Note: this is a work of fiction, with all the usual stuff about copyright and permission. It’s also a work in progress and a way to develop my knowledge of the english language. So feel free to correct, debate, laugh, ask about it in the comments. Help appreciated.
You may find the prologue here.
Chapter 1 is here.
Chapter 2 is here.
Chapter 3 is here.
Chapter 4 is here.
There was still a bit of time for us, a minute to take a break. I looked up to the stars, how strange it was to see a different sky! There were a lot more stars than from the Earth’s point of view, with those two little full moons. It was so different, for a while I felt the whole weight of my being there, stranded away from my home world. It was overwhelming, I never felt so alone before.
My newfound allies were catching a break too. Some of them were drinking, two of them were kissing. Kellan was looking at me.
“I’ve never seen a brown man like you.”
“We call ourselves black men. Are all the people in this planet white as you are?”
“Yes. In our chronicles there is a mention of yellow-skinned woman, a stranger that arrived here a thousand years ago. No mention at all of brown men.”
“It’s black. We’re from Africa and…”
That was useless. That nice woman wasn’t in the position to know anything about Earth. Just like me, she was trying to think to something different from her imminent death.
We were at the top of rocky boulder, a 100 square yards space with only one entrance. The gap was guarded by my allies, a small group of warriors that can barely form a line to close the passage. Our enemies got to run upwards in a straight way, a space that was five yards wide. With a bit more defenders even a small force could hold such a spot forever. It was pointless to think about that, there was no way to even the odds. I took place in the middle of the line, M9 on the ready. My idea was simple, kill as many bastards as possible and use my WP for the end. For my last stand wasn’t a bad place, I’ve always known that I wasn’t the kind of man who get to die in his own bed.
When the first group of attackers was about 30 yards from us I started to fire at them. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, they were so crowded that was simply impossible to miss a shot. Their first line halted, blocked by their fallen comrades, just in time to gave me the chance to load my last clip. A moment after I fired again and again, until my gun was empty. There was a curious moment of silence, a few heartbeats when we exchange glances over the dead bodies of the King’s Hunters. Then somebody yelled again, maybe an order, and they stormed forward to kill us.
I don’t remember much more of that fight. They broke our line short after the first contact, their pressure was too much for a thin line like ours. So they pushed us back, the line split in the middle where I was standing with my Bowie against their swords.
I lost contact with the warriors at my side, blocked by a wall of shields. They pushed me until I was with my back to the rocks, hitting me from all sides with wood clubs. Before I could pull out the pin of my WP grenade I was submerged by the Hunters. The last thing that I remember of that night was a lot of pain and a single word from one of those soldiers.
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