“In the spirit of the Alpha and the Omega, in the way the Alpha was the Omega, and vice versa, he knew the beginning was also the end—and that the end was just another beginning.”
“Thunder Run – A high speed military convoy utilizing heavy weapons, armoured vehicles and offensive tactics to reach a destination, most likely along a route of extreme danger. The strength, speed and intensity of the attack, coupled with the use of formidable weapons and equipment to quickly overrun the defending force.”
The orders were simple. As easy as A, B, C…
Find as much heavy metal as you can. Forge it into a spear point. Thrust for the Starport.
Just a small meandering stream, barely even deserving a mention. A “rill” as the locals would say. Currently a collection of condensation trickling down from the lichen covered rocks that pressed in so tightly from either side. That the incredibly resilient lichen didn’t venture within several meters of the rills’ meagre surface, hinted at the savage torrent which one of the all-too-frequent storms could unleash without a moments notice. Worse, the storm could be miles away and still send a deadly flash flood ravaging down the chute. Only folly or desperation would cause anyone sane to venture down this narrow defile. Thunder rumbled overhead and echoed oddly down the polished stone alley, like a massive brawler cracking his knuckles to let the fools know pain was on the way. It was inbound, just a matter of time. Dim light filtered down by bouncing from one bulging rock wall to the other. Not a sliver of sky to be seen. In the misty twilight the fungi flourished, competing with each other in their duns and greens with daring accents of yellows, reds and blacks.
The twisting crack through the Rockspire peaks finally opened up into the head of a muddy green highland valley. Weak winter sunlight tried to fight through the clouds, only to finally falter in the mists and ground fog that made these mountains such a deathtrap for low flying aircraft. Thick mats of heather, bracken and moss carpeted the ground and then ran up the valley walls disappearing into the low lying clouds above. Only the stunted stands of wind gnarled high oak were partially clear, their windward side scoured clean. Branches trailed to the lee with scraps of mossy pennants, like storm ravaged sails. The moaning wind just toyed with them now, swirling the ground mist in idle eddies through these stark and broken masts.
A murmured rumble slowly grew in volume, like distant boulders growling and grinding their way down a slope. Then suddenly pouring out of a cliff face came a tide of iron. Scarred giants with hasty silvery patches over blasted, melted wounds. There was a ripple as with veterans reflexes they dressed their ranks while streaming into the valley, forming line abreast, and advanced at the double time. Without pause or hesitation they came to the valley mouth and surged out into the foothills, where a few barely glimpsed flashes hinted at the foes that awaited them.
Magnetic readings confirm enemies ahead. The bizarre race was on; each warrior making haste to find someone eager to kill them.