The Rain: The End, Marietta Standlee [year 7 reading list TXT] 📗

else entirely unprecedented, but she was accredited for not only finding a solution to the infertility problem, but she also took all the credit for the harvest of the cursed plant, so important and irreplaceable for the Gorongiaths. Our President's still play diplomatic games and the Gorongiath Council members still haven’t found their balls to move forward with all the evidence they have. The bottom line: Nobody cares what happens to Earth or the humans, as long as the Gorongiath are entertained, fed and provide with the so desired offspring.

It is high time something will change. We are so done with the games played behind our backs. Not even our own government seems to care about humanity's fate.

And so, here I am, half crouched, hidden behind bushes, I wait for Colin's signal to begin. He's about a mile away from me, but I know where he is; I can feel him. I can almost see him, although he and his men are hidden as well as mine. I can only see them because I know what I'm looking for, otherwise, they blend in perfectly with their surroundings, like my men, like Derek's men.

I see Colin rise and shift, it's almost as if our eyes meet, but I know it's only my imagination. Nevertheless, the bond that holds us is strong, and over the last month, I got to know soldier Colin even better. This is it. He moves his arm, the signal.

"Ready!" I hiss at my small army. Silently guns are moved to their chests, safeties are taken off, as one they rise with me—just as the sun is rising behind our backs. I give the order as I watch Colin give the last pre-arranged command.

"Go!" I shout.

We storm forward, firing our ARs as we move. Harvesters—some aliens, some forced slave labor made up by humans, and Phinaruh, look up startled and in fear. The soldiers have been ordered not to shoot at the slaves. Some of my people break off to instruct the laborers to run towards the relative safety of the bushes, while the rest of us mow down the hated Gorongiaths, to whom no mercy will be given.

It's a slaughter, the Gorongiaths are shot indiscriminately on their run towards their ships and hangars, not standing a chance against the hail of bullets directed towards them. We've watched them for a long time. Made sure we knew all their habits and schedules, picked just the right time to attack.

They harvest their flowers only by hand, 24/7. Around sunup is when the new shift of slaves arrives, the old doesn't stop working until the new one begins. This is our time to attack. Maximum damage.

Some Gorongiaths crouch and return fire, but most run towards the hangars. The ones returning fire are having a hard time seeing us because the sun is in our backs, blinding them. They do get some licks in, though, as an occasional scream attests to, coming from one of my soldiers as they are hit.

"Stop, take cover, and take out the shooters!" I yell already down on one knee to bring up my rifle.

From my peripheral vision, I watch my soldiers copy my moves, but I don't look around; instead, I concentrate on taking out the Gorongiaths' shooters. Having the sun at my back is a distinctive advantage. My rifle fires and recoils against my shoulder slightly before I aim at another Gorongiath to take her out. Before I can shoot her, though, she goes down, hit by somebody else on my team.

It doesn't take long before the few Gorongiaths who resisted are taken out, and we take up pursuit of the runners once more.

Several Gorongiath ships were already in the air, providing lights for the night shift, and they are coming for us now. There are ten of them in the air, always ten. And we were prepared for that. From out of seemingly nowhere, our stolen spacecrafts arrive, opening fire at the alien piloted ships before they can open fire at our ground-troops, as we keep pushing forward towards the hangars.

Some Gorongiath overseeing the harvesting stop, raise their hands in the air as if to surrender; they are mercilessly mowed down just like the rest. Their brethren seeing this, scream in their unintelligible alien language and continue their flight towards the hangars or the airfield where they hope to find safety.

My ears ring from the constant machine-gun fire.

"Down!" I hear a scream and instinctively throw myself to the ground, just as an alien spacecraft, incredibly low, begins an uncontrolled dive. I can't tell if it is one of ours or one piloted by the aliens. Looking around, I find a group of soldiers, Kat, Alex, a navy man named Brad, a marine whose name I have forgotten, and Leslie, another militia woman who joined us in Anchorage.

"Hey!" I scream and get their attention.

I motion for them to follow me towards the ship, still descending. We break into a run, keeping our distance in case the craft actually crashes and explodes. Whoever the pilot is, though, he or she manages to land the thing. We break into a sprint and watch the hatch open. Almost simultaneously, with the emerging ramp, the first soldiers appear from the ship's belly. Gorongiaths. They look around for us, know their enemy is close.

Crouching, machine gun raised, I give the signal to shoot as soon as we're in range. Right then the alien Commander spots us and orders his soldiers them to fire. The shootout that follows is a battle of luck, will, and discipline. I don't have time to check what my soldiers are doing, but counting on them to copy me, I aim for the aliens on the ramp.

I get up and advance zig-zagging, covered by my soldiers. I rush forward a few yards and take a knee again to cover Kat as she moves forward. In this fashion, we get closer and closer. Keeping the enemy occupied with a constant hail of bullets.

Running and shooting is not