Traveller Manifesto
76. Aengland - 11th Century

Aengland – 11th Century.

“Welcome,” replied Michael. What else could he say? He dared not move, for any move might be viewed as aggression and elicit horrific violence. His heart beat heavily and he took a deep breath to calm himself. He had Tatae and Genovefa to think about. They must be kept safe at all costs.

The other soldier made a rumbled laughter and bowed his head, “Well, thank you. You have led us on a merry chase.”

Michael was aware of a movement out of the corner of his eye as Genovefa scurried across the leaves near Tatae. “My pardon. Can I have permission to pick up my daughter?” he asked. “I fear she may be burned if left to herself.”

The American accented soldier turned to look at the baby. “Okay. That’s fine,” he nodded. The mask that covered his face had them look like skulls or something from a super-hero movie. Lenses protruded, but no mouth or features could be seen. They looked terrifying. Neither of their weapons had shifted from Michael. He knew a false move would result in his disintegration and, most likely, of the others as well. Tests of rail guns on his previous visits to the US indicated how impossibly quickly they fired.

He had seen movies of testing on cattle.

Their range was not overly far because of rifling issues with the projectile, but they were more than ideal for close encounters anticipated in a mission like this. They were the ideal close-contact weapon. The projectile weight was minimal because no propellant was required. That was provided by magnets in the weapon itself and, though the weapon system was weighty, all was made possible by the carrying capabilities of the exoskeletons the soldiers wore.

That meant they had a lot of ammo and could afford to mow them all down with the merest provocation.

He gently picked up Genovefa, who gave a wiggle and cry of protest before she immediately straightened and stiffened her body in her classic effort to have him return her to the ground. Tatae stood by the fire, so he gestured her to the log. His wife moved slowly and watched the soldiers with narrowed, calculating eyes as she silently took her loudly protesting daughter into her arms and promptly placed her onto the breast. Michael uttered a few gentle words and then walked to the other end of the log, as far from his family as possible. His heart sang as he watched her. She was, as always, magnificent. Tatae had seen enough of the wonders of his home to refuse to be daunted by these soldiers who, she immediately knew, meant them harm. Holding Genovefa firmly, she moved to the log and sat. Genovefa bellowed loudly at the indignity, but was eventually silenced.

“Can my friend sit also?” asked Michael. Wasdewy panted in stress, his mouth and eyes open wide and the Traveller feared he might actually shit himself.

“Of course. You can all sit,” growled the English accented voice.

Michael nodded in thanks as he gestured the scop to the log.

“So, obviously I pissed someone off,” he began as he carefully sat near Wasdewy. His legs coiled under him. He tried to look relaxed, though he was ready to explode into action. Latis sat quietly and he gestured her to lie, ready. It was a silent hunter’s signal Latis knew too well.

There was a snort of laughter and the British voice replied, “Obviously.” Their voices were amplified and deep.

“That’s quite some equipment you have there. I knew the exoskeletons had advanced, but your heavy ordinance looks amazing,” Michael continued. He felt surprisingly calm. To his relief, Latis remained quiet. Her ears were up and alert. He knew she was ready to fly at the strangers as needed. Her master’s gentle hand restrained her in a caress on her head and neck.

“Your swords, remove them and throw them this way,” replied the American.

Michael removed his belt and tossed the swords in their direction with a smile. “I don’t think they’ll be any competition.” He looked back to the soldiers. The outline of the actual soldier was visible, but partially hidden by webbing and strategically placed pieces of camouflaged Kevlar armour. “I must say I’m impressed. I remember seeing prototypes of the exoskeleton systems manufactured by Raphael Industries. I guess if you want superb weaponry, leave it to the Israelis.”

The soldiers did not reply and he imagined they would be reporting his capture. He knew the masks would prevent any sound of their comms, which would be muttered into voice-activated mikes. He decided to continue. “Can I ask, what is your mission? You’ve caught me fleeing with my wife and infant daughter, so your equipment indicates you can effectively travel cross-country and, well, you have me now. I understand the challenges of chasing me without satellite technology, but in my defence, I have been fleeing with a wee baby. What now?” His heart tightened in fear. If the Generals ordered his assassination, it would be now. They would leave no survivors. He had seen what modern Special Forces could do. If ordered, children were no matter. He had to remain calm and evaluate the possibilities. All he now possessed was a small knife in his boot and his seax slung, as always, at his back.

One of the soldiers, the American, turned to face him. “You are to be detained for debrief,” he replied.

Lies! Michael’s heart sank, though he struggled to remain without expression. There was no way they would take the lengthy journey across country to capture him and then, with his limited mobility and speed, return with him to the forests of Giolgrave for Transportation. He had been the object of a mission to test new ordinance and, now they had found him, there was little need to keep him. Maybe he was to be an example to other Travellers, or maybe he was just an opportunity to test their firepower.

“Can I ask one more question?” Michael persisted. “How did you replace me?” I mean, I went to great effort to ditch all of my tech.”

The British voice gave another bark of laughter and then, in a surprising move, the soldier unclipped his mask so it swung to one side. His pale face was suddenly bare and appeared incongruous in the heart of the camouflaged equipment. He looked gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and, framed as his face was by his helmet, appeared shockingly unwell. Michael expected exhaustion and drugs. If this was a mission to test equipment and ordinance, planners would also test the latest in performance-enhancing drugs they loved to feed to troops.

Exhausted troops could make mistakes. He kept his hands visible, for he dared not take any chances.

“Listen, Hunter, don’t you know?” the British soldier exclaimed, his voice suddenly normal and quiet with the mask removed. “When you were wounded in the Battle of Giolgrave, they inserted a chip into you, under your left arm. It’s SOP now,” he added.

Michael nodded in acceptance. He could not recall having met the soldier before. “I’m afraid I haven’t met you. At least I can’t recall, sorry. If you are on a kill or capture, can I at least know who I have the honour of knowing my captors?”

The American voice spoke up, “Sorry. No can do.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“So now? What can I bring with me?” Michael asked. “What of my wife and child? What of our friend here? Can he please take them with him? We’ve been seeking a new home and they can’t hope to survive alone.” He tried not to beg, but there was no response. The American was dangerous. He had not wavered and his covered face remained inhumanly unreadable.

The British soldier’s only sound was to give a grunt. As if by magic, an arrow appeared beside his nose as if it had suddenly sprouted. While Michael watched, another appeared immediately under it. Llew! He swung his arm to knock Wasdewy backwards off the log as he cried to Tatae in warning, then dived to the left, away from his wife. There was a strange hum and the sound of tearing, a scream, and the impression of a falling shower of wood chips.

He rolled and quickly glanced to the log to see a deep, freshly carved gouge. Tatae had fallen over the other side, away from the attack. From his position, he could only see that she lay in the mulch with their daughter. It was impossible to determine if she was safe.

Tatae!

Latis was gone. He feared she had been gunned down or must have fled at the savagery of the sound.

He looked to the soldiers. One, the Englishman, was probably down. He had simply sagged in his exoskeleton and looked about to collapse. In reflex he had fired his weapon into the forest. The American grunted as an arrow bounced off his camera array with enough force to shock. Latis had surged forward and leapt to seize his inner thigh. There was a scream as the big dog tore at him and in panic the soldier struggled to strike her with his railgun, but she was under him and between his legs, which appeared to be one of the few parts of his body not fully armoured. She was a big, deadly dog and stood with her legs splayed. She gave a violent tug, to which there was another yelp of pain and despair.

An arrow struck the American in the face and bounced off, while another struck his gun arm. Nothing could penetrate the armour or webbing, but the shock of the arrow at the webbed wrist may have hurt.

Now! Move now!

Michael rolled to his feet and ran in a crouch. He had tried to observe enough to evaluate the best place to attack, for the soldier wore battle armour over his chest, groin, upper legs and forearms. Shin guards protected his lower legs and he looked impenetrable. He had seen prototypes of troops encased in carbon-fibre armour only possible when using exoskeletons. As far as he knew, the best use of the technology was in reconnaissance and rapid extraction exercises, making some of the heavier armour prototypes too hot or restrictive. These troops looked to be lightly armoured, for they would not expect trouble from poorly armed residents of Saxon Aengland. Any Saxon or Viking war party would be utterly destroyed by one of these awesome soldiers. With a party of two, they were virtually indestructible.

He glanced quickly. He saw where he could try. He was running out of time! Latis tore and there was another cry of agony as the soldier went down onto one knee.

Michael’s long-bladed seax was in his hand.

The soldier looked up and raised his weapon. It fired with another tearing roar, but Michael had dodged behind him and clambered onto the super-soldier’s back. He yanked the helmeted head back and swung his arm to drive the point of the seax up through the protective webbing that covered the neck. It took some effort to pierce the material, but the seax was razor sharp. The soldier panicked. Michael pulled upward with all of his might, yanking the helmeted head back again. His fear for his family gave him superhuman strength as he held the helmet to his chest. On his second frantic swing felt the blade suddenly sink smoothly to the hilt. Under the soldier’s chin, the long, deadly blade would be fully inserted into the brain. As trained, he wiggled the hilt forward and backwards to have the terrible blade sever what it could.

There were more muffled screams, then silence.

The heavily mechanised soldier swayed and fell to his side with a thump, but Michael jumped and rolled off, instantly on his feet and ready to attack again, the knife from his boot now in his hand. How would such a small knife combat a soldier with armour and a railgun? A glance saw his attacker lay quietly. He should be dead, as the bone handle of his saex, lovingly crafted by a blacksmith on the grounds of their training grounds of old Welbeck itself, protruded from beneath his jaw. He ran forward, yanked the blade free and sprinted to where the British soldier lay on his back, his weapon arm spread from his side. The soldier was barely panting, his eyes glazed as the arrows protruded from his face. Michael noted that the cameras at the top of the helmet were pointed at him.

They would know.

The British soldier wasn’t going anywhere, but Michael took no risk. A mighty upward swing sent his seax through the fabric under his chin and straight into his brain.

The mechanised soldier shuddered gently and then lay, dead.

Michael panted a moment as he wiped his face. There was that familiar rush and the intense sadness of death.

His head came up in realisation.

Tatae!

His family. He had to check on his family!

Tatae!

She was nowhere to be seen.

Tatae!

Michael was dimly aware of the firing of the terrible railguns, how the American’s gun had scored the log, but the others? It had fired, but where?

No! Nonononononono!

For a spit second, Michael froze. Tatae! His love and his life. And his tiny daughter. It would only take one of those pellets. One of the thousands that could be fired in a minute … hundreds in a second … only one!

He ignored the men in the machines and ran to where his wife had been. Were there nocks in the log? Were they from the pellets?

Past the log his heart clenched when he saw her, fallen. She had released her hair to comb it with her fingers as she fed their babe. Now she lay, still. Silent.

Michael ran to her. Oh, no no no no no! Not Tatae! Not wee Genovefa! They were his life. His LIFE!

He couldn’t see where the pellets had entered, but the blanket and thick woollen clothing often covered the blood that would seep out. Only removal of that blanket would reveal it.

It would only take one pellet. Just one!

He stifled a moan and bent to her. She rested, face down, her glorious hair fanned out. Beneath her was a tiny hand. He gasped in despair.

No!

The tiny fingers wriggled.

Tatae sighed and looked to him.

His heart burst and his mind felt as if he was filled with light.

“Tatae?”

“Mmm?” she replied. “Are we safe?” she murmured.

He gasped and then bent to give her a million kisses. “Yes, we’re safe, for now,” he replied.

Tatae struggled to sit and rest against the log, her magnificent hair tousled and littered with twigs and leaves. Genovefa gave a sputtered cry of indignation. She had been shocked to have her mother suddenly fall backwards, throw her to the ground and cover her with her body.

Michael helped her up and then ran his hand over her beautiful face. “Are you well?” he asked. His voice choked and, it seemed, he felt as if he was about to burst into tears.

Tatae bowed her head a moment with her eyes closed and then looked to her husband to give him a small, pixie smile, as if she knew his very thoughts. “Yes my love. We are well. You?”

He gasped and, kneeling, seized her to squeeze them both until his daughter gave a squeal of complaint. Michael pulled back, tears streaming down his cheeks. They were okay. His family was alive!

“So, no injury? None at all?” he asked.

She smiled as she looked up to him. “No my love.” She looked to Genovefa. The wee baby was well, so she was promptly placed to a breast.

Michael looked back over the log to the men who had nearly killed them. They had been tracking him. The bastards! He had done nothing but follow their every whim. When he stood up to them and objected to their demands for Giolgrave, they sent their goons after him.

Not only him, but after his wife and his baby daughter too.

The evil, fucking bastards!

He knew what had to be done.

They had hoped to flee, to replace a new home, but his pursuers were too good. They found him, but at what cost? The drugs must have been very hard on the poor men. Perhaps that was how he had triumphed.

Was it only a patrol of two?

That didn’t seem right.

His perception felt razor-sharp as he carefully scanned the forest, his adrenaline surging. He almost expected another soldier to come crashing through the undergrowth. But there was nothing. If there was another in the patrol, he would have already killed them all.

Some paces off, Llew emerged from the dense undergrowth and stood by one of the giant trees. Michael gave him a weary wave. The Welshman gave only a nod, his bow ready. His eyes were wide and he looked mystified. What manner of hellish creatures were these?

Heart thumping, Michael quickly confirmed the men were dead. Why would the Generals have launched a patrol of only two soldiers? Surely there would have been more. Normally there would be a patrol of three, as per usual Special Forces protocol. But there was no other. Something must have happened to him. Or more were to follow.

He had to act, fast!

By the fallen American, Latis sat with her huge, toothy smile. Her muzzle was again bloody and she gave it a lick. Michael knelt and gave her a rough hug as he held her close. How many more times was the beautiful dog to save the lives of himself and his family. At the embrace, Latis gave him a lick on the side of his face and he felt a bloody slick as her wet tongue poked into his earhole.

With a snort of humour and relief, he gave the dog a thorough ruffling about her head to which she panted in her version of a goofy laugh. From her fur, his hands emerged wet with the blood of the soldier. He held them up a moment. More blood on his hands.

He looked again to the dead men. Two good soldiers, dead. Too many times the Special Forces were compelled to participate in missions that were, at best, questionable. There was a flash of pity, but it quickly passed. They might once have been comrades, but had become his enemy. They would, without question, have killed him and his wife and daughter. They would have been given some perverted rationale and, he knew, there were always men in the Special Forces who would kill a woman and child without question.

He then walked to the dead Englishman and crouched so his face would be in view of the tiny camera on his helmet. A tiny red light indicated it was still transmitting.

Let them see.

He had to finish this.

“Your men are dead! They found us and you wasted the lives of two more brave men. You’ll know where they are, of course. Do you want me to give you an equipment evaluation? Do you know how they failed?” He gave a grim, angry snort of humour. “You evil bastards! To send men such as these against a member of your own forces and his wife and daughter, for no reason but to test equipment and satisfy your … your arrogance. Now, I know this message will pass through the hands of good, honest soldiers, many of whom will have children of their own. I ask you, you honest soldiers, do you want this same fate? How would you feel if your family was used in some perverted weapons test? I didn’t want to do this! I didn’t want to kill these men. They must have been good men. But you forced me to kill them. It was my family, or them. I’m sorry for that, but that is what they deserved. Now, I’ll do all I can to make sure you don’t replace us again. Leave us the fuck alone! We only want to live in peace.”

He sighed. Was it truly over?

There was a moan. It was only then that he realised Wasdewy lay at the far side of the log as he gasped and whimpered.