'One clip here.'
'Need pistol ammo! Anyone got any?'
'A twenty-two? That’s all I got left to fight with is a friggin’ twenty-two?'
Trevor pushed through the flaps of the tent and walked in on Stonewall reporting a best guess to Nina, Shep, Brewer, Prescott, and the Reverend: 'I believe that last action by the stream dwindled the enemy’s numbers so that they no longer hold a significant numerical advantage.'
Brewer lamented, 'That’s great, but as it stands, we’ve got about five seconds of ammo left once they decide to come up here.'
Reverend Johnny added, 'I fear even with adequate caches of munitions we would be no match for this lot in our current state. Doom circles this camp like a vulture.'
Before Trevor could say a word, a new voice joined the discussion as Benny Duda stuck his head through the canvas flaps of the tent.
'Um, Mr. Stone, there’s someone here who wants to speak to you.'
Stone waved his hand in annoyance, 'Well, send him in.'
'I don’t think you want me to do that.'
Jerry Shepherd cocked an eye and asked, 'Why? Who is it?'
'It’s one of them.'
– Trevor Stone followed the alien messenger on a return trip to the top of the second mountain. He had accepted the invitation over the animated objections of his Generals. Indeed, Johnny offered enough synonyms for treachery to fill a thesaurus.
Nevertheless, Trevor felt he had no choice. At the very least, the cease-fire allowed his troops to rest. If the aliens killed him, he would merely die a few hours before the others.
Stone followed his guide to a canvass structure surprisingly similar in material and design to his own command tent. Around that tent loitered poncho-wearing guards as well as two elephant-sized lizards loaded with packs.
The messenger pulled a string; the loosely hanging door rolled open. A soft yellow light glowed from within.
Trevor sighed and entered.
Three of the puffy-cheeked aliens waited there, dressed in humble brown cloth uniforms.
One of them stood a pace in front of the others. He stood out even more by way of his eyes: instead of two green eyes like the others, this leader had one green and one hazel, giving the otherwise docile-looking creature an intimidating glare.
Small, lighted orbs flickered from the corners. An oval table made from a plastic-like substance sat against one wall, and long scrolls of paper cluttered a circular storage rack.
The enemy leader held a small microphone-like translator to his mouth. His lips moved as he spoke into the device. A half-second delay separated the sweet-flowing dialect of the invader from the synthesized English translation.
'I welcome you, noble leader of my brave opponents. You may address me as Fromm, Force Commander.'
One of the officers handed a similar device to Trevor. He rolled it in his hand, peered closely at its mesh cover, and then spoke. His English words morphed into a computerized translation of the alien language: 'Um…I accepted your invitation despite the risk. I wanted to-'
'There is no risk.' Trevor’s words struck a cord of annoyance with Fromm and his officers. 'My people honor the sanctity of parlay.'
Before the translator spoke ‘parlay,’ Trevor heard the raw alien word. It sounded something akin to swashloo.
'We pledge to protect you while you are here at our invitation.'
An honorable people.
Trevor spoke slowly so the device could accurately translate his words.
'Why have you come to my world?'
'That is a question greater than this conversation. The truth is that we are here. The truth is that we have been granted rights to parts of this world. This is not a matter for discussion.'
Trevor wanted to ask more. What did that mean, rights? Was the Earth to be parceled to various aliens the way North America had been divided among the European powers hundreds of years ago? Was humanity the equivalent of the Native Americans of that time?
Apparently, such questions would have to wait.
'Then why have you brought me here?'
Fromm explained, 'Your forces are defeated. Your supplies are low; your numbers have dwindled. It is a custom among my people to respect our enemies when they have exhibited the type of cunning and bravery your people have shown, despite an untenable position. Therefore, we offer to accept your surrender and provide your followers with a quick, pain-free death.'
Trevor pinched his nose.
'Let me get this straight. You think we should just give up and let you execute us?'
'Dying on the battlefield can be a miserable death. I am offering your people the dignity of a painless end to their lives. It is our way of honoring the gallantry of your fighters.'
Stone shook his head. His eyes narrowed. The free hand not holding the translating device jabbed a finger toward the enemy commander.
'Let me tell you our way. We fight. We fight for our lives and our world. We do not walk silently to our deaths. Our race thrives on pain. The pain of being born. The pain of living. The pain of losing…of losing things and people we care about. It’s the nature of our existence. You cannot cower us with the threat of pain. You only stiffen our resolve. My advice to you is to withdraw as fast as you can.'
Trevor failed to intimidate his counterpart but Fromm’s expression of tightly pressed lips and several long blinks suggested disappointment.
'I am surprised you lack the wisdom to accept my offer. I wonder how is it you became the Force Commander of your people?'
'I have no fucking idea whatsoever.'
– The third and last day of the Battle of Five Armies dawned.
Not long after sunrise Trevor, having returned unmolested to his own lines the night before, received reports of mustering enemy forces.
He sat next to Nina in the cool shade of the woods as she cleaned her rifle and he searched for the thousandth time for a plan.
If they withdrew, the Vikings would pursue, catching them in the midst of retreat or-if they dared move into the open-blasting them with their deadly catapults. These aliens meant to finish the job, on the mountain or otherwise.
If they stayed, the Vikings would attack the fortifications in force. Defending those lines, despite a lack of ammunition, appeared the best alternative on a short list of bad options.
'Well, rifle is all clean. Too bad I’ve only got five shots.'
She gave him a peck on the cheek. Trevor wondered if she welcomed the looming battle, despite the desperate odds. Perhaps she liked the idea of dying with her memories intact more than living without them.
Trevor shook such thoughts away. He could not afford daydreams of love, not when so much rode on the minutes ahead.
Brewer marched off to survey the west flank; Shep made for the eastern side. Reverend Johnny, in the meantime, approached Trevor. The big man carried his flamethrower.
'Blasted thing is out of fuel,' it clanged as he threw it behind a tree. Before Trevor could react, Johnny produced a baseball bat. 'But I have a back up plan, praise the Lord.'
'Not bad, Rev,' Nina smirked.
'On another topic, despite my dire predictions it appears that less than a dozen of our number slipped away in the darkness last night. I am sure the All Mighty will harshly judge their cowardice, but he has blessed the remainder of our ranks with the courage to stand fast.'
