“There is a thin line between courage and madness.”
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-Vortalan Dasos Tol’Dar
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Dolasar, Gorutan system
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274, 2462
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“Five minutes until arrival, sir,” the Vulture pilot said.
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“Danke,” the uniformed man said as he glanced over the information he was given on his datapad.
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An unusual case, he thought to himself. Normally someone in his position wouldn’t bother with the hearing of aliens. Allies or not, the Terran Union held no obligation to meddle in the affairs of extraterrestrial armies. But the nature of this particular incident intrigued the high command nonetheless.
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Soon enough, the Vulture had arrived at its destination, Observation post G-13. They would still need to wait until the decompressed landing chamber returns to livable conditions. Once they exited the aircraft, the uniformed man was greeted by a ranked TUGF officer and a small entourage of guards and scribes.
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“Colonel Edward Kendrick, 1st Regiment of the 217th Tiberian Marines Brigade,” the man in the front said in a firm tone.
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The iconic green and brown uniform made the Tiberians stand out from the rest and the colonel’s medals told a more obvious story than his aging face and gray hair.
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“Commissar Hans Becker, 11th Special Investigations Corp.”
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“A pleasure to meet you. The holding block is this way, follow me.”
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Hans and Edward both walked down the surprisingly short corridors. Observation post G-13 was never meant to be a large structure in itself as its primary function was to act as an intelligence hub for the Terran Union in regards to the Gorutan system. But not-so-recent events have forced it to adapt and take on a multitude of different roles. One of which was to hold prisoners for interrogation. This prisoner, however, was very different.
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“Ironak Kizma!” the colonel called out, “The commissar has arrived.”
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Hans stiffened at the sight of the alien. She was a Zerenthian, of that there was no doubt. Standing at least half a head taller than an average human and being broader they were always an intimidating sight for most people. And this was a woman. Though Hans has met Zerenthians before, they never ceased to unnerve him at least slightly.
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“Commissar Hans Becker,” he introduced himself and extended his gloved hand.
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“Ironak Kizma Nazgus,” she said in a low voice as she bowed and then shook his hand, “I presume you know why you are here.”
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“While I acknowledge the unorthodox nature of this investigation, I fail to see why I should be a part of this. One of your soldiers is in that room. He is the Conglomerate’s concern, not of the Terran Union.”
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Kizma let out a heavy sigh and looked through the reinforced window on the door, “He is a drakun.”
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“Chieftan,” Edward said.
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“Yes. A young but great warrior. He passed the Rites of Ascendancy and became the champion of the seventh iron circle. He is one of my most trusted brothers. And yet there he sits. As if some unnatural force severed him from his courage.”
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“What happened?” Hans asked.
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“That is what we must find out. All he told me was that the humans need to know.”
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“Where and when was his last deployment?”
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“Goruta, twenty-one days ago,” Edward said, “He and his circle were sent to reinforce the 31st Mortis Brigade and aid them in capturing a hill near the Tarnala Plains. After the battle, he flew back here and demanded to speak to someone from the commissariat.”
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“Why?”
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“Hell if I know. He wouldn’t tell us shit.”
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“Alright. Kizma, you’re with me. Colonel, stay here, It would be better if there aren’t too many people inside.”
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Edward nodded and stood by the door as Hans and Kizma went inside. Upon entering the room, the commissar saw the large Zerenthian sitting at the table. His usually blocky facial features were now more gaunt. His eyes were dull and sunken and the area around them was dark. When he looked at Hans, they trailed across his black and orange uniform as if they were looking for something.
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"Drakun Vargan Euvar," Kizma said abruptly, "This is Commissar Hans Becker of the Terran Union Commissariat. You requested him."
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Vargan slowly looked up and nodded, "Y-Yes. I did."
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"Why?" Hans asked as he sat down and turned on his datapad, "According to this, you've already submitted a full report to your commanding officers as well as the present Zerenthian elder."
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"Not everything was said. Not truly. What I saw on that hill was…"
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Hans turned on his recorder, "If you have information related to the enemy that we aren't aware of you must contact-"
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"It wasn't the enemy!" Vargan shouted, his outburst causing the commissar to flinch.
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"Control your heart, drakun," Kizma said in a commanding tone, "Remember the scrolls."
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Vargan breathed deeply, his fists and jaw shaking. Closing his eyes and regaining his composure, he leaned back into his chair.
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"The well is plentiful but one must not drown in its depths," he said.
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Hans wasn't sure what those words meant nor was he concerned with them. Straightening up, he fixed his coat and took his cap off, revealing his short and well-kept hair.
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"If not the Gorutans, then who?"
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"The ones you call Mortis."
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The commissar cocked his head, "The Mortis contingent which took part in the invasion? What did they do?"
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Vargan stared blankly into Hans' eyes, "Many things. But I will tell you about the hill. About the massacre. About the red eyes."
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— — — — —
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The Iron Hammer
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Space above Goruta
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253, 2462
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I thought it would be the chance of a lifetime. To prove my worth as a drakun. A warrior. A leader. My mace would carry the courage of the seventh iron circle. The elders would bless me and grant me the title of Iron Champion.
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That was what I thought.
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"Look alive, Vargan," Ironak Kizma told me, "The Terrans are almost here."
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The Terrans. I've heard of them. Small and often fragile. Yet powerful and vast. The Elders often spoke of our brief war with them and how such a thing must never be allowed to happen again.
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Now we were allies, supporting each other whenever possible against common enemies. As far as the Binegan Conglomerate was concerned, the Terrans and their union were our brothers in arms.
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Soon after the seventh iron circle was organized in the landing bay, the first iron circle appeared, led by none other than Staraxis Kelgor Torrik. His aging yet still imposing and impressive figure straightened us more than we thought possible. He walked triumphantly, like a warrior returning from a battlefield.
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"Kizma!" he shouted with girthy joy, which surprised several warriors around me.
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"Staraxis Kelgor," Kizma said and stepped out.
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Rumor was that they were related but no one knew in what way. An uncle? An older cousin? I couldn't tell.
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"How are you?" he asked.
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"Well. I'm ready for battle."
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"Yes, I see. Many new faces. Are you ready for your greatest trial?!"
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We roared and yelled. Raw courage and flaming rage rushed out from our lungs. Pride swelled in our hearts as our voices drowned the engines and machines around us. It was glorious. Kelgor raised his hands to silence us.
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"I was there. Nearly forty cycles ago. When we first fought the Terrans. I was like you. Young. Hungry. Ambitious. I took one look at them and told myself they were nothing. They were weak cowards who hid behind their guns and warships. But make no mistake. They fought us with fury as fiery as the stars. One of our warriors is worth ten theirs on the battlefield but not a hundred. And especially not their legions. I saw my brothers and sisters ripped to pieces by their guns. I've seen them crushed under their machines. I've seen them drowned in bodies and blood. And I thank the ancestors that I'm still alive."
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We listened to his words in awe. To have such a champion in our presence was more than enough but this… Words cannot explain the passion and humility we felt in that moment.
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“No victor emerged from that battle. But a brotherhood was forged. Ever since that day, when the Psionarchs peered into their minds and the Diplorans sealed the peace, we fought side by side against the filth of this galaxy! The Xurug hordes, the Insectoid hives, the Bae’Kloren trickery, we purged them all! Yet they persist in the cold depths of the void. I promise you, brothers and sisters, we will hunt them all down to the very last!”
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Another cheer rushed out of our lungs but this one was silenced far quicker than the last.
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“Today, however, we face a different foe. One not guided by greed or rage but by distrust. One cycle ago, the Terrans made peace with the Han’Nul Commonwealth. Thirteen species from thirteen planets were meant to agree to an alliance. One refused. The Gorutans not only spat at the Terrans’ generosity and goodwill, but they also murdered their people and destroyed their ships. Thousands of lives were taken away by fearful cowards.”
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This made us furious. It has always been said that the greatest wars are those without battles. Peace is an endeavor far more straining. The Terrans still chose that path. An act seen by many as cowardly, including the Gorutans. But not us.
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“Every attempt to parley was denied they even dared to attack one of our outposts. This was not ignored. Out there in the orbit of Goruta, the Terran fleet prepares for the invasion. Over seven hundred thousand troops have gathered for the first wave. When their officers arrive, we shall greet them and discuss the strategy for the attack. Once that is finished, we begin.”
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As if on cue, a Terran vessel entered the landing bay. It was sleek and not very large though it sported a hefty amount of armaments. It turned to its side and landed near us. When the doors opened, a dozen Terran soldiers exited in an orderly fashion and separated into three groups of four. Three more men exited and stood in front of them. It was my first time seeing the Terrans up close and the descriptions we were given were quite accurate. They weren’t very large, at least not all of them, and possessed no unique features. Apart from one whose face no one could see because of his mask.
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“Welcome, brothers, to the Iron Hammer!” Kelgor exclaimed, “I am Staraxis Kelgor Torrik, chieftain of the First Iron Circle and high commander of the iron circles assembled in this fleet.”
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“General Leonardo Santos, commanding officer of the Second Terran Army,” the stocky man in the black and orange uniform said.
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“General Louis Fitzgerald, commanding officer of the Fourth Tiberian Army,” the largest man in green and brown fatigues said.
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“General Leon Katz, first Mortis Army,” the masked man said. Was he a man? A woman? I couldn’t tell. But the way he spoke, not to mention looked in his dark grey coat and pale white mask, made my skin crawl.
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The rest of the meeting was, for lack of a better term, boring. We discussed the possible ways of attack and what to do first. An orbital bombardment of key military strongholds was the first suggestion but it wouldn’t yield much. Goruta was a strange planet. While the atmosphere was tolerable, almost half of its surface was covered in swamps and the other half was either water or hollow rock. Eventually, a plan was formulated. The Terran orbital assault and support platforms would destroy the major defenses. After that, the Tiberian Marines will assault the swamps, the Terran Troopers will invade the cities and populated zones while the Mortis forces will attack the underground strongholds. Ten iron circles were to be deployed alongside each assault force.
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You could call it arrogance if you want, I didn’t care what we were fighting. Nothing could stand in the way of an entire army of the Terran Union and a thousand Zerinthian warriors. But there was a feeling that I simply could not shake. I had faced the beasts of Zerenthia and climbed up the iron tower. Nothing ever fazed me. But those Terrans. Those Mortis. They were different. Every time I looked into their masked faces, I felt nauseous.
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The bombardment lasted for five hours. The Terrans liked to be thorough and didn’t want any unnecessary stragglers. It made our descent unto the planet’s surface almost uncontested. The seventh circle was attached to the Mortis army. Not something I found enjoyable, to say the least. Down on the surface, they worked in complete silence, not even paying attention to us. I, along with a few of my brothers, went to ask them if they needed our assistance. They barely spoke to us. Efficient and quick, as they were, it felt unnatural being beside them.
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“Let’s go!” Ironax Kizma ordered and we marched through the Tarnala Plains with light tanks, which the Terrans called Devil Dogs, as our vanguard, “These plains lead to the Tarnala Hills where the entrances to their underground strongholds are. We will have to move quickly.”
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Once again, our advance remained uncontested. I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Though the air was quite humid, it did little more than irritate my nostrils. Most of my kin wore protective helmets but I preferred to feel my battlefield with every one of my senses. The plains were vast and mostly flat with short grass covering the earth. Looking closer, I saw several tree stumps. Some were old, others looked freshly cut. Were they keeping the plains treeless on purpose? I wasn’t sure why my mind was occupied with such thoughts. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t felt the thrill of battle in a long time.
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That was about to change.
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Two of the Devil Dogs exploded, their canopies bursting into pieces. Another was struck with a projectile into its side and split in half. Several armored carriers were also either destroyed or crippled. Even a few of our Armadillos were taken out. Finally.
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“Ambush!” I shouted from the top of my lungs and grabbed my tower shield and heavy hand cannon.
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The Gorutans burst out of the ground in small groups and opened fire, killing and wounding the exposed Mortis soldiers. I noticed that one of their holes was directly below me so I stomped down and crushed them. My brothers blew and ripped the toads to pieces. Mortis soldiers fired back, killing them with surprising precision. The enemies that were too close were beaten with maces or stabbed with knives. The remaining armored vehicles and tanks fired back, blowing any enemy they could find. Carnage was all around us but I kept going forward. My hand cannon blew the Gorutans’ heads off, my shields split them in half as they tried to crawl away. I would stomp them out of their holes one by one until they were all gone.
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In the distance, not too far from us, I saw a dozen Gorutans hastily assembling what looked like a cannon. A platoon of Mortis soldiers saw the same thing and we all rushed toward them. They fired their guns at us but couldn’t pierce my shield. Some of the Terrans were hit but kept running as if the pain meant nothing to them. One of the Gorutans fired a heavy load of plasma at me, scorching my shield and pushing me back. Another shot vaporized three Mortis soldiers but the others kept running. Soon, they reached the hole and descended upon the enemies, shooting them and beating them to death. I saw one of the Mortis soldiers get shot six times in the torso but still manage to push a Gorutan to the ground and gouge his eyes out. I wasted no time in destroying the weapon they tried to build.
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When I turned around, the fighting had stopped. The Gorutans were all but dead or retreating. The stragglers were killed and the corpses were thrown back into the holes. One of the things that had me curious was the shells near the cannons. They were quite large, too large to be fired out of a hand-held weapon and partially made of dense glass. Inside was a brown liquid, which bubbled when I shook the shell. Probably a toxin, I thought.
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“We continue!” a Mortis officer shouted.
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The dead were left where they were, only their dog tags were brought back. It looked like the Mortis didn’t care much for their dead. I don’t know if they could even see the difference between each other.
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Soon, we came to a suitable distance from the hills and the Storm Casters opened fire. Self-propelled artillery, they called it. A weapon that can decimate a foe from a field away. If there were any doubts left from Staraxis Kelgor’s speech in my mind, they were gone. It looked like the sky itself was raining down explosives.
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We continued our advance to the foot of the hills as they fired. We split into several groups. I took four iron circles with me and followed the 2nd regiment. Some feared we might get shot ourselves if we got too close but no such misfortune. When we got close enough, the Storm Casters ceased. We could see the rubble and corpses sprawled on all sides when the smoke settled. Whatever defenses the Gorutans had up there were now gone. All that remained was the entrance. Tanks and armored vehicles went up first but only a few.
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“Third Hammer, Fourth Hammer, march!” I ordered and forty of our warriors stomped forward in the wall formation.
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“Sixth, seventh, eight company, forward!” the Mortis colonel ordered and the soldiers marched.
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Over seven hundred Terrans marched up the hill. For a while, they went uncontested. But that soon changed. Gorutans popped out of their holes again only this time they wore protective suits. Before anyone could retaliate, explosions rang all across the hill and a giant thick brown cloud filled everyone’s vision. Men started falling and even Zerenthian warriors had trouble standing on their feet. Their protective helmets only protected them from the worst effects. The Mortis soldiers suffered more, however. Their masks couldn't protect them and they began collapsing on the ground, screaming and bleeding all over.
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"Hold your positions! We cannot go there!" I shouted as I watched the men fall on the hill.
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I decided to finally put my helmet on. Its visor allowed me to see through the toxic cloud. Gorutans walked out of cover in delight, shooting every Zerenthian and Terran they could find. Many didn't waste ammunition, opting to use their knives instead. It was a disgusting slaughter. My blood boiled with rage as I saw my brothers get butchered one by one.
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Yet the most horrific sight was about to come. One of the Mortis soldiers raised his rifle and fired, killing two Gorutans. Another jolted forward and stabbed a Gorutan in the chest. More and more of the Mortis continued to fight. They limped. They crawled. They went on all fours like animals. But they kept going forward.
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"Companies two through five, affix bayonets!" the colonel ordered and the men obeyed, "Charge!"
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"Are you mad?!" I shouted in disbelief as his soldiers ran up the hill, inhaling the toxins as they climbed.
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The carnage continued as the insane and sickly men of Mortis shot and stabbed the Gorutans. The enemy began running back but my brothers stopped them, the resilience of the Terrans lifting them like an aura.
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I froze. Why? Why did I freeze? How did I freeze? I wasn't made to freeze? Yet these men. These… monsters, they kept fighting. A primal rage replaced their and my brothers' minds. I saw a Zerenthian crush a Gorutan's head with his bare hands. Another bit a Gorutan's throat off and threw him at his allies.
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The Mortis were worse. One of the soldiers grabbed a Gorutan, pinned him to the ground, and vomited a mass of thick, bloody sludge that melted the alien's face. Another primed all of his grenades and threw himself into an enemy trench, exploding and destroying an ammunition pile. An officer ripped his mask off, peeling pieces of his flesh. I saw his dark teeth, his purple cheeks, and his bloody and bleeding eyes. He raised his sharpened shovel and yelled a fraze that echoed across the battlefield.
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“Mortis ad Xeno!”
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Then he crushed a Gorutan’s head and stumbled back into battle. The toxic cloud subsided after half an hour and when it did I could clearly see the aftermath of the battle. Nothing was left. All the Gorutans were dead, their emplacements and weapons destroyed, and their gate to the underground blown apart. The same went for our forces. Forty Zerenthian warriors lay dead on the poisoned earth alongside nearly eighteen-hundred Mortis soldiers as well as tanks and other armored vehicles.
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This wasn’t a victory. This was… I didn’t know what it was.
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That was when my mind went blank. I vaguely remember hearing the Mortis colonel issuing an order from reinforcements but that was it. I retreated to Kizma and went to the Goruta’s moon, Dolasar.
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— — — — — —
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Present
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“I don’t know what they are,” Vargan said and looked at the commissar, “They are not men. I… I don’t know what they are. You have to warn your elders, your leaders, your generals, tell them of these madmen.”
Hans sighed as he tapped his digital pen on the table. His strangely unfazed expression confused Vargan and Kizma. After a moment of pause, the man spoke.
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“I’m afraid I’ve come here for nothing.”
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Vargan stammered, “W-What? What are you talking about?”
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“We know all about the Mortis. We know how they fight and how they operate. We know of their nature and of their actions including those on Goruta.”
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“Then why?”
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Hans stood up and gathered his things, “I must be on my way. I have other duties to attend to.”
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As he was about to exit the room, Vargan slammed his fists on the table, leaving a cavern in the polished metal.
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“Why?!”
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The commissar, with his back still turned to the Zerenthian, slightly turned his head.
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“The Terran Union fights on more fronts than you can imagine. Compared to the horrors we see and commit in the void, Goruta is inconsequential. To fight battles you need warriors. To wage war you need soldiers. And to kill you need killers. The Mortis kill. And they will kill for as long as we say so. Have a good day.”
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Hans left the room and Vargan slumped back into his chair. A twisted smile slowly formed on his face and he began to chuckle. Those chuckles turned to laughter. And that laughter echoed through the entire station. Drakun Vargan Euvar… was no more.
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