---Behind---

---Ssafazaoz’s perspective---

---[2686, Terran Calendar/27 years BF]---

Curse whatever [armchair General] thought that occupying this Sands damned planet was a good [fucking] idea!

Yes, it is relatively distant from the Terran core, easily cut off and isolated, but holding it has been a horrendous meatgrinder!

The hot suns and harsh aridity, though largely not a problem for a Sahas, have killed more occupation forces than the [guerrilla] fighters, native flora and fauna, combined!

We assumed that the local survivors of our initial attacks wouldn’t last long in the wilds with their water and calorie hungry bodies, adapted for very different environs than these, but it’s been years of occupying this planet and those managing to eek out an existence in the [bush] are still estimated to number in the tens of millions!

Then, around a year ago, the Terran military arrived to take back this hellworld!

If it were up to me, they would be welcome to it… but, as I slither up the slope to the enemy entrenchment that blocks the most easily accessible pass to the Flynn Valley for [hundreds of kilometres] in either direction, I resign myself to the fact that I am just a soldier and… mine is not to reason why…

My hands held above my head, my palms facing forward, six fingers spread skyward, four thumbs pointing sideways, I reach the two walking tanks that stand sentry at the entrance to the camp that the Terrans have built across the road.

The taller one points his firearm at me and shouts “HOLT!”

His bodylanguage requires no translation(!)

I cease my forward motion.

“Wochuu wont!?” shouts the shorter tank, her words incomprehensible.

“Ai… em… anahmt!… Ai… heff… kam tu… pahley!… Pliis… teik mi… tu… yuur… liidah!” I say, trying really hard not to flub the phrases I learned phonetically, just in case I accidentally say something that causes them to open fire on me!

The sentries share a look with eachother, though I don’t know what information they might be exchanging through those blank, orange helmets!

After a few seconds the woman produces a communicator and speaks into it “Kap’n, wiv goht wunnatha snehk piippul iirr… sez ii wonts tey ‘pahley’!”

A male voice answers “Bringhim tumi, Teylah. Ail send samwan tu riliiv yu…”

“Yesserr! Ouvurr en owt!” answers the female sentry before returning her attention to me “Olrreit, yuh gleiket dobberr, thess wii tey tha Kap’n!” gesturing with her palm tilted upward and facing her, and pulling it through the air towards her.

I choose to interpret the gesture as a beckon and resume my approach.

They don’t stop me again until I get within a few metres of them, where the short one flips her hand around to show me the palm side.

I stop and she gestures briskly from the taller one to me.

He walks towards me and performs a very thorough search for hidden weapons, even lifting my tail off the ground to frisk along its underside…

“Hiiz kliin!” announces the man.

The woman tilts her head in the direction of the camp and begins walking that way.

I glide along beside her, allowing her to guide me.

As we move, I see tents with rows of folding beds laid out inside, I see one tent in white with red emblems on it, I see crates labelled in multiple different Terran languages, I see benches and tables with unarmoured Terrans eating meals at them, I see a few Terrans idly playing instruments together.

Every single Terran stops whatever they’re doing to give me a spine chilling, hard, predatory stare, as we pass!

We approach a short scaffold tower that was clearly built from materials not found anywhere nearby and erected on site.

She leads me to the bottom of a staircase that’s about wide enough for one Terran to walk up it.

She strides up, taking the steps two at a time.

I follow but find it a little awkward to ascend with so little space to undulate my hindbody.

I eventually figure out that I can use my hands on the balustrades, pulling for a little extra propulsion, and I make it to a wide platform with a table in the middle, orange and red camo netting strung above it and a tall, bulky, dark haired Terran man, in orange and red armour, with a sword at his hip, stood with his helmet off, facing out towards the sliver of plains visible through the narrow canyon and the army of hundreds of thousands of GU military personnel camped on it.

The man turns to reveal a scarred face, one blue eye (the other covered by a patch) and a calm, close mouthed smile.

“Ah… Leftenunt… yuuv brort awur ghest.” says the man I infer to be the leader of this force, calmly.

“Yesserr, Kap’n Barrouws, Serr!” barks the woman.

The one eyed man strides up to me, extending his one thumbed hand.

I hesitate a moment but then extend mine.

He grasps it and gives it a hearty shake, up and down, letting me feel the power contained in his dense body.

He releases my hand, gestures to one of the Terran seats at the table and says “Hav uh siit, gud Ser…”

I slither over to it and, taking a moment to try and figure out how to accommodate myself onto the thing not designed for my anatomy, curl my tail onto the little platform, presenting my torso to the table and leaving a few [metres] of my tail trailing on the floor.

His bearing almost regal, the man rounds the table and takes the seat opposite me.

The woman remains standing and takes position behind him.

Unsealing her helmet, she reveals a tan, scarred face, two eyes, almost the same bright green as mine, and a head of hair, the same colour as my scales, which is so voluminous that, freed from its confines, it manages to nearly double the diameter of her head, despite being contained in a tight bun!

The man extends the palms of his hands to me, his fingers to the sides, and says “Hav yuu brort uh tranz lay tah, Ser? Ai dount suh poze yuu spiik awur langwej, du yuu?”

I don’t understand him but, from the quizzical nature of his bodylanguage and tone, I assume him to be asking me questions.

I reach for a pouch and (slowly) withdraw a translator for him.

I slide it across the table and, with practiced ease, he takes it, presses it to the side of his skull and activates it, closing his single eye for the moments it takes the shudders to subside.

“*hrnk*…I shall never get used to that!” he says, his speech register rendered like that of the High Priest of a large oasis temple.

He turns his attention to me and says “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, good Sir. My name is [Captain] Nathan 'Wellington' Burrows and I am in acting command of this battallion… since the [Lieutenant Colonel] shuffled off this mortal coil the other month… This is [Lieutenant] Esme Taylor, my right hand woman…” gesturing at the scowling, green eyed woman “…Might I ask your name, Sir?”

“I am [Sandcrosser] Ssafazaoz… second in command of the Sahas detachment in the occupation forces.” I state.

“Charmed.” smiles the one eyed man “I don’t suppose you brought a translator for my subordinate here, did you?”

“I apologise, I did not…” I say, turning my face down.

“Oh well, nothing to be done about it…” he shrugs his shoulders “…Now, Ssafazaoz… why have you come here?… I daren’t hope it was to offer your surrender, was it now(!)”

“It was not… It was to offer you safe passage to withdraw from this position…”

“Refused. If that’s all…?” he says, making to stand.

“Wait! Please, hear me out…!” I beg.

The man cocks the brow above his remaining eye and lowers himself back into his chair.

“[War King] Vlixrothju, in ultimate charge of that army out there, is willing to offer you water, deathworld food provisions, an FTL capable ship and a guarantee that you will not be fired upon as you go, if you abandon this position, leave the system and return to Terran Space, peacefully. He won’t make this offer again!”

The man puffs through a humourless smile and answers “How very gracious of old Vlixie(!) But, tell me… why exactly is he so desperate to have us dislodged from this little crag?”

I sigh “Because… this is the easiest way to move a land army through the Ngunytju Cliffs to the Flynn Valley…”

“I see…(!)” he says, feigning thoughtfulness “…And, pray tell, why exactly is the ‘war king’ so keen to move his army into the Flynn Valley(?)”

Reluctantly, I answer “…Because he wishes to retake New Canberra…”

“Ah(!) I see(!)… Now, do tell me, what exactly does he plan to do about all of the survivors of your occupation and defence forces gathered in that city?… Will he give them the same offer he’s giving us?”

“…No…”

He gestures to me with both hands and says “And there you have it!… We cannot abandon this post because I know that, in so doing, we will all but guarantee a massacre of those behind us!”

“If you refuse this offer, Vlixrothju will bombard this camp and move the army through anyway! You aren’t saving anyone by your stubbornness!”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Burrows gives a mirthless chuckle and shoots back “Oh? If it were that easy, why would he make the offer at all?”

Reticently, I remain silent.

He points his right finger to the [+100m] cliff to his left and his left to the [+100m] cliff to his right and answers for me “He hasn’t already bombarded us to oblivion because he needs this pass open! He doesn’t have enough airworthy craft to complete an aerial crossing that wouldn’t be torn apart as they landed piecemeal, he doesn’t have the time to round these mountains and he doesn’t have the equipment to quickly clear out the hundreds of tonnes of rock that would almost certainly collapse, blocking this pass, if you bombard us!… By the point you had cleared the rubble, you would be looking at a full army group meeting you on the other side… Old Vlixie knows that we’re just weeks from your capitulation and he’s desperate to win glory while he still can!”

Here, the subordinate chimes in “Tel thess fekkerr thet Ahv goht un oupen cheyurr beseid ma wii babbiiz creb ennan oupun grreiv beseid ma hazbund, Kap’n!… Ets ap tey thehm whech wun Ah gou tey!”

He gives a mirthless chuckle and relays “Lieutenant Taylor wishes to add that she has a chair besides her baby’s cot and a grave besides her husband’s, both waiting for her… She is equally ready to go to either!”

For several, long moments, I stare at the mad deathworlders, confounded.

I gesture to the flags that fly level with the platform; one of a blue field with a white, diagonal cross, one with a white field and a red, vertical cross, one of a green and white field, emblazoned with a red, winged, reptilian beast, one with a green field and a golden lyre and one showing a canine animal on a teal field.

The highest flying flag shows, not a yellow constellation on an orange field but, instead, a circle with two forest green quarters and two royal blue quarters on a black field.

“You aren’t from this planet… Why are you so willing to die for people you don’t know? For people you’ve never even met!?… Why not take the offer and go back to Earth… let this woman be with her baby?”

The man gives a crooked, sombre smile and answers “You want to know a secret, Ssafazaoz?… I’m certain you won’t believe me but… if fate were such that this battalion and that army were on your planet… I would give the same response to whatever messenger they sent to try and convince us to save ourselves at the cost of letting your city be massacred…”

“You’re right… I don’t believe you… We’re not even the same species! Why would you care!”

The man shuts his eye and shakes his head “I don’t think you would understand if I explained it… but, to put it in terms you might find easier to grasp; right now, I have the opportunity to trade my life… for dozens, maybe hundreds, in that city… Esme here never getting the chance to see her baby again allows so many mothers and fathers in that city the chance to raise their own children… It wouldn’t matter if they weren’t our species, it doesn’t matter that they aren’t family, it doesn’t matter that we’ve never met them, that most of them will never learn any of our names or faces or that this sacrifice might only be a brief footnote in the history classes those children eventually take… To us, making that choice is as natural as breathing…”

I look between the one eyed man and green eyed woman for some long moments before I rise from my seat and say “I deeply regret that this will be the last time I see you both… regardless of whether what you say about being willing to make the same sacrifice for my people as you are for your own is true… you are two of the most honourable people I have ever had the pleasure to meet… Might I ask the [Lieutenant] if her child is a girl or a boy…?”

He relays my question and then the answer “He’s a boy… his name is Victor…”

I dip my head and close my eyes to the woman as I say “I truly hope he grows up into a fine man, [Lieutenant]… and knows his mother died a hero.”

I raise my head as the [Captain] relays my well wish, just in time to see her face soften from its scowl as she answers “Hii gehts tey grou ap atoll… thahts enuff ferr mii…”

“She says; it’s enough for her that he gets to grow up at all.” communicates the [Captain].

I turn to go but the man says “Lieutenant Taylor…? Would you care to arrange a song to see out the Sandcrosser here?”

The woman’s face lights up with excitement, for all the world as if she has no idea that she’s minutes from death, as she asks “Thaht sohng?”

“Yes, that song.” smiles the man.

The woman runs to the railing and shouts down to the soldiers beneath “Kambull, Frreizurr! Gehtyurr peips!” a man and a woman scurry off somewhere before she continues “Evrriwun elss, Ah nou mousta yuz hakket bassturrds deint hav tha diisensi tey bii Skots bat Ah assoom nunayuz havuh prroblum wuth tha werrdz otha Hehvun Taut Ploumun biiun tha lahst yuz ehvurr hiirr(!)”

The two who left return, each with inflated cloth bags, extruding numerous wooden pipes, under one arm, and look up to the [Lieutenant].

“Yuz tu… gev uz Skots Wa Hei!” shouts the woman, a little maniacally.

Both of them nod, take the shortest of the upper pipes into their mouths and begin blowing, bringing both hands to the single lower pipe on their respective devices.

The noise that begins from the instruments is a great, sonorous drone but, in short order and perfect synchrony, the two begin working their fingers against their respective bottom pipes to produce an intricate, high wailing, that layers over the top.

“I’ll walk you out…” smiles the [Captain], gesturing to the stairs.

As we descend, the singing starts.

The only one I can understand is the one eyed man walking just ahead of me and still wearing his translator, which informs me that he’s switched speech register.

f♫ Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled

Scots, wham Bruce has aften led

Welcome tae your gory bed

Or tae victory!

-

Now's the day, an’ now's the hour

See the front o' battle lour

See approach proud Edward's power

Chains an’ slavery!♫f

The ranks of Terrans, singing their own dirge, close behind me as I walk through the camp, to deliver their death sentence.

I almost want them to stop me, to hold me here and keep me from the grisly task I am about to perform… even to kill me, to save themselves…

I almost want that… but I’m not as noble as them…

Not that preventing my return would do more than delay the bombardment by an hour or so, anyway!

I shake Burrows’ hand, one last time, at the gates before he detaches the translator and hands it back to me, still singing, his words now nonsense.

The pipes blaring and the Terrans singing behind me, I cross back over the battle lines to do my horrid duty…

I resolve not to look away…

I resolve to listen as those pipes are silenced by the blast of artillery…

I resolve to watch as that camp is destroyed and those cliffs inevitably get struck by stray shells and collapse, burying it in rubble, blocking the pass and making the whole bombardment pointless…

I resolve to testify when the Terrans inevitably demand Vlixrothju be put on trial for his wanton cruelty, in the imminent Peace…

I resolve never to boast of my part in this shameful War… Never to tell my future children that we had any honour in this fight… Maybe never tell them of it at all!

I think of that woman’s child… who I’m about to doom to grow up as an orphan…

I truly hope he’s alright…

---Pawel’s perspective---

---2714 Terran Calendar/1 year AF---

I see the giant man I thought was a Demon when I first met him, sat alone, leant over a table, in the Canteen, resting his head on his arms.

He looks tired and I almost decide to leave him to get his rest but, then, his head tilts upward to look at me.

“Hei Pawel… Wassup?” he says in a language I don’t speak.

Thankfully, his words play again over the nearby [speakers], translated into Mazurski Polish for me, on a very slight delay.

“I… err… could I… sit with you?” I ask, nervously.

“Sure!” he says, sitting up and gesturing to the seat opposite him.

I sit.

“I’m… sorry I thought you were a Demon… and that I ran away… and that I tried to hit you with a stick…”

He smiles and shrugs “Ain’t unreasonable for you to see something otherworldly and have difficulty trustin’ it… Runnin’ away at the first opportunity is natural and sensible when you think you’ve been kidnapped by Demons!… Attackin’ a Demon with a stick is… less sensible…(!) Borderin’ on reckless, even(!)… Recklessness is defo a character flaw… but ain’t unforgivable or nothin’!”

I nod but stay silent.

“Sooo…” he says, tilting his head “…was there something else?”

“Err… Yes… I have a question…”

“Oh, you do? What’s your question?” he says, narrowing his eyes, mirthfully.

“How… how did you get so big and… so strong?”

He puffs, looking down at the table for a moment before answering “That… ain’t a simple question to answer… My dad was quite tall and very strong… my mum was no slouch, either… ’Cordin’ to their military records, anyway… Woman that ran the orphanage I grew up in had all my nutritional needs worked out to the last gram of fibre… That definitely helped with the height… When I were about your age, I got the shit kicked out of me by some kids from school… motivated me to pick up a martial art… Found a guǎn in London, got trained up to my black sash there… The Shīfu definitely got my head screwed on right about when is and when ain’t an acceptable time to use violence… I think, if I had to break it down to one sentence, I’d say a few sprinkles of good luck with a heapin’ helpin’ of hard work is how I got this strong… Why d’you ask?”

A little embarrassed, I answer “I want to be as strong as you, one day… Do you think it’s possible?”

Instead of answering me, he asks “Why do you wanna be so strong?” his tone neutral.

“Well… um… because then I could… you know… I could stare down a charging zmora and kill it, like you did!… When people swing sticks at me, I could catch them, laugh and give them a lecture, like you did!… When anyone or anything tries to hurt me, I could fight it, the way you fight with your friends in the [gym]!”

He shrugs and asks “Why d’you wanna do all that?”

I frown at him and say “I… um… I don’t understand the question…” isn’t it obvious why I would want to do all that?!

He smiles “Let me try a different question then; why’d you swing that stick at me?”

So he hasn’t forgiven me!

“Because I thought you were a Demon!” I sulk.

“OK… but you could’ve run… why didn’t you?”

I unfold my arms, thinking for a moment, before I answer “Because my mama was with you… I thought you might hurt her…”

“Good… now, why did you come into the council room with us and Witold?”

“Because… because he’s old?… Was old, at least!” I answer, uncertainly.

“And him bein’ old meant?” he smiles.

“He was… frail?”

“And…?” he says, rotating his hand at the wrist for me to keep going.

“And… wouldn’t be able to protect himself from you… if you had been Demony…”

“GOOD!” beams the giant man, clapping his hands together “Now… given that you weren’t able to hit just me, when you swung that stick, would you have been able to do anything against all six of us if we’d bared our fangs, grown our horns, sprouted our wings (or whatever it is Demons have in your culture) and tried to hurt him?”

“…No… I wouldn’t…”

“Alright… so, I ask again; why do you want to be strong?”

I think hard about whatever point it is he’s trying to make, before answering “To… protect people?”

“There we go!… That’s a good reason!… Some people wanna be muscly for vanity… nothin’ wrong with that… Some people wanna get strong for health or just for utility… good, fair motivations! But, then, there’s some that wanna get strong so they can push people around, some that just like bein’ able to do violence!… These are pretty shitty reasons if I’m honest… not that they don’t work… just that bein’ the kinda guy that only likes to hit the irons ’cause he gets a kick outta throwin’ his weight around or hurtin’ people makes you kinda a shitty person!… I almost turned into one of ’em… Yeah, sure, I’d’ve said it was ‘self defence’ but really, there was a part of me that was daydreamin’ ’bout those kids comin’ at me again and gettin’ to kick the shit out of them… while lookin’ super stylish doin’ it!… Shīfu Níng straightened me out… taught me the lesson I’m passin’ on to you, now… We may fight, but we do it out of hatred for violence, not love of it… We may seek strength but we seek it to be a shield, not a sword… We may even kill… but, when we do, it isn’t an indulgence, we feel no glee but nor should we regret it… because, before making that decision, we should know that the harm we’re doin’ is more than offset by the harm we’re sparin’… Never find yourself in a position of havin’ done somethin’ that can’t be undone, that you regret!”

“OK…” I frown “…so, I have a reason… how does that help?”

He laughs “A reason is the most important bit!!!… You not remember me mentionin’ the hard work?! A reason to be strong is what you’re gonna need to see you through all that! A reason, and a damn compellin’ one, is what you need for all those moments where you don’t feel like carryin’ on goin’! Whenever you train, ‘there’re people I gotta protect’ has to be what keeps you goin’!… Now, ’course, not everyone can be or needs to be as strong as me so, when you’re old enough to work out properly (if you start too young you will pull your bones outta shape!), don’t feel bad if you find it ain’t for you!… Also, remember to look after yourself too! Self care ain’t selfish, it’s necessary!… Can’t help no one if you're keelin’ over!… That’s about all I’ve got for the practical, moral and philosophical advice(!)… You want a more hands-on, ‘how to’ guide to gettin’ strong, you might try talkin’ to Thran… Lot of her strength comes from a genetic condition but she reckons about half is from her trainin’… She’s very minutia focused so she’ll have insights I don’t… I took a lotta her advice before I ever even met her, just from her interviews an’ stuff… Most important thing though, whatever you do in the name of gettin’ strong… never forget why!… You want to be strong to protect the people behind you!”

I think about that for a while “To protect the people behind me… I like how that sounds.”