The Evergreen Files: Banshee; Book One
Chapter Eleven

Solomon had to return to his room to collect his weapon, having only carried his pistol to the briefing. He was so used to the safety and predictability of earth. This will not happen again he told himself. He will always be armed accordingly.

The warning klaxon was sounding once more throughout the red sector, a noise that truly got the adrenaline flowing sufficiently through the once calm veins of every person who was scuttling around the dirt, a wall of dust was beginning to rise from under the soldiers boots. Quickly getting to his room, Solomon found his whole squad, armoured, armed and ready, the greeted him with a brisk salute, as he rushed through his door.

“Okay, guys, quickly, pop these patches on, they’re your new call signs!” he said as emerged from his door passing them the new patches with ‘Red 1-1’ stitched upon them, “Follow me, and we’ll get us some new kills.” he said loudly as he set off towards the South Gate where the attack was coming from. Solomon passed the box of call signs to Decius and told him to carry it until they joined with their company at the south gate, as he relayed the orders from Broom to meet at that gate.

The South gate was no more than a thin metal fence fit between two dirt mounds that was electrified. Only turned off to allow people to move the gate and enter or leave. The wall was quite simply, a man made wall of dirt. Literal dirt. Sand had been piled eight feet high and levelled on the top and walled with sandbags, high enough to kneel behind.

Once the new Call signs had been handed out to the First Company Solomon began giving his orders. The electric gate stayed electrified however, Solomon looked behind him, where the soldier who had control of the electricity flow to the metal gate stood, he was as still as a statue. “Thirty seven minutes.” came the voice of Commander Broom. Solomon looked at at the top of the wall where Broom had positioned himself. Looking down upon the military unit. “Thirty seven minutes. And only six of the ten companies have shown up, so far.” said Broom, struggling to hold back his frustration. “the camp is breached and people are dying! if this was a real attack, you would have been responsible for that.”

Lucius came charging down from in between the two checkpoint bays that overlooked the gate, his company following quickly behind his thundering feet that pounded the soil into sand. The look of confusion quickly spread across their faces.

“you all have failed!” spat Broom “reduced rations for every single late squad!”

Reduced rations was always a harsh punishment. A dehydrated powder that when added with water turned into a ball of bread. Highly nutritious, awful tasting. Solomon ate alone that evening, sat on within his small room on his little bed, he was missing The Evergreen, he was missing Eve. He was missing his string chair. He knew, if there was an alert, it took him seven minutes to the armoury, five minutes to arm himself, another four minutes to report to his station. He knew all the short cuts, all the routes, but here, nothing. He was a lost sheep. He was not going to allow himself to fail on the next drill, whenever that may be, even if there is another one! There was a soft knock at his door, it was Lyra. A white dust shawl covered her beautiful face, but Solomon knew by her eyes, that it was her. “Care for a walk?” he asked, grabbing his rifle, a map and his cloth olive scarf that he tied around his face. That evening a harsh dust storm had swept into the Red Sector.

Lyra and Solomon walked all the streets within the Red Sector, finding the best routes, The Red Sector was not overly large, one mile in each direction from the command building, surrounded on all sides by the dirt wall with sandbags on the top. Four electrified gates had been erected on each side of the sector, North, East, South and West, easy enough to find on a compass, easy enough to retreat and reinforce when needed. After three hours, Solomon was confident he knew the Red Sector as well as The Evergreen. Solomon began to make a plan. First thing, he was going to assemble his company, and perform training runs from their barracks to each of the gates with his new directions. Now that Solomon had mapped The Red Sector, he eased up a little, talking with Lyra was so easy. Even when he was tense and serious, she always made him smile. After a while they got back to Solomon’s door. Which was only a couple streets away from the barracks, that took Solomon so long to get to earlier that day. Even in the harsh dust storm, Solomon’s room did not look inviting in the slightest. With a sigh he turned and said goodnight to Lyra who leaned against the door frame with smiling eyes, her face still covered by the dust coated material that now resembled more of a yellow shade than white. She lifted up a bottle of strong alcohol and some packaged cooked steaks from her bag and watched Solomon’s smile spread broadly across his face, letting the dust stick to his teeth and he quickly began coughing, which made Lyra laugh. “Come on in, then. Let’s have a date.” he spluttered, gasping for air.

Solomon awoke the next day with the ever familiar ache inside his skull. The single bed did not offer much room for two people. But Solomon felt both sides of the small mattress. Where was Lyra? Solomon sat up, causing his head to pulsate. casting his tired eyes around the room, to see nothing but emptiness. Sadness swilled into Solomon’s heart that was already working overtime to eradicate the alcohol from his bloodstream. After dressing himself, he sat on the end of his small bed and stared at his feet, trying to engage his mind for the morning’s exercises when the door opened, bringing in a soft salty breeze, and also sand. A slender figure danced in, “Good Morning, handsome” said Lyra who was carrying two large drinking containers filled with an orange liquid. “Where did you get that? We’re on reduced rations...” asked Solomon suspiciously eyeing the drinking container. “Drink it, and I’ll let slip.” ordered Lyra with a playful smile. Fresh orange juice. Solomon’s taste buds danced with joy as the beautiful orange liquid passed into his body.

Two days. That is all it took for Solomon’s soldiers to comply with the drill times that Commander Broom had set. Ten minutes. Solomon had stood tall, his chest swelling with pride when Broom had lowered his watch, smiled with a nod and dismissed the company. Today was Wednesday. Solomon’s feelings of achievement had quickly vanished when he returned to his room to collect some paper he had prepared for today’s event and his blue figure hugging plate armour, lined with a golden trim, with a crimson T shape on the Breast Place, his helmet was golden and glistened in the dazzling sun. with a sigh, he made his way with his company outside the mud walls at the south entrance gate, spotting Lucius leaning against the sand bags, Lucius giving him a curt nod of respect and understanding the duty Solomon must take up, he returned to watch duty with a grave but vacant expression. The First Company made their way, shuffling their feet to a guarded spot of land with a single rectangular hole excavated surrounded by nearly one hundred recently filled graves, not too far away sat a blue and red truck, covered with white roses. Solomon and his squad sergeants broke away from the company and made their way to the truck. They knew the role they must play. No words had to be spoken. Solomon and the sergeants fixed their helmets and opened the rear of the truck, revealing a dark wooden coffin. With a single movement the men carefully heaved the wooden mass out of the flowered vehicle. Delicately they placed the coffin upon their armoured shoulders and slowly walked towards the excavated hole. The company had assembled equally on either side in three lines, all looking towards the black figure who had placed a wooden stand at the head of the hole. The man in black clothing had aged not too well, his wrinkled face resembled more of a tortoise than a human, very little hair dressed his balding head. The black clothing hid his frail frame very well. As Solomon and his sergeants halted at the foot of the hole and they looked gloomily up at the wrinkled man. He was used to this gesture and it no longer effected him, it was his job to bury the fallen.

“Pre-sent!” shouted the man in black, with a surprisingly explosive voice. And the company raised their weapons into the air and fired a single shot.

“Pre-sent!” shouted the man again louder.

Another shot.

“Pre-sent!” he came again, his voice was beginning to sound as frail as he looked.

The final shot echoed through the plains, long past the trees, and seeping into the next village which lay as deadly silent as the funeral gathering.

Solomon and his sergeants held the coffin over the hole, slowly lowered the dark wooden container into the ground. The man in black walked over to Solomon quieter than death, “Here, this is for you.” whispered the man in deep but soft voice as he handed Solomon a square object wrapped in a black cloth. Solomon perched himself on the wooden stand and revealed the object. The image of Darren showed him at his happiest. At his promotion party to Corporal. Brandishing his newly earned stripes in a muscle man pose, bearing the largest smile Solomon had ever seen on him.

“We are here today, to mourn a lost brother. Losing family is never easy. As soldiers we expect the loss of one here and there. We expect the raised glass, a mourning salute and the occasional empty chair. We can prepare to lose some, but we are never ready to lose all. Darren was my friend. Even though he shot at me with a rocket the last time I saw him, he went out like a true soldier. Making sure the job was done before allowing himself the honour of dying in battle...” Solomon sniffed, holding back the tears. “Darren has gone on the journey, we all one day will make, I just hope by the time we all get there, he remembered our favourite drinks and has a cold one waiting for us.” the company let out a soft saddened laugh. “But now, we have to say goodbye” Solomon’s voice was drowned out by a fearsome roar that emanated from the trees. The roar was so loud, it carried to Lucius’s ears, who had jumped to his feet the second he heard it. Calling his soldiers to the walls.

The crimson beasts known as Mares had gathered behind the tree line in interest from the funeral. A swarm of crimson flooded from the green swaying trees, crimson skin and bone white barred teeth.

“To arms!” cried Solomon before he could feel the cold skeletal hand of fear, tickle each and every individual hair on the back of his neck. The old preacher fled in his truck, leaving the soldiers to fight. Two platoons formed a firing line whilst the rest retreated to form other firing lines every one hundred yards all the way back to the wall. Solomon’s blood was carrying more adrenaline than oxygen now. He felt light headed. Looking down the line to keep his concentration and focus, he saw the young face of Private Decius, who was nervously checking that his weapon had loaded correctly, then checking it again. Sandra stood behind the first line, photographing the advancing creatures, Lyra had also noticed Decius and quickly jumped to his side with a small word to calm his senses.

The creatures are now three hundred yards away.

“Fire at will!” called Solomon through his line, and the brutal and relentless barrage of lead opened up fresh oozing wounds in the flesh of the Mares. Dozens upon dozens fell within the first few seconds. Roars and high pitched squeals echoed through the air, followed by the ever familiar klaxon coming from The Red Sector. Solomon raised his own weapon and added his own hatred to the firing line. Darren was killed by these things, and they have the audacity to ruin his funeral!

Two hundred yards away.

“Line Retreat! Fall back to the walls!” Shouted Solomon as he released his empty clip into the dirty air and turned on his heels. “Second line, prepare to fire! First line, split to each flank and clear up the kill zone!” without a thought, the first firing line split into two teams, one retreat to the left and the second ran to the right, both circled and joined up behind the second firing line, before making their way to the defence walls. Solomon stayed with the second firing line and added to their fire power and hatred.

Another clip empty, in the dust.

Dozens more Mares felled.

“Retreat!” cried Solomon.

“Wall! Cover fire! Show the First Company how to Kill!” boomed Lucius from atop his filthy dust wall, Solomon had to hand it to him, he knew how to deal death. Death was Lucius’ subordinate. Captain Deeph was the most sufficient self sustaining killing machine in all of humanity.

The Fire power that Lucius’ men rained down upon the Mares was truly something to admire, but Solomon could not allow his legs to cease, because he knew, if he stopped, he would die. The Mares had taken enough ground, they were now only fifty yards from the gate. Solomon always made himself the last to depart in any situation. This was no different, slowing his pace to allow his soldiers to pour through the gates first. Slamming his back against the dirt wall as it curved into the metal of the gate. Counting his men to the last, as he fired his weapon into the crowding mass of Mares. Decius came running, red in the face to the gate, the last man. Solomon will get him into shape. Three laps around the complex in ninety minutes with punishing chores for non-compliance. A Mare snapped at Solomon, he replied with a fully automatic volley from his rifle, expending his final bullet into the creatures brutish brain under his boot.

Throwing his rifle around his back on its sling, and pulling out his rarely used pistol, firing another two rounds at an advancing Mare, killing it. Decius was through the gate. Solomon fired another bullet into another advancing Mare as he retreated through the gate, but missed. The Mare charged through the threshold before the gate fell in to place and re-electrified. Solomon picked himself up and through the dust cloud, he could see the red eyes of the Mare, leering at him. Lyra called out to Solomon and cast a freshly loaded rifle at him from atop the dirt wall. The Mare growled and snarled, unaffected by the dust, Solomon’s eyes watered and reddened as he focused on the killer eyes of the Mare. And a fight to the death ensued.

Sandra leaned back on the only chair in her room, rubbing her eyes with a yawn as she cleared up the images she took of the advancing Mares. Their teeth shone brightly through the particles of dust cloud that she had just finished editing out for a clearer image. Two days since Darren’s funeral, Decius still could not manage to complete his punishment of the complex within his time limit. Decius sat in the corner of her room, panting and sweating. “did you get any decent ones of me?” he asked hopefully with a weary smile. Sandra raised an eyebrow, Ever since she had started on The Evergreen, she had taken pictures of everything and everyone, everyone except Decius, she had avoided it deliberately as an excuse not to try and capture an image of him. She forced away a smile when she remembered she even had a selfie with Eve’s central intelligence unit. “Here” she said delicately as she sat herself next to Decius, his sweaty odour met her nostrils with distaste, she forced herself through the smell and closed the gap between them, touching cheeks, his skin was sticky with sweat, hot with exercise, but it brought something completely unexpected. A breath of fresh air. Sandra’s heart swelled in her chest and began beating faster and faster, Decius was suddenly intoxicating! Sandra had never really paid much attention to him before now, he usually irritated her. Why was she suddenly feeling this? “Daddy wouldn’t approve...” she said softly scoffing to herself. “What?” he asked puzzlingly.

“oh, nothing...” said Sandra with a smile as she lifted her camera and took her first picture of Decius, which was also their first selfie together. It was a happy picture. Little did they know, that the picture would end up on Solomon’s lost family wall one day.

“Solomon!” roared Commander Broom, charging through the command centre, corridor by corridor, shouting the same name, over and over, adding “Where the devil is he?!” occasionally.

Solomon sat in the metal chair with his feet on the table, smiling as he savoured his glass of smoked whiskey with Lucius when both men realised they were not alone. A shadowed figure slouched inside the door. “Now, boys. How are we?” came the slimy voice of Winslow, carrying his usual greasy mannerism. The whiskey suddenly tasted as sour as the company. Solomon and Lucius both spat out the whiskey they had been enjoying back into the glass with distaste and emptied the contents of their glasses on to the floor. “I hear, that we have been saving the day, here and there?” Winslow carried on, ignoring their spitting and tipping. “I hear, we have been dancing and prancing around the field of battle like a bunch of fairies.” the malice in his voice was clear. Winslow was here, simply to cause trouble. Winslow slithered deeper into the room, picking up the bottle of smoked whiskey, smelling the mouth of the bottle and curling his lip. “Well, at least your taste in alcohol is better than your taste in war.” he continued with a croaked voice. Winslows very presence chilled Solomon’s soul, only Kyril had the authority to order that snake about. The words hovered upon Solomon’s lips for long enough, “What do you want, maggot?” came the deep voice of Lucius, making Solomon jump slightly. relief filled Solomon with not having to ask the question himself.

“Me? Why, I’m just checking in, on the boys in blue, such a manly display you have been giving” replied Winslow with a sharks smile. Lucius closed the gap between the two men with two strides of his bulking muscular legs, “I like this” said Winslow, spreading his smile further, “It’s like a little... pilgrimage, this. Going to the aliens, and showing them how it’s done.” he finished with putting the whiskey down with a smile wide enough to split his skin, and disappeared down the corridor that echoed with the distant words of Commander Broom, who soon appeared in the metal door frame. “Solomon! Damn you, I’ve been looking every where for you... is that whiskey?” he asked distracted by the smoked odour. The briefing room seemed to smell of only the smoked whiskey, the saltyness of the outside world brought the open windows was barely detectable.

Solomon’s choler was raised most of the day from Winslow, although he didn’t say much to either of the men, he brought with him a certain atmosphere that ruined any living souls day. Broom had come to exchange a few words with Solomon about Darren’s funeral, and his plan to extend the mud wall perimeter past his resting place, designating it the grave yard for the fallen soldiers to come.

“But what about his body?” asked Lyra in shock, “We didn’t get chance to fill the hole in! Those monsters will pick him out and...” Lyra stopped short, the thought of the creatures picking at Darren was too much for her. Solomon placed his heavy hand on her shoulder with a sympathetic smile, “Broom has stationed snipers along the wall to cover Darren, all day and night, everyday, until it’s done.” his face turned grave again as he looked up the mud walls where the breeze swept some of the defence away in small waves.

It was a constant battle, keeping the mud wall up, every meter you built back, the wind would sweep away by the next day. Work had begun with metal to erect a permanent defence where soldiers could sufficiently stand and hide with ease, but this was taking too long. All it would take is a unit to concentrate on building the mud wall up too much and not notice the advancing Mares, Solomon shuddered at the thought. Full rations had been granted back to Solomon’s company, with a few bottles of crisp cider per soldier in respect of Darren’s funeral. The entire company raised a toast to Darren’s memory that had taken its place upon Solomon’s lost family wall that he had brought from The Evergreen. As they raised their glasses to their lips, The Door slid open, and in walked the familiar aged figure of Kyril, bearing a sad expression upon his old face. Pouring himself a glass of cider, he raised his own glass, “To Darren!” he exclaimed and drank the alcohol. This was the first time Solomon had seen Kyril on the surface, he could guess it was Darren’s funeral drinks that had brought him from The Evergreen, he was half right. Once Kyril had greeted the company who remained drinking, he turned his grave gaze upon Solomon. “Well Lieutenant Commander Gordon.” he said with a sigh, “no where near a month on this planet and I’ve had to attend fifteen funeral drinks, including Darren’s.” Solomon felt sadder, Solomon had the command of one hundred soldiers, Kyril had the command of all the ten companies, one thousand soldiers, and then the crew of the evergreen, roughly ten thousand souls. Only Darren had been killed when the first company’s first platoon made planet fall that was close to Solomon, but the company as a whole had lost more, but Lucius had lost three. The other twelve had been lost from other companies. Not exactly heavy losses, but, they are still lost family. Solomon felt his anger rise as he thought of the fifteen dead to the local wildlife. Solomon hated funerals, but as a soldier and an officer, it was expected.

Kyril’s gaze grew graver still, Solomon looking questioningly at his aged face. Kyril placed a hand on Solomon’s back and ushered him away from the others and lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “We’ve lost contact with The Infinity, we have dispatched The Hopeful. With any luck, Captain Shu will have word for us within the next day or so.” he said, lifting the clouded cider to his lips once more, “And!” he spat, “And, we still are no closer to finding out who this god damn murderer is, who killed Doctor Fredrick!” Solomon exchanged a worried glance with Kyril, He barely knew the doctor, Solomon deals with death every time he enters the field of battle, but murder was different. killing your own was incomprehensible to him. Kyril suddenly straightened up, finger to his ear and begin whispering to his wrist as he walked towards the door, speaking too quiet for Solomon to catch a word.

The grim dark bridge hummed slightly, sweat beading upon Zhou’s face as he impatiently oversaw the repairs of the remains of his fleet. The Evergreen had kicked his rear end last time, Zhou knew, he was not to underestimate that glistening blue beauty again. He wanted her. She was his new prize flag ship, or at least, his personal trophy. Zhou had faced many Gryph ships and many other species before, and suffered damage, but nothing like this. Before the battle with The Evergreen, Zhou had sacked a Gryph ship, with firing only a single weapon, once. A pathogen they had been playing with for the last three decades. A weapon that spreads between any species through any internal liquid contact within the body. All you required to turn into one of their creations was a single drop of saliva or blood to enter the victims. One drop, and you will be turning into their creation within time. Prior to the battle, Zhou had fired the single pod that contained one of the creations and within seven hours, the ship had fallen. Little did he know that, firing upon that emerald Gryph ship, would also cost the lives of The Infinity, more souls to unknowingly add to his score.

Zhou moodily stormed from his bridge towards his personal quarters. His corridors dimly lit, to avoid the rust of the years of neglect to displease the eyes, the metal creaked and complained with every movement the ship made. ‘A new ship is a must’ thought Zhou to himself with a smile as he imagined himself once more at the command of the shiny new Evergreen. “Marauder.” he smiled to himself, as he finalised its name. A crackled appeared in side his ear as the voice of his chaser followed “Captain, Most of the human fleet has ported at the nearest Gryph system. They seem to concentrate on the fourth planet.” Zhou abruptly halted his path, thought for a moment and set off towards his Doctor’s room.

The Doctors room was as dimly lit as the rest of the bleak, rotting ship, only a head torch provided the Doctor with sufficient light. His aged face strained and pale, his white hair and stubble beard was unkept, giving him a look of an insane breakout. The metal desk he leaned upon had lost its colour decades ago and had also fallen the ship’s rot of rust. “Doctor!” said Zhou excitedly as he burst in, without knocking, as was his nature. The Doctor mumbled and groaned as he tiredly lifted his head, resting his strained eyes upon the Captain. “Hmm?” he asked, his voice seemed childish to his ancient face. “The Pathogen. We use it to spread an infection aboard a ship or a star base with the recycled air...” said Zhou, struggling to keep his excitement of his idea low. “Hmmhmm..” came the Doctor again, “Can we use it on a planet now?” asked Zhou optimistically “Have you perfected it, so soon?”, The Doctor answered with a wide murderous malicious smile.

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