The Battle for Allegra: The Hunt (Preview)

By Caleb Fast

Chapter One

The Bulwark, Allegra

“Are you not coming with us?” Matthew asks as he looks down to Marie who is still in the trench that he and Rav’ian had just come out of.

Marie looks up to Matthew and gives him a wry smile. She shakes her head and starts leaving before she calls back, “You’ve got your job, I’ve got mine.”

“We require her services here in order to aid our wounded,” Rav’ian explains, “The Coalition did not provide us with medical staffing, and thus Marie filled the role.”

Matthew nods in understanding. Although I definitely would have liked Marie’s company up here, Matthew thinks. As much as he loved Dixie, he had to admit that he had developed a slight crush on Marie in the very short time since he had met her. The girl is both beautiful and smart, much like Dix. Come to think of it, Matthew’s crush may just be caused by his missing Dixie.

Matthew pauses a moment to look around and he notices something—or more accurately, the absence of something. Looking over to Rav’ian, he points out, “I can’t help but notice I’m the only human up here.”

“Our orders currently require that we simply maintain our position. My people cannot remain idle while there is a fight to be fought, and so we fight.”

“Wait, you’re telling me that we don’t have to be out here?”

“That is correct, but we expect this will change in short order. No war is won on the defensive.”

“Do you at least get something out of this?”

“We gain stories and honor.”

“I mean do you get extra rations or something like that?”

“Unless we are granted some from those we rescue, no.”

Matthew frowns, unsure of what to ask next. The entrepreneurial side of him can’t help but wonder why someone would risk their lives for just about no gain. The rest of him wonders why anyone would even come out here even if there was something to be gained.

“We received reports that approximately ten invaders were assembled nearby!” a nearby Toaz calls from a small ridge ahead of Matthew and Rav’ian.

A nearby assembly of Toaz make their way toward the Toaz who had made the announcement, and Matthew begins to follow them before Rav’ian takes a hold of his arm. She pulls him back to herself and holds him there for a few moments longer than Matthew would have liked. He is about to say something when Rav’ian finally speaks.

“There are many among my people who believe we should not treat you as we do,” Rav’ian starts as she stares toward the group of Toaz who are being briefed on the Beets. After another longer than necessary pause, she continues, “The one way that you might be accepted is if you bring in the most trophies this night.”

Matthew gives her a quizzical look before he sighs and tells her, “I know, you’ve already told me as much! I’ve got to bring back the most heads to honor Riaan and his household.”

“This would also serve you,” Rav’ian reminds Matthew as she finally releases his arm.

“Well, now we missed out on joining that hunting party,” Matthew mutters as the group of Toaz disappear over the small hill that the announcement had been made on top of. He looks back to Rav’ian who is silently scanning the horizon. Matthew waits a few more moments before asking, “What are you looking for?”

“Signs of a… I believe your people call it a hive.”

“A hive? So, we’re looking for a bunch of Beets?”

“That is correct. Such a target would yield the greatest quarry.”

“Won’t it be crawling with the Beetles?”

“They will be hibernating for the night,”

“But won’t there be a lot of them?”

“The estimates I have heard report nearly twenty of your ‘Beetles’ for every hive.”

“What if they wake up though?”

“Then we die with honor,” Rav’ian replies with her perfect laugh. She reaches behind her into a backpack that Matthew hadn’t noticed until now and she produces a small helmet of her own. She quickly straps it, and a pair of gauntlets, on as she starts walking away from Matthew.

Matthew chases after her, stumbling several times in the mud. Once he catches up to his Toaz companion, he asks, “Why don’t you have more armor?”

“Armor like your own does not suit me,” Rav’ian replies simply.

“What do you mean?”

“As your people say, it does not suit my style.”

Matthew cocks his head slightly, as he decides if Rav’ian is trying to explain fashion to him. After a beat, he admits, “I’m still not following…”

“Perhaps this will aid your understanding.” Rav’ian sounds as she swings a fist at Matthew.

Matthew is taken off-guard, and Rav’ian’s scaled fist smashes into his jaw. Worse yet, her momentum puts him off-balance, sending him sprawling into the mud.

Matthew spits out a mouthful of mud as he picks himself out of the mire. Now that he has tasted the mud, Matthew is confident that the stories of the dirt being made wet with blood were false. This muck was definitely more akin to the sludge found in his fishing ship’s bilge.

Rav’ian takes advantage of Matthew’s lapse in attention, and she quickly wraps her arms around Matthew’s throat in a chokehold. Matthew looks down and sees a line of spikes on Rav’ian’s gauntlets. He remembers a similar line of spikes on the legs of the Beet he killed the night before.

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The Battle for Allegra: First Kill (Preview)

By Caleb Fast

Chapter One

Camp Spenser, Allegra

“This is our stop,” James’s voice rouses Matthew from his sleep with a light kick to his foot.

Matthew opens his eyes slowly and he looks up to the silhouette that had awakened him. Blinking a few times, Matthew sees that night had fallen and everything is dark. It’s much darker here on Allegra than it ever got back home on Sinclair.

Matthew slowly rises to his feet as he listens intently for any sounds of conflict. After a beat, he points out, “I don’t hear any fighting.” 

When Matthew had fallen asleep, he had assured himself that he would simply wake up back at home. He hoped that he was just having a terrible nightmare. Now that he is awake, he realizes that was not the case.

“Well, it’s night,” James informs him with a shrug, “I told you the Beets hibernate at night.”

Matthew yawns as he looks around, sure enough, night had fallen. After a moment, Matthew asks, “How long was I out?”

The world has been overshadowed with a deep darkness which makes Matthew nervous. Not only is he on a new world, but Matthew is also in a war against a race no one has ever seen before. As far as Matthew is concerned, he has every right to be scared right now. Regardless of how he feels, Matthew doesn’t let the fear that has been nagging at him show itself.

A cool breeze wafts over him, reminding him of home, and the cool morning breeze which journeyed in from the ocean. Being this close to where the fighting is, Matthew can’t help but wish he was home right now. He would gladly exchange the cold morning and the smell of bad fish for his current setting.

Countless pinpricks of light are scattered across the land like the stars of the sky. In some areas, there are dense blobs of radiant light while others stretch outward in haphazard patterns, much like the constellations Matthew sailed by.

“Long enough that you missed the worst part of the trip,” James chuckles, “Now we’ve just got a few more kilometers to hike.”

“How many is a few?” Matthew asks, picking up his large backpack.

“Do you see those lights way over there?” James’s silhouette asks as it motions toward a few dim and lonely lights far in the distance.

Matthew’s legs grow a little sore at the thought of walking so far, but he figures that he doesn’t have much of an option. Doing his best to sound neutral, Matthew simply replies, “Yes.”

“Well, that’s not even halfway,” James informs him with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry, what?” Matthew demands, his eyes wide with surprise.

“We’re on the front lines,” James answers with a glum voice, “This is just a forward camp. They call it Camp Spenser.”

Matthew sighs in defeat as he resigns himself to a very long hike. Hoping to see where he is going, he reaches into his pack and produces a flashlight. He is about to flick it on when he says, “Well, I’ll follow you then.”

“Don’t use that,” James snaps when he notices Matthew fumbling around in search for the switch, “Save your battery for when your life depends on it. We’re hiking in the dark.”

“I can’t see anything though!” Matthew counters in distress.

“Your eyes will get used to it,” James assures him. He pauses as he looks up to the sky and he quickly adds, “The moons will be rising soon anyways. You should see how bright it gets when all five are visible.

Sighing once more, Matthew puts away his flashlight and cedes, “Fine, lead the way.”

•••••••••••••••

 “See that ridge over there?” James asks as he suddenly stops.

“Yeah, I see it,” Matthew sounds, thankful for the break.

Matthew had been following James in the dark for nearly eight hours. Sure enough, two moons have risen shedding some light on the weary world below. After such a long night, Matthew can’t help but wonder when the sun would rise again.

On their trek, Matthew and James had seen a plethora of other soldiers, all of whom weren’t Mudders like them. They all boasted their sharp navy-blue Coalition uniforms which appeared to be as clean as the day they got them.

Not only that, but the other soldiers were using their flashlights like there was no tomorrow. They were using all their gear with reckless abandon. James said that this was because everyone else got everything they needed to fight. That was his way of saying they got all the food, clean water, and munitions they needed.

Mudders, on the other hand, were expected to die. They—Matthew, James, and everyone else on the frontmost lines—were simply cannon fodder until the upper brass figured out their master plan to take back Allegra.

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The Battle for Allegra: Conscripted (Preview)

By Caleb Fast

Chapter One

Crail, Sinclair

“There’s nothing like it,” Matthew Campbell whispers in awe as he stares at the coastal cliffs that hem in his hometown of Crail. As usual, the sun is just beginning to set, and it is gently slipping behind the island. A fiery red sunset seemingly highlights the dark cliffs.

Crail is a small fishing village situated on one of the few islands that dot the vast oceans of Matthew’s homeworld of Sinclair. The hundred or so buildings that the village is comprised of are all built of the same monotone grey shale that the island is made of.

Sun-bleached wooden roofs lighten the scene, albeit slightly. A handful of homes are also painted with various shades of green, made from a seaweed that only the most patient people dared to make a paint from.

The harbor of Crail is bustling with other ships that make up the town’s meager fishing fleet. Matthew sighs as he realizes that once again, he is on the last ship to return home for the day. That means that the food waiting for him and the others would be cold by now—if there was even any left.

“And there’s nothing better than it,” Matthew’s dad, Heron Campbell, sounds from behind as he clasps his son’s shoulder.

Heron had been raised up to be a fisherman and sailor since the day he was born. For generations, the family business had been fishing, and Heron wasn’t about to let that change.

The problem is that Matthew has no intention to follow in his father’s footsteps.

“Dad, I can’t stay here forever,” Matthew starts without turning to face his father. They had had this same conversation countless times before, and the answer always remained the same.

“And who would bring in the fish to feed the village?” Heron repeats the same exact argument he always used.

“You’ve got a whole crew. And besides that, Mark can take over for me,” Matthew volunteers his younger brother. Oddly enough, he had never tried telling his father to try recruiting his other siblings to sail in his place.

“Mark is too young to work the nets,” Heron replies. Matthew can hear him turn and march back across the deck of their small fishing ship toward the rear of the vessel.

“So was I when you first began teaching me! I can’t just stay here and fish for the rest of my life!”

“What else would you do?”

“I’ve got a bit of an idea,” Matthew replies as he turns and walks toward his father who is now at the ship’s helm. Matthew skirts around several members of his father’s crew as he makes his way across the now-crowded deck. Once he passes the ship’s sole mast, Matthew continues, “I was actually thinking I’d become a pilot or something. You taught me to navigate by the stars, so I’d never get lost. Besides, no one else would be able to do the same, they’d all depend on their computers to get around.”

“There’s already plenty of pilots out there, son,” Heron shakes his head, “You can ask any of the spacers when the next shipment comes.”

“But the next shipment isn’t due for another month!” Matthew whines as he starts tugging on a nearby rope to help draw in the sails.

Heron remains silent for several beats before he eventually says, “Tell them that,” Heron proceeds to point behind Matthew toward Crail. Sure enough, a space shuttle is slowly descending from the overcast skies above their home.

For as long as Matthew can remember, the Coalition had sent shipments of supplies and medicine to Crail once a year. Shipments usually were comprised of just a few large crates, many of which were already half-empty. But, the thrill of goods from alien planets made up for all they lacked–both in quantity and in usefulness.

In return for the measly shipments, the fishermen of Crail would fill up the freighter with most of their recent catch. Matthew was told that this was to meet a Coalition edict. Said edict dictated exactly how much fish had to be handed over and failure to do so was punishable by imprisonment.

Every year, the required amount of fish increased, which was always met with the same moaning and groaning from sailors like Matthew’s dad. Despite the countless complaints from the fishermen, the increased quotas remained, and threats of a greater increases loomed. The workload on the fishermen increased to keep the pace as each man slowly was worked to death.

Frowning, Matthew mutters, “Oh joy, more useless junk.”

“At least we get something in exchange for our work,” Heron points out optimistically as the wind slowly carries them toward Crail’s harbor.

“I wonder why they’re early,” Matthew muses as he finishes up his work with the sails, “I hope they haven’t come for this year’s collection.”

“Indeed,” Heron agrees with a slow nod.

For one reason or another, the Coalition Overseers who presided over the loading of fish insisted that all the fish be fresh. This meant that the people of Crail went hungry the weeks leading up to the Coalition’s arrival. Such measures were necessary to ensure only the freshest fish were stockpiled for the exchange. Every single fish that was caught for nearly a whole month went directly into cold storage to ensure that they were as fresh as possible.

Matthew makes his way to the bow of his family’s quaint boat as he scans the docks for his lifelong love, Dixie McNeil, who always welcomed him back ashore. Without much effort, he quickly picks her out of the crowd of people dockside, and he can’t help but smile. Even at this distance Matthew can’t help but admire her beauty.

“What’s going on?” Matthew shouts as he cups his hands over his mouth to ensure his voice carries over the choppy waters in the harbor.

Dixie cups her own hands over her mouth, and after a short moment, her faint reply is carried over the water, “Something happened!”

Matthew raises his right fist for Dixie to see to indicate that he had heard her. After a beat, he whispers to himself, “What could have happened to make them come all the way out here?”

“What’s the news?” Heron calls from the helm.

“Dix says something happened,” Matthew responds as he weaves his way back to his father.

“Why would they come all the way out here?” Heron wonders aloud.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Matthew concurs as Heron skillfully guides their fishing vessel alongside the dock where they eventually slow to a stop.

Matthew sees Dixie frantically waving him over and he quickly rushes over to the ship’s starboard railing. He pauses a beat as the crew catches some lines which are thrown to them by those on the docks. Once the lines are caught, the crew starts pulling their modest vessel closer to the dockside to unload the day’s bountiful catch.

Dixie works her way past the dozens of dockhands who are itching to finish unloading their final ship before they finally get to head home. Once she is near, she calls out, “They’ve called for us to meet in the workshop!”

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