developing-one that reverses as soon as we are on a different planet, suffocating us to death so that we could not defy their invasion of Earth."

"No, no. I can't believe that!"

Ed turns to face me, his expression firm and hard.

"I don't care WHAT you believe. Pick up your fucking guns and at least stay out of my way. I left orders with the crusader soldiers on-board not to shoot at you unless you fire first. Hell, you guys are on good terms. You could play some poker with the crusaders-just don't get in my fucking way."

Then Ed leaves me with the nonchalant aire of a general preparing his best war strategy.

Was this a joke? Did he say that I didn't have to join his side? That I only had to keep clear of the whole complicated mess between Earthen crusaders and the Horzeghan soldiers?

Would he say that to gain my trust, or did he just not care?

He could have killed me, just like that Horzeghan veteran an eternity ago. Was it mercy,

Or arrogance?

Unconditional surrender.

Unconditional hatred.

No mercy.

Not for horses, not for traitors.

Arrogance, then.

He thought he gave enough of a show to win my loyalty-if I hadn't seen the whole load of shit before.

If I had never encountered that Horzeghan veteran at the beginning of the beach invasion, I would never have questioned the motives behind merciful behaviour.

"Captain, wait!" I yell.

He comes back, a smug expression of confidence.

Confidence obliterated by a full-auto burst from my HB rifle into his face.

I walk over his body without much care.

"I don't care what you do, Ed. Just don't get in my fucking way." I spat, going on to find the side I should never have questioned.

The side of all the pretty horses.

Epilogue: Three Weeks Later.

You didn't think I'd leave all you guys hanging with an unresolved story, did you?

We succeeded in destroying the satellites, taking away the one advantage the crusaders had over the Horzeghans.

The antidote worked, allowing the Horzeghans to be free of the hideous black and orange re-breather masks which had been their inconvenient prisons.

Earth forces had been pushed back temporarily, allowing us to catch our breath and have a little piece of mind until they tried to attack once more.

I had renounced all ties and citizenship to Earth, and had been inducted into the Horzeghan military as a Lt. Col. due to my strategic knowledge of crusader tactics.

Hell's Bane was eventually restored to it's formal smart-ass A.I. self, gradually coming around to forgive the Johnny Walker I pulled on Earth. Even the A.I. had to understand that the deal the crusaders had given the Horzeghans was pretty shitty.

Alkan was reassigned to be my aide-de-camp, where even he saw the humor of it.

I never saw that Horzeghan veteran again, who spared my life so long ago, but I wish I could thank him for the new ideas awakened inside of me.

And finally, yes, I know what you're thinking; What the hell happened to cute little Calen?

To answer that, I'll take you back to the event that occurred only a week ago.

One week prior.

Because it was peace-time, requisitioning a troop shuttle for a few hours was no problem.

Trying to keep a secret from Calen, with her constant need to touch me (and therefore read my mind), proved more difficult.

"Why the hell do we need to go up? I thought all the GT destruction surveys were completed."

In the pilot seat, with her in the co-pilot's, I smile wryly and say,

"They must have missed one. They want me to check out Thor."

"Thor?! Damn! We gotta go blow up that one!"

Right outside the atmosphere of the Horzeghan home world, I ask Calen to go to the back and check the rucksacks. I look back, grinning.

This Horzeghan had such a nice ass; like two lovely rounded moons.

As she's busy looking on the luggage rack for the equipment, I activate my Babel one final time.

In a minute, something special will happen.

"I can't find them, will you come back over here?" She asks.

I smile lightly, tipping the bow of the craft slightly to the right.

"Coming."

I un-strap the seatbelt, going to the bay of the small craft.

I knew where the stuff was, and knew that she wouldn't find it, not where I had it hidden.

With a fluid ease of motion, I reach my arm above and pull down my black assault bag.

"Got it. What do you say we take a break?"

"But we just got here!" She protests.

"I need to rest. Some of my wounds are acting up. Besides, Thor isn't going anywhere."

"True." She muses.

I start to pull something from the sack, a drab olive green tarp, and lay it along the floor of the bay, using some handy clamps to keep it down.

Then I take out a small wood box painted with blue metallic paint and infused with weak magnets to keep it stuck to the floor.

I look at Calen, who is busy removing her black officer coat, revealing her B-cup breasts nice and perky right behind a thin black standard-issue t-shirt. Her long white tail floats strangely behind her in a wispy way like a ghost. Her eyes are the perfect flawless blue of glowing sapphires, her nose an adorable pink, proving she was indeed a white, and not a grey Horzeghan. Her long mane bounced about in the gravity-less void like an underwater environment, giving her the impression of a comely mermaid, or the lilting lovely nature of music itself.

Yes, Calen was music, poetry in motion.

Suddenly Calen jumps up, startled, with a jolt of surprise.

Music is playing on the speakers of the small shuttle; an old time big band begins to start.

Calen looks toward the speakers, but her eyes are stuck to the panorama outside, instead. I know what she's looking at, but I follow her gaze, anyway.

Outside the wide, enormous plexi-glass ultra of the windshield, is the sight of her curvy, mist enshrouded world, flanked by five glowing moons in various stages of eclipse, each just as vibrant and glorious as the other. Further out is the twinkling of hundreds of stars. Some are white, some are red or orange, and a few are blue-just like her eyes. All of this creates an amazing fluke; a space rainbow.

Her mouth is open in a silent O.

Then a voice begins to sing; the deep penetrating, yet elegant tenor of Frank Sinatra.

"...Fly me to the moon..."

"...Let me play among the stars..."

Calen fastens her mystified gaze on me, wondering.

"...Let me see what Spring is like on Jupiter and Mars..."

I take her white silken-furred hands in my own.

"...In other words, hold my hand..."

"...In other words, baby, kiss me..."

We lean toward each other, parting lips for a kiss, a deep desirous fascination.

Feeling the velvet of her tongue in my mouth, I could not help but sigh in bliss.

"...Fill my heart with song and let me sing forever more..."

She has her silky hands on my back, as I do the same, rubbing, caressing, loving like soul-mates.

"...You are all I long for, all I worship and adore..."

And all this felt so fantastic. We were crying, because all this romance just felt so good.

So right.

And because we could finally express how we felt, with a break in the war.

"...In other words, please be true..."

It just felt so good to hold her close, so indescribably proper it almost felt too perfect to be right.

"...In other words, I love you..."

Calen shudders in ecstasy when she hears those words spill from the speakers.

Then a long instrumental break is struck up with the band, with loud drums, trombones, horns, saxophones, and trumpets. The whole symphony just felt like a cascade of the best things in life, like the joyful stride to your step, or the reason why everything goes great.

I was passionately kissing a horse, and I didn't care!

:Horse, huh?: She remarks with her telepathy.

:Quiet Precious, you'll ruin the moment!: I tease, using a Gollum voice, making her blush and giggle a bit despite being attached by lips-and more.

"...Fill my heart with song and let me sing forever more..."

I remove one of my hands from her back, reaching into the shiny blue box at my right side, pulling out a shiny red object.

"...You are all I long for, all I worship and adore..."

As I lift it up for her to see, her eyes fasten on it, at a shiny, nice-smelling apple.

She breaks the kiss, curiously staring at it.

"...In other words, please be true..."

I hand it to her. She takes it gently.

"...In other words, in other words..."

She leans in with her muscular neck to take a bite. The apple had been cut in half, so when she did that, the top slid off and flew away, revealing,

"...I...Love..."

A hollowed out cavity where sits a gold and silver diamond-studded ring created in the popular Horzeghan style of two gold bands sandwiching a silver one.

Me and Sinatra finish up the song.

"...You..."

"You."

She takes it up hastily and grabs me in an embrace against the soft pillowy warmness of her chest.

Military jokes taken from Michael Hirsh's, "Your other left!: punch lines from the front lines."

Lyrics from ending song copyrighted property; Frank Sinatra, "Fly Me To The Moon."

Basis and some concepts/dialogue of story inspired by Guerrilla Games' and Sony Computer Entertainment Europe's "Killzone." FPS series.