Pollen Season

All the soldiers were already in place, waiting silently as the enemy approached.

"Run, by Holy Jove, run," Alex whispered at the bright dressed hippies.

And they did, after the One Wayers responded to their peaceful entreaties by sending a hail of bullets spraying across the empty beach. A tall male fell where he stood, while a few individuals were hobbled or carried from the scene. Even before the real battle began, the beach was already marred by blood.

The One Wayers were obviously expecting mines, prodding the beach with concussion shells. It was fortunate for the ten soldiers huddling just out of harm’s reach that none of the shells struck the tide margin. Confident after some time that no mines were present, the One Wayers docked, ramming their first boat against the hidden mines.

Shockwaves ripped through the metallic hull as another boat carried by inertia suffered the same fate. The boats that were lagging behind swerved, launching concussion shells at the tide margin, attempting to detonate the remaining mines.

But this delay proved fatal as the ten men sprayed hails of bullets and trails of grenades into the faltering boats.

"Die bastards die!!" David heard one of his comrades’ cried.

"They’re fleeing!!" Alex laughed as one of the boats backed out to sea.

The first boat was now a twisted wreck, with the straggling survivors blossoming red on the white sand. The second boat started backing, though David halted this by launching a grenade at the hull, kicking up huge gouts of flame. Ducking behind the rock, he fixed another grenade to the launcher.

A truncated shriek followed by a boom forced David to look up.

"Alex?" he cried as a headless body, still garbed in a matching green camouflage shirt and pants, collapsed beside him.

"Oh darn it, not you Alex!!" He gritted his teeth. "Cowards!!" he screamed as he shot up and launch the grenade at another boat. The beach and the surrounding trees were charred, probably from one of the petroleum bombs favored by the One Wayers. Either way, only three out of the ten remained standing.

A gray cylinder ejected from one of the further boats as David cried "Duck!!" With his back to the rock, he curled as fire erupted above him.

"The Sergeant’s down!! Retreat!!" a voice like that of Corporal McKnight boomed above the commotion.

Retreat eh, David cried in defiance but saw the futility in it. They were outgunned, outnumbered. Alex’s booby traps were their only saving grace. Without it, they are toast.

His fleeing comrade said it all.

Picking up his rifle, he fled to the safety of the forest. There, he paced uphill, sliding between the shadows of trees and the gurgling of brooks, creating and erasing both tracks and heat signature. He spent a cold night covered in mud, darting from rock to rock, knowing that even a momentary slip in his cover could let loose waves of infrared that would betray his location to the enemy.

It was on the second evening after the doomed standoff when he made it to the sorry excuse of a camp on the slopes of Marvin Hill. There, the remaining survivors of the troop huddled around a small tree.

"We are done for." David said as he gazed at what armaments they have left.

Corporal Liew stretched under the dappling shade of the tree, "Blissful Buddhas, I think not." He said as he gestured at the throngs of hippies ascending to the camp.

David squinted. "What, you expect those hippies to be our cannon fodders?"

The good doctor grinned.