Short Story; Trooper's Knife

"They've seen us sergant!"
"Open fire men. Don't let those rotten devils pass."

They were all over us. I remember that day, it was the first time I met a Nielda. I never knew why they'd come, but man was I glad they did.

It was 9573 by their calendar, I suppose that meant they'd had a lot of time to learn about this sort of thing. I always believed they'd been pretty good at this the first time. That's the sort of people they are, the Nielda.

"You lot stay down, and stay clean. Masks on if you got 'em, try not to swallow anything. This stuff'll kill you, and that's a promise."
"What the..."
"Zombies, undead certainly."
"Brain-scarfing shamblers is what they are."
"Right, shamblers. You lot ought to be lucky you aren't dealing with one of the more sophisticated sort of undead."
"Haheha. Can you imagine if these poor stoneies had run into a construct or a pack of chargers?"
"Wilkins has a point, this ain't magic sergant. Warlock would have a construct or skeletons somewhere around here."

There was gunfire everywhere. Fire, explosions, the city had become a warzone before they arrived; it just hadn't been a combat zone. We were panicing, but these soldiers were just talking about the horrible things that could have been trying to kill us. The horrible things that were trying to kill us didn't seem to phase them in the least.

"Sergant, I hate to be the bearer of bad news."
"Spit it out trooper."
"Chargers, several hundred on the leading edge, three directions."
"Corporal, get these civies out of here."
"Sir? I'm a medic, I can't protect all these people."
"O'Brin, you know what's about to happen here. They die, they come back, we die, they die with us."

We didn't know what they meant then. She did, the corporal wasn't a vet, but she knew what was coming. Nielda never gave an edge count if they could see the end of the force. It didn't stop them from fighting.

"Sergant, I can't leave you here. You might need me."
"Corporal, This isn't an option. Get those stonies out of here!"
"Muldain, I won't..."
"Now corporal, this is an order from your commanding officer. The captain will need his healer, you're not worth anything to us dead."

We should have been running then. With everything I know now I would never have stayed so long.

"Come on you Stone skulled louts," Nieldic voice modulaters are pretty good, but even then I could hear the reluctance in Aeni's voice, "Get your soft feet in motion!"
We started running then. I was paralyzed. I'd always been cowardly, slow to act and afraid of every little noise in the dark.
"Hey kid! I don't like dying, but I'm ready for it. My paperwork's all in order, my last words have been said, I know who gets what when they hear I'm dead. You got the look of someone who's not ready yet." He reached to his belt and tossed me a knife.

Every Nieldic soldier has one, they say you get in trouble for losing it. They won't pay you unless you can show it. And if they catch you fighting without it, you don't come back. So I hear at least.

"Take care of it kid. This world's over, the corporal will show you how to use it. Make your people proud."

I've caried it since. We're not fighting anymore. But Aeni tells me that a soldier's knife is his most useful tool. To lose it, isn't just to dishonor yourself; it's to dishonor everything the knife stands for. Loyalty, duty, honor, and the ability to kill (or re-kill if the case requires it) anything that threatens your people. I'm not afraid anymore, I know how he felt that day. Sometimes, you know that it's your time. Until then, we keep a hold of our knives.