“Look at 'em! Men of peace! Why, I bet they don’t even know how to fight!"
"Th--that's right! asserts Kerry, fearfully. "We know a-absolutely nothing about f-fighting."
"Not a dern thing!" confirms Walt.
"Well," snarls the leader, "You’ll just have to learn.” He turns to the people and asks, “Won’t they?"
All the people grunt their approval.
They are kept locked in small cells within the shelter and forced at gun-point and sword-point to march to the nearby battlefield and to fight in the great conflagration. How could they ever have imagined, they wonder, that their efforts would have brought them to this? Is this to be the reward of their labor and their journey’s end? This is one possibility they hadn’t counted on: that of being pulled forward to a future time--and one so depraved and terrible, and being humiliated and forced to fight in a senseless war not their own. Even if they could have foreseen it, perhaps they still wouldn’t have been able to prevent it. But at least they could have had the consolation of knowing they’d tried. What will become of them? They can’t even alert home base of their situation. Are they to die here in this horrible war like flies in the wilderness? Will no one or nothing intervene to save them from this terrible fate?
The war is, indeed, the worst the world has Seen. All types of weapons are used from broadswords to cannons, from sabers to laser pistols. There are even battalions of laser equipped robots, fighting other robot battalions. Certain groups specialize in certain types of weapons and fight primarily the enemy groups trained in the same kind of weapons. Yet there are always the surprises, such as a grenade exploding in the midst of a sword-fight. As they march down the hill to the battlefield, Walt remarks, "Reminds me of the war games I used to play as a teenager."
"But, this is for real!" snarls the guard. "Now get a move on it!"
The time travelers are given long range rifles, similar to those of their own time. They are placed between guards who have strict orders to shoot them if they try to escape. Our friends are too terrified to speak. Every moment must count, and every bit of energy must be concentrated on the task of shooting instead of being shot.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish