Private Echoes of the Past: A Ghost in the Ashes

[Rolf Amsel]

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We're foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin' over Kaeshana
Foot—foot—foot—foot—sloggin' over Kaeshana
(Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
(SRC)
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...Dosuun, Avalonia Outskirts...

Rhythmic footfalls filled the hold of the FIV Concordia, Fortan's Fist methodically and efficiently loading aboard landing shuttles nestled snugly in her cargo bay.
The breaths of the men filled their helmets, beads of sweat wicked away by the durable fabric beneath their porcelain white. The armor of a galactic titan.
The hum of engines, the silence of space, the twisting of insides. A flicker, a flash, a violent shudder. The smell of blood and taste of iron.

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​

Rolf awoke with a start, eyes snapping open. Blinking, he attempted to identify his surroundings. Naught more than a sliver of light cracked in around an ill-fitted door on the other side of the room. The man's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, heart beating hard against the inside of his ribs as the memories faded. He took a deep breath inward through his nose, held it, then released slowly. Everything is fine. As Rolf's heart rate slowed, his mind began recognizing his surroundings, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Yes. You know where you are. You know why you're here. Calm. From where he was now seated in the room's singular bunk, Rolf flexed his fingers and toes to get the circulation going. It had been some time since his dreams, no, nightmares, had visited. The man didn't have to wonder why they had come back now. He was home.

He had arrived on the planet under an assumed name, Dag Harwell. Innocuous enough, one he'd never used, and certainly not too foreign as to not garner any undue attention from customs. He wasn't here on official business, not that he had any official capacity from anywhere, but strictly speaking - he hadn't taken a job that caused him to be here. It was a personal matter.

Seeing the planet from space had been somewhat of an emotional shock to the man, one he hadn't anticipated but managed to hold at arm's length. Arriving upon the surface was another matter entirely. Feelings of discomfort, concern, and anxiety, threatened to overwhelm him until he took several deep breaths and pushed everything but his intent to the back of his mind. Lodging. It had been priority number one. In line with his declared travel purpose, he traveled to the outskirts of Avalonia, beyond the outermost rings and into the agricultural land beyond. It had been tempting to retread the countryside near what had once been Loch Weald, the forests and hills. Rolf had decided against it. There was nothing to gain by doing so, or so he told himself. It was thusly he'd ended up at a small town if one could call it that. The central portion was a single crossroads with only a handful of shops and buildings arranged haphazardly around it. Luckily, there was a small boarding house where he could secure a small room with a bed.

"Breakfast is at sunrise, you'll be responsible for your laundry, and sheets are expected outside the door in a neat stack no more than an hour after the break of fast," said the establishment's proprietor. A small elderly woman, a touch on the round side, he'd noted. Kind eyes set into a wrinkled face that spoke of many years of hard work. A glance at the woman's curled and calloused fingers confirmed his assertion. "Absolutely Ma'am," he'd replied with a smile.

It was in that small room he'd awoken. Swinging his legs free of the bedding onto cool wood he sighed, rising as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Small as the room was, an even smaller bathroom was attached, devoid of a refresher. Running the cold water, the veteran soldier turned mercenary-for-hire splashed his face before drying it with a towel. His gaze wandered up to the oval mirror mounted above. Gray-blue eyes stared back from sunken sockets, wrinkled lines emanating from the corners of the man's eyes. Not gaunt but nearing, Rolf's apparition greeted him in the reflection. Scars of time and adversity etched into his physical appearance as much as his soul. He stood, motionless for an uncomfortable minute as he examined himself before abruptly moving away from the mirror, a scowl creeping across his lips. There is work to be done. Get on with it...