BT - Chapter 11

20 Systems Alliance Calendar years later

A loud crack snapped near my head, interrupting my peace, followed by a sharp sting on my cheek. “Fuck!” I shouted as bullet ricocheted off the wreckage next to me. Adrenaline surged through me as I realized I had dozed off for a moment while lost in thought.

Fear, sharp and unfamiliar, coiled in my gut. I checked my gear, my hand brushing the hilt of my combat knife. A blade was a last resort; the trigger was where I lived. A flash of Dad’s face, of Caisteal, of everything I was fighting for. But nostalgia was a luxury, and the enemy was closing in.

He would have been delighted to witness me taking my position with a rifle. The cold metal of the cheek piece pressed against my fur, and all of us standing in line. Our precision rifles chambered in 408 rested on our backpacks lying on top of some barrels. Eyes fixed through the scope at the large paper target across the cold grass field. On the instructor's command, we shot simultaneously. Cold, stoic, focused. Command was given to rise with our rifles into standing position and fire on cue. We returned to our kneeling posture with the hand guard resting on our packs. An order was then issued to shoot at the next furthest paper target. Trigger, recoil.

The range staff behind us, another from behind me viewing my shots through binoculars. Eyes spellbound by the target. A trigger pull with a solid recoil. A repeating dance. We were ordered to hold fire. I remained still, still in my trance-like concentration, watching my breath mist in the freezing

Bethian air. I didn't realize that everybody else had set their rifle to rest and stood at attention, except me. I was lost, spellbound by the black and white rings of the target downfield.

The range officer shouted my way, his soft

Caistealian fox voice breaking the air - "Narro." I blinked a few times coming back to reality, then faced him standing up. "Sir," I inhaled deeply, "I drifted off a mome-"

"Lost concentration?"

"Sir, I didn't see the others rise to attention. I was focu-"

"Narro!" he suddenly called out. He then gestured to the other officers that were monitoring me, and they quickly passed them their binoculars.

My cheeks grew warm as flushed with embarrassment at my wandering mind. The other cadets held ready positions after his call for a cease-fire, while I felt like I had been daydreaming.

Lowering the binoculars, he looked over at me calmly. "Narro, do you know how to use a long rifle?"

I nodded, voice trembling slightly. "Yes, sir... but I'm a little rusty."

He let out an exhale of acknowledgment before continuing. "Lost focus, you said?"

I swallowed hard, not sure what he wanted from me. "Sir?"

"Show me your kneeling firing position," he commanded.

The other cadets watched as I drew in a breath and began to prepare myself for what seemed like some kind of test. Reaching forward, I grabbed the handles of my rucksack and pulled it off the prescribed barrels we used for practice. A box a few feet away offered more stability than the rucksack did, so I walked over to it and knelt down. Placing the box beneath me, then packing on top of it before setting my rifle on top of the pack; I was ready. With a long nervous sigh, I signalized my readiness.

“Rio Narro,” yelled the range officer. “100 yards!”

I hastily raised my arm up to the scope and twisted a dial. Cheek pressed firmly against the stock, I peered through just in time for him to say, with a more calm and steady voice this time: “One shot. Fire when ready.”

Before he could finish his sentence, I pulled the trigger - embarrassed once more at my hasty action. I waited for him to reprimand me, but it never came.

“Rio Narro, 300 yards!” he called out again. My hand moved, counting the clicks on the dial as I shifted my cheek back into position. A peaceful calm settled over me as I sighted the distant target. The officer hadn’t finished his command, but I already knew the shot was mine. The adjustments were instinct; I was ready before he was done speaking.

“Fire when ready,” he finished and at the tip of his last word I squeezed the trigger. The recoil hit me again - manageable. He was testing me in front of everyone else. What would happen next? The sound of a lid being unscrewed from a thermos echoed throughout as I remained silent - not because of fear of him but to stay in my trance-like state and protect its fragile defenses.

I tried to push away the sound of his boots against the crunchy grass, coming up close to me. Then I felt it - a single drop of water hit my forehead, then another, and several at once. I swallowed hard as I realized he held a thermos of ice-cold water over my head, pouring on me.

"Rio Narro," he said in a lower voice. "Target at one-thousand, six-hundred yards. Three shots."

The water kept flowing down my face as I focused and strained to think through what was happening. It took a moment to find this target. It was the absolutely furthest target on the range, and wasn’t intended for this weapon, but still, I hurriedly counted the tiny dot far away that was my target, then looked to the adjustment knobs on my rifle. Taking position again, I put my cheek against the stock and fired off one, two and three shots. The water stopped.

The cold water felt like an eternity ago now. I remember hearing the muffled chatter from the range officers team and some VIP that was with them. He handed me a towel without saying anything; but his expression showed his admiration. He went back to looking at the monitors tracking my targets. "I don’t think focus is her problem," one of them chuckled to the other.

They said it was impossible. They said I was gifted. Though, even if that were true, it wouldn’t matter if I didn’t survive this firefight here and now.

Six of them, walking towards me, not too far away - the sight of them pulled me back to the present before my mind had caught up. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I had grabbed my rifle and switched it to single shot mode. Then, using a slab of concrete as a makeshift platform, I carefully climbed up and peered over the edge. In one swift move, I took aim and fired off two rounds in quick succession: one hit just below the neck of one, and the other landed between the eyes with a blast of red mist. Of course, what followed was the spray of gunfire as the others opened fire on my shelter once more. But despite their anger at being outsmarted by me, I was proud; two kills right after each other. I still had it.

This felt like the war for Bethany’s independence alright. Desperate, cornered, and outnumbered. I slung my rifle over my shoulder and drew my pistols, their familiar weight a small comfort. They were getting closer. I waited, listening to their boots scrape on the rocks, then leaned over the slab and fired two shots from each pistol before dropping back. It wasn’t clean, but one lost a helmet and another went down clutching his leg.

In my naivety, I made the mistake of my life afterward when I peeked out again. The enemy had retreated across the street to cover - and so, instead of staying put, I gave chase. Once more, I opened fire as they scurried away, but this time… oh. I came to a quick halt at the sight of the Alliance urban assault tank coming up the road with a fireteam about a block away.

The booming of the cannon reached my ears just as I saw the tank and its accompanying grenadier team before I felt myself kicked up into the air, surrounded by pieces of broken rock from the explosion. It was painful, but I was certainly still alive. With my ears still ringing, I managed to move my arms a bit; so at least they were both intact, although my right arm had a bit of blood coming from it. As I would later discover, some shrapnel must've found its way there. Maybe it was from the blast? Had to have been.

I stumbled to my feet, relieved that I was still able to walk and even run, and run I did! I rushed to find shelter as I glanced back at the pursuers who were running in my direction. My pistols had gone missing in the blast, the rifle sling had torn, and it didn’t look like I’d be getting them back anytime soon. I hid behind a pile of broken metal and debris, wiping dust from my face with my arm while panting for breath. As much as I tried to deny it, I knew I had been more severely injured than I originally thought. Sighing, I reached down and grabbed the combat knife strapped across my chest. Even though this time my weapons were fewer in number and the enemy far better equipped, strangely enough I was much less afraid than before. After all, what did I have to fear when armed with only a knife and facing off against a tank?

I heard the sound of their boots, and then saw the small, black fragmentation grenade rolling towards me. My heart thumped wildly in my chest, and I instinctively stepped forward to kick it away. There was a loud explosion as it burst almost immediately, followed by several more explosions from the surrounding area. A cloud of dust swept over me and I dropped down to my hands and knees, shielding myself with my arms.

The next explosion came from the other side of my shelter, but this time it was different. This explosion made the air echo, made a sound of the air rippling. A bright blue light illuminated the air around where the grenadiers had been standing, where the explosion happened, accompanied by a crackling sound like thunder for a few moments before it fizzled away. I peered, confused. What caused this energy explosion? Some new type of grenade?

Just off to the side a bit were other soldiers, most were now lying on the ground either dead or wounded, while those still standing fired their assault rifles into the sky. I peered cautiously out from behind my cover, and saw a brilliant display of sparks that slowly faded away.

As the armored figure plummeted towards the ground, I beheld a sight like no other. The armor was sleek and sharp with metal swept back and polished to a shimmering silver, highlighted by blue and black trim. An ornate, high technology combat mask covered the front half of their head before two large swept back green-furred Amber Krowen ears. The combination of futuristic combat tech and luxurious robes that hung from the shoulders and beltline seemed to repel the dust and grime of the battlefield, remaining uncannily clean. The front of the mask held digital optical equipment, and braided-back green and white hair spilled out from underneath the back of the helmet.

They continued to open fire on it as it came closer and closer to the ground in free-fall. With its landing was a strong burst of wind that was almost like an explosion blasting in all directions blowing away dust and small rocks. I had to shield my eyes from it, but it didn’t push me or anything… but… superhero landing?

When I opened my eyes I saw them already in combat, moving through the soldiers with two swords in a way that was almost too fast and too precise to follow. A beautiful dance. The swords. They were a smooth metallic surface, gleaming with a brilliant orange light, and leaving behind a vivid streak of energy when swung. In the blink of an eye they had dispatched multiple Systems Alliance soldiers. Their swordplay was mesmerizing; there seemed to be an artistry to every movement as they gracefully weaved their way through their foes. One was a long and curved katana-like blade, while the other was a shorter straight sword. What material was this? I’d never seen anything glow like that. Each twist of the wrist was either an attack or a movement to deflect an oncoming projectile. How could you see bullets? And besides that, many of them were impacting some sort of energy shield? Like a personal force field creating little sparks of light as the gunfire ricochetted.

The figure spun on their heels towards two other soldiers and erupted into the heavens like a firework, quickly ascending to incredible heights. The two soldiers opened fire on them from both sides as they twisted their torso and slammed the right-hand swords against the back of its armor with an almighty clang – the blade lodging itself in place as if it had been magnetically drawn there. Their now free arm lurched forward with a pitch of some sort, though no grenade or sort flew forth. Instead, a brilliant blue flare blitzed forth from their hand and landed squarely between the two, spawning a colossal dome of light that ruptured and spread debris high into the air.

My eyes widened in amazement - what was this? Some sort of Special Forces? I could only give thanks that they were on my side. Gripping my strands of long brown and white hair from the howling wind caused by the blast, I noticed the tank still looming down the street. The ground quaked beneath us as it launched another shell our way. But then, in an instant, the figure sidestepped to dodge it by mere inches!

They raised their left hand, slamming the second sword against their back where it stayed, ready. I saw the green Krowen ears twitch once as they drew their arm back, balling a fist. As light shone from between their fingers, kicking up dust, they pitched the raging ball of energy. It flew forward, low to the ground, tearing through obstacles like paper and leaving a trench in its wake. When it collided with the tank, a huge surge of energy exploded outward. What kind of weapon was this? After the explosion, green particles of light lingered, slowly dispersing in the wind.

I was amazed, but just a bit fearful when I saw the figure advancing toward me. There was no avoiding this display of power. I stepped out from my hiding place, holding my bleeding arm, watching this figure come towards me. As they got closer, they raised their hands to remove their helmet, revealing who it was, and I must say it wasn't who I thought. It was her - a very special woman that everybody knew. Her slender head covered in short green fur on top and white fur underneath her jaw. Her green hair, tipped with white, reached about halfway down her back and was held up with clips above her armor robes. She stood a bit sideways, examining me closely. The futuristic armor I'd never seen before was hugging her thin body tightly, the robes around her shoulders and around her waist highlighting her regality.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly with a small chuckle.

I lowered my eyes, a small, weary smile breaking through despite myself. So far from the focused cadet on the gun range.

Sun Jin Kaisara. Standing right in front of me. She had a vision: pull every warring civilization beyond the Alliance's reach into one unified front, something strong enough to slow the conquest. She had seen the Alliance from the inside, not the version they broadcast across the galaxy, and she knew what it actually was. All I knew was that I wanted Caisteal kept out of future wars. I didn't yet know what the rebellion would grow into, or what was buried underneath it.

I had thought that I was doing the right thing when I first enlisted. All I wanted was to bring peace so no one else would have to experience the suffering that my own kind had endured. I had no way of knowing that my actions would only further entangle us in a conflict far bigger than I could have imagined. Before long, I found myself on the front lines of a galactic battle with the Systems Alliance, recognized by Kaisara for my uncanny battlefield abilities, promoted many times, and became an unwitting part of a vast political power play that would culminate in the creation of the

Sun Jin Empire. Although hailed as a war hero to some, I realized too late the consequences of my involvement in this destructive hidden agenda.

The moment it all came crashing down was that mission. I remember the way he walked—unhurried, hands in his pockets, weaving through the crowd below like he owned the street. Through the scope he was just a gray coat and a bald patch. My finger rested outside the trigger guard. I had his file memorized. What he was carrying in his head would reach Alliance ears within the hour.

I never miss. I want you to understand that. Wind, distance, the drift of a moving target - I process it without thinking. Hand me a rifle I've never touched, a cartridge I don't recognize, muzzle velocities undisclosed. I will hit the target. Line up six at different ranges, call them out one by one. The arms move. The finger pulls. Caistealian scientists tested it. Bethian scientists tested it. Nobody had an explanation.

What I cannot calculate is what happens after the bullet is released. Free will. In the last half-second of their life I cannot predict that someone will stop walking, or turn, or if someone else will do both and walk into the line of fire.