Errant: Dawnward

By M Glenny

A decade ago, on the eve of their destruction, Castor Bryant's father betrayed his people and defected to the Alpha Clan. Now, Castor continues to struggle to be accepted into a Clan that never wanted him.

After his unit is dissolved upon completing an operation, he is transferred and deployed into the middle of a brutal conflict. As he is tested both physically and mentally in the harsh conditions, he struggles to hold on to his principles and stay true to himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M Glenny
• Release date: Aug 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201845193

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Errant---Digital-Cover.jpg

Errant

Dawnward

M Glenny

Published by M Glenny, 2022.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

ERRANT

First edition. August 28, 2022.

Copyright © 2022 M Glenny.

ISBN: 979-8201845193

Written by M Glenny.

The old world burned away in the fires of nuclear holocaust. A self-imposed apocalypse brought about by humanity’s hubris and greed. Generations dwelt in darkness and fear, till the children of the new world sought to reclaim this irradiated hellscape their forebears had created.

Championing this initiative are the zaibatsu, corporations of unprecedented scale and power who built protected city-states to house those willing to facilitate their designs. They are vultures, feeding off the corpse of the old world to line their pockets and secure their hegemony.

Holding their leash are the Dragoons, bio-engineered warriors with a fixation on martial perfection. Tasked to shield and shepherd humanity into a brighter future. Their might is unchecked, their zeal unrelenting. Via strength of arms, they will stop at nothing to protect the human race from the mutant, the machine, and if necessary: mankind, themselves.

This new dawn began with twenty-four Dragoon Clans, each named from the letters of the ancient Greek alphabet, who would eventually dwindle down to one: the Alpha Clan. After centuries of conflict and war, the Alpha Clan asserted itself as the pinnacle of Dragoon achievement, living up to its namesake and seeking further domination.

To challenge the Dragoons is to know destruction and to challenge the zaibatsu is to know poverty. For a human trapped in this web of violence, the only chance at freedom is forging their own path as a freelancer. A hired gun, milking the world for whatever they can reap before they meet a violent end.

And there are whispers of sentient machines who rule across the sea. Treacherous lies that will see the world burn again.

Prologue

August 6th, 864 AV

The familiar sound of a thopter’s whumping turbofans drew his eyes up from his data-pad. The aerial vehicle was silhouetted against the setting sun, still several kilometers out from the academy. Isaiah Gafgen looked back to the data-pad, reading up on the arrivals: a Zeta Clan warlord and his thirteen-year-old son. Apparently the warlord had betrayed his Clan, turning over valuable information in exchange for being absorbed into the Alpha Clan. He and his son abandoned their Clan the night before Operation Achilles was to be set in motion, an operation that would lead to the extinction of the Zeta Clan. He didn’t know what disgusted him more: the fact that this Dragoon was so disloyal to his people or the more simple fact that they were Zetas.

Doing your due diligence there, Colt Gafgen?

Gafgen once again looked away from the data-pad, now glancing down at the hauptmann on his left who sat in a mobile hover chair, having been disabled from the waist down. If Gafgen remembered correctly, it was the result of a suicide bomb in the first months of the Shah Campaign a little over a year ago. Regardless, he still carried himself with pride, looking sharp in his dress uniform.

Yes, sir. I was briefed on my way here, but thought I’d take a closer look.

And how do you feel about this, Colt?

Gafgen took a breath, trying to choose his words carefully. This wasn’t just another hauptmann he was standing next to. This was Vincent Bloomer, eldest son of Chieftain David Bloomer. I think it’s extremely generous of our Clan to allow these people to live amongst us. He did his best, but he couldn’t hide the disdain in his words.

Bloomer let out a small chuckle. You can be candid, Colt.

Being given permission, he loosed his tongue as if it were a flurry of arrows. I don’t understand why we would take them in, sir. I understand that this warlord provided intel that was essential for our victory, but I don’t see how that justifies opening our doors. It’s just a potential tainting of Alpha bloodlines.

Bloomer turned to the young Dragoon. What would you have me do with them? If it were up to you, of course.

Gafgen didn’t hesitate, already knowing exactly what he would do. They helped our cause, so of course I’d be merciful. I’d spare their lives and let them live the remainder of their days far from us. Maybe deep into the Northern Reach. Or even better, banish them to the Barren-Lands. But I’d throw them off the top of Founder’s Mesa before I’d fight alongside them.

Bloomer slowly nodded as he looked back out at the approaching thopter, apparently understanding. I respect your candor, Gafgen.

Gafgen felt validated in his feelings, continuing to share his opinions without thinking if Bloomer even desired them. I’m many things, sir, but I’m not a liar. I’ll tell you what’s on my mind. I already hate that I’m stuck working here at the academy, and now I have to train this Zeta boy? It’s unbearable, sir.

Bloomer didn’t look at him, but Gafgen could feel the daggers in his voice. You are stationed here at the academy due to no one’s fault but your own. And that’s the same reason I’m charging you with the Zeta boy. Gafgen didn’t say a word. Bloomer was absolutely right, but it didn’t change how he felt about the situation. You speak of generosity. I personally believe it was generous that your commander thought only six months of instructing at the academy was enough time for you to learn your lesson.

The welcoming sound in Bloomer’s voice had disappeared. The words struck Gafgen as if they were darts landing in the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Yes, sir.

Don’t worry, Colt. I’m sure the time will fly.

Gafgen strongly disagreed with that statement, but he bit his tongue. He’d only been back instructing at the academy for less than a week, and it already felt like he had served the entirety of his sentence. It was an insult. He should be out fighting in the field. It didn’t help that he had graduated from the academy only two years prior. He felt uncomfortable returning so soon as an instructor, trying to be taken seriously by Dragoons only a few years younger than him. Dragoons who most likely deduced his presence was for punitive reasons.

Not that he could argue for his innocence. It had been only two days into Operation Achilles when he and his squad were pursuing several fleeing Zeta squads, exchanging fire as his squad nipped at their Zeta heels. Gafgen had found himself with a clear shot on one of the squads. His sergeant ordered them to cease their fire, but Gafgen couldn’t find it in himself to let the opportunity pass. He pulled the trigger, spraying dozens of rounds from his auto-rifle at the helpless squad. He didn’t get an accurate count, but he must have downed at least three or four. A moment later, the immediate area around the fleeing Zetas was blanketed with explosions, killing every one of their intended targets and more.

Unbeknownst to Gafgen, his sergeant had called for an artillery bombardment to end their pursuit. At the conclusion of the day Gafgen was removed from combat duty for disobeying orders and for violating the fifth commandment of the Dragoon Code of War by wasting excessive ammunition. So now he was back here for six months. And to make matters worse, chances were that he wouldn’t be returning to the same squad once he finished his sentence. All because he couldn’t restrain himself from killing the enemy. He didn’t think the punishment fit the crime, but unfortunately it wasn’t up to him.

The whumping of the thopter’s turbofans became louder as the aircraft began to lower to the landing pad in front of them. As it settled down, the engine was cut off and seemed to exhale while the blades slowed to an eventual stop.

Initially a squad of Alpha Dragoons disembarked, seemingly tasked with transporting supplies to this branch of the academy as they wheeled off large crates. Then, there they were: Warlord Alexander Bryant of the Zeta Clan and his son, Castor. Gafgen was surprised the warlord wasn’t wearing any armor, simply regular trousers and a coat. Same as the son. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were mere humans. When they fled their homes, wouldn’t it have been wise to carry their armor to ensure their safety? Perhaps the lack of armor was less suspicious. Gafgen decided not to think much on it, as trying to understand a Zeta wasn’t an interest he cared to entertain.

Warlord Bryant. Good to see you, Bloomer called out as the pair approached, sounding like he was addressing an old friend. From what he knew, Bloomer was crucial in making Bryant into a turncoat. So it wasn’t out of place that the two appeared to be familiar with each other. How was the ride in?

Bryant reached his arm out and shook Bloomer’s hand. It could have been worse. I’m just glad we made it. There seemed to be no energy in his voice. No assertiveness. No confidence. And this Dragoon called himself a warlord?

Gafgen turned his gaze to the son. Castor Bryant. The boy had his eyes on the ground since they’d stepped off the thopter, not looking up at the world around him. His shoulders were slumped, his arms hanging lifelessly at his side. Gafgen let out a sigh. He was going to have to train this pathetic soul?

Bloomer smiled. I hope Hauptmann Cao minded his manners.

Yes. Cao was fine. Bryant gave a weak nod.

Bloomer tilted his head. Were you able to get him what he requested?

Bryant’s face briefly winced as he quickly glanced down at his son. His son turned his head away, almost refusing to allow his father to gaze upon him. Bryant looked back to Bloomer, giving an even more pathetic nod. Yes. I did.

What was it again?

Bryant took a deep breath. My family’s glaive.

Gafgen didn’t know much about the Bryant family, but he knew something about ancestral weapons. His family had a battle-axe with their crest engraved on the side of the blade. When the time came it would be handed down to him. The thought made his heart pump with pride, as nothing would make him happier than wielding the weapon in combat.

He glanced down at the boy again. Maybe this was why he seemed so pathetic: something promised to him had been taken away. Perhaps if his father had a spine, the young boy could have wielded the glaive in combat and died with the rest of their people.

Bloomer peered past the pair to the thopter. Forgive me, but I thought you had a daughter. Am I mistaken?

Bryant lowered his head in what looked like shame. She was serving in the capital. There wasn’t any way to contact her without raising suspicion.

So not only had this esteemed warlord betrayed his people, but he’d left his daughter to share their doomed fate. Bryant gave his son another slight glance but the boy continued to look away from him, seemingly holding back tears. Gafgen smirked. At least the boy recognized the lack of character in his father.

Bloomer let out a sigh, clearly saddened by the statement. I’m sorry to hear that. I know it was a tough call to make, but I assure you it was the right one. Better you two than none, yes?

Bryant didn’t respond. He didn’t even raise his head, opting to stare at the ground.

Gafgen was disgusted by him. First he betrays his Clan by contributing to its demise. Then he leaves his daughter to die. Now he can’t even stand confidently by those decisions. Did he even think any of this through?

Rather than waiting for a reply that would never come, Bloomer spoke again. Well, no reason to waste any more time. Let’s move forward. You and I have a truck waiting for us to take us to Founder’s Mesa. There, we’ll debrief you and orient you to your new position.

Gafgen couldn’t help but smile. He glanced to the northwest. In the distant horizon, Founder’s Mesa stood tall against the setting sun. The military headquarters of the Alpha Clan was an unflinching symbol of the Alpha Clan’s power and dominance. The enormous, hollowed out mesa was converted into a military base centuries earlier, and it still stood proud and strong for all to see.

Bloomer gestured to Gafgen. This is Colt Gafgen. He’ll take your son to his quarters here at the academy.

Gafgen stepped forward. I will also be your son’s primary trainer and advisor while I am stationed here. He spoke as politely as he could, but even he couldn’t hide the poison that infected his words. I’m certain it will be a difficult task, but it will be my top priority to ensure he meets the high standards set by the Alpha Clan. He looked down at the young Zeta. Follow me, boy. Let’s get started.

Bryant looked down to his son. Go ahead, Castor. We’ll talk later. Please remember that I—

Castor stepped away from his father, not waiting for him to finish the sentence. Gafgen smiled as Bryant stood there, speechless and humiliated. The colt turned and began walking back toward the academy barracks. Castor walked next to him, keeping pace. Gafgen could hear Bloomer speaking again to Bryant behind them, but he didn’t care to make out the words.

After several moments, Gafgen spoke to young Castor as they walked. I don’t know how you Zetas did things at your academy, but I’m sure it’ll be different here. We regard discipline, respect, and integrity with the highest esteem. I will accept no less from you. I know it will be difficult for you to keep up. And I understand it’s not your fault you were born into such a weak society. But I will not accept that as an excuse. Do you understand me?

Castor nodded. Gafgen glared down at him.

I don’t hear you, boy.

His voice was soft and pathetic. I understand.

You understand what, boy?

The boy took a breath. I understand, sir.

Gafgen looked straight ahead again.

Not off to a good start, are we, boy?

No. Again, Gafgen felt disgusted at the pitiful nature of this boy.

No what, boy?!

No, sir.

Gafgen shook his head. Pathetic.

The pair went silent as they began moving between bunkhouses. Gafgen had it in mind to give the kid some initial pointers or advice, but he ultimately didn’t think it would do any good. The only way this boy was going to learn anything would be the hard way. And if he was being honest with himself, Gafgen liked the thought of making him learn the hard way.

Moments later, Gafgen shifted their