Traveller Manifesto
51. Aengland - 11th Century

Aengland – 11th Century.

They jogged through a colonnade of trees that edged the road with such an abundance of overhanging foliage that they imagined they travelled through a tunnel.

Leicester was bypassed. Even though it was night, Gallowtreegate remained open, indicated a complacency when it came to safety. The town was ringed by a wall outside of which rubbish pits and kilns were spaced, so it was an area to be avoided. At one stage, a dog barked loudly. The fear of dogs was one reason the squad had not investigated Giolgrave, though drone footage confirmed that Hunter had indeed departed. Command suggested that the village hunting dogs would have detected the team, despite their camouflage systems that made them almost invisible in the forest.

“If any bloody dog makes an appearance, we’ll have to silence it, you know,” growled Woodbury.

“Oh Woodbury,” replied Skid with a tone that indicated a smile. “Don’t you like dawgs?”

The Englishman snorted, for Skid was an ardent dog lover. “It don’t matter, my old son. If any mutt makes an appearance, he’s a fucking goner.” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Moran chuckled as he hefted his weapon, which with the exoskeleton was almost weightless. Their rail guns were a new design that was lighter and more manageable for field conditions. Unlike conventional weapons, the rail gun, manufactured by Raytheon, used magnets to fire pellets at a rate and destructive power that challenged conventional heavy machine guns. What made them ideal for this mission was they were less noisy and a fraction of the weight of regular ordinance. “I wonder how these will go against humans,” pondered Moran aloud. “I did like the Lockheed Martin lasers, but the power requirements made them too cumbersome for this mission.”

“Yeah,” agreed Skid. “Imagine if we wore a laser pack when I went down in that swamp. Man, I don’t want to think about it.”

“Yeah, these’ll do the job,” added Woodbury with grim satisfaction. They had, of course, tested the weapons at the range, and on cows, but to their knowledge they had never been tested on humans. Part of their mission was to test the awesome new weapons, fully. If given the chance.

The opportunity came all too soon. In the predawn, as they travelled closer to Gloucester, they had to abandon the Roman road due to local foot traffic. With farmhouses and small settlements clustered along the road, they decided it was prudent to travel cross-country. In the early morning mists, deep in a patch of forest, they paused to set up camp. Moran felt a numbing exhaustion, his senses jangled as his mind struggled with lack of sleep. He had barely paused and prepared to unhitch himself from the exoskeleton when there was a cry as three huge hunting dogs were upon them. His shock and surprise had his senses immediately sharpen. The big brutes paused and milled in confusion, circling around the men before they launched their attack. One leapt at Woodbury, only to fasten onto the webbing at his hip. Moran knew the hounds were trained to attack large prey or anyone they did not know, but they stopped and bayed loudly as they again spun in bewilderment. The noise was deafening. They seemed plainly terrified by the strangers and, after Woodbury flung off the attacking dog with a curse, the beasts again milled in uncertainty.

Another ran at Skid, who had experienced more than his share of bad luck. Woodbury gave a yell of warning as one of the brutes dodged behind and then latched onto the soldier’s leg, causing him to cry out in surprise, while another jumped and fastened its huge jaws onto the webbing on his gun arm.

Woodbury was the first to react. He yelled, “Kill them!” His rail gun swung up and there was the tearing sound as hundreds of rounds hit the dog attached to Skid’s leg. Predictably, it flew apart. The gun was next turned on the other dogs, as three others had appeared with a group of stunned villagers on a predawn hunt. Without a thought, Moran joined his squad member and turned his gun on the men.

It was over in seconds.

All was recorded, of course, and the results would not have been at all disappointing to the weapon-system designers. Five Saxons or Danes, Moran wasn’t sure what they were, and seven dogs lay in bloody pieces on the forest floor. Skid had dispatched the dog attached to his gun arm by using the Wolverine dagger each of the soldiers wore retracted into each forearm. He simply jammed the deadly blade into the dog’s head.

Despite their shock, the results were spectacular.

“Holy Shit!” exclaimed Skid as he panted. “That worked!” He then let out a Southern whoop for joy.

Woodbury hooted. “Bloody hell! Have you ever seen anything like that? They fucking came apart!”

Moran laughed along with them. The adrenalin had kicked in. “We better move guys,” he ordered as he gazed over the carnage. “That might have been loud enough to attract attention.”

Skid agreed, “Yeah. I hope Command got that footage. These guns worked better than we hoped. That was awesome!”

“Fuck yeah,” laughed Woodbury. “They didn’t know what hit them,” he exclaimed joyfully as he gestured at the remains.

“Skid, how’s your leg?” asked Moran.

“Yeah, I was bit. But not bad. Come on. Let’s get outta here. I can manage that later,” he replied as they turned to flee. They needed to find another forest patch, one without humans and dogs, so they could set up camp and check Skid’s leg. He was bleeding, but not too badly.

With a last delighted inspection of their gruesome handiwork, they jogged off to find a safe place.

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