Kestrel gulped a huge breath of clean air and sagged to his knees, dropping his weapon beside him. His body was racked with pain and the heat from the burning craft behind him scorched his back. The marine spat ash-filled phlegm, then gathered up his bolter and pack, and stumbled away from the wreckage towards the distant mountains.
He didn't look back at the burning wreck. There was no point. All inside were dead, killed in the crash. But those who had brought the small ship down with anti-aircraft fire didn't know that. Even now they would be converging on the crash site, and Kestrel knew he had to put as much distance as he could between himself and the blazing tangle that only minutes ago had been his transport.
He stumbled across the ploughed field. His head pounded miserably and the air burned his labouring lungs. The deep furrows made running treacherous, but he could not afford the luxury of care. In his white survival suit, he stood out like a man running naked through a convent.
Kestrel cursed the luck that had him down in the lowlands, miles from the snowline. Down here hiding would be extremely difficult. He had to make it up to familiar territory and wait for someone to come and pick him up. The locals were obviously not friendly and Kestrel had no wish to test their hospitality.
He vaulted over a small boundary hedge and ran into a stand of trees. The chirping of birds stopped, leaving the rustling of Kestrel's footsteps as the only sound. He paused to catch his breath and get his bearings. The mountains were to the north, by Kestrel's reckoning about two days forced march. But he would have to be careful, any careless mistake could cost him dearly. The distant sound of vehicles approaching the crash site urged him into flight. The billowing smoke would act like a beacon for every military unit in the district, and soon the entire valley would be crawling with troops after his blood.
He stayed to the trees as much as possible, painfully aware that he stood out like a Titan in a Snotling village.
Eventually the trees thickened and his suit seemed to 'glow' less. Kestrel slowed a little to catch his breath again and looked up through the leafy canopy to get the position of the sun. About three hours to sunset. He could keep travelling till then. Then he would have to find a place to bed down until morning.
Dawn broke misty and still. The woods were dark and mysterious, but Kestrel already on the move, paid little attention. A search of his pack had found a small supply of food, survival equipment and personal comms gear. The only weapon he had was his sniper's bolter. "If ever there was a time I needed a miraculous extraction, now is it" he muttered.
The trees stopped abruptly on the edge of a wide field. Tall grasses waved gently in the early morning breeze. The sound of troops searching the woods behind him drifted to Kestrel's ears and he knew he would have to keep moving, and fast. But the thought of running across the open ground in broad daylight nettled him. He was sure there was no way he could get across without being seen.
Off to his right there was a complex of buildings. "Some sort of farm estate probably" he thought. He decided to make his run through the courtyards. If he was going to be seen anyway he might as well make it worth it. There was also a chance he might be able to pick up some food on the way through. And with so many different people walking over the cobbles, hopefully any dogs the troops might be using to sniff him out would get confused. Thus buying him a little time.
Tarja rolled over and snorted in disgust at the form lying on the bed beside her. In the still of the morning the sound of his blood dripping onto the polished wooden floor seemed to echo loudly in her ears. She wiped her dagger on his warm chest and secreted it in her waist sash.
He had been easy, almost too easy. But Tarja was never one to complain about a cushy assignment. She had been an assassin for as long as she could remember, and she was good at it, very good.
She carried an array of weapons about her body, which was in itself a weapon. She was sleek and powerful and her delicate features hid a strength that could break bone. She was well versed in the combat arts but that was only part of her arsenal. Her sensuous, bordering on voluptuous curves, and her pretty face were also used to devastating effect. No man could refuse her when she came to him wearing her tight filmy syn-skin, and pouting ruby lips that offered the most decadent pleasures. Many men had fallen to her charms, and her knife.
This was just another in a long line.
She bent down and picked up her katana. It was her favourite weapon despite its age. Most assassins preferred power swords which can cut through armour, but not Tarja. There was something timeless about the sword she carried, as if it linked her to the warriors that forged it way back in the mists of history. She tied it to her sash and padded softly to the window.
The sun was just starting to rise, bathing the fields in a misty glow. Morning birds chirped in the forest and the faint sounds of servants preparing the morning meal for their master drifted in through the open window.
Suddenly the door to the bedchamber slid quietly open and a wizened old face peered in. The man's jaw went slack as he saw Tarja's slim figure silhouetted against the window. She smiled and licked her lips provocatively, but the old man was past the pleasures of the flesh and as the assassin drew her sword to silence him, he screamed, "Murder!"
The scream was cut short as the blade arced down, scything through the man's neck, severing his head from his shoulders. Blood splattered over the rich paintings that adorned the lord's bedchamber, as the lifeless figure slumped to the floor.
Without pause Tarja slammed the door shut and leapt towards the window. But escape was not to be so easy. A house soldier stood there, his light pistol raised to fire. But as the soft light streaked Tarja's jet black hair and shadowed her curvaceous body, the young man hesitated. It was to prove costly. He died thinking that she was too beautiful to be the murderer he sought.
The assassin strode back across the chamber towards the door just as a young man, possibly the lord's son, burst into the room carrying a large dagger. His desperate entrance fetched him up against the wall staring at the beautiful woman his father had persuaded into his bedroom the previous night.
Startled Tarja leapt back, then smiled as she shook her head and pouted provocatively. Black tresses swung about her face and cascaded over her slender shoulders, curling suggestively around her breasts. The glint of steel descending towards his head alerted the youth to danger, and he just managed to parry the blow that would have carved him in two. As it was the katana bit deeply into his shoulder, sending shock waves of pain through the lad's body. The pain didn't last long, for as he lashed out to counter attack, Tarja's blade swept up and caught him in the stomach. He slumped forward, his intestines spilling onto the polished floor, adding to the gore that already was beginning to pool over most of it.
Instinct called to Tarja and she whirled towards the window flinging her dagger as she lurched for the door. Light rounds tore into the wall where her head had been, shredding a blood splattered painting. A strangled cry told her the dagger had found its mark.
She didn't wait to see if there was anyone else outside the room. Tarja knew that if she stayed in here she would be bottled up and there would only be one way out; death. Slamming the door open, she launched herself out into the dim misty courtyard. Her one thought was escape. From the other parts of the house she could hear the sounds of the house guards turning out. Soon there would be too many for her to fight and expect to win.
The sound of boots crunching on gravel warned her of the approach of another soldier. She sheathed her sword and leapt to the corner. As the man burst around the bend she caught him in the face with a viscous back hand swipe. Surprised and dazed the man staggered back and shook his head trying to clear his vision. Pain exploded from his groin as a deceptively strong hand grabbed a handful of vulnerable flesh and pulled. The hapless man sagged to his knees gagging for breath. A brutal elbow to the back of his neck solved his worries as he joined his master and comrades in death.
Tarja smiled to herself as she sprinted across the courtyard. Men were such weak fools. They think with their balls and not their brains. She had not yet found a man she could not manipulate with her feminine charms. Even women were entranced by her beauty. That was what made her such a successful assassin.
Beyond the courtyard was an open stretch of ground. Tall grasses waved at her as the morning breeze stirred them. On the far side of the field was a stand of trees, dark and thick. An ideal place to make her escape complete. Keeping low to the ground she crept through the tall grass while behind her the sound of troops shouting and running filled the air.
Tarja cursed quietly. "There's a lot of troops for just a lord's estate", she thought. She risked a peek over the waving stalks. The house was in turmoil, with soldiers running everywhere, servants weeping and everybody shouting. Then on the far side of the compound she saw light attack vehicles scuttle into the courtyard like giant cockroaches. Behind them many footsoldiers swelled the ranks of the houseguard, and Tarja felt the insipid tingle of fear.
"Damn. All that just because I killed a minor lord." She knew that she was far from safe and turned towards the trees and ran as fast as she possibly could.
The trees closed around her shielding her from view. Tarja sank into a shallow ditch to catch her breath. Her chest heaved and her blood pounded in her ears. With shaking fingers she grabbed her long hair to tie it back off her face.
Kestrel halted in mid stride. A scream cut short, echoed dully from the jumble of buildings. He knew what had been said, but not by whom. He cursed softly and took a few seconds to weigh up his options. The sound of gunfire sealed his choice and he bolted for the trees on the far side of the field.
He was vaguely aware that there was fighting going on in the great house, but that was of no concern to him. All he knew was the sound would bring those chasing him to this place at a run. He hoped that the troops would be distracted long enough by the scuffle to let him get away into the mountains.
He pounded over the smooth grassy field not caring that his passing left a highly visible trail. Once he made the trees that trail would end and he would disappear into the depths of the forest. Like a frantic ghost he surged through the bushes and leapt into a low ditch, spinning to see if he was being followed.
A light sharp cry beside him stabbed his heart with fear and he reached out instinctively to ward off an attack. A dark shape moved at his side and a sliver of light caught the steel blade as Tarja drew her weapon. His hand snaked out and grasped her wrist tightly, preventing her katana from being fully drawn.
Cursing, Tarja lashed out with her other hand striking the man in the stomach. To her surprise he barely noticed. Instead his other hand dropped his own weapon and grabbed her wrist, pinning her to the ground. Panting heavily, for maximum effect, Tarja writhed in his grasp and pouted. No man could resist her flashing blue eyes and beckoning lips. This man would kiss her and taste the poison concealed in her mouth. He would die before he realised his mistake.
But the man holding her did not relax his grip, nor did he press his body against hers. Instead he looked across the top of her tousled hair towards the farmhouse and the confusion of troops milling about and shouting, as the two groups discussed their course of action. Then he looked down at the assassin in his grasp.
Kestrel said softly, "Look lady, you've got a choice. Either you come with me or you go another way. I don't know who you killed or why. Nor do I care. But I don't want to loose my pursuers only to have you lead yours to me. Do you understand?"
Tarja just stared up at the handsome face above her. His short blond hair and sparkling eyes framed by powerful shoulders. She could feel his strength as he held her, firmly but gently. She squirmed a little and pressed her slender hips sensually into his thigh.
"Save your seduction for someone it will work on", he hissed. "You are no match for my mistress. Now make a decision. Those boys wont take long to figure out which way we went, and I don't plan on staying around to see if they get it right." Kestrel stared at her pretty face. Her olive coloured skin was set off by the locks of dark hair and night- blue eyes that burned. He could feel the tension in her slender body as she pressed against him. In any other circumstance he would have gladly bedded her, and considered himself lucky, very lucky indeed. But survival was all that mattered now and he was a professional sniper, capable of putting aside feelings of pity, pain and lust. If they lived long enough to get off this stinkhole of a planet, he would gladly rise to her advances. but for now it was business.
Tarja stared back at the only man that had ever resisted her, dumbfounded. She could feel his hard muscles against her, but they did not quiver in anticipation of passion. They were just tense from the need to restrain her until he was sure she would not try to kill him.
The sounds of the troops marshalling made her think quickly. This man was obviously in just as much trouble as she was. Together they would stand a better chance of effecting an escape. Besides she could always kill him and leave his body to slow down the pursuers. She relented, and promised not to fight, then sat up and rubbed her wrists where Kestrels strong grip had left pink marks.
"Right", said Kestrel gruffly. "Lets get going". He stood up and picked up his bolter, brushing the soft dirt from his survival suit. Then he thought better of it. The day was promising to be a warm one and if he was going to be moving swiftly, the suit might prove to be too hot. He quickly striped it off and stuffed it inside the pack. Then throwing it over his head so that it landed with a thud on his back and the straps over his bare shoulders, he started off into the darker heart of the forest.
Tarja watched as he left, uneasy and unsure of herself. She watched the play of muscles as he walked gracefully, like a great cat, through the low bushes that bordered the rough track winding up the slope. Then chiding herself, she picked up her own gear and followed the sniper.
But something was wrong with her legs. She constantly stumbled and caught her feet on exposed tree roots, ferns snagged her knees and dappled sunlight blinded her when she looked up to see where the man in front was. Why didn't the sniper have the same difficulties that she was facing? He seemed to glide through the forest as if he were part of it, as if he belonged there somehow. Yet Tarja was stumbling along like a drunk at two in the morning.
"City living" she told herself. Tarja had always lived in the city. The forests always seemed dark and empty to her. She had never found a reason to be there, as all her targets lived in cities, or at least villages. But surely walking in the forest was the same as walking down a city street. Why then was she finding it so difficult? The assassin did not want to acknowledge that it might be the man in front of her that was the cause.
Tarja was only eighteen and although an accomplished assassin and seductress, she was still vulnerable to the weaknesses of young women, and men, all over the universe. Was she falling in love with this bold handsome warrior that had the power to resist her? "Damn you girl", she cursed under her breath. "Get control of yourself. Love is for weak men and slaves. It's probably just because you're in a different environment. He is used to living out here and you're not, that's all."
She glanced up at his back as he toiled ahead of her. Not once since they had joined forces had he looked back to see if she followed him. He had just put his head down and kept on walking. It was now nearly noon and they were climbing the first of the foothills that preceded the mountains. Tarja sweated as she fought to keep up with the sniper who had set a fast pace. She was fit and athletic, but she was not sure how much longer she could keep this up. She marvelled at the man's stamina and once more the burning in her belly returned.
The assassin cursed herself again and furiously forced herself to pick up the pace, as if to punish herself for her weakness. But the fury was quickly spent as fatigue overtook anger. The man was quite a way ahead now and still showing no signs of slowing. But just when she was about to call out for a rest, he stopped.
Thankfully she scrambled the last few yards up the loose bank that he sat on, and sagged down beside him. The sniper did not look at her heaving breasts, or the moist glistening sweat that dribbled down her glowing face. He appeared to pay no heed as she drew herself up into a sitting position and leaned forward, studying him intently.
Kestrel did notice the form that flopped down tantalisingly close to him. He could smell the sweet scent of her body as she panted for breath. He was only too aware that her breasts heaved sensuously and her thighs quivered from fatigue.
But he had other problems.
Unslinging his bolter he drew the weapon to his shoulder with practiced ease and sighted through the scope. Sweeping the ground below he found the force that was pursuing them. The vehicles had been abandoned because of the rough and broken terrain. But footsoldiers still stalked their trail, and although they were not moving very fast, Kestrel knew that was irrelevant. All the group below had to do was create a barrier while others moved in behind to sweep the pair down from the hills and into the waiting net. Their only escape was to be out of the area before the sweep was begun. That meant moving fast.
Tarja watched as the sniper brought his weapon to bear on the soldiers below. Again she found herself admiring him as he held the heavy weapon rock steady. She could see his thighs shaking just as hers were doing, but his arms showed no strain. Even as she watched, his raged panting became deep regular breaths as he swept the valley below. A man totally in control of his own body.
She wondered what had brought him to this place and had him on the run, like an assassin. She could tell from the badges on his shorts and sleeveless shirt that he was a sniper from the Dark Angel Chapter, but that explained little.
"So what brings you here? I thought you boys only played in the snow", she asked, lounging back and enjoying the warmth of the sun on her body. The idea of indulging in polite conversation while an entire army hunted them down seemed ludicrous, but she still waited for an answer, if only to hear his soft voice.
Kestrel shifted his gaze to look at her, then sat back against a treestump. Their pursuers would be some time sorting through the tangle of false trails he had laid. They had time for a rest, why not find out more about this beautiful woman who didn't tremble in fear at his touch.
"We were here on a training exercise. The locals must have got some anti-aircraft weaponry from somewhere. We took a hit and went down. The others didn't make it." He stared off into the distance where a small column of smoke marked the smouldering wreck that was the grave of the young sniper he had been sent to train, and the two aircrew.
Tarja was about to pass some remark about the sniper's intelligence network being substandard, when he looked at her with a heavy stare. She swallowed the comment and realised he was expecting to know her reasons for being here in return.
She could not break confidence, even on pain of death, so she just said, "I came to do a hit and things got a little messy."
She realised she was passing off the fact that she had just murdered a man as something trivial. For the first time it sounded strange in her ears. She did not mean it to come across as if taking a life meant nothing to her... What was she thinking? Of course it meant nothing to her, it never had. She killed people, it was her job, and she enjoyed it.
What was this man doing to her mind?
Kestrel grunted and looked back down the slope. "We'd better get going" he said, and picked up his bolter and shouldered the pack. He wanted to say something, to tell her he understood. After all he was a sniper, and he killed for a living too. He wanted to express the kinship he felt, but didn't know how. "She'd probably just think I was after her body" he thought. "It wouldn't be too far from the truth either" he conceded. But there was more to it than that. He felt she understood him too, and for a woman to understand about these things... "What the hell are you thinking" he scolded himself. "She's a bloody assassin. She would probably kill you and eat you, as soon as look at you. She's a useful decoy if the troopers get too close that's all." He was not sure who he was trying to convince, but he was aware that someone wasn't buying it.
They continued up the slope and crested the ridge in the late afternoon. The sun was dipping towards the horizon turning the distance into a purple haze. Far below the troopers were searching the thick trees making their way slowly but steadily up the hill.
Pausing to catch his breath, Kestrel surveyed the next valley. It was steep and narrow. Ragged fields lined the river plain at the bottom. The steep sides were well forested providing deep cover. But first they had to cross the open fields without being seen. Already in the distance he could see the lights of vehicles speeding towards the little settlement. It would be the troops sent to cut them off and drive them into the net working their way up the hill behind.
Tarja stood beside him panting, too exhausted to speak. The air was getting thinner and she gulped it as if it were cheap wine. Finally she managed to say, "Where now?"
Kestrel looked at her. She was beautiful even with the scratch marks on her arms and her hair tangled and matted. Her face was glowing pink and twisted as she struggled to breathe. He admired her spirit. He knew she was not used to the altitude. As a snow sniper he spent most of his time in the high country, so altitude sickness did not affect him. But still they could not rest. If the troops managed to spring the trap with them in it, they would be done for. Somehow they had to find a way out.
His gaze followed the ridge along to where it met a strange structure. He swung his bolter into the firing position and looked through the scope. It seemed to be an old aqueduct. The stone structure spanned the valley in three giant leaps.
"That way", he said, pointing.
Tarja looked hard at the old framework and crumbling rock. "He must be joking surely" she thought. "That thing can hardly support itself let alone us." But she had no time to argue as Kestrel turned and began threading his way through the trees.
Slipping between the shadows two figures not much more than shadows themselves emerged from the trees and crouched at the beginning of the aqueduct. Below them on the valley floor a display of lights gave the impression of a massed firefly dance.
The pair of fugitives crouched at the bushline. Below them the bridge stretched out into the darkness. The mournful howl of a lone wolf echoed down the valley, and was answered by the chirping of a flight of bats off on their evenings hunt for ripe fruit.
Tarja cringed. She was beginning to remember why she had seldom been in a forest before. It was not because the were empty of life. It was because they were full of life, and most of it hostile. And she was damn sure that a low cut dress and a sultry smile would not tame a hungry wolf or even the crawly things that were tangled in her hair.
Kestrel felt her sidle up to him. He was expecting some sort of advance and turned to rebuke her. In the dim light he saw her fear as another wolf's howl echoed down the valley. This was a tough girl, he thought, but totally out of her depth in the wilds. He thought of winding her up with tales of huge fanged beasts that roamed the night, but seeing her cringe as a fruit bat flapped noisily past, didn't have the heart. Instead he put his arm gently around her and pulled her close.
Tarja resisted his embrace for a brief second then gladly relented. She was having feelings that she was not used to and didn't quite know how to deal with. She had felt the exhilaration of creeping through the night aware that if she was caught she would be killed, but she had never felt fear like she felt each time that mournful howl split the night air.
She had never loved a man with her heart before either. They were useful 'to scratch an itch', but love ties were never an issue. Somehow with this man she thought she might be willing to reconsider.
Further thought was interrupted by Kestrel saying, "Its time to go. Keep low and try not to fall off." He swept the way ahead with his scope on the night setting. All was clear. He moved out cautiously into the open.
A pale half moon shone down through patchy clouds. It didn't provide much light, but Kestrel hoped it was enough for Tarja to see where she was going. A screaming girl falling off the edge would spoil any chance of slipping across the valley unnoticed.
The path that ran across the top of the aqueduct was rough and broken. Here and there patches were missing or crumbly. The best parts were treacherous and the rest unpassable. In the light of day he might have made it across easily, but in the pasty light from the half moon, much of his footing was guesswork.
Looking through his scope he could clearly make out the troops that made up the line of lights. From here he could snipe all night, and the temptation was strong to let loose a couple of rounds just to stir things up a bit. But he decided against it. It would do no good to stir up a hornets nest and find that he couldn't get all the way across.
He glanced back to see how Tarja was getting on. To his surprise she was right behind him and seemed nettled at the delay.
Tarja was having no trouble seeing in the dark. Her training had seen to that. As assassins quite often work in the dark, it was a mandatory skill and one of the first things taught to trainees. She followed him out over the second span, picking her way across the broken path with expert skill. At least she seemed to have lost her clumsiness, perhaps her lapse had only been fatigue.
The assassin watched the dark shape in front of her dodge around a metal spike that was part of the framework. Then she heard the ominous crack and the clatter of small stones chattering down the outside of the aqueduct. Her heartbeat quickened and her hands felt strangely numb as she raced to the edge of the hole and looked down.
The gaping hole was about six feet wide. Rotten stonework marred the sides and moss grew thickly where a trickle of water tinkled into space. Of Kestrel there was no sign. Then a hollow splashing sound from below her and to her left caused her to frown and peer into the darkness.
"Kestrel?" she whispered hoarsely. The hollow slopping repeated itself and Kestrel's head appeared out of the darkness. It hung like a disembodied visage, ghostly white in the pale moonlight. Tarja repressed a shiver and fought back the irrational fear that leapt into her heart.
She listened as Kestrel said, "There is a tunnel here that leads all the way to the end. It is in much better condition than the path up top. There is a bit of water in here but not too much. Come on I'll give you a hand". So saying a white hand stretched out of the gloom to take Tarja's.
She hesitated, loathe to trust her safety to a man, yet terrified to climb over the rotten stonework unaided. A bright flash of light distracted her and she looked back along the bridge to see a misshapen oval of light creeping over the bridge towards her. It rippled as the search beam passed over the uneven surface of the aqueduct, drawing ever closer. She knew that if she was seen, the troops below had enough firepower to destroy the entire structure, and her with it. Gingerly she reached out across the yawning gap and grabbed hold of a rusty metal bar that jutted out from the stonework.
Suddenly the rotten rock beneath her feet gave way and she slipped out into dark space. A tiny cry escaped her as she clung to the spike for dear life. The trickle of water danced off her feet as she dangled by one hand. Her other flailed about frantically trying to find another hold. Swiftly the strong hand of the sniper closed over her wrist, stopping her swinging but still leaving her dangling precariously hundreds of feet above the valley floor.
The bright white light drew inexorably closer and with it came certain death.
Through tightly clenched teeth Kestrel said, "Let go of your other hand and I'll pull you up." His grip around her wrist tightened but Tarja was too terrified to relinquish her hold on the metal spike. She could see the small stream of water cascading down between her legs and splashing on the rocky pile below. She knew that if she let go she would tumble as no more than a droplet of water and be splattered on the rocks beneath her.
But her grip was failing. Already her arm was becoming numb and pain shocked through her shoulder as muscle and tendon was stretched to near breaking point. Her fingers were slipping slowly off their hold, as if to draw out the agony as long as possible.
She stifled a scream as her grip failed and she was cast into empty space. But instead of falling in a twisted tangle of arms and legs to her death on the rocks below, Tarja felt herself hauled into the dark tunnel, and into the arms of the sniper.
They fell back against the far wall, Kestrel's desperate effort sending them off balance. He felt the wind rush from his lungs as his back impacted the tunnel wall. Then a second later the trembling form of Tarja slammed into his chest. She clung to him like a frightened child. Her nails digging into his flesh. Her hair tickled his face and her scent tantalised his senses. He could feel her body trembling against his and the press of her breasts against his chest. His big powerful arms encircled her and pulled her even closer as he gazed down at her face, white with fear.
The searchlight breasted the entrance, lighting the tunnel as if it were day, and paused while the men below inspected the dark hole with the water trickling out.
Tarja blinked her wide eyes as she stared up at the man who held her close. The hard muscle felt safe and reassuring as he cradled her in his arms. She could feel his big, powerful hands slide slowly down her back to rest just above her bottom. His breathing was deep and strong and his warm breath caressed her face as she felt her passion rise. A low moan escaped her trembling lips as she tilted her head back and pressed her hips into his. She closed her eyes and pouted, her lips ready for the passionate kiss that would sweep away all thought of her brush with death. But it didn't come.
Instead Kestrel pushed her roughly to her feet and retrieved his bolter. "Come on", he mumbled and slopped along the dark tunnel away from her.
For long seconds Tarja stood stupefied. She had surrendered herself willingly for the first time, and he had rejected her. Why? Then anger began to build on the frustration she was feeling. She berated herself, demanding to know, "Who the hell does he think he is treating me like this? Well if he thinks I'm just some tart he can think again. He's had his chance and if he tries again I'll kill him, and good riddance". Roughly she pushed off the wall and slopped along the dark tunnel after him, her anger smouldering.
Kestrel was in not much better shape. He cursed himself for a fool. He should have taken her right then and there and to hell with the consequences. But he hadn't. He could come up with a hundred excuses, call it professional conduct, keeping his mind on the job at hand, but he knew that was not the reason. He was scared. Scared that he might really feel something for this woman.
Emotional ties were not encouraged in the marines. "But why not?" he asked himself as he plodded noisily along the inky black tunnel. "What's wrong with having someone warm and soft to come home to, to ease away the stress of living, to make you feel needed, wanted, loved?" "Damn you. You're not an office worker, you're a bloody sniper and you can't afford distractions. Look at you, you're slopping through here making enough noise to wake the dead. For your own sake, get a grip" he mumbled.
Tarja heard him mumbling something ahead. His voice sounded strange in the echoy blackness but at least she knew he was there, just a few paces in front. "Why should that bring me comfort?" she asked herself. "I rely on me, and me only. What has gotten into you Tarja? Wake up before this bloody idiot gets you killed."
They continued on in silence, the only sound was the splashing of their footfalls in the stream running along the tunnel floor. Eventually they came to a point where the tunnel sloped upwards at a marked angle.
The pair stopped and Kestrel said in a low voice that reverberated along the tunnel, "This must be on the other side. The slant here is where the pipe follows the land upwards. See if you can find a crack or a weak point where we can break out of here".
They searched but could not find any. Tarja faced the marine in the darkness and spat. "Bloody great. You lead us into this damn tunnel. It's dark and wet, and now you can't find a bloody way out. We should have stayed on top. At least then we would be able to get off!" her angry voice rumbled down the tunnel repeating, "Off ... off... off."
Kestrel ran his hand over the damp surface of the wall and said, "They would have followed the white sweep with an infa-red. If we had stayed on top we would be dead by now."
"How do you know?" she spat back accusingly.
"Because its my job to know," he replied matter of factly.
Silence reigned in the tunnel for a few moments, then Kestrel said, "Here, hold this a moment." He passed his bolter towards her. Tarja felt the butt of the bolter in her stomach and grabbed it reflexively. Then she gasped as he released the full weight of the weapon into her arms. It was very heavy and the assassin wondered how he managed to carry such a heavy weapon, let alone hold it and fire. In her mind she saw him standing still and solid, his shoulder muscles bunched as he held the weapon to his shoulder...
Her daydream was shattered by a grunt and a grinding of rock as Kestrel slammed into the wall sending showers of dust down upon them. A crack appeared and weak light filtered through the sifting dust. Another grunt and the grating of falling bricks, and Kestrel had opened up a hole big enough for them to crawl out.
Kestrel was the first to pull himself out of the dark pipe and into the moonlight. He glanced around to make sure they were not being observed then called for Tarja to pass out the bolter. A few minutes later they were both sitting on the ground beside the tunnel brushing the dust from their soiled clothes.
The moon had reached its zenith and was on the wain. Kestrel decided to move a short way into the trees then settle down for some rest until daylight.
The night had grown cool and Tarja shivered as she followed the sniper into the trees. Her black skin-tight syn-skin was good for fighting in and seducing men (well at least up until now) but it did little to protect her from the biting cold.
In a dark nook they settled down to rest. Kestrel drew out his survival suit and put it on. In the dark of the nook no-one would see the white and grey suit. Then he pulled out a storm jacket for Tarja. It was extra protection for bad weather but he figured it would serve the woman better than being his pillow tonight. She accepted the jacket with stony grace and struggled into it. It was miles too big but warmer than just her syn-skin, so she thanked Kestrel then sat down beside him.
As the night wore on they huddled closer, secure in their little nook. Both telling themselves that body contact was made solely for the warmth their bodies needed to survive the night chill, both knowing they lied.
The next morning found them just above the snowline. Kestrel was visibly happier and even Tarja had to admit that there was something beautiful about the splendour of the mountain peaks. They had travelled at a leisurely pace as there had been no signs of pursuit. Tarja's jacket flapped around her knees as she followed Kestrel into a small dell where they decided to rest for a while.
Soft snow crunched under them as the pair sat down and relaxed tired muscles. Their breath misted in the mountain air and they sat in silence for a while. Then Kestrel crawled up the little bank and rested his bolter on the top. He began a sweep of the slope below checking to see if they were being followed. Nothing showed in the holo-scope as he traced their footprints back the way they had come.
Tarja lay back and shut her eyes. Despite the coldness of the snow, the sun was warm and relaxing. She felt safe with Kestrel on watch. She had watched him closely all day, critical of every move he made. She had discovered that he was indeed worthy of the title 'Sniper Elite'. He was careful and always alert, and she hated to admit, damn gorgeous. She had made another unnerving discovery today as well. Her transmitter had been lost sometime during her flight. Kestrel was now her best, and probably only chance, of getting off this planet.
Through her sleepy ears she heard the sniper curse. Slowly, unwillingly, she opened her eyes to see what was wrong. A dark shape loomed out of the trees and leapt towards the prone pair, the glint of steel catching Tarja's eye. She called a warning to Kestrel and twisted to get clear of the assailant. A sickening whistle and a cloud of churned snow marked where a razor sharp whirling star had missed her head by inches.
Tarja surged to her feet as the assailants sword glanced off Kestrl's side. He lashed out with a boot but the man dodged. Then with an evil grin the swordsman moved in for the kill.
A scrape of steel and a flash of sunlight aborted the strike as Tarja's blade arced towards the man's neck. Sparks flew as steel met steel in front of Kestrel's face. A startled look crossed the dark man's face as he looked to see who wielded the sword. To his surprise it was the young woman with long black hair and beautiful blue eyes. Her legs spread wide apart as she stood her ground.
Tarja saw the man hesitate as his eyes ran over her body. Even under the thick jacket her ample breasts and curving hips were obvious. A quick jerk on the hilt and her blade flicked downwards to the man's stomach and opened him even as he moved to deflect the strike. He sagged to his knees, his eyes still locked on the beauty that had slain him.
Another figure leapt from the trees snarling and swinging a wicked heavy sword. This man's face was covered except for his eyes. They stared at her with a hateful fierceness that Tarja knew would defeat her womanly charms. This one she would have to defeat by sheer skill alone. The black clad figure knew too that his opponent was no novice. He circled and stalked her, as a lion stalks a bush buck. Soft snow crunched under their carefully placed feet as they shifted, looking for an opening.
Suddenly the man advanced with a flurry of strikes, his sword flashing with a dazzling brightness. Tarja parried and dodged the powerful strikes as best she could but the speed and strength of each blow taxed her. She stumbled backward, reeling from a cut to her chest. It was not serious but it hurt, and that made Tarja angry.
She let out a startled cry as she saw the man's hand flip casually towards the still prone Kestrel. A spinning disk leapt from the hand and sailed towards Kestrel. She knew that it would kill him if it hit him. The scything blades would tear through his flesh as if it were paper.
As if in slow motion Tarja saw the disc hit Kestrel as the sniper tried to dodge. His pain filled cry echoed inside her head. Tarja saw red. The one man who made her feel like she was more than just a dangerous whore, had been struck down, and the bastard who did it stood before her gloating. A primeval growl gathered deep in her chest and worked its way up her throat to her mouth. Then screaming obscenities she launched her attack at the fiend. Her sword flashed like lightning and sparks flew as it impacted on her opponents sword. Such was the fury of her attack that the man was driven back and forced to defend frantically.
Tarja's rage seemed inexhaustible as she slashed again and again at his head. The man knew he could not withstand the onslaught much longer and sought escape. Turning his back on her, he ran as fast as he could across the open snow field. The going was slow and hard work, for the soft snow sank under his weight. He glanced over his shoulder to see how far he had left the woman with the sword arm of a man behind. To his shock she was right behind him. Striped of the bulky jacket, she moved with oiled grace across the soft snow. Her face still glowing with rage and katana held high.
Like a black angel she swept down on him slashing at his back and legs. He fell face forwards into the white drifts writhing in pain. Tarja bent down and grabbed him by his scarf, turning his face towards her. He stared up in fear as she spat in his face then drove her sword into his heart. His screams echoed eerily around the mountains as his life faded and his blood stained the snow.
Another sound disturbed the rumbling echoes, it was a high pitched crack followed by a whistling next to her head. Fatigued from her battle, Tarja looked about irritably to find the cause. Then Kestrel shouted to her to get to cover as another shot rang out.
The sniper ignored the blood flowing from his wounds. They hurt like hell but they weren't fatal, yet. The troops on the slope below were of more immediate concern. He grabbed his bolter and adjusted the scope. A bright muzzle flash showed him the position of the first of the enemy. He took a deep breath and caressed the trigger.
He was aware that Tarja was screaming something but his concentration would not allow him to think on it. Slightly more pressure on the trigger and the round was away, speeding towards its target with unerring accuracy. The man fell, but Kestrel noticed he was not alone. Two more shots kept their heads down as he scrambled towards Tarja. She was crouched behind a low snowbank, clutching her bloody sword in one hand, the other pressed across the wound in her chest.
Kestrel threw himself down next to her panting heavily, his head swimming from the pain. "You alright?" he managed to gasp. She nodded and looked down at the blood seeping onto her hand.
"I'll live, but I won't dance naked for a while."
She looked at his blood stained uniform and grimaced. "You'll need that dressed. Do you have a med kit?". Kestrel nodded and pointed to the pack. Risking a quick glance down the slope Tarja scrambled to get the pack and her discarded jacket.
With a hopping run Tarja reached the pack and the jacket. No rounds chased her. The mountainside was silent. Encouraged, she ran back to the snowbank and sagged to her knees by Kestrel's side. She broke open the med kit and began to dress his hip. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the gauze gently on his wound. Her hands longed to stray, but her mind kept them on the job at hand. Trying to cover her nervousness at being so close to his groin, she said, "You're lucky. Those things are designed to make a real mess."
Kestrel looked at her incredulously and said, "No kidding." His voice was filled with sarcasm but contained a slight note of humour. Tarja smiled slightly and dressed the cut in his side also. Then Kestrel offered to dress her cut for her and she blushed, and gave a nodding smile.
His nimble fingers touched her gently as he ministered to her. Tarja cursed herself once again. "I don't believe it, you actually blushed! You've bedded all manner of men and not once have you blushed! What the bloody hell is happening to you?" Kestrel finished dressing her cut and sat back easing his leg out straight. "We'll have to get going. There are at least four more of them on their way up. We'll have to go out into the snowfield"
"Why?" asked the assassin fingering her bandage. "Wouldn't it be better to stay in the forest?" Kestrel glanced down the slope and replied, "No. We have camo gear while the others don't so we'll have the advantage out there. Besides we only have to keep them up here until nightfall, then my mistress will take care of them."
The assassin stared at him and struggled to her feet. The flush of jealousy colouring her face. "Your mistress?" she demanded.
Kestrel just smiled and said, "Come on we've got a long way to go yet." Tarja fell in behind him as he trudged through the soft snow, trying to step in his footprints but having little success. In her mind she was battling with emotions she thought were only for those who were weak and dependent on others. It was a sobering feeling to find she was just as vulnerable as those she had long despised as weaklings.
Kestrel concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Each step brought new pain and sapped his strength. He knew that soon they would have to stop and rest. The sun was starting its descent to the horizon, but it would not be night for a few hours yet, and Kestrel wanted to be well out into the snowfield by then.
His concentration was broken periodically by the memories of Tarja's soft touch on his thigh. Her hands were soft and delicate, and despite the pain, his skin had tingled to her touch. More and more he was finding flaws in the reasons for being a loner.
As the sun set they made camp in a shallow hollow. Kestrel dug out the depression and pushed the pack into the wall facing where he hoped any attack would come from. It wouldn't do much but it might slow down any incoming rounds. Then he set up his bolter and covered himself with snow. His hip felt stiff and cold where the integrity of his survival suit was breached.
Tarja sat beside him chewing on a tasteless ration square. The cut on her chest was irritating her and she scratched at it carefully. Despite the warm storm jacket her legs were cold and she drew them up to her chest and hugged herself to keep warm. The silence was still and eerie. Used to the constant sounds of the city Tarja found it uncomfortable and she tried to engage Kestrel in conversation to break it.
"Do you think they'll come for us tonight?" she asked.
Kestrel glanced over at her and shifted himself so that he sat facing her with his back against the pack. "No I don't think so. Unless they know what they are doing it would be too dangerous to follow us at night.
The silence fell again and Tarja fingered her sword, something she usually did when she was thinking. A shiver ran through her body as light snowflakes began to fall. Gazing at the sky Kestrel smiled and then held out his arm to her. Tarja hesitated momentarily then smiled and sidled over to cuddle into his warm body. Kestrel pulled her close enjoying the feel of her body next to his. His arm draped around her shoulders and softly caressed her hair and cheek. He could feel her arms holding onto him softly massaging his back and chest. Kestrel smiled and sighed deeply. Tomorrow he may die but tonight he would lie content and warm in the embrace of this woman.
Tarja felt his sigh and sighed herself. Despite the threat that lurked out on the darkened slopes she felt safe and secure in his arms. His body was strong and hard, yet supple and warm. Although her injury hurt she longed to feel his hands on her flesh, but could not find the words to tell him. They lay in each others arms content with the warmth and comfort drawn from the other. Night deepened and Winter rose from her slumber.
Gliding down the snowy slopes that were her domain, she came across one of her devotees wrapped in the arms of a woman not of the snows. Winter felt no jealousy, the man was hers and she knew it. One day she would claim him, until then he could 'practice' all he wanted. It would not save him in the end. She watched as the couple looked up from their embrace, and smiled as she recognised the sniper as Kestrel. She remembered the feel of his body from when she had almost claimed him once before. Again she felt no jealousy but did feel slightly aroused. Her passions ached to be fulfilled and a wicked smile spread across her face as she felt the presence of men from the lowlands. Flashing her startling eyes at Kestrel she glided off across the snowfield in search of easy prey.
Tarja gasped and shrank closer to Kestrel, as from up on the slope a shimmering form floated towards them. Ghost or demon, Tarja could not tell. She felt the power of its presence, but could not make out exactly what it was.
He whispered in her ear, "This is my mistress". Kestrel had been waiting for her. He knew she would be here and he knew she would be hungry. He didn't pity the men who would become her prey tonight. They would die in unbelievable ecstasy, but die they would.
Kestrel pulled Tarja back into his body and rested his cheek on the top of her head. "Don't worry. She's never jealous, and the first time we make love will be my last. She nearly claimed me once." He smiled at the memory of the avalanche that nearly killed him. "But I doubt that many of the lowlanders will survive an encounter with her."
Tarja snuggled closer pulling in more warmth. She was beginning to understand this man and the more she knew the more she liked him.
The sun climbed higher in the morning sky warming the slopes, and the couple stretched prone in the snow. Kestrel concentrated on his scope, looking for any movement. Tarja fidgeted next to him. Her legs were cold and she longed to curl up in the sniper's arms again and feel his warmth. But he was 'working' and would tolerate no distractions. It occurred to her just how alike they were, both dedicated professionals who were devoted to their chosen careers.
Kestrel scowled as he felt Tarja shuffling around. She would never make a good sniper, too fidgety. Movement on his holo-scope attracted his full attention. Three figures toiled up the snowfeild towards them. They seemed unaware of the presence of the sniper, and the fact that there was now only three was not lost on him, or Tarja.
Slowly, deliberately, he adjusted his scope and sighted on the first man. A sniper from the lowland troops. The others appeared to be footsoldiers. None were wearing armour and the sniper carried the only long range weapon. He was the prime target. But to get them all was Kestrel's plan. He needed to wait until they were too far from cover to escape from his murderous fire.
Kestrel turned to rebuke Tarja for trying to snuggle into him again. His face betraying scorn at her inability to remain motionless. She scowled back and tossed her black locks hoitily.
A loud crack was followed by a dull thunk as a round slammed into the pack. Kestrel cursed and pressed his eye to the scope and returned fire. The sniper was in good cover but the other two were floundering in the deep drifts. The first fell as a round tore through his chest sending him reeling. Another two rounds sizzled into the fugitive's camp causing Tarja to cringe. She flattened herself against Kestrel, hugging him for protection.
Again Kestrel cursed as his aim was spoiled by Tarja. The round destined to fell the second trooper missed its mark and tore through the man's leg. He fell into the snow screaming but still alive. Desperately he crawled through the drifts leaving a bloody trail from his torn leg.
Kestrel fired again, this round hitting the man in the neck all but severing his head from his body. Blood spurted like a red fountain. More rounds sprayed their camp and Kestrel cursed the woman that clung to him spoiling his aim.
The last man was in good cover and Kestrel couldn't get a clean shot at him so he decided on a change of tactics. Hunkering down while rounds burst all around them, he pulled out a specialised round and breach loaded it. Then he told Tarja to lie down and leave him alone. He needed to get this right, he'd only get one chance.
He pushed the bolter over the top of the pack and sighted on the muzzle flash that betrayed his target's position. He drew a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. Snow erupted like a white volcano as the round exploded in a blinding flash.
Flushed from his secure hide, the sniper broke cover and ran. Kestrel allowed himself a quick smile before ending the man's life with a bullet in the back. He glanced over at Tarja and grinned. "Works every time" he said.
His humour proved infectious and Tarja returned his smile and crawled over to lie next to him. Brushing an errant snowflake from his hair she pulled him down on top of her and kissed him deeply. Kestrel released his grip on the bolter and embraced her, returning her fiery passion in like. Even as their hands danced across each others bodies seeking a way through the protective layer of clothing, a voice came over Kestrel's comms unit announcing the imminent arrival of his rescue craft.
He keyed the acknowledgment code while groping with Tarja's syn-suit. The pain from his wounds dulled as passion blotted out all but the woman in his arms.
Bio:I have been writing for several years now (because I am too broke to buy books) and have several "marines" stories as well as a fantasy novel. When I am not writing for pleasure or work (I teach at a secondary school) I climb rocks, or try denting them with my head by jumping off my mountain bike at high speed. I would love to hear what people think of my writing, good or bad. Any criticism can only make me better, so post a comment or e-mail me
E-mail: tgeorge@paradise.net.nz
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