Reincarnation: A fight for survival

Chapter 7

The neko leader backed off, taking a handful of steps backward before turning on his heel and trudging off into the woods. Galen immediately let out his lungs and sucked in a terrified breath while staring at the grenade in his hand. Doing his best to calm himself after his near-death experience, he slowly attached it back onto his combat webbing and reinserted the pin.

Nervously patting the frag in place on his strap, he then brought his rifle around off his shoulder. He was shaking so bad that he nearly dropped it, but after he finished fumbling around, he dropped the empty magazine and loaded in a fresh one. Stowing the spent mag in his webbing he pulled the bolt back to release the catch and send it home to chamber a new round. Just in case.

When he was certain that the nekos had retreated into the bush toward their village, Galen turned and ran off to catch up to Michael and Mila. Chuckling hysterically to himself, he made the facetious note to clean out his underwear next chance he got.

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The last glimpse of the sun's glow sank below the hills in the west, its dying glow fading away to drown the world in a sea of darkness. Michael held his head low as he limped along the ground through the scar made by the crashed plane, his left arm draped over Mila's shoulder while the other clutched his thigh. His breathing was unsteady from both exertion and pain while the war paint on his face was smeared with the flow of sweat and something he would never dare admit to.

"Your friend was a brave man," Mila muttered with clear solemnity, trying to ease the dark emotions undoubtedly flowing through her rescue.

Hearing these words, Michael gritted his teeth and stayed silent. He was on his first tour of duty, just like half the men of C-Company. Though he had come here before them, despite him having killed and seen good men wounded, never had he seen one of his own die. This first loss in combat was chewing at his gut, and he hated it. He hated the nekos that killed him. Every inch of him wanted to go back there and tear the head off of every cat creature he saw, to charge in and sink his tomahawk into the skull of that golden bastard with the fancy armor.

"I'll kill them," he thundered in a low voice. "If I kill their whole tribe, it's what I'm gonna do."

"Do not charge into a fight that you cannot win, Michael," she warned in earnest, hoping to keep him from doing anything rash. "The Ra'zorlichs were only defending their home. They lost many of their warriors as well, and in the balance of the world, you both should have lost your lives this day."

With a thinly-eyed scowl he glared at this woman, trying to muster up whatever anger he could with her, but he couldn't even stir his rage. Every time anger boiled in his gut, something about her reduced it to a simmer. She was right, and she was only trying to do what she thought best to help.

But why? Michael thought. For what reason did she pull a stranger out of dangerous territory that may result in getting herself killed? For what reason did she put her a*s on the line for somebody she didn't even know? Who wasn't even one of her own kind? There were a hundred reasons, and one solid way to find out.

"Come, let me bring you back to my village," she said, trying to pull him along as he slowed his pace. "Your wounds must be treated."

Right then, Michael pulled his arm off of her shoulder and shoved the Neko forward into the ground. Steeling his gut and gritting his teeth, he pictured a line of fresh recruits waddling in to basic in front of him and summoned every inch of pissed-off that he could. A low growl echoing through his throat, he gripped the sling of the rifle over his back with one hand and drew his sidearm from its holster with the other. His thumb pushing up on the safety to ensure that it was engaged. When Mila flipped over and was about to stand up, he flashed the g*n before her face.

"Hold it right there," he ordered

With wide eyes Mila, blinked in shock as Michael backed up a step. A pained grunt escaped him as he stumbled on his injured leg yet the stance he took looked like he was ready for war.

"What is this?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I'm asking you the same damn thing!" Michael barked his grip tightening up on his sidearm. "I want answers, now! Because you showed up the second I split up with Galen and the next thing I know, we're fleeing a hungry pack of your own kind that seems mighty keen on ending our lives. I have no idea who you are, what you are, or why the f**k you are playing nice. But if you plan on dragging me into some Charlie's booby trap or into some tribal cauldron to be cooked up into stew, let me know so I can save myself the trouble and kill you right now."

A pained expression took over her face, traces of tears forming in her eyes as she cried, "I would never!"

"Then start talking!" he ordered, pointing and jabbing his 1911 at her as he would his finger. "Starting with why you showed up in the damn first place!"

Mila shivered nervously as his eyes burned brighter than the sun, his hand tightening up around his weapon. Sitting on the verge of tears, she made sure to hold eye contact with him, to open up her emotions so he would know she spoke the truth as she started rambling.

"I was tracking game in this part of the woods when a metal beast fell from the sky, cutting open the forest before it stopped in a clearing on the valley floor. I investigated the monster, and found a man crawling from the wreckage. Before I could get to him, he had already succumbed to his wounds. That was when your friend awoke. I did not know of how he would react to me, so I hid and watched his actions from afar."

Her terrified tone eased Michael's grip on the pistol, moving him to lower it as she continued. Seeing him relax did some to relieve her rattled nerves, but she was still shaking as she continued to explain.

"He buried the bodies of the others and set out on his trek, which I now know was to find you. When I saw he was going into the territory of the Ra'zorlichs, I knew I had to turn him back. But then you appeared and then came those warriors from that tribe and then it all became very difficult."

Though he tried to wipe it before he let her see it, Michael couldn't hide the tear he shed in front of her. He knew she saw it because of how her shoulders slumped the instant it escaped his eye. Taking a deep breath he shook his head and lowered his sidearm to the ground. Not even bothering to try and intimidate her anymore as he fought to get his emotions under control.

Coming up onto her knees, Mila took his hand and looked up into his face, speaking as comfortingly as she could when she finished, "You must believe that had we not fled, there would be two dead humans in their hands, not one. Perhaps myself as well. I am a Willher, not a Ra'zorlich, I would have been killed just the same as you. But I would not leave without trying to save you both from that fate."

Closing his eyes, Michael released the trigger of his sidearm and used his sleeve to wipe his nose. He didn't have any intention to kill her, or to even harm her, but fear was his only weapon in finding out why she did what she did though that had now backfired horribly. His crying wouldn't bring Galen back, and now he had another regret to think about, but at least he partly understood. Now he had to make sure she understood.

Before Mila could come back to her feet, he hobbled his wounded leg aside knelt down on his good one. With a dead-serious face he showcased his firearm before her face and asked, "You see this?"

Blinking at the rhetorical question, she nodded.

"This is a Colt model 1911A1 automatic pistol. It shoots a .45 caliber round at eight hundred and twenty-five feet per second. That is a two hundred and thirty gram slug flying at its target at well-over five hundred miles an hour. So I don't care what any kind of Razor-lick son-of-a-b***h is wearing, this fine piece of American engineering will flat out kill any motherfucker that gets between its sights. Had you let me go, I could have stepped in and shot those pussycat f***s before I lost another one of my brothers!"

With wide eyes Mila looked at the weapon and then stared at Michael. Although half of what he said hadn't made a lick of sense in her ears, the message was clear. He was a man of a pack, and she had made him lose one of his own. Her ears drooping down and her tail falling limp on the ground, she turned her guilty gaze away. It was her that had held him back when he tried to save Galen. He had every right in the world to be angry.

"Then maybe next time, you'll do just that."

Both Michael and Mila turned as the private came marching down the hill, rifle slung over his shoulder and the faint smile on his face making him look no worse for wear. At first, the sergeant rubbed his eyes and glanced to Mila to ensure he wasn't hallucinating. Realizing that she was seeing him too, he returned his pistol to its holster and hobbled forward. Nearly toppling over on his wounded leg several times before he reached to young paratrooper.

"You son of a b***h!" he swore, hugging onto the private and patting the top of his helmet, "From now on, you get my permission before you decide to go be a hero, you got me?"

Patting his friend's back Galen answered, "Yes, sir, Sergeant."

Michael released the private and threw his arm across his shoulders to use him as a brace, the trooper grunting as he took up the additional weight. "Good, now let's get to the Hercules, it's getting too dark here to travel and I don't want to get caught out on my own when things start coming out to hunt. Besides, I think Mila here might be able to help us figure out our current situation."

The cat woman stood up off the ground and rubbed her bottom, pulling a thorn out of her leather shorts before giving a nod. Smiling with a visible show relief at the young man's return she joyfully said, "I'll help in whatever way I can."

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The spacious grand hall of the Ra'zorlich palace was filled with the neko tribals. From the wise elders to the brash young warriors, people of all ages gathered together under the stone roof seeking a royal audience. Or at the very least some words from the crown's representative. With many panicked and savage remarks being thrown about, one common theme they shared was that they all related to the metal beast that roared through the sky.

As the Ra'zorlichs yelled and bickered, the iron doors at one end of the hall were thrust open with the clap of the metal meeting the stone walls silencing the vocal tribesman. One could hear the crackle of the torches on the walls as a group of overly-muscled nekonian warriors marched into the room. No dared stand in their way as they moved through the parting crowds with a look of disgust at the circus of fear around them.

Thick, steel plates overlapped upon one another to form a heavy armor that covered their bodies from the chin down. These metal layers were painted in a matte-black color save for their spaulders and arms plates which were colored a rich scarlet. Proudly displayed upon their chests was their peoples' emblem, the red talon along with a number that signified their rank in the honor guard. Among the natives of Raska, these adept warriors were a force to tremble at as they carried magnificent longswords at their sides and wore solid metal bucklers on the forearms of their off hands.

Right in the middle of these powerful warriors walked yet another nekonian, one who was of a lesser stature than the troops around him. His blood-red fur matched the crimson robe he wore. Golden rings wrapped around his fingers just as more were tied into his bushy, black hair. A crown of iron wrapped in bands of silver sat atop his head, and in the center, above the neko's dark brown eyes, sat a single sapphire cut into a perfect oval shape. Every Ra'zorlich in the room bowed their heads to this richly dressed neko as they pressed closed fists over their hearts.