Sneak Peek at a new project;

[Knife]

May 21, 2036.

As I look back over my life, it simply amazes me the twists and turns that have occurred. And that I, nor anyone else, would have possibly imagined where those quirks of fate would lead to. The ever changing course of my life is so disconnected from a sense of normalcy that if one were to view my life in snapshots taken every decade they would immediately be lost by the vast changes in the person they were seeing and the locations those snapshots were taken. For the most part, my early life was indeed normal and by age twenty two I was a corporal in the United States Marine Corps. But by thirty two I was the leader of one of the last remaining Earth resistance units fighting against the Invaders. By forty two, I was the commanding general of the Thirteenth Legion of Freemen, in the armies of the Imperium, locked in a galactic spanning war between the forces of good and evil.

I write these pages, first and foremost to chronicle the happenings of some of the last heroes of Earth so that in the future, if man does indeed regain some of what was taken from him, he will know the tragic events of his fall and the ordeals of the few who remained that ensured the survival of the species. And second, I write these accounts to keep my sanity. The enormous amount of events, both terrible and serine that I have witnessed overwhelm me and I fear sometimes that I have lost my mind. That some of what I remember are dreams and other memories are just nightmares, ravings of a deluded old man who’s slowly loosing his faculties.

And last, when I and my loyal men are gone, the valiant sentients of the Imperial Armies will have written records of our struggle for the cause and for the Emperor. That the great deeds done by the men and women of Earth, even after the holocaust of that once vibrant planet, will rank up there with some of the more epic stories written in the galaxy.

But I believe I am getting ahead of myself, for in the beginning we of the simple planet of Earth knew nothing of the troubles and politics of the galaxy we humbly lived in. We were ignorant of the happenings outside of our little bubble of life, and why would we know? Mankind had yet to travel into the stars. Our science was unable to unlock the secrets of neither interstellar travel nor the various technologies necessary for such a feat. We lived in arrogance, certain in the fact that we were alone. That we were the masters of the universe, even if we could not place so much as a boot print outside of our little home. We were kings by default, or so we thought. That is, until the Invaders descended upon us.

I have witnessed many things in my life, wondrous, frightening, terrible things. But nothing will ever be carved into my memory like that morning, thirty years ago when my little world was turned upside down and the walls of galactic reality came crashing in on mankind’s little utopia. We didn’t at the time know who they were; we would have to wait years to discover their name. There was no warning, no chance and no quarter given. Our attempts at communication were ignored, our attacks feeble, our most powerful weapons little more than an irritation to their war machines. They descended upon us and the killing started and it didn’t stop for a very long time. We were bugs to them, inferior and irrelevant. Not worthy to neither negotiate with nor talk to. We were in their way and they were intent on exterminating us or at the very least, thin the herd so that the infestation of mankind would not hinder their operations on Earth.

This was the genesis of mankind’s awakening into the larger galaxy. It seems fate prefers tragic ends of one age for a people to begin another age. But soon, those of the galactic civilization would take notice of the unknown and irrelevant humans from the tiny corner of the realm.


-excerpt from the memoirs of
General Jorak (Jon Ratcliff)
Commander of his Majesty’s
Thirteenth Legion of Freemen
in the Imperium Army, as
written in the original English.





















Chapter One




The long shadow spread across the land draping everything in twilight as the enormous cloud approached out of the west. It was an unnatural event of nature, the edges of the cloud pitch black, yet there seemed to be a broiling mass of fire swirling in the middle. It was enormous, whatever it was, and it was stretching from the north to south, covering the midday sun and stamping out the blue of the sky.

Nobody had ever seen anything like it, and though thousands of people came out of their homes and business to watch the approach of the strange weather, few of them would live to see it again.

It was like a fire in the sky, with a dark smoke pouring around the edges obscuring whatever it was that was burning. On the TV and on the radio, talking heads and paid consultants were discussing the event and though at first they thought it was some sort of meteor or comet dropping to earth, now they knew it wasn’t. In fact they were discussing the multitudes of events just like this one that were happening all over the world and not just in this small corner of northern California. But nobody was listening to them, their blather and empty words echoed inside the suddenly vacated homes as all ran out to see the doom that was approaching them.

Right when the bloom of fire seemed to be right over the city, the broiling mass seemed to sputter and die and hoots and hollers came with jeers and other calls from the masses of people who lined the streets, the building tops and the very sides of the mountains framing the small community. But their entertainment was short lived for out of the dark cloud, tiny dots appeared. At first they seemed like flocks of birds or swarms of insects, as if they were some part of a biblical plague. But with each passing second, the dark dots grew, until their shapes solidified into large flying wings. They were almost graceful as they floated down through the air, smooth lined and rounded. But nobody there was awed by their beauty, rather with the ominous backdrop of the dark clouds shrouding the sky; the incoming craft lent an air of unease throughout the throngs of people who even now were slowly backing away from their perches.

As the flying wings came into a hover just above the cityscape, the giant mothership that had been lurking behind the smoke and wisps of cloud in the sky emerged into the open. Perhaps a mile long, the triangle shaped ship continued to disgorge the smaller wing-shaped craft out of huge, dark openings along the bottom as it slid out of the smoke and haze of the dark cloud.

It was then, at that very moment that all hell broke loose. Streaks of bright amber light tore from the winged craft and where ever the bolts of light touched down, great gouts of flame and heat exploded into the atmosphere. Buildings were smashed, streets and houses torn asunder and the people- some people were just vaporized in the opening salvos.

Those who survived the first shots started to run. Some down the street, others into buildings but in most cases they ran to their deaths as the hail of destruction continued to rain down on them. Those few who were left, watched in horror as the winged shaped craft continued to burn a landing zone out of the downtown district, blasting anything in their way.

Then at last, when the city center was less than rubble, when the concrete and gravel, the asphalt and steel and glass were gone and the bare rock and dirt was all that was left for hundreds of meters, the craft drifted down on seemingly pillars of air and landed.

Out of thousands of humans who had just lined the streets, there was perhaps a handful left alive in the rubble to see the enemy take its first step upon Earth. From the nose of the front craft, a long slender ramp extended to the charred earth and at the top of the ramp a dark hole opened into the bowls of the ship.

In less than seconds, beings poured from the entryway. They were large, yet slender and dressed in heavy armor as they spread out from the craft with some sort of weapons raised in readiness. The other craft dropped their ramps and thousands of invaders streamed down them and into the wreckage that was once a peaceful city full of people but was now nothing but a graveyard.







Jon Ratcliff was hunched down behind the burnt out carcass of what was once a Chevy truck, his mind drifting back to that horrible day that seemed not so long ago. Five years had passed since the initial massacre but the city center still bore the scars of the opening attack. The entire middle of the cityscape was burnt down to the bedrock, but surrounding it were the broken remains of a scattered and dying race.

And though, thought Jon, we may be dying, we will not go out without a fight. It was the driving thought that kept Jon going. The only goal that he and his ragtag band could have at this stage of the game. To kill as many of the bastards as they could before the invaders wiped the universe of the human race.

Jon Ratcliff had survived the initial barrage on that dark day, had watched in horror as the landing ships touched down and invader troops poured out of them. Trapped in the rubble, the image of mankind’s destruction was burned into his mind and the pain of the stark reality had driven him ever since. He had laid there helpless, watching as the invading troops spread out through the city, gunning down groups of fleeing people with the same yellow streaks of energy.

He had laid there waiting for his death, certain that it was only seconds away as the enemy swept the area. But as he watched one horror after another and another it slowly dawned on him that for whatever reason, these aliens, these monsters could not see him. It took him hours to free himself from the rubble and to sneak out of the city and flee himself into the mountains. But it only took him seconds after his epiphany about them not seeing him, to find the reason why.

In the rubble above him, the smoking ruins of the building lay smoldering. The enemy saw in heat. It was the only answer; the heat of the fire masked his. Enemy after enemy past by him, not even bothering to look in his direction, and thus it was that Jon survived when so many others died.

And now, five years later, the resistance had honed that bit of knowledge into a very sharp edge that Jon and his people were all too happy to use as a knife they intended to thrust into the enemy’s stomach any chance they got.

The rebel leader glanced around from his hiding spot behind the rusted hulk of metal and he could spot all four groups of his troopers. They were dressed in camouflage like he was, with bits and pieces of armor strapped to them, but the color scheme was unnecessary. Their true camouflage was the blocks of broken concrete and cement placed in front of them; their warm surfaces from basking in the day’s heat were masking the signatures his people may have been giving off.

Jon cradled his weapon, the assault rifle snuggled close to him. The armor piercing rounds weren’t good enough for Invader ground vehicles, but the bullets could find weaknesses in the armor of the Invader soldiers. It had taken a couple of years to find all the ways and methods, tactics, to fight the Invaders but eventually the resistance found the way.

Not that there were any innocent bystanders, but if one did watch a firefight between resistance fighters and Invader troops, the tracer rounds of the human rifles would look like red versions of the Invaders energy weapons. Even the incendiary effects of the human bullets mimicked the alien weapons, though not as powerful.

Indeed, Jon and his raiders had become very adept at killing Invaders. Jon planned meticulously, and carefully. Always staying one step ahead of the enemy, always drifting away like the wind when the Invaders thought they had Jon cornered. And every time the enemy grew accustomed to the attacks or the tactics, Jon always had a new way to kill them.

Today, Jon had something new for the aliens and try as he might, there was a bit of exhilarating going through him as he hunched hiding behind the cold metal. Luckily for Jon, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer. Off to his right, down the road less than a mile away, a flash of movement caught his eye. He froze and concentrated on the northern road until he could plainly see the hover-trucks moving ponderously towards him and his troopers. Almost as soon as he saw them he could make out a deep hum that was the sound of the enemy’s engines.

Three hover-trucks. Thought Jon. Should be about right.

He glanced back at the four manned positions and nodded to his men. The attack was a go, no turning back now. They were committed.

Jon hardly seemed to breathe as the slow moving machines crept closer to the ambush. Jon knew that they had heat vision, or what ever nifty name the bastards assigned to their technology, but hover-trucks were hardly battle tanks or hunter-killers. His peoples cover should hold. The resistance had been using flares at the outset of attacks to mask the exact locations of the firing positions. It had worked well for months but Jon had a new idea and so with slow and cautious movements, Jon readied the flares.







Thoughts? The actual first chapter is incomplete, but I figured I'd see what the response is for the concept.

[Hawkwings]

Very, very interesting... I've been wanting to read a story lke this for a long time.

[Singular Quartet]

It should prove to be interesting. I rather like it, infact.

[Ford Prefect]

I agree; wonderful writing all round.