Dwarves of Haganistan
by Ryan Fogarty
Edited by Aristde Twain
Post-Apocalyptic Ireland
(The Present)
THE CLONE LEGION was on the move. A line of short figures clad in orange and grey battle armour made their way across the landscape wending their way through ashy, blasted hills broken up by ugly patches of scrub.
A wolf watched them from the distance. His ears were down, and he was keeping very still.
Lieutenant Commander Skez consulted his multiscanner. “Eyes aware, we are approaching the battle zone!”
Commander Kroft nodded and raised his fist. “Our enemies today may be clones, but that means they all have the same weakness! Unlike we, who have only strengths!”
A rough cheer went up down the line. The Clone Legion was made up of short, stocky dwarves — abkaveech, whose ancestors had been engineered for a heavy-gravity world. It made them stronger and more durable; the most effective soldiers in the Galaxy, no less! Their troop included two Luvans with lumpy grey skin used as pack mules, and a single mole-like trivial to handle unimportant administrative tasks. The Luvans gave no expression, but the mole-like valet cheered along with the soldiers with an inappropriate smile plastered upon his idiot face.
Skez disliked having other species among their troop, even if only for dedicated tasks. Beside him, technician Sturm was guiding a quartet of silvery reconnaissance drones that circled far above. Like all equipment in the Twelfth Battle Fleet, the drones were armed; their species believed in reconnaissance in force.
“Sturm, report!”
“Sir! All readings are clear. No enemy on scanners yet.”
“Excellent!”
The wolf glanced about a mile ahead of the troopers, where a squad of eight hooded soldiers were lying in ambush concealed under the brambled vegetation.
The action would begin soon, and it might be wise for the wolf to get far enough away to avoid stray shots.