Post by Josephus I on Jun 19, 2018 17:45:59 GMT
Chronicles of the Nova English - Part Three; A Noble Sacrifice
Ten Years Before The Rise– Near Nantwich.
Rain tore through the dusk, drenching anything that was not undercover. Hardred Hwite pulled the hood of his poncho further over his head, reducing his vision slightly but keeping the rain out of his eyes. In front of him were the sodden remnants of a camp fire, the embers long extinguished but evidence of a hasty retreat remained in the form of spilt food and discarded packaging. Hardred slowly checked the action on his hunting rifle, ensuring that it was loaded and ready to fire. He glanced back at the rest of his hunting party as they searched the bracken for tracks that might lead them to the bandits that had raided their community’s meagre food supplies.
Hardred had been furious when he’d heard the news, the fool that had been guarding the building had fallen asleep allowing the thieves to easily enter the building and take much of their winter food reserves. Without those reserves, his family and the rest of their small survivalist community would be doomed to starvation when winter begun. He had quickly grabbed his rifle and gathered a posse to chase the thieves down and recover the lost food, much to the protestations of his wife who begged him to stay. As he left their modest cabin he told her that he’d rather risk a bullet then watch their young daughter starve to death.
As Hardred marched towards the scant tracks left in the dirt path that led to the surrounding woods he was joined by a motley crew of five men and two women. Equipped with a mixture of aging rifles, shotguns, large knifes making up for the scarce ammunition and ponchos formed from old sections of tarp. Since the Evacuations and the Great Collapse the people of East Moorland had been forced into a constant battle for survival as law & order collapsed. The lack of resources and ability to manufacture new items meant that survivors had to grow, scavenge or make from scratch what they needed.
Hardred observed the gathered posse, their faces marked and scared from both the physical and mental scars caused by surviving in their harsh reality. ‘As you all know we were robbed of our food a few hours ago. The people that did this have condemned not only us but our children to starvation, a return to the early days when our parents starved and buried their parents, brothers and sisters. If we are to avoid this fate we must find the bastards responsible and take back what is rightfully ours!’ Snarled Hardred to grunts of approval from the posse.
At the remnants of the camp fire, one of the posse had found a trail and the men and women quickly followed it. Like bloodhounds they followed the crushed bracken and faint muddy footprints, their eyes constant searching the woodland floor and weapons raised to repel any potential ambush. Eventually the light of the sun disappeared leaving the moon as the only source of light, the posse moved slower now skulking through the underbrush searching out signs that might help to locate the thieves.
‘Hold. Three o’clock from my position.’ Whispered one of the men, he motioned at a tiny slit of light that escaped some crude blackout curtains covering the upper floor window of a long abandoned factory.
Hardred grunted in reply and the posse moved gradually towards the building. A once imposing LandFara sign hung broken and bleached over a shattered and detritus covered atrium. The posse crept into the foyer, each footstep measured as they tried to avoid stepping on glass fragments and loose debris. Inside they could hear barely audible mutters and faint flickers of light emanating from the door marked ‘Staff Only!’
The posse silently checked their weapons making sure each rifle and shotgun was loaded and ready to fire. As Hardred opened the door he was met by the strong aroma of stewing venison, anger seeped from every pore of his body as his nose was assaulted by the smell of his community’s food being cooked by these thieves. Ahead of him was a set of stairs that lead to the office level of the factory, the posse followed them and arose into a large open plan space. Discarded desks and long defunct computers littered the space, their shadows dancing in the light of a camp fire that lay in the middle of the space. Surrounding it were a handful of figures, their clothes tattered and stained, faces muddied and hidden by shadows. Behind them were rucksacks full to the brim with the community’s supplies and food. As Hardred spied the rucksacks he lost all semblance of rational though, he screamed at the figures as he let rip with his bolt action rifle. The rest of the posse followed his led and took aim joining the fray, within moments the space was filled by screams of pain, the loud report of the guns and the thick smog from the home-made black powder rounds.
One of the figures made a run for it and Hardred chased after it, running and jumping over the bodies of the fallen he chased the figure through the abandoned office before finally cornering it near a fire exit. Hardred leered as he levelled the rifle at the man and pulled the trigger, however instead of the rifle kicking against his shoulder there was a fizz and the round failed to fire. The man took advantage of his luck and punched Hardred, running past him and out into the darkness of the woods. Hardred clutched at his bloodied nose, swearing as he watched the figure disappear into the night.
The rest of the posse meanwhile were mopping up those who hadn’t been killed outright in their assault. Rifles and shotguns were slung as knifes were drawn to undertake the coup-de-grace and save precious ammunition. Despite the escapee, they had succeeded in securing the stolen food and killing the all but one of the thieves. Hardred moved around the bodies, checking through their pockets for any useful gear. Prodding the body of one thief whose torso was littered with wounds from numerous shotgun pellets he noticed that the thief was barely in his teens. Thin wisps of hair covered the youth’s face, Hardred without emotion spat on the body before gathering the posse round the liberated food supplies.
‘Well done! We got the bastards this time however one managed to get away, it’s too dark now to attempt to track the fucker down. So we’ll bed down for the night and return home in the morning.’ He said pleased as none of his posse had been killed or injured during the fray, thanks to the surprise and ferocity of their attack. The posse soon began clearing the bodies, dragging them to a faraway corner of the officer before unfurling thick woollen blankets to sleep under.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully with each member of the posse taking a shift on guard to prevent any revenge attacks by the escapee. In the morning the posse lugged the supplies home and were welcomed by cheers and hugs as the threat of starvation was lifted from the community. One noticeable exception to the crowd however was Hardred’s wife, the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect and a growing feeling of dread began to creep up on him as he silently left the crowd and rushed to his cabin. He unslung his rifle and opened the door, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the cabin but as they did his eyes were immediately drawn to the rusted glint of the revolver held against his wife’s head. Behind her in ragged and torn clothing was the escapee from the previous night. ‘Don’t move another fucking step!’ Shouted the escapee as he sneered, showing broken and yellowed teeth before breaking into a laugh ‘You killed my son you cunt! So I’m gona take everything from you. Think I’ll make a start on you first then see if I can get this bitch to replace what you took from me!’
Hardred snarled in response, his teeth grinding against each over as his hands turned white gripping his rifle. His mind began to run through a number of scenarios, trying to find the best option to save his wife. The rifle was useless in the tight space and it would take too long to unsheathe his knife. However his stream of thought was quickly interrupted when the door was thrust open and his daughter called out to him ‘Daddy!’ she said joyfully, excited at seeing him return from his evening away.
The escapee surprised by the sudden entrance shifted his aim at Hardred’s daughter, Hardred watched horrified as time crawled to a halt as the escapee pulled the trigger. Without hesitation he leapt in front of his daughter using every ounce of energy and power that he had. He landed creasing as the round struck him in his gut electing a cry of pain. His wife screamed shoving at the escapee before he could fire another shot. She grabbed a fork from their kitchen table, the closest weapon available and before the escapee could recover, she plunged it over and over again into his throat. Until his last breath finally gurgled from the bloody mess that was his windpipe. Tears burst forth as she rushed to Hardred’s side and stroked his pale head, their daughter remained motionless in the doorway as she watched her father bleed out in their family home. Her father looked at her, eyes waterlogged and face splashed in his own blood. He gave a weak smile to his daughter and slurred as he spoke ‘Don’t worry Elena, we’ll be together again someday.’
Twenty-Two Years Later – Battle of Goldshore.
Memories of her father’s sacrifice flashed through Flight Officer Elena Hwite’s mind as she fought against the distractions coming from the numerous warning alerts erupting from her jet’s console. The Shirerithian Kestral loomed into view with a sickening speed as her thrusters kicked in. Despite her impending death, Elena knew that she would be welcomed into the glory of heaven, where she could stand side-by-side with her father inspired by his selfless sacrifice and that like her, others would be inspired by her martyrdom.
Ten Years Before The Rise– Near Nantwich.
Rain tore through the dusk, drenching anything that was not undercover. Hardred Hwite pulled the hood of his poncho further over his head, reducing his vision slightly but keeping the rain out of his eyes. In front of him were the sodden remnants of a camp fire, the embers long extinguished but evidence of a hasty retreat remained in the form of spilt food and discarded packaging. Hardred slowly checked the action on his hunting rifle, ensuring that it was loaded and ready to fire. He glanced back at the rest of his hunting party as they searched the bracken for tracks that might lead them to the bandits that had raided their community’s meagre food supplies.
----
Hardred had been furious when he’d heard the news, the fool that had been guarding the building had fallen asleep allowing the thieves to easily enter the building and take much of their winter food reserves. Without those reserves, his family and the rest of their small survivalist community would be doomed to starvation when winter begun. He had quickly grabbed his rifle and gathered a posse to chase the thieves down and recover the lost food, much to the protestations of his wife who begged him to stay. As he left their modest cabin he told her that he’d rather risk a bullet then watch their young daughter starve to death.
As Hardred marched towards the scant tracks left in the dirt path that led to the surrounding woods he was joined by a motley crew of five men and two women. Equipped with a mixture of aging rifles, shotguns, large knifes making up for the scarce ammunition and ponchos formed from old sections of tarp. Since the Evacuations and the Great Collapse the people of East Moorland had been forced into a constant battle for survival as law & order collapsed. The lack of resources and ability to manufacture new items meant that survivors had to grow, scavenge or make from scratch what they needed.
Hardred observed the gathered posse, their faces marked and scared from both the physical and mental scars caused by surviving in their harsh reality. ‘As you all know we were robbed of our food a few hours ago. The people that did this have condemned not only us but our children to starvation, a return to the early days when our parents starved and buried their parents, brothers and sisters. If we are to avoid this fate we must find the bastards responsible and take back what is rightfully ours!’ Snarled Hardred to grunts of approval from the posse.
----
At the remnants of the camp fire, one of the posse had found a trail and the men and women quickly followed it. Like bloodhounds they followed the crushed bracken and faint muddy footprints, their eyes constant searching the woodland floor and weapons raised to repel any potential ambush. Eventually the light of the sun disappeared leaving the moon as the only source of light, the posse moved slower now skulking through the underbrush searching out signs that might help to locate the thieves.
‘Hold. Three o’clock from my position.’ Whispered one of the men, he motioned at a tiny slit of light that escaped some crude blackout curtains covering the upper floor window of a long abandoned factory.
Hardred grunted in reply and the posse moved gradually towards the building. A once imposing LandFara sign hung broken and bleached over a shattered and detritus covered atrium. The posse crept into the foyer, each footstep measured as they tried to avoid stepping on glass fragments and loose debris. Inside they could hear barely audible mutters and faint flickers of light emanating from the door marked ‘Staff Only!’
The posse silently checked their weapons making sure each rifle and shotgun was loaded and ready to fire. As Hardred opened the door he was met by the strong aroma of stewing venison, anger seeped from every pore of his body as his nose was assaulted by the smell of his community’s food being cooked by these thieves. Ahead of him was a set of stairs that lead to the office level of the factory, the posse followed them and arose into a large open plan space. Discarded desks and long defunct computers littered the space, their shadows dancing in the light of a camp fire that lay in the middle of the space. Surrounding it were a handful of figures, their clothes tattered and stained, faces muddied and hidden by shadows. Behind them were rucksacks full to the brim with the community’s supplies and food. As Hardred spied the rucksacks he lost all semblance of rational though, he screamed at the figures as he let rip with his bolt action rifle. The rest of the posse followed his led and took aim joining the fray, within moments the space was filled by screams of pain, the loud report of the guns and the thick smog from the home-made black powder rounds.
One of the figures made a run for it and Hardred chased after it, running and jumping over the bodies of the fallen he chased the figure through the abandoned office before finally cornering it near a fire exit. Hardred leered as he levelled the rifle at the man and pulled the trigger, however instead of the rifle kicking against his shoulder there was a fizz and the round failed to fire. The man took advantage of his luck and punched Hardred, running past him and out into the darkness of the woods. Hardred clutched at his bloodied nose, swearing as he watched the figure disappear into the night.
The rest of the posse meanwhile were mopping up those who hadn’t been killed outright in their assault. Rifles and shotguns were slung as knifes were drawn to undertake the coup-de-grace and save precious ammunition. Despite the escapee, they had succeeded in securing the stolen food and killing the all but one of the thieves. Hardred moved around the bodies, checking through their pockets for any useful gear. Prodding the body of one thief whose torso was littered with wounds from numerous shotgun pellets he noticed that the thief was barely in his teens. Thin wisps of hair covered the youth’s face, Hardred without emotion spat on the body before gathering the posse round the liberated food supplies.
‘Well done! We got the bastards this time however one managed to get away, it’s too dark now to attempt to track the fucker down. So we’ll bed down for the night and return home in the morning.’ He said pleased as none of his posse had been killed or injured during the fray, thanks to the surprise and ferocity of their attack. The posse soon began clearing the bodies, dragging them to a faraway corner of the officer before unfurling thick woollen blankets to sleep under.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully with each member of the posse taking a shift on guard to prevent any revenge attacks by the escapee. In the morning the posse lugged the supplies home and were welcomed by cheers and hugs as the threat of starvation was lifted from the community. One noticeable exception to the crowd however was Hardred’s wife, the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect and a growing feeling of dread began to creep up on him as he silently left the crowd and rushed to his cabin. He unslung his rifle and opened the door, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the cabin but as they did his eyes were immediately drawn to the rusted glint of the revolver held against his wife’s head. Behind her in ragged and torn clothing was the escapee from the previous night. ‘Don’t move another fucking step!’ Shouted the escapee as he sneered, showing broken and yellowed teeth before breaking into a laugh ‘You killed my son you cunt! So I’m gona take everything from you. Think I’ll make a start on you first then see if I can get this bitch to replace what you took from me!’
Hardred snarled in response, his teeth grinding against each over as his hands turned white gripping his rifle. His mind began to run through a number of scenarios, trying to find the best option to save his wife. The rifle was useless in the tight space and it would take too long to unsheathe his knife. However his stream of thought was quickly interrupted when the door was thrust open and his daughter called out to him ‘Daddy!’ she said joyfully, excited at seeing him return from his evening away.
The escapee surprised by the sudden entrance shifted his aim at Hardred’s daughter, Hardred watched horrified as time crawled to a halt as the escapee pulled the trigger. Without hesitation he leapt in front of his daughter using every ounce of energy and power that he had. He landed creasing as the round struck him in his gut electing a cry of pain. His wife screamed shoving at the escapee before he could fire another shot. She grabbed a fork from their kitchen table, the closest weapon available and before the escapee could recover, she plunged it over and over again into his throat. Until his last breath finally gurgled from the bloody mess that was his windpipe. Tears burst forth as she rushed to Hardred’s side and stroked his pale head, their daughter remained motionless in the doorway as she watched her father bleed out in their family home. Her father looked at her, eyes waterlogged and face splashed in his own blood. He gave a weak smile to his daughter and slurred as he spoke ‘Don’t worry Elena, we’ll be together again someday.’
Twenty-Two Years Later – Battle of Goldshore.
Memories of her father’s sacrifice flashed through Flight Officer Elena Hwite’s mind as she fought against the distractions coming from the numerous warning alerts erupting from her jet’s console. The Shirerithian Kestral loomed into view with a sickening speed as her thrusters kicked in. Despite her impending death, Elena knew that she would be welcomed into the glory of heaven, where she could stand side-by-side with her father inspired by his selfless sacrifice and that like her, others would be inspired by her martyrdom.
