Deathstalker 02 - Deathstalker Rebellion

for vengeance and slaughter had not been burned away during the day. They crept out onto the pitch-black battlefield to fight and die in sudden, silent encounters in the night. Back in the trenches and the tunnels, most got what sleep they could in the stifling heat. The second day of summer came, and the temperature rose still further, a killing heat for all but the strongest. And still both sides came roaring up out of their trenches when the whistles blew. There was killing to be done.
    Then it was Autumn, and the temperature dropped like a stone. The whistles blew, and men and women went up and over the top to fight again. The jagged metal killing field was already dark crimson from the splashed blood and offal of the previous day's battle, baked onto the metal by the merciless summer sun. Gale force winds arose, blowing suddenly out of nowhere, strong enough to pick up a man and carry him away. Both sides wore weights on their belts and in their boots to hold them down. The winds picked up scattered metal fragments from miles around and swept them on at blinding speed. Razorstorms that could strip unprotected flesh down to the bone in seconds. Both sides wore armor, which slowed them down even more. Battles became slow, farcical affairs, but blood still spilled, and neither the wounded nor the dead saw the joke.
    And finally, winter came again: snow and ice and blizzards and the killing cold.
    The security forces wore special thermal suits. The rebels didn't need them.
    Neither did Random and Ruby. They'd adapted. Both sides wore thick goggles, to keep the driving snow out of their eyes. No-man's-land became a blinding white glare of snow and ice, in which small groups of armed men and women moved slowly, silently together, straining their eyes against the storm for signs of the enemy. Blood spattered the snow, red on white, and fighters crashed to the
    ground and did not move again. Jack Random and Ruby Journey fought on, going out again and again, whatever the weather, or which shift it was. The Rejects roared their names as battle cries and followed them into battle whatever the odds. The cold seared their lungs and chilled the blood in their veins, but their rage was hotter than any cold the winter could throw at them. Two days passed and winter gave way to spring, and it all began again. And that was how the years passed on Technos III.
    Through it all, the weather and the hate and the killing, only one side pressed forward. Step by step, yard by yard, the Rejects drove the Wolfe security forces back, pushing no-man's-land closer and closer to the factory complex, as trench after trench fell and was occupied by the rebels. Jack Random and Ruby Journey were everywhere, inspiring the Rejects to new heights of courage and ferocity, and scaring the hell out of even hardened Wolfe mercenaries, and neither the weather nor the enemy could touch them or slow them down. The name of the legendary professional rebel was voiced frequently on both sides now, and that of his deadly new companion; the old legend and the new, who could not be stopped or turned aside. And down in the rebel tunnels, Alexander Storm, who had once been a not-so-minor legend in his own right, worked constantly, tirelessly, plotting strategies with the rebel council, organizing raids and advances, and keeping the tunnels clear of ravenous life-forms that didn't know there was a war going on. And in the few moments he had to himself, he tried hard not to dwell on the fact that he was old, and his longtime friend and companion Jack wasn't, any longer.
    Out in no-man's-land, Jack Random felt fitter and stronger than ever, and his sword arm never seemed to tire. He felt like himself again, the legendary hero
    at whose name the Iron Throne itself had trembled. And if he looked a little younger than he had, only Ruby Journey noticed. And she kept it to herself. The Rejects roared their names and pressed forward, scenting victory.
    And good men and women died, as well as bad, and the Sisters of Mercy did what they could for the wounded.
    And the war went on.
    Daniel and Stephanie Wolfe waited impatiently in what passed for the main reception hall of the factory complex. It was actually just a large storage area that wasn't being used for anything else, but some brave soul had tried to brighten it up with a red carpet and a few flowers here and there. The carpet was just a little tatty, but the flowers bloomed brightly despite the complex's artificially