And They Go Marching
The
black soldier tumbled down the incline, his legs folded under his body. He came
to a painful halt upon his back, but he soon righted himself. There was dust in
his eyes, but he did not notice at first. He checked to see that he had no open
wounds and then breathed in deeply. He could feel the vibrations of the
fighting above his head. He had no need or desire to crawl back up and see the
battle. He had had enough of the fighting for now. To escape the Reds, he had
dived between the branches of a low bush and crawled his way right to the edge
of this slope. He had not been able to maintain purchase on the ground, and so
had slid down with the loose dirt. Now here he was, easy pickings for any enemy
soldier that might discover him, but perhaps if he began to dig, he could build
a short tunnel for safety.
He
dug for only a few minutes before he heard a cracking noise above him and
looked up in time to see the body of an enormous Red falling right on him. The
two soldiers collapsed together in a heap, but it was the black one who got
back to his feet first. His jaws were clenched in anger as he readied himself
to leap upon the Red, but then he paused.
The
Red clenched his jaws too, but not in anger. He was nursing one leg, which looked
as if it had been seriously crushed. He locked eyes with the black soldier, and
fell back in the dirt, writhing with pain, but obviously expecting to be
killed.
“Did
the fall do that?” The Red looked annoyed as he shook his head in reply.
“No.
One of yours. I managed to drag myself up that branch-“ here he indicated the
slender branch above that now dangled, broken, -“but this leg made it hard to
climb, and so I fell.” His eyes flicked between the black soldier and the
excavated earth. “Digging a tunnel, I see. Isn’t that desertion?”
“Hardly!”
the other shot back, glaring at the larger solider. “Merely protecting myself
from attack.”
“I
don’t see anyone attacking you,” the Red replied mildly, his large eyes locked
with the black soldier’s. But it was the Red who looked away first. Perhaps it
was the pain that caused him to do so, perhaps not. The other solider stared at the large body
prone upon the dirt. He should dispatch this enemy; sever its head, crush its chest.
Yet he was still afraid. A Red generally could take one of his people easily.
His fighting had always been done beside his peers- their strength was in
numbers. The Reds’ strength was in their . . . well, strength.
“Well?
You going to kill me or what?” The Red’s sardonic words broke into the black
soldier’s thoughts. He hesitated then turned back to his task of digging.
“You’re not going anywhere soon,” he called over his shoulder. In the next
instant, he found himself flipped over on his back, and the Red was on top of
him. He could feel sharp points pressing against either side of his head.
“I
can go far enough,” the Red said. Then he doubled in pain, and his would-be victim
shoved him aside, scrambling backwards into the hollow, his legs throwing dirt
up into the air. The Red regarded him with amusement. “Your first time in
battle with us?
The
other gave an affirmative reply, watching his larger opponent warily. The Red
chuckled. “First often equals last with your people. You have always
underestimated us.”
“And
yet we’re still here, still fighting,” his opponent shot back. The Red glared
angrily for a moment, then chuckled again, falling back to take weight off his
useless leg.
“You
got spirit, I’ll give you that.”
Silence
fell for a while. As much silence as could be had during a pitched battle, that
was. The black soldier turned back towards the tunnel, and scraped half-hearted
for a few moments.
“Ahoy
down there!” The voice startled the black soldier, and he jumped far enough to
whack his head upon the ceiling of the newly excavated space. Scrambling
backwards into the open space, he nearly tripped over the lifeless body of the
Red. He started at the unmoving enemy for a moment before glancing up to seek
the origin of the call.
One
of his own, another black troop member, peered over the lip of the slope. “You
need help out of there?” the other soldier called. He nodded in reply. “Wait a
moment, we will have you out soon.”
The
soldier signed in relief. It was a bit strange, being trapped in this pit with
a dead Red. It was not the first dead enemy he’d seen, but he had never had to
stay in close proximity to one either. Suddenly dirt rained down onto his head,
and in shaking his head, he noticed the Red’s mangled leg twitching slightly as
several pebbles landed on it. He realized the Red was shamming, hoping to
escape notice by the other troop members above. The Red probably was hoping to
wait out the battle, and then limp back to his own home base, the black soldier
surmised. Clever. Worthy of a formidable adversary.
“Watch
out below!” he glanced up again to see a huge piece of wood, clearly broken off
a tree, toppling downwards into the pit . . . headed straight for the head of
the Red. The enemy’s cranium would be crushed.
Without
thinking, the black soldier threw his own body against the larger one of the
Red, grunting with effort as he heaved the Red scant inches out of range, but
even so he was not quick enough to
escape the excruciating pain of having the very tip of his own foot smashed
painfully.
“Well
that was quite stupid of you,” came the call from above. The black glared up at
his fellow solider, not bothering to reply. Slowly with great care, and nursing
his sore foot gingerly, he began to climb up the length of the makeshift
ladder.
Suddenly,
he heard a whisper underneath his feet. “Thank you. May we never meet again,
especially in battle.” He stopped, and looked down at the Red, who still lay
immobile.
The
black ant nodded his head in silent acknowledment of the red ant’s gratitude
before continuing its climb up the twig.
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