humantales (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
humantales) wrote2010-08-06 11:12 pm
humantales) wrote2010-08-06 11:12 pm
Entry tags:
The Mortal Years (3 of 6)
Title: The Mortal Years
Author:humantales
Fandom(s): Torchwood/Doctor Who
Genre: and Pairings (if applicable): Gen with het, slash & multiples
Characters: Jack Harkness
Rating: PG-13
Betas:quean_of_swords and Goofy
Spoilers: Through Children of Earth and Flesh and Stone
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Jack wasn't always immortal. Jack's life from the invasion until he meets Rose Tyler.
3. Soldier
Their first post was on the opposite side on the Ukanan systems. There was a group of three planets that had been fighting the invaders since the beginning; they were starting to make progress and the powers-that-be had decided it would be good to take the planets back. Their group, along with seven others, was placed under the command of a Captain Drewson. She was short, but wide and muscled, and one even shade of brown all over. She'd even had all of her hair inhibited. She explained the mission briefly. "We go in and kill any of the invaders we find. Then we go looking for the ones that are hiding. When we're done, we declare victory. Questions?"
One of the OITs asked, "Why don't we just bomb them instead of fighting them on the ground? We'll lose even more people this way."
"The people living there would like something left when we're done," Drewson said in a tone that said she thought that was obvious. "In a strike like that, we can't target only the invaders; we'll kill as many of the locals as we will of the invaders. More even. No, we do this the hard way."
And hard it was. After landing, Khael's group was given the assignment of clearing the invaders from a housing area. Although Khael's group had lots of cover, so did the invaders. They would start with a building, climb to the top, and search each floor for invaders. Khael personally thought they could have just bombed the buildings they were clearing; not only was no one living there any longer, but the buildings were in disrepair and looked ready to fall down. They'd cleared three buildings and were about a third of the way through the fourth when they found the first nest of invaders.
Ever since his home had been destroyed, Khael had wondered what the creatures looked like. Even in the training camp, no one would, or could, describe them. They were generally humanoid, but they wore full armour at all times. If they died, or were taken captive, the suits would explode, frequently killing one or more of the defenders. They wouldn't discuss terms, they wouldn't even communicate; they just destroyed. Their motives were unknown.
He still didn't have an answer. Even here, even dug in and waiting to fight it out building by building, floor by floor, room by room, the invaders were still all in their armour. Khael's group couldn't just go in and start shooting; the invaders were ready and waiting for them. The fire fight didn't last very long. There'd been only three of the invaders, but they killed six of Khael's group before they died.
Four months later, they almost had the first planet completely cleared out. There was one valley, on the smallest of four continents, which they hadn't been able to clear out. The planet's leaders had refused to allow them to bomb it since it was the also the centre of their religion. The invaders clearly understood this; they had been careful not to destroy the cavern and surrounding forest that was the equivalent of the main temple. Finally, the military came up with a plan that they thought had some hope of succeeding.
"Everyone who goes in will be volunteers," Drewson said, her face drawn. "The main body will go in here," she pointed to a secondary, little known entrance, "while a small group goes in this way," she continued, pointing to the main entrance to the valley. "Their job is to be a distraction, to pull all attention to themselves and to move the hostiles away from the hidden entrance. People, this is a suicide mission. I won't say it's impossible to survive it, but it'll be a shooting miracle if you do. I don't want any of you to say anything now. If you're willing to volunteer for it, write your names on a slip and leave it in this box. I'll draw the number I need in the morning." She looked at the soldiers in front of her.
It didn't matter to Khael that it was a suicide mission; if one planet could be cleared of these monsters, then maybe they all could. He went directly to the box to leave his name. The rest of the evening, he spent with Jamin, the knowledge that he'd never touch his best friend again making everything feel so much better, mean so much more. He fell asleep early, which was
rare, and slept the night through with no nightmares, which was even rarer.
In the morning, the entire squadron stood before Drewson, ready to receive their orders. First she drew the two dozen names that would comprise the distraction force. Khael's name was first; Jamin's was last. Khael was forced to stay quiet while Drewson gave the main group their orders and turned to the distraction force. "We couldn't do this without you," she said, her face grim. "Your sacrifice will be remembered." Then she showed them the route they would be taking.
It was the main entrance to the valley. Since it was a sacred site, there was a direct road right into the valley. It had once been well-cared for; even now, there was little damage to it. There was a river on one side that was almost impassable for water traffic. The other side was mostly open, with occasional stands of trees. There was little cover for the last mile into the valley and none once they entered.
Khael stared at the pics she produced from before the invaders; it was beautiful, but there was no way they would survive. He didn't care anymore; there was no way of finding Gray and nothing else that he could find that made living better than dying. But Jamin, Jamin with his lovely face and beautiful voice and kind hands; Jamin who could create beauty out of nothing. Jamin wasn't a soldier, not really. Jamin didn't belong there.
While they waited for their transport, Khael grabbed Jamin. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "You're supposed to live."
"I'm doing what I always do," Jamin said, his voice tired but his face resolute. "Keeping you alive."
"What?" Khael had pulled Jamin out of so many near-deaths he couldn't count them anymore. Khael was the soldier, not Jamin; it had been pure selfishness for Khael to talk him into coming along. If he had to do it over again, Khael would have left Jamin behind.
Jamin shook his head. "You'd have given up and died a long time ago if you didn't have me to protect. If you hadn't been so stupid to put your name straight in, I was going to drug you so you couldn't. Since I couldn't do that, I'm going with you. It's the only way to keep you from throwing yourself straight at Death."
Having nothing to say, Khael just stared. Finally, he blinked to keep his eyes dry. He wouldn't allow his friend's sacrifice to mean nothing. "I don't deserve you," he finally said.
"Yeah, but I'm used to your ugly face, so I plan on keeping it around," Jamin said with a grin.
The transport was supposed to get them as close to the entrance as it could before it was stopped. They thought they might get to within a mile before they were forced to abandon it and walk. Instead, they got nearly to the entrance before a roadblock stopped them. They carefully left the vehicle and began examining the area.
"We're still not finding anything," Bren said, checking his handheld scanner again. "It doesn't make sense; the valley's easy to defend as long as you protect the entrance. Why aren't they?" No one could answer the question, so they went forward.
There was no cover; they were walking in the open. Khael's neck prickled; it felt like there were a million eyes on him, but none of the scanners showed anything. They walked to the entrance and formed a circle around Bren while he scanned again. "Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "There's a group at the other end of the valley, but no one here."
It was a trap. They all knew it; it was why they were all volunteers. Still, even knowing that, they began to walk carefully into the valley.
As soon as the last soldier was all the way into the valley, there was a large "BOOM!" and it felt like Khael's ears popped. Bren moved his scanner and read. "Force field," he said, his voice choked. Then the invaders began to appear everywhere. "And holograms," Bren continued as he exchanged his scanner for his weapon. "Good ones, that disguise all energy displays. It's been good to know you." He started firing at the nearest of the invaders.
The rest of the group was already shooting, trying to stop their attackers, get to cover, and take up as much time and attention as they could. Khael felt a shot hit his left shin and went down; he kept shooting, keeping as close to the ground as he could, trying to inch his way to cover. After a few minutes, Khael gave up on even trying to get to cover; he concentrated on killing as many of the invaders as he could. No matter how many he saw go down, there seemed to be more behind them. He saw one group split off and head to the direction he knew that the main group would be emerging from; they were too far for him to effectively aim at from his position on the ground, so he concentrated on killing as many as he could. He had no idea how long the fight continued, his vision was darkening so quickly that it couldn't be night falling. Finally, there was only the darkness.
Khael woke on a hard bed. Clearly they were in the field somewhere where there weren't any beds. He opened his eyes, groaning. Then he wished he'd stayed quiet; he was in a cell. He stayed as still as he could, trying to move only his eyes as he looked around.
The cell wasn't large, but it wasn't as horrible as his imagination had painted. Just a small room with one side open, probably a force field since he didn't see anything else keeping a prisoner in, and a hole, presumably for waste. He swallowed and tried not to move.
"Don't bother," Jamin's voice came from behind him.
Khael sat up quickly and turned to look. The movement had been a mistake; his head and leg ached, his vision was swimming and he felt like he was going to vomit. "What do you mean?"
"We're the only two who survived," Jamin said, "but the mission was a success. We've been transported somewhere."
"Can't be on the planet," Khael said, looking around. "We'd know. This doesn't look like a ship. So..."
Jamin shrugged. "One of the other planets would be my guess." Someone started screaming. It went on for a long time. "Yeah," Jamin said, after a minute, "been hearing a lot of that. Don't know what they're looking for, but they're determined to find it.
Khael swallowed. Dying was one thing; torture... To distract himself, he tried kissing Jamin.
Jamin shook his head. "Not here. They pass by and look; I don't want to be doing that here." He shivered. "Just, no."
In the end, they played stupid children's games to keep from thinking about the screams they could hear. Khael had no idea how long they were in the cell. They weren't fed or given any liquid, and they were both getting terribly hungry and thirsty. There was no change in lighting; it was always bright. Khael's leg hurt more and more; he tried to stand, but it wouldn't take any weight. It was turning black; Khael knew that, if something wasn't done, infection or something would kill him. Khael tried to get Jamin to keep moving, keep exercising, but Jamin just shrugged. "What good will it do me?"
They'd slept twice when four invaders came to their cell. Khael could feel the difference when the force field was brought down, but some kind of weapon was pointed at him and he found he couldn't move. Two of them picked up Jamin and took him to the left; two others picked up Khael and did the same. They strapped him to a table. He couldn't move and he was terrified, but he was determined not to show it. Then one of them pointed the weapon at him and he found he could move.
As Khael struggled, trying to get free of the restraints, to kill the bastards, he could hear Jamin's voice yelling curses. After a minute, Khael grinned, wishing he would be able to repeat Jamin's very creative cursing; it was a shame to lose it to death. "You know," he said, thinking they were going to torture him anyway, "that cursing my friend is giving you and yours? It's the best, most creative, wonderful cursing I've ever heard. That's sheer poetry and you're too stupid to get it."
One of the invaders came up to him and put a hand on Khael's damaged leg. Gritting his teeth, Khael did his best to grin and say, "Y'know, someone should really be taking this down for history. I'd do it if I thought you'd let me go." The invader pressed harder and Khael had to shut his eyes and breathe deeply. He wouldn't scream; he had to be strong for Jamin. The invader leaned all of his weight on Khael's leg and he bit his lips and held his breath to prevent the scream that wanted to come out. A minute later, the pain grew great enough for him to pass out; as he listened to his screams, he was ashamed of himself for giving in.
When Khael came to again, he was in a different room, every bit as bare and white as the previous one had been. There were two differences. First, he was gagged, and not with a physical gag. He wasn't sure what had been done to him, but he couldn't make any noise. That was even scarier than just being hurt.
The other difference was that there was a second table in this room with Jamin strapped on it. Khael's table was tilted so he could see Jamin, but he could tell that Jamin couldn't see him. Jamin's warm brown eyes were moving restlessly, but it was clear he couldn't see anything. Khael suspected it was deliberate, a psychological torture instead of a physical one. In fact, he couldn't feel his leg at all, although he could see it. But he was too far away to reach out and touch Jamin and he couldn't even talk to him to give his friend comfort. And without his sight, Jamin couldn't even see Khael, to know that he was still alive.
And then they started truly torturing Jamin. In part, they were trying to get information from him: what the plans were, where they thought the invaders were, who they thought the invaders were. To the extent that Khael could think logically, a lot of the questions didn't make sense. It was hard to think straight, though, just as it was hard to see through his tears. The fact that Jamin, or Khael, didn't know many answers made it even worse.
In addition to the physical, they were also insulting Jamin, saying that they were questioning him because they'd determined that Khael would die before he'd break, while they knew Jamin would break easily.
They were wrong about the last part. Khael watched as they cut, shocked, punched and did other things that Khael tried very hard not to think about. Jamin screamed, begged them to stop, but he didn't answer their questions for a long, long time and, even then, the answers weren't always right.
It seemed to go on forever. Eventually, Jamin fell silent, and nothing the invaders did would bring him back. As Khael tried to bring himself under some kind of control, knowing he was next, one of the invaders came over to him and said, "We never keep them." Then, he sprayed something in Khael's face, and he passed out again.
When Khael woke up, he was lying face down on barren ground. His leg was on fire, to the point that, under normal circumstances, he wouldn't be able to think of anything else. However, Jamin was lying beside him. It must have been some time since the invaders had killed him, because Khael could smell the decomposition. He tried to get up, but could barely move. Instead, he started vomiting and was barely able to move enough to keep from choking on it. He hadn't felt this useless even when he'd lost Gray. He closed his eyes and let himself lose consciousness, honestly believing it would be better if he died.
* * *
The next time Khael woke up, he was on one of the beds in a ship's infirmary. As he tried to sit up, an unfamiliar medic came over to help him sit up.
"Where am I?" Khael asked.
"You're on the Endeavour," the medic said.
"I'm assigned to the Intrepid," Khael said, confused. They tried not to move soldiers around too much, unless they were invalided out. He didn't even remember a ship called the Endeavour. "Where are we then?"
"All I know is we've been putting you back together," the medic said. "Should think that's more important than where you are. You're going to recover, by the way, thanks to your brilliant medic." He scowled. "You don't need to thank me or anything."
Khael hoped he kept his wince from showing, but annoying your medic was always a bad thing. He gave the man his best smile. "Sorry, I suppose I was just confused; the infirmary was so pretty it confused me. I feel a lot better than I would have expected to," which was true. "You gave me the good drugs?"
That got him an eye roll and a reluctant chuckle. "Bringing you off of them, actually. You almost lost your leg; what were you doing?"
"Fighting," Khael said and sighed. "Can I get news or anything?"
The medic looked at his pad and appeared to consider. Finally, he shook his head. "Sorry, orders are you're to be kept quiet until you've been debriefed. I can tell them you're up to it now." He walked away but came back a few minutes later with some chips. "Here, you can read these if you want." He then went over what Khael was and wasn't allowed to do. The first list was pretty short: lie quietly in bed and get better.
"Thanks; I appreciate it." Khael put the first in the reader and concentrated on not sighing audibly and went through all of them. They were all romance novels, the worst, trashiest kind of romance novels. But it was them, or boredom, so Khael read them.
Although he was supposed to sleep as much as he could, to hurry the healing along, Khael found himself restless and unable to sleep. All he could think of was Jamin and how he died. He wished he could talk with the other members of his group, they at least knew Jamin, but the medic confirmed that none of them were on board the ship. Something about his expression made Khael nervous; he wouldn't say anything else, but Khael thought he knew more about their fates than he was saying.
It was another several shifts before an officer came down to debrief. Archbishop Louis was in charge of all of the Church's military action in this sector; Khael would have shot up to stand at attention--except his medic was also in the room and glaring at him. Although the Church technically wasn't involved in the fighting, they gave the frontier militias supplies and training, and anything else they could without Earth and the major systems noticing. The Archbishop caught the interplay and smile. "Son," he said to the medic, "could you give me some time alone with this soldier? I promise not to let him get out of bed or do anything else he shouldn't."
The medic scowled, but nodded. "Let me know when you're done, sir," he said and left, closing the door behind him.
The archbishop turned to Khael and smiled. He was a tall man, of fit build, with pale skin, dark hair and a moustache. He was held in such high esteem that half of the soldiers, at least the ones who could, had grown moustaches of their own. "All right, it's Private Horton, isn't that right?" When Khael had nodded, the archbishop took out a padd and set it next to Khael's head; Khael could see the "Record" icon flashing. "I want you to tell me exactly what happened, in your own words. Exactly what happened. It doesn't matter what; I give you my word that you won't suffer any reprisals, but we have to know."
Unnerved by the hint that something had gone badly enough for reprisals, Khael described exactly what had happened. When he started to describe what had happened to Jamin, though, he found himself unable to talk for the tears. He tried to stop them, tears didn't do anything, but he couldn't stop them.
After a couple of minutes, the Archbishop handed him a square of cloth. Khael looked at him, puzzled. "Handkerchief, to wipe away whatever needs to be wiped away. I'm in no rush; you just take your time."
Khael held onto the handkerchief, but didn't really use it. He managed to get the rest of the story out between sobs. The archbishop, true to his word, sat quietly, looking sympathetic and not at all impatient. When Khael finally finished, he looked up. "Will it help us?"
For several minutes, the archbishop just sat, apparently deep in thought. "Who are we fighting?"
"The invaders?" Khael answered. Normally he wouldn't have questioned it, but something in the archbishop's manner made him feel uncertain.
However, the archbishop just nodded. "And who are they?"
With a shudder, Khael said, "The worst creatures imaginable. And in those suits, it's even worse--" The last word trailed off. "They're using us against ourselves."
He'd impressed the archbishop. "Very good. What's a smart kid like you doing in the army? You belong in school, and don't give me anything about being of age; I know better."
Khael shrugged. "They killed my father, my little brother's missing because I fucked up, my mother hates me and they destroyed my home. Where else should I be?" He carefully kept his anger at the idiocy of the question from showing; this was the archbishop, not one of his fellow soldiers.
All the archbishop did was sigh. "I just meant that you'd be better off using that brain to help us fight instead of acting as cannon fodder."
"Someone needs to do it," Khael said. "Better it be someone with nothing left to lose."
"There's always something left to lose, young man." The archbishop stood. "I don't know if you realize it, but the fighting group you'd been assigned to was all killed in that idiocy of a plan. They released you as psychological warfare, but they didn't expect you to survive; that leg wound was a lot worse than I think you realize. Still, your survival is working against them, and we need every weapon we can use. So, we're using you. Do you have a problem with that?"
Khael shook his head, sitting up straighter. "No, sir! What do you need me to do?"
With a smile, the archbishop said, "Can you fly a ship?"
Khael shrugged. He knew the theory, but he'd never had the chance to actually fly one.
"Then that's the first thing," the archbishop said. "Everybody loves a flyboy, especially one coming up the ranks the way you are. Now, if anyone asks how old you are," here he sighed. "Well, tell them what's on your records. Otherwise, just be honest and try to stay out of trouble."
"I am, really, sir," Khael said. "I never used to get into trouble, except--" For dumping Gray instead of watching him. "I'll do my best," he said, swallowing hard. "I swear."
The other man leaned forward and rested his hand on Khael's head. "I have no doubt you are, and have always been, a man of honour." He stood and left.
Khael spent almost a month in the infirmary. Whatever they'd done to his leg meant that it got infected if you looked at it funny and, once they finally stopped the infections, he had to learn to walk all over again. It wasn't really that bad, but Khael was used to being active--sitting around in bed all day was his personal idea of Hell.
It didn't take long for Khael to figure out how the archbishop was using him to increase morale. Even though no one on the ship knew him, he had visitors almost constantly, except when the medic kicked them out. Most of the soldiers on the ship were in the Church, and they were used to the area around Earth, where they were mostly there to keep anything from happening. The brutality that the Clerics, the Church's military, were facing out here wasn't anything they'd ever expected. In addition, intel was coming in that suggested the invaders were going to make a play for Earth and the worlds surrounding it. The thought of that brutality invading their peaceful homes had most of the soldiers wondering if they'd be able to stop them, if they'd have the courage to keep fighting, but it had at least meant that the Church was allowed to join the fight. Khael, from a notoriously peaceful community, but still willing and able to fight and protect those that were left, was comforting.
When he was finally allowed to leave the infirmary, he found his new quarters were right off the flight deck and that his new assignment was to become a fighter pilot. Khael had always thought physics had come easily to him, but flying, this was magnificent. His first solo flight was supposed to be a training flight, but a squadron of invaders were identified just a system over and Khael was sent with the rest of the squadron.
At first, the other, more experienced pilots were keeping him away from the fighting, but things got hot very quickly. It wasn't very long before Khael found himself deep in the middle of the fighting. For a fire fight, it lasted a long time; it was almost two hours before Khael found himself scanning an empty region for more of the invaders.
"Khael," Cleric Ralph, his immediate superior, said as Khael continued to scan for the enemy, "stand down."
"What?" Khael asked, confused, still scanning. "I'm all right, really; I can keep going."
"I know," the cleric's voice was gentle, "but we got them all. You did good; now stand down."
Khael spent the next four years as a fighter pilot, on the front lines of the fighting. Whenever he could, Khael took the most dangerous assignments, protecting the rest of the squadron as much as he could, but he didn't have to see the invaders face-to-face again.
The end of the war came as abruptly as it had begun. One minute, the invaders were fighting desperately to protect themselves and their people; the next moment, they had given up. All of their ships self-destructed and no more arrived.
4. Cadet
Author:
humantalesFandom(s): Torchwood/Doctor Who
Genre: and Pairings (if applicable): Gen with het, slash & multiples
Characters: Jack Harkness
Rating: PG-13
Betas:
quean_of_swords and GoofySpoilers: Through Children of Earth and Flesh and Stone
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Jack wasn't always immortal. Jack's life from the invasion until he meets Rose Tyler.
3. Soldier
Their first post was on the opposite side on the Ukanan systems. There was a group of three planets that had been fighting the invaders since the beginning; they were starting to make progress and the powers-that-be had decided it would be good to take the planets back. Their group, along with seven others, was placed under the command of a Captain Drewson. She was short, but wide and muscled, and one even shade of brown all over. She'd even had all of her hair inhibited. She explained the mission briefly. "We go in and kill any of the invaders we find. Then we go looking for the ones that are hiding. When we're done, we declare victory. Questions?"
One of the OITs asked, "Why don't we just bomb them instead of fighting them on the ground? We'll lose even more people this way."
"The people living there would like something left when we're done," Drewson said in a tone that said she thought that was obvious. "In a strike like that, we can't target only the invaders; we'll kill as many of the locals as we will of the invaders. More even. No, we do this the hard way."
And hard it was. After landing, Khael's group was given the assignment of clearing the invaders from a housing area. Although Khael's group had lots of cover, so did the invaders. They would start with a building, climb to the top, and search each floor for invaders. Khael personally thought they could have just bombed the buildings they were clearing; not only was no one living there any longer, but the buildings were in disrepair and looked ready to fall down. They'd cleared three buildings and were about a third of the way through the fourth when they found the first nest of invaders.
Ever since his home had been destroyed, Khael had wondered what the creatures looked like. Even in the training camp, no one would, or could, describe them. They were generally humanoid, but they wore full armour at all times. If they died, or were taken captive, the suits would explode, frequently killing one or more of the defenders. They wouldn't discuss terms, they wouldn't even communicate; they just destroyed. Their motives were unknown.
He still didn't have an answer. Even here, even dug in and waiting to fight it out building by building, floor by floor, room by room, the invaders were still all in their armour. Khael's group couldn't just go in and start shooting; the invaders were ready and waiting for them. The fire fight didn't last very long. There'd been only three of the invaders, but they killed six of Khael's group before they died.
Four months later, they almost had the first planet completely cleared out. There was one valley, on the smallest of four continents, which they hadn't been able to clear out. The planet's leaders had refused to allow them to bomb it since it was the also the centre of their religion. The invaders clearly understood this; they had been careful not to destroy the cavern and surrounding forest that was the equivalent of the main temple. Finally, the military came up with a plan that they thought had some hope of succeeding.
"Everyone who goes in will be volunteers," Drewson said, her face drawn. "The main body will go in here," she pointed to a secondary, little known entrance, "while a small group goes in this way," she continued, pointing to the main entrance to the valley. "Their job is to be a distraction, to pull all attention to themselves and to move the hostiles away from the hidden entrance. People, this is a suicide mission. I won't say it's impossible to survive it, but it'll be a shooting miracle if you do. I don't want any of you to say anything now. If you're willing to volunteer for it, write your names on a slip and leave it in this box. I'll draw the number I need in the morning." She looked at the soldiers in front of her.
It didn't matter to Khael that it was a suicide mission; if one planet could be cleared of these monsters, then maybe they all could. He went directly to the box to leave his name. The rest of the evening, he spent with Jamin, the knowledge that he'd never touch his best friend again making everything feel so much better, mean so much more. He fell asleep early, which was
rare, and slept the night through with no nightmares, which was even rarer.
In the morning, the entire squadron stood before Drewson, ready to receive their orders. First she drew the two dozen names that would comprise the distraction force. Khael's name was first; Jamin's was last. Khael was forced to stay quiet while Drewson gave the main group their orders and turned to the distraction force. "We couldn't do this without you," she said, her face grim. "Your sacrifice will be remembered." Then she showed them the route they would be taking.
It was the main entrance to the valley. Since it was a sacred site, there was a direct road right into the valley. It had once been well-cared for; even now, there was little damage to it. There was a river on one side that was almost impassable for water traffic. The other side was mostly open, with occasional stands of trees. There was little cover for the last mile into the valley and none once they entered.
Khael stared at the pics she produced from before the invaders; it was beautiful, but there was no way they would survive. He didn't care anymore; there was no way of finding Gray and nothing else that he could find that made living better than dying. But Jamin, Jamin with his lovely face and beautiful voice and kind hands; Jamin who could create beauty out of nothing. Jamin wasn't a soldier, not really. Jamin didn't belong there.
While they waited for their transport, Khael grabbed Jamin. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "You're supposed to live."
"I'm doing what I always do," Jamin said, his voice tired but his face resolute. "Keeping you alive."
"What?" Khael had pulled Jamin out of so many near-deaths he couldn't count them anymore. Khael was the soldier, not Jamin; it had been pure selfishness for Khael to talk him into coming along. If he had to do it over again, Khael would have left Jamin behind.
Jamin shook his head. "You'd have given up and died a long time ago if you didn't have me to protect. If you hadn't been so stupid to put your name straight in, I was going to drug you so you couldn't. Since I couldn't do that, I'm going with you. It's the only way to keep you from throwing yourself straight at Death."
Having nothing to say, Khael just stared. Finally, he blinked to keep his eyes dry. He wouldn't allow his friend's sacrifice to mean nothing. "I don't deserve you," he finally said.
"Yeah, but I'm used to your ugly face, so I plan on keeping it around," Jamin said with a grin.
The transport was supposed to get them as close to the entrance as it could before it was stopped. They thought they might get to within a mile before they were forced to abandon it and walk. Instead, they got nearly to the entrance before a roadblock stopped them. They carefully left the vehicle and began examining the area.
"We're still not finding anything," Bren said, checking his handheld scanner again. "It doesn't make sense; the valley's easy to defend as long as you protect the entrance. Why aren't they?" No one could answer the question, so they went forward.
There was no cover; they were walking in the open. Khael's neck prickled; it felt like there were a million eyes on him, but none of the scanners showed anything. They walked to the entrance and formed a circle around Bren while he scanned again. "Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "There's a group at the other end of the valley, but no one here."
It was a trap. They all knew it; it was why they were all volunteers. Still, even knowing that, they began to walk carefully into the valley.
As soon as the last soldier was all the way into the valley, there was a large "BOOM!" and it felt like Khael's ears popped. Bren moved his scanner and read. "Force field," he said, his voice choked. Then the invaders began to appear everywhere. "And holograms," Bren continued as he exchanged his scanner for his weapon. "Good ones, that disguise all energy displays. It's been good to know you." He started firing at the nearest of the invaders.
The rest of the group was already shooting, trying to stop their attackers, get to cover, and take up as much time and attention as they could. Khael felt a shot hit his left shin and went down; he kept shooting, keeping as close to the ground as he could, trying to inch his way to cover. After a few minutes, Khael gave up on even trying to get to cover; he concentrated on killing as many of the invaders as he could. No matter how many he saw go down, there seemed to be more behind them. He saw one group split off and head to the direction he knew that the main group would be emerging from; they were too far for him to effectively aim at from his position on the ground, so he concentrated on killing as many as he could. He had no idea how long the fight continued, his vision was darkening so quickly that it couldn't be night falling. Finally, there was only the darkness.
Khael woke on a hard bed. Clearly they were in the field somewhere where there weren't any beds. He opened his eyes, groaning. Then he wished he'd stayed quiet; he was in a cell. He stayed as still as he could, trying to move only his eyes as he looked around.
The cell wasn't large, but it wasn't as horrible as his imagination had painted. Just a small room with one side open, probably a force field since he didn't see anything else keeping a prisoner in, and a hole, presumably for waste. He swallowed and tried not to move.
"Don't bother," Jamin's voice came from behind him.
Khael sat up quickly and turned to look. The movement had been a mistake; his head and leg ached, his vision was swimming and he felt like he was going to vomit. "What do you mean?"
"We're the only two who survived," Jamin said, "but the mission was a success. We've been transported somewhere."
"Can't be on the planet," Khael said, looking around. "We'd know. This doesn't look like a ship. So..."
Jamin shrugged. "One of the other planets would be my guess." Someone started screaming. It went on for a long time. "Yeah," Jamin said, after a minute, "been hearing a lot of that. Don't know what they're looking for, but they're determined to find it.
Khael swallowed. Dying was one thing; torture... To distract himself, he tried kissing Jamin.
Jamin shook his head. "Not here. They pass by and look; I don't want to be doing that here." He shivered. "Just, no."
In the end, they played stupid children's games to keep from thinking about the screams they could hear. Khael had no idea how long they were in the cell. They weren't fed or given any liquid, and they were both getting terribly hungry and thirsty. There was no change in lighting; it was always bright. Khael's leg hurt more and more; he tried to stand, but it wouldn't take any weight. It was turning black; Khael knew that, if something wasn't done, infection or something would kill him. Khael tried to get Jamin to keep moving, keep exercising, but Jamin just shrugged. "What good will it do me?"
They'd slept twice when four invaders came to their cell. Khael could feel the difference when the force field was brought down, but some kind of weapon was pointed at him and he found he couldn't move. Two of them picked up Jamin and took him to the left; two others picked up Khael and did the same. They strapped him to a table. He couldn't move and he was terrified, but he was determined not to show it. Then one of them pointed the weapon at him and he found he could move.
As Khael struggled, trying to get free of the restraints, to kill the bastards, he could hear Jamin's voice yelling curses. After a minute, Khael grinned, wishing he would be able to repeat Jamin's very creative cursing; it was a shame to lose it to death. "You know," he said, thinking they were going to torture him anyway, "that cursing my friend is giving you and yours? It's the best, most creative, wonderful cursing I've ever heard. That's sheer poetry and you're too stupid to get it."
One of the invaders came up to him and put a hand on Khael's damaged leg. Gritting his teeth, Khael did his best to grin and say, "Y'know, someone should really be taking this down for history. I'd do it if I thought you'd let me go." The invader pressed harder and Khael had to shut his eyes and breathe deeply. He wouldn't scream; he had to be strong for Jamin. The invader leaned all of his weight on Khael's leg and he bit his lips and held his breath to prevent the scream that wanted to come out. A minute later, the pain grew great enough for him to pass out; as he listened to his screams, he was ashamed of himself for giving in.
When Khael came to again, he was in a different room, every bit as bare and white as the previous one had been. There were two differences. First, he was gagged, and not with a physical gag. He wasn't sure what had been done to him, but he couldn't make any noise. That was even scarier than just being hurt.
The other difference was that there was a second table in this room with Jamin strapped on it. Khael's table was tilted so he could see Jamin, but he could tell that Jamin couldn't see him. Jamin's warm brown eyes were moving restlessly, but it was clear he couldn't see anything. Khael suspected it was deliberate, a psychological torture instead of a physical one. In fact, he couldn't feel his leg at all, although he could see it. But he was too far away to reach out and touch Jamin and he couldn't even talk to him to give his friend comfort. And without his sight, Jamin couldn't even see Khael, to know that he was still alive.
And then they started truly torturing Jamin. In part, they were trying to get information from him: what the plans were, where they thought the invaders were, who they thought the invaders were. To the extent that Khael could think logically, a lot of the questions didn't make sense. It was hard to think straight, though, just as it was hard to see through his tears. The fact that Jamin, or Khael, didn't know many answers made it even worse.
In addition to the physical, they were also insulting Jamin, saying that they were questioning him because they'd determined that Khael would die before he'd break, while they knew Jamin would break easily.
They were wrong about the last part. Khael watched as they cut, shocked, punched and did other things that Khael tried very hard not to think about. Jamin screamed, begged them to stop, but he didn't answer their questions for a long, long time and, even then, the answers weren't always right.
It seemed to go on forever. Eventually, Jamin fell silent, and nothing the invaders did would bring him back. As Khael tried to bring himself under some kind of control, knowing he was next, one of the invaders came over to him and said, "We never keep them." Then, he sprayed something in Khael's face, and he passed out again.
When Khael woke up, he was lying face down on barren ground. His leg was on fire, to the point that, under normal circumstances, he wouldn't be able to think of anything else. However, Jamin was lying beside him. It must have been some time since the invaders had killed him, because Khael could smell the decomposition. He tried to get up, but could barely move. Instead, he started vomiting and was barely able to move enough to keep from choking on it. He hadn't felt this useless even when he'd lost Gray. He closed his eyes and let himself lose consciousness, honestly believing it would be better if he died.
The next time Khael woke up, he was on one of the beds in a ship's infirmary. As he tried to sit up, an unfamiliar medic came over to help him sit up.
"Where am I?" Khael asked.
"You're on the Endeavour," the medic said.
"I'm assigned to the Intrepid," Khael said, confused. They tried not to move soldiers around too much, unless they were invalided out. He didn't even remember a ship called the Endeavour. "Where are we then?"
"All I know is we've been putting you back together," the medic said. "Should think that's more important than where you are. You're going to recover, by the way, thanks to your brilliant medic." He scowled. "You don't need to thank me or anything."
Khael hoped he kept his wince from showing, but annoying your medic was always a bad thing. He gave the man his best smile. "Sorry, I suppose I was just confused; the infirmary was so pretty it confused me. I feel a lot better than I would have expected to," which was true. "You gave me the good drugs?"
That got him an eye roll and a reluctant chuckle. "Bringing you off of them, actually. You almost lost your leg; what were you doing?"
"Fighting," Khael said and sighed. "Can I get news or anything?"
The medic looked at his pad and appeared to consider. Finally, he shook his head. "Sorry, orders are you're to be kept quiet until you've been debriefed. I can tell them you're up to it now." He walked away but came back a few minutes later with some chips. "Here, you can read these if you want." He then went over what Khael was and wasn't allowed to do. The first list was pretty short: lie quietly in bed and get better.
"Thanks; I appreciate it." Khael put the first in the reader and concentrated on not sighing audibly and went through all of them. They were all romance novels, the worst, trashiest kind of romance novels. But it was them, or boredom, so Khael read them.
Although he was supposed to sleep as much as he could, to hurry the healing along, Khael found himself restless and unable to sleep. All he could think of was Jamin and how he died. He wished he could talk with the other members of his group, they at least knew Jamin, but the medic confirmed that none of them were on board the ship. Something about his expression made Khael nervous; he wouldn't say anything else, but Khael thought he knew more about their fates than he was saying.
It was another several shifts before an officer came down to debrief. Archbishop Louis was in charge of all of the Church's military action in this sector; Khael would have shot up to stand at attention--except his medic was also in the room and glaring at him. Although the Church technically wasn't involved in the fighting, they gave the frontier militias supplies and training, and anything else they could without Earth and the major systems noticing. The Archbishop caught the interplay and smile. "Son," he said to the medic, "could you give me some time alone with this soldier? I promise not to let him get out of bed or do anything else he shouldn't."
The medic scowled, but nodded. "Let me know when you're done, sir," he said and left, closing the door behind him.
The archbishop turned to Khael and smiled. He was a tall man, of fit build, with pale skin, dark hair and a moustache. He was held in such high esteem that half of the soldiers, at least the ones who could, had grown moustaches of their own. "All right, it's Private Horton, isn't that right?" When Khael had nodded, the archbishop took out a padd and set it next to Khael's head; Khael could see the "Record" icon flashing. "I want you to tell me exactly what happened, in your own words. Exactly what happened. It doesn't matter what; I give you my word that you won't suffer any reprisals, but we have to know."
Unnerved by the hint that something had gone badly enough for reprisals, Khael described exactly what had happened. When he started to describe what had happened to Jamin, though, he found himself unable to talk for the tears. He tried to stop them, tears didn't do anything, but he couldn't stop them.
After a couple of minutes, the Archbishop handed him a square of cloth. Khael looked at him, puzzled. "Handkerchief, to wipe away whatever needs to be wiped away. I'm in no rush; you just take your time."
Khael held onto the handkerchief, but didn't really use it. He managed to get the rest of the story out between sobs. The archbishop, true to his word, sat quietly, looking sympathetic and not at all impatient. When Khael finally finished, he looked up. "Will it help us?"
For several minutes, the archbishop just sat, apparently deep in thought. "Who are we fighting?"
"The invaders?" Khael answered. Normally he wouldn't have questioned it, but something in the archbishop's manner made him feel uncertain.
However, the archbishop just nodded. "And who are they?"
With a shudder, Khael said, "The worst creatures imaginable. And in those suits, it's even worse--" The last word trailed off. "They're using us against ourselves."
He'd impressed the archbishop. "Very good. What's a smart kid like you doing in the army? You belong in school, and don't give me anything about being of age; I know better."
Khael shrugged. "They killed my father, my little brother's missing because I fucked up, my mother hates me and they destroyed my home. Where else should I be?" He carefully kept his anger at the idiocy of the question from showing; this was the archbishop, not one of his fellow soldiers.
All the archbishop did was sigh. "I just meant that you'd be better off using that brain to help us fight instead of acting as cannon fodder."
"Someone needs to do it," Khael said. "Better it be someone with nothing left to lose."
"There's always something left to lose, young man." The archbishop stood. "I don't know if you realize it, but the fighting group you'd been assigned to was all killed in that idiocy of a plan. They released you as psychological warfare, but they didn't expect you to survive; that leg wound was a lot worse than I think you realize. Still, your survival is working against them, and we need every weapon we can use. So, we're using you. Do you have a problem with that?"
Khael shook his head, sitting up straighter. "No, sir! What do you need me to do?"
With a smile, the archbishop said, "Can you fly a ship?"
Khael shrugged. He knew the theory, but he'd never had the chance to actually fly one.
"Then that's the first thing," the archbishop said. "Everybody loves a flyboy, especially one coming up the ranks the way you are. Now, if anyone asks how old you are," here he sighed. "Well, tell them what's on your records. Otherwise, just be honest and try to stay out of trouble."
"I am, really, sir," Khael said. "I never used to get into trouble, except--" For dumping Gray instead of watching him. "I'll do my best," he said, swallowing hard. "I swear."
The other man leaned forward and rested his hand on Khael's head. "I have no doubt you are, and have always been, a man of honour." He stood and left.
Khael spent almost a month in the infirmary. Whatever they'd done to his leg meant that it got infected if you looked at it funny and, once they finally stopped the infections, he had to learn to walk all over again. It wasn't really that bad, but Khael was used to being active--sitting around in bed all day was his personal idea of Hell.
It didn't take long for Khael to figure out how the archbishop was using him to increase morale. Even though no one on the ship knew him, he had visitors almost constantly, except when the medic kicked them out. Most of the soldiers on the ship were in the Church, and they were used to the area around Earth, where they were mostly there to keep anything from happening. The brutality that the Clerics, the Church's military, were facing out here wasn't anything they'd ever expected. In addition, intel was coming in that suggested the invaders were going to make a play for Earth and the worlds surrounding it. The thought of that brutality invading their peaceful homes had most of the soldiers wondering if they'd be able to stop them, if they'd have the courage to keep fighting, but it had at least meant that the Church was allowed to join the fight. Khael, from a notoriously peaceful community, but still willing and able to fight and protect those that were left, was comforting.
When he was finally allowed to leave the infirmary, he found his new quarters were right off the flight deck and that his new assignment was to become a fighter pilot. Khael had always thought physics had come easily to him, but flying, this was magnificent. His first solo flight was supposed to be a training flight, but a squadron of invaders were identified just a system over and Khael was sent with the rest of the squadron.
At first, the other, more experienced pilots were keeping him away from the fighting, but things got hot very quickly. It wasn't very long before Khael found himself deep in the middle of the fighting. For a fire fight, it lasted a long time; it was almost two hours before Khael found himself scanning an empty region for more of the invaders.
"Khael," Cleric Ralph, his immediate superior, said as Khael continued to scan for the enemy, "stand down."
"What?" Khael asked, confused, still scanning. "I'm all right, really; I can keep going."
"I know," the cleric's voice was gentle, "but we got them all. You did good; now stand down."
Khael spent the next four years as a fighter pilot, on the front lines of the fighting. Whenever he could, Khael took the most dangerous assignments, protecting the rest of the squadron as much as he could, but he didn't have to see the invaders face-to-face again.
The end of the war came as abruptly as it had begun. One minute, the invaders were fighting desperately to protect themselves and their people; the next moment, they had given up. All of their ships self-destructed and no more arrived.
4. Cadet