Soldiers Three - Warriors of Strength
Soldiers Three
- Warriors of Strength -
Short Stories
by Pj Belanger
Cover Art by RB
Soldiers Three
Warriors of Courage
Short Stories
By Pj Belanger
Copyright 2016
BRP Publishing
All rights reserved. This book is protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproductions or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of BRP Publishing.
All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
BRP PUBLISHING
Contact Author at mailto:pj@pjbelanger.com
Addition information at https://www.pjbelanger.com
Table of Contents
Prolog
Controlled Rage
Different
Thank You!
Also by Pj Belanger
Prolog
The first two short stories in “Soldiers’ One” came to me while I was riding from Connecticut to Florida. Whilst waiting on the New Jersey turnpike for over an hour in a stop and go situation, I thought about what the human spirit can endure. Here I was just totally fed up with sitting in a car – how insignificant compared to what soldiers have to undergo. Thus, my mind went to my Sci Fi and Fantasy world and a short story series took shape.
Now I have continued the stories in “Soldiers’ Three”. While the first two stories were “Warriors of Misfortune”, the second two were “Warriors of Courage”, the third two are “Warriors of Strength”. In the first two I concentrated on the hardships that can plague soldiers while the second two are on how much courage it takes to perform their duties. The third stories are on how much strength a soldier needs not only physically but also mentally.
Although the stories are set in the far future, the same staunch human spirit exists as it always will and to which we will always be forever grateful for.
Controlled Rage
As the cargo back door unfolded, the heat hit her like a hammer. Not Again, Yoria’s mind groaned as her eyes rested on the bleak arid landscape. Even the distant hills looked extremely hot and barren. Couldn’t Sol Army Command ever send her to a tropical paradise - just once! But the planet’s makeup was the reason her squad had been sent. These dry planets were the home of methanilum, the mineral that powered the universe. It made this world invaluable, yet vulnerable to exploitation.
The human Federation was in a real conundrum. Being part of the larger Galactic Congress, the Federation had signed an agreement with the rest of the different species that primitive worlds would be left to develop on their own. There was to be no interference until that world had reached certain technological developments. There had been too many disasters when a civilization was exposed to an advanced species; massive suicides, huge devastation of the natural resources before it could be stopped not to mention the loss of the new world’s very precious unique cultural mores. If the greed for methanilum were left unfettered the universe would be a bland sameness with only the strong ruling. No new points of view or masterpieces of cultural representation would survive.
Still, the methanilum was so important that there were cheaters and they were getting better at corrupting a world. The greedy criminals found loopholes and sneaky ways to bring a primitive culture up just enough to speed their entry into the Federation. The only way to police these worlds from those wanting to exploit them was to go in undetected and investigate, then stop the offenders red-handed. And here she and her crew were again!
Her boots clumped down the ramp ever so lightly bouncing from her slight weight. The sun beat on her dark auburn hair. Yoria had been glad she’d worn her army fatigues on the cargo ship, which had been cold. Inside the transport, the chilly air kept the beasts sleepy while the humans bundled themselves in warm clothing. Now in this heat, she was sweating profusely.
Her eyes settled on a lone figure that stood at the very bottom of the ramp. Her mind immediately registered pompous bureaucrat. In this heat, his well-ironed officer’s uniform with precisely knotted tie marked him as a strict by-the-rule type. He held an electronic clipboard in his left arm and stood at attention waiting for her to get to the bottom. Great! Her mind and body were tired, not in the mood to deal with the likes of a self-important prick.
Yoria glanced at the soldier’s shoulder; three stripes. He was a Captain just slightly above her own two stripe Captain’s grade. She stopped at the bottom of the ramp but didn’t salute him until he had saluted first. It gave her a slight psychological advantage. With these types of assholes, anything helped.
She also let him talk first. “Captain Tripe, you are late!” his crisp voice matched his uniform.
“Well, C-a-p-t-a-i-n,” she annoyingly stretched his title, “we got held up on Aston Centura and we had to feed and secure the cargo before we left. We didn’t want any incident to cause a mishap. Then we’d be really late, wouldn’t we?” Her mind went to prior space accidents that had happened from being careless with their heavy cargo. Some had been fatal.
The man stiffened as her sarcasm came through quite clearly. “Well, you know this is a time sensitive operation.” He marked his clipboard. Yoria was sure he was remarking on her insubordination. Well he could add it to all the rest of the reports.
“I’m well aware of the time table, Sir,” she responded. “This isn’t our first inclusion investigation. My squad will get their assignment done before the time rules dictate.”
“Well, that remains…” his voice trailed off.
She felt the huge tremor on the ramp and knew he’d seen the first of the cargo being unloaded. As the ramp began to bounce rhythmically up and down, almost violently, his eyes grew larger and her admonisher stepped back. The arrogant ass was about to turn and run - not so soon. “Sir, I’ll need some information from you.”
He turned to face her, “I think we can discuss this later…”
“No, no,” This idiot wasn’t getting away so easily. “As you say this is time sensitive,” she could hardly contain her laughter. First timers were always like this. The man’s eyes were on the handler who was leading down the smallest beast. The trainers always unloaded by size. The smell of the massive lizard’s body came whiffing down, pungent and animalistic. A moment later Yoria’s neck felt the hot breath coming from above her shoulders. Glancing down at the captain she realized the scared man was about to run. “Before you go, SIR, where have they placed the holding pens?” A giant roar came from behind her, deafeningly scary to untrained ears.
With his mouth wide opened, he pointed to his left and then turned with as much dignity as he could muster, running in the opposite direction.
Yoria turned around facing upwards into two black beady orbs, one on either side of a narrow pointed scaly snout. She didn’t look away but instead stared intently into the beast’s gaze. “Steady, girl,” she almost whispered the words. The animal’s large front ears were sensitive. The small back ears were less so. The reptile quieted. Its immense tail, which could squash any prey with one swipe, settled down to a slow rhythmic swish.
“Where are the pens?” The handler questioned.
“I’m gathering from that Captain’s pointing hand that it’s in that general direction.” Considering the size the pens needed to be, she’d guess that they would not be hard to find. Her eyes watched as the first beast headed in that direction. Others would follow, twelve to be exact.
Her intelligent intense gaze swept the makeshift camp. Dirt, whirling dust clouds everywhe
re accented the flaps on the temporary tents. The heat waves coming up from the ground blurred the landscape giving it an unreal feel. She did, however, make out a tall graceful well-proportioned man walking toward her. Yoria knew who the male was and immediately straightened up. This time the soldier within her gave a snappish proper salute. “General Martin, Sir,” she immediately acknowledged him.
“Well, welcome to another hell hole,” the soldier, casually dressed in fatigues, half saluted her. His three stars weren’t what marked his authority, it was his bearing and self-assured demeanor that stood out. “Have you had a chance to read the reports, Yoria?” his familiarity with her only happened when they were alone.
“Yes, this is similar to Bastra in the outer Plesidese Sector,” she answered him.
“Yes and no,” his arm pointed to the distant hills. “This time you’ll find even the beasts will have a hard time reaching the research area.”
“We will manage,” turning as she noticed his eyes focus above her head. They were unloading the last lizard, Volcano.
“That’s the new Red, isn’t it?” His gray eyes flashed with interest as the huge rusty iron-colored beast was being led down the now violently bouncing ramp.
“Yeah,” Yoria acknowledge. “We’re still having problems with him. I keep telling you that bigger is not always better. I have Calston, my best rider, managing him and the reason we