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   Chapter 18 No.18

Black Sunrise By Christina Engela Characters: 5691

Updated: 2018-06-30 12:01


"Come on, men – Scramble!" The General ordered. Wilkins grumbled that he was already scrambled, and followed up with "Job well done, chaps – rah rah. "

This was followed by the sound of someone giggling hysterically in the back (predictably, Jordan). They scrambled out – as quickly as six old men could – and formed up in a loose formation at the rear hatch of the Jeepo, where the weapons were handed out. Their armament consisted of two machetes (to trim undergrowth); a pair of shovels (to dig foxholes), two flare pistols (in case someone got lost in the dark, presumably while sleepwalking or looking for a latrine) fire extinguishers (in case of accidents with said flare pistols), and one rather ancient-looking elephant-gun belonging to Wilkins, who always brought it along in case they got attacked (presumably by an elephant). There were no elephants on Deanna, the General grumbled. At this point, an elephant might be a refreshing change. A .303 hunting rifle was snatched from Wilkins grasp between the rear of the Jeepo by a passerby right before he could hand it over to Jordan. At least the recipient called out a cheerful "Thanks!" while running toward the throng as the bemused Wilkins stared after him. Jordan sniggered.

"Right. Hrrmm" Smythe rumbled, trying to keep their momentum going. "Wilkins – break out the grenades, will you, there's a good man!"

Not much chance of putting up a fight with these guys, he reckoned, unless the Ruminarii actually died laughing. General Smythe didn't think Ruminarii laughed at all.

* * *

Agent Winter moved through the mad throng with surprising agility. She managed to separate herself from them simply by not heading to the exit g

e destruction they had unleashed upon the city. They had worked their way through the terminal, knocking over the flimsy partitions at Customs & Entry, and flowed over the Duty counters like a river of venom, to spill onto the tarmac of the space port, frothing. And then, they saw them.

Marsh'k watched from the ramp, standing there like a conquering general. His small army was on its deadly way, to kill and destroy and to establish Ruminarii rule over this pathetic Terran Colony. Or to just destroy everything, piss against the Terran's flag pole, have a good gloat, and then leave – whichever looked more survivable. For now though, the spaceport was to be taken intact. The rest of the city need not be treated so gently. When all resistance had been quelled, he would set up a military government and report his success to Naval Command. Or, if there were stiff enough resistance, he would take his ship back up and obliterate the colony from orbit. Confidence warmed him from the inside. Either way, his name would be hissed with respect and envy in the Caves of Power back home. Either way, it was a very bad career move.

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