Malikkas had struggled with his survival, the guilt and incredulous thought he was one of the few ever taken prisoner, knowing it was because of his unit and the prestige the Morgons held for it…he would have been paraded as the spoils of victory, examined intensely and then viciously despatched into the afterlife as the enemy became bored with him.
During the hours of daylight, he had studied the few tracks across the dirt and landscape intensely, wishing for signs of a Trevakian patrol or indicators of local settlers. But there were none, simply the small paw marks of snow foxes and their prey, his mind twisting in fear when he glimpsed bigger footprints, the larger snow leopards and tigers hunting for food at night.
The bitter cold seeped through his bedraggled uniform as he got weaker, seeming to feed off his flesh and spirit, his weakening legs trudging on during the day and hiding at night. Deep fear and apprehension rose with the lack of sustenance and loneliness, the brave and decorated soldier now reduced to a shuffling gaunt figure being consumed by paranoia. Realising it was only a matter of time before a predator eventually began to track and hunt him down, the piercing howls at night seemed to gnaw deep into his soul, consuming any remaining resolve as he shivered uncontrollably in fear.
The last survivor of the Blue Leopard special operations unit would stumble along during the hours of pale daylight, half dreaming of the Herrakian fields and open planes of his home planet in attempts to sustain his spirits, longing for the camaraderie of his unit and soldiers, the highly trained fighters now laying slain and brutalised across the land to his northwest. His conscious thoughts behind teared eyes would then drift back to lush forests and mountains of the days of training, sleeping rough and attacking pre-set objectives with his lost comrades to turn the unit into one of the finest fighting formations.
They had fought on several planets, defending against hordes of Morgon grenadiers and camouflaged troops as the tanks of the Trevakians and their own specialist armour had blasted the invaders. Most battles were eventually driven to a grim and unforgiving standstill, the planets then drifting into a bleak attrition based stalemate as the specialist units were hastily redeployed to the next area of high concern, bolstering morale of the beleaguered and somewhat terrified defenders upon arrival.
His tired and energy sapped mind had eventually concluded the war was ultimately lost, that their efforts had been futile in just buying time as the battles gradually extended from one end of the empire to the other, the Morgons seeming to have an endless supply of soldiers to grind down the defenders. Now he trudged on in despondent silence, weakened and morosely subdued, his mind blank and bereft of thought. The past now seemed just distant memories that would soon extinguish like a dim light, ultimately gone with him as his miserable life ended in the unforgiving snowed brush land near the high peaked mountains of southern Zaxon B.
For three further days he had meandered further across the terrain, keeping the high mountains to his left and the southern lower rock formations within easy reach, aware the jagged stone and hollows may be his only form of concealment should the Morgon patrols suddenly reappear.
Eventually straining his bloodshot and sullen eyes, he had glimpsed a small settlement in the distance, the ramshackle huts surrounding a central warehouse and hall, a small church situated at the edge of the hamlet, the buildings surrounded on three sides with logs and barricades. His eyes strained further as a weakened mind considered that the occupants of the buildings could be Morgon before dismissing any fear…he no longer cared.
His frail body then stumbled onwards in excitement as he glimpsed a thin line of smoke rising into the dull sky...someone or something was cooking in the outpost or at least perhaps keeping warm. Disregarding any re-emerging concerns, he scrambled forward virtually on his hands and knees, the last reserves of energy pushing his gasping frame onwards towards the battered stockade and buildings.
The hamlet seemed to near, whines of frustration coming from his dried and chapped lips as he heard distant beastly howls, his exhausted senses reeling as he thrust his weakened body forward at a disorientated jog. His eyes misted as he forced his emaciated, energy starved frame to run, hearing the howls increase from the surrounding jagged cold mountains and barren terrain behind, his heart pounding in fright and adrenalin as he stumbled towards the stockade set against sheer dark foreboding rock faces.
Cracked and worn boots rose and fell across the rough terrain, the jarring on his joints agonisingly painful as he desperately pushed himself forward. Collapsing across some loose rocks, his undernourished muscles strained in excruciating agony as the Herrakian instinctive determination and will to survive suddenly surged through his weary chest. His pained body thrust upwards as he scrambled forward, hands scraped and torn, his chest heaving as he whined loudly through clenched teeth.
The blood curdling howls seemed even louder as he gasped, crashing into the scorched log walls of the enclosure, his bloodied hands dragging at the rough, jagged petrified and weathered wood to pull his body forwards. A terrified face darted from side to side, eyes scrutinising the terrain as he scrambled along the wall, desperate to escape any nearing predators, a flash of snapping jaws flashing through his
