Dim shafts of light struggled vainly to pierce the thick veils of smoke that hung heavily in the air, entwining wispy tendrils of haze amidst the lush canopy of jungle foliage as dawn broke over the distant horizon.  A few resolute beams managed to penetrate the murky clouds and bathed the leaves in brilliant, life-giving sunlight, while even managing to reach the moist soil in places, dancing lightly upon the ground within a hidden sanctuary shielded by flourishing greenery.  Vines clung to massive tree trunks as they sought to raise themselves above the canopy and view the whole of their vast woodland domain, and magnificent flowers blossomed proudly in an array of dazzling colors, imparting their glory on the rest of the jungle kingdom.

                Yet for all its beauty, the landscape possessed a peculiar sense of impending doom.  No birds broke the monotonous silence with their cheerful songs; no diminutive insects darted through the morning air or alighted on the tree branches, still heavy with dew; no larger denizens of the forest uttered shrill cries to proclaim the extent of their territories.  Nature’s realm was hushed, as if all its children were afraid to venture into this deceptively peaceful region of the jungle.  Only the distant sun, secure in its remote corner of the delicate ecosystem, dared to reach out to the forsaken land and sweep its rays gently over it, as if to assure itself that this haven still remained unscathed.

                Then, suddenly and without warning, the seemingly interminable silence was broken as the sun finally crested the distant mountain peaks.  The ground trembled as a far off rumbling swept across the landscape, causing the trees to shiver and their leaves to rustle as the earth quaked strangely.  The thunderous sound exploded into a reverberating wave that echoed through the nearby valley, rousing a solitary presence concealed in the shadows of the jungle floor.

                Rising from his place beside a tangled mass of plant-life, a lone figure slowly made his way through the dangling curtains of greenery and approached the edge of a lofty precipice from which he gazed solemnly upon the barren valley below.  What once had been a lush haven of plenitude clad in vivacious green shades of farmland and forest had been reduced to a smoking crater littered with the rubble of the city its inhabitants had cherished so greatly.  Small fires still burned unchecked throughout the ruins, seeming to dance spitefully over the charred corpses that littered the grounds, their soft glow burning painfully into the eyes of the silent observer atop the great cliff.

                A single tear formed at the corner of his eye, traversing the contours of his quivering cheek before dropping from his chin to land softly in the dirt at his feet, a droplet of life for some tiny plant or other creature, and a memorial to the death of loved ones.  The tear’s track remained visible as a small crack in the mask of dirt and charcoal smeared over the man’s face and exposed upper body, but he did not seem to care, and in truth it would do little to betray his camouflage.  Without a word, the man turned from the sorrowful scene and walked away into the depths of the forest, fading out of sight as he seemed to meld with the jungle, rendered nearly invisible within moments.

*   *   *

                General Emmanuel H. Riley of the Imperial Directorate’s Expeditionary Force, Alpha Company, peered out the blast-resistant glass of the forward viewport of his mobile command center, an armored vehicle outfitted with the latest communications gear, as it rolled into the center of the ruined city amidst an impressive escort of several Omega-class tanks.  Several knots of infantry were visible off to the side, already clearing debris to set up a base camp and erecting several tents and pre-fabricated buildings, with the Directorate’s imposing emblem emblazoned on their sides.

                The massive gun turrets on the armored Omegas swiveled as the gunners within the destructive behemoths surveyed the surrounding territory for lingering threats that had not been taken care of by the previous artillery bombardment and the Omegas’ own assault.  Aboard Riley’s command vehicle, a radio crackled to life.  “All clear.  Perimeter secured, sir.  Omega 12 out.”

                General Riley nodded silently, as if the tank commander could actually see his gesture, and proceeded to exit the vehicle, accompanied by his four personal bodyguards.  Tall, burly soldiers, they were dressed in the same camouflaged pants, sleeveless tops, and high black boots mass-produced thousands of miles away by businessmen who had never even seen the jungle their camouflage was supposed to emulate.  Even so, the standard gear was issued to every soldier deployed on this jungle mission, as was the high-powered assault rifle they carried, the AR-120--a weapon capable of ripping any organic creature apart with an inordinate number of bullets delivered at a dizzying rate.  Any one of the long, slender bullets could kill a man, but this army was not about to take chances.  There was no room for error in the Directorate’s armed forces, least of all in Alpha Company, Riley noted with a smile.  He trained his men to a razor edge, and every one of his skin-headed minions was a deadly killing machine, intended solely to destroy the opposition as quickly and efficiently as possible.  They did their job well too, it would seem--Riley was rather impressed by how swiftly they had decimated this pathetic little village of peasant farmers.

                All around him, charred bodies, shattered huts, and jagged craters were testimony to the frightening success of his troops.  It would not be a good harvest this year, Riley thought with a slight grin as he watched the lingering flames prance across smoldering fields of blackened crops.  The poor fools, he declared to himself, as he began to make his way through the ruins, surveying the destruction he had wrought with the casual indifference of one who is in no way connected to the devastation that surrounded him.  They should have know better than to resist the demands of the Directorate.  It was almost a pity that he had been forced to destroy them because of their insolence, but the Imperial Directorate’s progress could not wait for such petty obstacles.  These people had to either catch up with the times or be removed--there was no room for dissension in the Directorate’s empire.  And these few will be removed.  The thought caused no feelings within Riley and stirred no emotions--it was his job, and he would do it just as he always had.

                He grimaced as he progressed through the town, with his guards following in lock-step.  Such miserable squalor!  This area was indeed due for occupation and improvement by the Directorate.  They were practically doing these people a favor by wiping them out, compared to the bleakness of their primitive lifestyle.  Even his own men, far from any established base, managed to live better in their standard-issue tents than these peasants did in their filthy city.

                Just then, Riley happened to catch a glimpse of a spot of color amongst the blackened smoke that still hung over the area.  Glancing down, he found himself standing in the middle of a tiny garden behind the remains of a small hut, which had been gutted by fire.  Meager though it was, the garden possessed several brightly colored flowers that had somehow escaped the ruin, and managed to bring a surprising measure of beauty to the blasted landscape.  Even in the clutches of poverty and a day-to-day existence dependent on the gifts of their farmland, someone had taken the time to tend this little island of peace and beauty, perhaps reminding themselves that there was more to the world than their own relatively insignificant life.

                Despite his habitual coldness and reserved nature, Riley felt the stirrings of an uncharacteristic compassion as a slight chill rushed up his spine.  His men might live better, but did they really even live?  After all, their sole purpose was the termination of life, not the appreciation of it.  Though these simple peasants might not excel at pure survival, they knew how to savor what they had.  Riley shook his head, trying to make these rebellious thoughts disappear.  This was not the way for a General of the Directorate’s army to think.  I’m getting too old for this.

                Pulling himself away from the garden, he headed for a low stone wall nearby and sat down atop it, looking out over the burnt fields and trying to cleanse his mind.  Off in the distance, his keen eyes detected a meek little mouse cowering in the middle of the field.  His curiosity aroused, Riley looked closer and caught sight of a large brown snake coiled threateningly in front of the mouse.  The poor mouse was nearly helpless with fear, knowing that its first move would also be its last, and that it mattered little whether or not it tried to escape now.  The snake seemed to realize this as well, and raised its head menacingly, preparing to strike.

                Ah, that’s more like it, Riley thought silently, as the chill left him, Cower, helpless peasants, for the Directorate is upon you, and it will not be stopped.  He smirked, and the old soldier’s blood-lust returned, reinvigorating him as he assured himself that he wasn’t going soft.  Old, maybe, but not soft.  He still had the edge.  More confident now that his mission was just, he returned to watching Nature’s drama unfold before him.  Another second now, and the snake would strike, ending it all...victory was in its grasp...

                Suddenly and unexpected, a screech pierced the air as a magnificent eagle swooped down from the cover of the low-hanging smoke, its vicious talons extended.  The snake, on the barren ground below, faltered at the sound and the mouse became, if possible, even more frightened as the second predator arrived on the scene.  Riley too, was startled by the unforeseen arrival of the great eagle, and he watched in stunned silence as it swept down from the heavens, snatching up the hideous serpent in its sharp talons and snapping its thin neck was a quick stab of its curved beak.

                With a few strong beats of its powerful wings, the eagle pulled out of its steep dive, still clutching its prize, and circled over the nearby treetops, gliding to a halt as it alighted in a large nest.  Listening over the muted noise of distant infantrymen finishing their construction of the base camp, Riley detected the squeaks of hungry babies emanating from the nest.  As he watched, the eagle dropped the dead snake tenderly into the nest, after which the waiting infants fell into relative silence, undoubtedly feasting on the cold-blooded predator’s remains, nourishing themselves for a future in which they would follow the illustrious path of their parents as masters of the sky.

                The mouse, relieved by its miraculous reprieve, was not about to wait around for the eagle’s return, and scampered off to the safety of its hidden burrow.  It would live another day, and give way to a progeny of its own.  Though hardly a match for its enemies in open conflict, it would indeed survive.  There was always another way out.

                Riley sat on the cold stone wall, open-mouthed and motionless.  Just when he had started feeling better about his career as the Directorate’s iron fist, this simple act of Nature had crushed all his illusions, leaving him empty with only the shattered pieces to cling to.  The snake had been the perfect predator in the perfect situation--its prey hopelessly cornered--but an even better predator had arrived, and dealt swift justice to the murderous serpent.

                Could the same thing happen to his beloved Alpha Company? Never.  They were far too strong for that...yet that had been his initial opinion of the snake, as well.  And then the mouse, doomed only a moment before, had been freed by an unexpected act of Nature’s greater plan.  The chill had returned, even worse than before.  Of course it could happen--anything could.  That had just been proven to him, clearly and undeniably.

                Riley tore himself away from the scene--that brief episode that had so radically changed his whole perspective and made him question everything he’d ever done--and stalked off back towards the now completed base camp, his head whirling with seemingly unanswerable questions.  There was so much more to think about now, and all sorts of enormous implications.

*   *   *

                Night had fallen at last, cloaking the surviving jungle in a comforting blanket of darkness beneath which it could rest in undisturbed peace.  The blackness was deepened further by the persistent clouds of smoke that lingered in the air, blotting out many of the brightly shining stars, but enough of them managed to shine through to remind the jungle’s denizens that the stars were indeed still there.  A new moon hung in the night sky as well, providing no light but issuing a promise of rebirth and things to come.

                As these celestial bodies floated high overhead, they dimly illuminated a band of more terrestrial beings that crouched silently among the trees, congregating in the hidden depths of the forest where none could find them.  They were the unfortunate few who had survived the day’s massacre in the village--unfortunate because they had watched helplessly as their loved ones were slaughtered all around them, and were forced to flee the only homes they had ever known.  Their lives had been permanently altered by a cruel hand that they could never have anticipated, for they had no quarrel with the Directorate and no previous knowledge of its existence.

                They sat now as if corpses, the weight of their losses weighing heavily on their weary frames.  No words were spoken anymore--that had already been taken care of earlier, and now was merely a time for silent repose and remembrance.  But these stalwart people were far from defeated.  Though their bodies looked broken and fatigued, their souls burned fiercely with a leaping flame, dedicating themselves completely to the memory of their families and their home.  Humanity had failed them and destroyed their lives--now they turned to Nature for aid, drawing on her infinite wisdom and energy in hopes of driving this great evil from their land.

                The earth had been stained by the blood of their people and the only way to cleanse it was with the blood of the murderers--Nature demanded balance, and it must be achieved by whatever means necessary, for no one force could be allowed to dominate the world.  Though these peace-loving peasants wanted nothing more than to avoid a battle, it was the only way to wash away the plague that was ruining their homeland.  Slowly, somewhat hesitantly, weapons began appearing in the hands of the silent men and women gathered on the forest floor.

                Ancestral swords were unsheathed for the first time in centuries, their blades still keen and ready for this day when they would finally be needed.  Spears and pikes, fashioned from rigid saplings, were sharpened to a point and bows were strung as quivers of wooden arrows were strapped across the archers’ backs.  Knives and hatchets, previously used for peaceful farm-work, became weapons of war as they were tucked into belts.  But these were not the most important parts of this gathering, and a feeling of ceremony developed as everyone--as if on some unspoken signal--withdrew a ragged strip of clean white cloth and tied this symbolic band around their foreheads.  It was the only uniform aspect that adorned these common people, for their only other similarity in dress was a prevalence of dark earth tones and black clothing that allowed them to become one with the shadows of night.

                This simple strip of white was sacred in the eyes of these people, who had been transformed from mere farmers into fearless warriors in the space of a single day.  To them, it signified their purity in this unwanted conflict and a badge of honor that they would wear proudly as they passed into the next life.  It revealed no hatred, but rather peace and brotherhood--no true animosity was felt towards the opposing soldiers they must kill, for they too were but pawns controlled by the whims of the greater, far more evil Directorate that used them for its own ends.  Though they would be forced by mere circumstance to kill them, the peasants certainly did not revile the brain-washed soldiers.

                At last, the pivotal moment had come.  Even the jungle itself seemed to sense it--the few brave insects that had resumed chirping after the earlier bombardment ceased once more in anticipation of the night’s violence.  The resulting silence was not one of admonition for the bloody work that must be performed, but rather one of hope for victory and a new beginning.  But the warriors themselves had little concern for the future--indeed, they knew at some deeper level that their poorly armed band stood little chance against the indomitable military might of the Directorate.  Their own lives, however, were immaterial--they fought not for visions of victory but rather in a desperate attempt to protect their beloved homeland and the wilderness that still lived on nearby.

                Rising as one, the humble band disappeared swiftly and silently through the trees, melting into the forest as they struck off towards the ruins of their once glorious town.  Though to the inattentive eye they appeared to be merely poor peasants gliding softly through the jungle, a closer look would discern their almost noble bearing as they shouldered the immense weight of their task, becoming Nature’s own avenging angels as they prepared to sacrifice themselves in a valiant yet doomed effort.

*   *   *

                Standing guard around the perimeter of the Directorate encampment, a few bored soldiers struggled to keep their eyes open in order to maintain a seemingly pointless watch over the blasted ruins of a conquered city.  Their battle with sleep ended rather abruptly as stealthy peasant warriors materialized unnoticed behind them and sent them into a state of eternal slumber with quick stabs from their knives.  With no one remaining to witness their approach, the warriors crept into the camp and dispersed throughout it, preparing to wreak havoc on its sleeping occupants.  In a precisely coordinated maneuver, they broke into several of the barracks and set about slaughtering their foes as they slept, stabbing left and right as their victims awoke to find themselves impaled on the point of a spear or sliced open by a sharpened blade.  Stumbling about in a stupor, few of these dazed soldiers managed to escape the initial wrath of the silent midnight warriors.

                But the formal military training and overwhelming numbers of the Directorate’s forces soon proved to their advantage, as a general alarm was raised and scores of soldiers rushed to arms and raced out onto the battlefield, wielding their powerful AR-120’s.  Spraying a hail of steel through the air, the soldiers fired wildly as they tried to track the shadowy warriors who dashed about unpredictably, yet managed spectacular feats of teamwork that astounded the soldiers, as they found themselves assailed on all sides by whirling blades and flashing knives.  It was quickly discovered that the warriors would not go quietly and resisted capture at all costs, preferring an honorable death in combat that at least achieved something worthwhile, regardless of the cost to themselves.

                General Riley was roused from his slumber by the commotion outside, and awoke to find himself surrounded by his contingent of bodyguards, all of them calmly training their weapons on the room’s single doorway as a protective measure.  Several men had apparently managed to get into their Omega tanks, and the sound of detonating shells reverberated throughout the camp as they ripped into the unfortunate peasants.  Though they fought admirably and quite bravely, the simple peasants were no match for their professional foes, and the soldiers gradually began encircling the greatly diminished band, forcing them towards the camp’s center.  With the range of their weaponry severely limited, the despondent peasants could do little but gather in a tight circle surrounded by a ring of heavily armed soldiers.  The victorious troops grinned foolishly as they eyed the pitiful band of defeated peasants.  An ostentatious trumpeter blew a few notes on his noisy instrument to announce the arrival of the General on the scene, and all heads turned to watch him approach.

                General Riley, Commander of Alpha Company, stood proudly and impeccably dressed, his heavily starched uniform adorned with his medals and insignia of rank.  As the morning sun began to break over the distant horizon, Riley walked slowly forward until he was within view of the piteous remains of the peasant army.  The first rays of the new day’s light bathed the knot of people in an amber glow, revealing a bristling circle of men armed with archaic weaponry, enclosing a group of similarly armed women and children in the center.  Even when their inevitable deaths were painfully apparent, these simple people thought of nothing but protecting their precious women and children.

                It was this sight that finally broke the General.  Something in him collapsed and his rigid military stiffness suddenly seemed to slacken as the full impact of the scene before him dawned on the poor, disillusioned man.  He looked around sadly at the destruction his men--he--had caused, and at the hapless people whose lives he had irreparably ruined.  There was no victory here, only defeat.  If anyone had won, it was the peasants, for they at least had kept their honor in trying their best to preserve their homeland, but Riley and his army had accomplished only senseless slaughter.  The Directorate may be in charge, but that most certainly didn’t make it right.  In fact, perhaps the Directorate shouldn’t even be in charge at all.  These were treasonous thoughts, but he was long past caring about such restrictions.  The Directorate couldn’t possibly understand what was going on here--they hadn’t seen these people or this devastation, and had no right to determine their fates.

                Raising his eyes, he met those of a haggard old warrior who returned his stare with amazing intensity.  The deep green of the man’s eyes seemed to see straight through Riley, knowing his thoughts and practically daring him to act on them--to prove himself to be a truly compassionate person, not just another drone of the conformist Directorate.  Riley held the man’s gaze without moving, but it was evident upon his face that a monumental decision had finally been made.

                Without removing his eyes from those of the proud warrior, Riley reached up towards his glittering insignia with a slow, trembling hand.  Mechanically, he clutched it tightly and--in a swift, decisive movement--tore it from his chest and cast it aside on the bloody ground.  A collective gasp arose from the ranks of the nearby soldiers, and a stunned silence befell them as Riley proceeded to strip his uniform of all other medals and insignia of rank until it was but a bare, undecorated suit.  Lifting one hand meaningfully, Riley silently commanded his men to lower their weapons, which they did only after a moment of uncertain hesitation.

                He had done it.  He had redeemed himself, at least partially, for the long years wasted on cruel, unnecessary warfare and callous destruction.  Finally freed by his own conscience, Riley at last broke contact with the warrior’s penetrating eyes and turned uncertainly, preparing to head into an unknown future on a path he had never imagined.  But a soft rustle from behind stopped him, and Riley turned back to see that the warrior had taken a small step forward and straightened up, less defensive now and seemingly more at ease.  Riley watched intently as the man carefully and deliberately withdrew his long sword from its ancient scabbard.  The General’s bodyguards stiffened, but Riley merely motioned them aside with a simple gesture and stepped towards the strange man.

                The man bowed his head slightly in greeting, and Riley felt compelled to do the same.  Standing straight once more, the man held out the sword and placed his other hand along the edge of its razor-sharp blade.  Utterly expressionless, he drew it across his palm and didn’t even bother to watch as his crimson blood dripped upon the hard earth at his feet.  As if part of some formal ritual, the other warriors bowed their own heads solemnly as the old man placed the sword across his arms and held it out towards Riley.

                The meaning of such a gesture was obvious, and Riley graciously accepted this symbolic gift, taking up the magnificent sword in his hands.  Without even consciously thinking, he calmly sliced open his own palm and let his blood fall next to that of the old man, mingling in the soil where new life was already struggling to break free.  Bowing his head in a final acknowledgment to the brave warriors from whom he had learned so much this day, Riley spun slowly around and strode off amidst a crowd of his confused soldiers, holding the elegant sword carefully in his bloody, quivering hands.

                Emmanuel H. Riley, a Directorate General no more, never once turned his head to look back upon the ruined peasant village and its few surviving inhabitants who had defended it so valiantly, for he had learned all he could hope for from that place.  Now he had to face his future above all else, to ensure that his priceless knowledge and vital lessons were not forgotten or ignored.  As he led his former Alpha Company away from the village, never to disturb its cherished peace again, Riley watched reverently as a great eagle soared high overhead, its triumphant cry echoing across the land, ringing with truth, justice, and the authority of Nature herself.

Copyright (2000) by John Faron