Commander Jason Hunter and Vanguard Captain Oakshotte on Proxima Four

Author’s Note: This is a scene from a fight shared by the Bandit Jacks (when they were still fighter pilots) and Gael Oakshotte’s Royal Proximan Recon company on Proxima Four. This takes place roughly a year before Jason Hunter was promoted to captain. Want to see more? Post your review in the comments!

Wood and pieces of a shattered makeshift door latch exploded into the damp and gloomy cabin. Jason Hunter pushed the last of the debris out of the way and barged into the dimly lit space to find three Proximan scouts, one of which was prone and looked unconscious. The other two went to their swords reflexively, then relaxed when they saw it was a human.

“Either of you speak human?”

“I am lead paw-troll hoo MAN!” the larger of the two feline warriors growled. His golden fur was sopping wet and streaked with mud and dried blood. “Guards speak and understand!” The other had a white coat with black stripes across his eyes and snout. The injured cat was inky black.

“No life signs nearby, Jason!” a female voice cried out from the deluge outside.

“Come in, doctor! I have a patient for you!” Hunter spoke without taking his eyes off the two lions of the sword. As one of only a few Alliance officers to actually train with the Proximan military, the flight leader was well aware of proper customs. Turning your back on any member of the guard, be he military or civilian, was a sign of considerable disrespect. If permission was granted, naturally, it was allowed. If alien and lion were “blade keepers,” a human term that loosely described the Proximan tradition of soldiers who had bled together, it was allowed. But acknowledging two brave cats and then turning your back would almost be considered deliberate provocation. Jason Hunter was a formidable combatant, but he knew better than to upset two trained killers only seconds after finally finding shelter from the inconvenient downpour.

“Female has medicine?” the white Proximan half-shouted as Annora Doverly ducked into the makeshift shelter.

“Greatest healing power of all humans,” Jason replied. He clapped the huge cat’s muscular shoulder. “She is doctor.” The Proximan didn’t look convinced.

Nevertheless, the larger Proximan stepped back, assenting to Annora’s presence. Jason noted their grips on their swords had relaxed somewhat, which was conveninent considering with three lions of the crown, two gigantic swords and two humans there was just enough spare room in the leaky cabin for a small lunchbox. The unconscious feline warrior appeared to be some kind of technician. Royal troops serving the Proximan king had exacting rules and regulations for who was allowed to carry a blade humans would recognize. The ancient offices of alchemists and sages were among those who were generally discouraged from armaments so they could devote sufficient time to their studies. This rule became formalized when the kings of old Proxima trained and equipped great legions to defend the far-flung territories of the most powerful realms. Only those trained or in training with the sword were permitted to carry weapons. Those who pursued knowledge, technology and what some lions called “mind magic” were expected to wield other kinds of weapons.

Annora took Jason aside. “I’m not an expert in Proximan anatomy, commander!”

“Well, he’s got a pulse,” Jason replied.

“Yeah.”

“So he’s got warm blood, and that means there’s a heart, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, keep the blood inside the fur and whatever other doctorly things you do, and everything will be fine.” The look on Hunter’s face resembled that of a man who had just solved an enormous problem with almost no effort at all.

Annora didn’t look quite as pleased. She glared at her squadron leader as she pulled her portable medical kit out of its case on her belt. Finally she went to the injured lion’s side.

“Commander Oakshotte was forward scout?” Hunter asked.

“Away from the sun. Towards the ice!” the white-furred lion barked. He nodded in the direction of the recent skirmish. “No fire until night falls!”

“Acknowledged. I’ll go. Doctor, keep him alive, or there won’t be anyone to fix the broken radio I’m fairly certain our column leader is lugging around.”

“No promises,” Annora replied as she prepped an I.V.

Hunter emerged from the camouflaged shack and half ran half-slid down the muddy incline. If there was one thing that could be counted on boots down on the southern continent of Proxima Four it was the endless rainfall. For the lions, it was merely an annoyance much like how humans experienced excess humidity back in the Core systems. Proximans had thick coats and eyes that were practically designed for amphibious exploration. It had long been said that the big humanoid cats were twice as dangerous in waist-deep water as they were on land. Hunter had been needling his royal brothers-in-arms for years over the fact they had overlooked forming water polo teams for inter-system competition. The joke was a lot funnier for humans, since it would never occur to a Proximan male to “compete” in the water. The king’s lions had a tough time understanding the human capacity for imaginative play. For them, almost any kind of competition was likely to inspire brief flashes of extreme aggression, any one of which was liable to leave someone crippled and bleeding. Competing in six feet of water against humans which were, on average, a hundred pounds lighter and a foot shorter to retrieve a small object and throw it into a net was out of the question. The final score in such a game was more likely to be measured in casualties than points.

The shorter Proximan had given Hunter the best guess as far as coordinates were concerned. “Away from sun” was his closest human phrase for “west” and “towards the ice” meant north. The commander rapidly discerned a northwest vector would cross the River of the Broken Fangs somewhere just inside the undergrowth line at the far edge of the sparse clearing both groups of forces had been circling for almost a half-day. Oakshotte had led a recon team ahead in the belief he could find a suitable vantage point from which to monitor any enemy activity along the road and the river at the same time. The structure the other patrol had found was too far east.

Leaving aside the division of forces, an instinct Hunter wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about, the biggest problem at the moment wasn’t the weather or the potential for enemy encounters. It was the all-too-rapid descent of Proxima herself towards the western horizon. It was impossible to see exactly how much time was left given the canopy of wide-leaved trees overhead, but the flight leader of Jack Nine trusted his own less-than-perfect wilderness instincts, such as they were. In an hour, Proxima Four would be under the light of four moons. Unfortunately none of them were large enough to provide anywhere near enough light to navigate.

Commander Hunter had to reach Oakshotte’s position before then.