His fingers found the cold silver of the necklace around his neck, the one she had given him the day of her death. It was the only thing that gave him solace—the only thing left of her.
He sucked in a lungful of air and continued to scan the room, his eyes falling on Alexir Jahn next. He was known to his friends and fellow squad mates as Ajax. The 30 year old soldier was given his second name by his companions after he single handedly killed two Tin Cans with nothing but a knife. Named after the Greek warrior from Homer’s Iliad, Ajax had perhaps the most fitting nickname of anyone in his squad.
There was also Creo Saafi, lying in the middle of the pack. A Spaniard military refugee, he was considered the wisest of Squad 19. And while he did not have physical command of the group, he was often consulted by senior leadership about military strategy.
Squad 19 was made up of the best the TDU had to offer. If the rebellion had special forces, they were it.
Obi knew better than anyone that The Biomass Revolution would be won with flesh and bones, something the TDU lacked. The entire army consisted of around one hundred soldiers, a mere fraction of the CRK forces. And while they could always replenish their ranks from immigrants and Rohanians looking for work, they weren’t trained soldiers like the Knights. Most of the new recruits didn’t make it past their first year.
Obi groaned, trying not to let the numbers affect his judgment. He knew his life expectancy was cut in half the day he joined the rebellion, but he did so because he believed in the cause. Nothing would change that, not even if the TDU were outnumbered one hundred to one.
He looked back down at his watch. Time to check the perimeter, he thought, rising and walking to the entrance of the ancient stone windmill. He swiped his sniper rifle off the ground and glassed the darkness. The infrared scope allowed him to see any heat signatures approaching their camp, but tonight the small circular screen didn’t pick up anything but several small rodents scavenging the barren dirt ground.
He placed the rifle back down, resting it against the thick stone. Next he checked the roof to ensure no smoke was escaping from the top of the windmill for anyone to see. Satisfied, he walked back to the entrance to examine the broken door hanging loosely off its hinges.
“Go to bed,” Ajax grumbled.
His rough voice was almost soothing to Obi, comforting in the perilous world filled with danger at every turn. He watched Ajax turn over in his sleeping bag, his monstrous arms poking out from under the nylon blankets, revealing his chest plate of armor. The lightly bearded man rarely took the metal off; it was as much as part of him as the radiation scars on his arms.
Ajax scratched his receding blonde hair. “Creo already checked the place out, it’s safe, boss.”
“We’re never truly safe,” Obi shot back.
As lead scout it was his job to keep the squad out of harm’s way. “I just wanted to make sure there isn’t any smoke escaping from the roof.”
The noise awoke Nathar as he stirred in his sleep. “Guys, go to bed. Goddamn, you’re being loud,” he moaned.
Obi walked back to his sleeping pad and took his .45 out of its holster, placing it under his small pillow. It was the same gun he had let Sasa borrow the night before she died.
He stretched out his fatigued body carefully on the rocky ground, caressing the silver of the necklace before folding his hands behind his head. He was so tired from traveling that he was dizzy, but he still couldn’t sleep. He was too worried about the next few weeks of the campaign. More innocent people were going to die.
It was necessary to achieve their ultimate goals, but it was nonetheless disheartening to think of innocents being caught in the crossfire in a war that had already claimed so many lives—lives like Sasa’s. His superiors made it quite clear he should take necessary steps to ensure innocent people were not killed in the next attack. But Obi knew from past experience that when bullets started flying he had little control over their final destination.
Obi opened his eyes again and glanced over at his men who were now all fast asleep. For some reason he scanned the youthful face of Nathar again. His thick brown hair was cropped short, and his eyes were crystal blue and kind—the type you couldn’t help but trust. The combination of youthful features gave him the appearance of a teenager at first glance, which by TDU standards equated to a grown man, battle ready. It was the unfortunate fate of so many young people trapped in a never ending war. Nathar should have been in college or starting a career, but instead he was forced to fight.
I bet he misses his family.
All Obi knew was that Nathar’s family had been killed in the first part of the Biomass Wars in the last offensive of the United States Army, just months before most of the country collapsed into ashes. Nathar sought refuge at a camp in New York City, before it was leveled by a tactical nuclear weapon.
Obi knew loss wasn’t specific to Nathar. His entire squad had lost their families. They were all orphans now. Sasa had been too, like so many others, their innocence robbed from them at an early age. In an odd way Obi thought of them as his children, wanting more than anything to protect them and keep them safe. If it came down to it he would take a bullet for any one of them, but he couldn’t save them all—he couldn’t even save Sasa.
In his mind the only difference between his men and his biological son he chose to hide with a Rohanian family years ago was blood.
The thought of his estranged son filled his eyes with tears. It was a painful memory, recalling the look in his son’s eyes when he was forced to say goodbye. It was a decision he lived with every day, but he sought comfort in the reality of the situation—giving up his son had saved him from the world of constant war. And growing up without a father wasn’t as bad as not growing up at all.
Obi closed his tired eyes and massaged his temples in an attempt to relieve the pain of the past and his worries of the future. He thought once more of his duty to Tisaia and Squad 19 before he drifted off to sleep.
Time: 7:01 a.m. January 28, 2071
Location: The Wastelands
Obi’s radio blared to life, the static crackling over the fierce wind.
“Obi, this is Jackson, standby for report. Over.”
“Roger, Obi here. Standby to copy. Over.”
“Reports of a convoy of Scorpions heading your way. Over.”
“Copy that. Standby.”
Obi crawled out onto the edge of the massive bluff overlooking an abandoned highway below. He covered his mouth with his bandana and glassed the valley, watching a trail of dust follow a few black specks in the distance. They were still about two clicks from the western wall surrounding the border of Tisaia.
He discarded his binoculars and pushed a button on his goggles, zooming in to get a better look. Sure enough a convoy of CRK Scorpions was racing towards their location.
The dune buggies were covered in gmetal, equipped with .50 cal machine guns, shocks for off-roading and massive Biomass fed engines. Their most infamous trait, however, wasn’t their deadly equipment, it was the humming their engines made. Any reasonable TDU soldier knew when you heard that humming, you didn’t stand your ground; you ran, or hid.
Scorpions were one of the most effective weapons the CRK had in its arsenal against the TDU, who primarily traveled by horseback, by foot, or in a vehicle if they were fortunate enough to steal one.
“Jackson, this is Obi. We have four CRK Scorpions heading our way, waiting for your orders. Over.”