Lieutenant: Tales from the Super Continent

By Peter Hilditch

In the far-flung future, humanity has regressed to an endless warring period. Skill with a forged weapon is king now. Jesse was born on the streets but has always dreamed of becoming a warrior himself. Maybe even a lieutenant? But in this world of endless warfare can anyone take control of the whole continent?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781528989619

Peter Hilditch

Peter Hilditch is a 30-year-old teaching assistant from south Manchester. From an early age, he used to spend many hours creating his own narratives with his toys, and he used to love building the stories. As he got older, he enjoyed many other types of storytelling, from books, TV, films, or videogames. Always trying to find the best story. Eventually, he decided to write his own and there is nothing he loves more than disappearing into one of the worlds he has created.

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About the Author

Peter Hilditch is a 30-year-old teaching assistant from south Manchester. From an early age, he used to spend many hours creating his own narratives with his toys, and he used to love building the stories. As he got older, he enjoyed many other types of storytelling, from books, TV, films, or videogames. Always trying to find the best story. Eventually, he decided to write his own and there is nothing he loves more than disappearing into one of the worlds he has created.

Dedication

For all the children I have worked with over the years.

Copyright Information ©

Peter Hilditch 2023

The right of Peter Hilditch to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528973014 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528989619 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

Thank you to my brothers, David, Andrew and Joshua, who had the unfortunate displeasure of reading my first drafts.

Prologue

In the far-flung future, the continents have continued their endlessly slow dance across the planet; once again concluding in a smashing together of the massive landmasses. Whole civilisations rose and fell as the continents meandered; they had no interest when they caused mountain ranges to ebb and flow. Forests grew and died in seconds for them. The resulting conclusion of the never-ending waltz was the creation of a super continent named Pangaea Ultima. The final landmass was the largest the world had ever experienced. The continent was so vast that rain clouds struggled to reach the centre, resulting in a sprawling desert forming in the middle. Rising out of the southern part of the continent, rich and fertile jungle grew around the equatorial line. Mountain ranges were formed on the right and left flanks of the vast kingdom. The individual continents forcing together pushed up the monoliths of stone higher than ever seen before. Life as ever endured, knowing no difference in their everyday lives.

Humanity had survived the millions of years but had become a shell of its once glorious past. Little fiefdoms and kingdoms rose and fell as the individual warlords and emperors fought each other desperate to gain dominance.

Then came the rule of King Jeroboam, the foremost fighter and general. He conquered the entire continent in a single lifetime. This was a glorious chapter in humanities’ book of time. Jeroboam used his considerable influence to establish many new concepts; one economy, doing away with the confusion of multiple cultures using multiple currencies. He introduced one universal language, through the culling of several inferior dialects. But his greatest invention was the creation of the Guild. The Guild was in charge of all the knowledge of the empire; the only technology that had been passed down over the years; the knowledge of forging iron.

Unfortunately, everything has its time and the king died leaving his rule behind to his squabbling children; resulting in the immediate creation of many new kingdoms and the loss of control of the entire continent. The people were back to an era of open war between squabbling states and tribalism. Within in a hundred years the continent was back to what it once was; a seething mass of squabbling warlords and murderous despots.

Chapter 1

The super continent of Pangaea Ultima spread out onto the planet previously called Earth. At the core of the landmass was a vast and empty desert, bereft of any substantial life. Some experienced scavengers dipped in and out to find crucial resources and sell what little they could find, keeping their meagre existence going. To the west of the desert sat the King mountain range, with some of the highest mountains on Earth. The tallest points never being explored as the lack of breathable air made the trek impossible for humans to conquer. South of the huge desert was a colossal natural harbour formed by the continent stretching out to protect a large body of water. Two large rainforests sat either side of the coastline reinforced by the heat of the equator. To the west of the continent, the climate and the terrain came together to form vast areas of grasslands and large unconquered forests. It was here that one of the most important people in unrecorded history began his story.

Jesse had little interest in the rest of the world; he had not yet experienced many of these natural wonders. He was too busy trying to survive in one of the smaller fiefdoms that were dotted across the continent.

The town of Rugged sat beside a large forest to the west of the continent. The town’s main supply of commerce was the forest and they were known for supplying good quality lumber to many other towns and settlements in the west, including the metropolis of Pretoria, the home of the Baron Jackson.

Jesse’s morning began early; he awoke before the rise of the sun. Leaving the dilapidated dojo behind, he took off down the hill. The town was yet to awake and the sun was starting to throw its rays onto the empty canvas of black sky. Jesse passed two other competing dojos as he headed to the main gate. The large training complexes were starting to wake and Jesse saw a few trainees arriving early to impress their superiors. Each of these dojos towered over the smaller buildings sitting on either side of them. Mainly they were constructed from lumber and large wooden beams. Lady Emma ruled over one of the dojos and Master Manish over the other, each mighty warrior educating their pupils in their style of combat.

Jesse tore past the blacksmiths’ quarters situated slightly further down the road. Some of the apprentices were up, starting the fires of the forges, and he caught sight of his friend stooping over a few small embers. Jesse would catch up with him later but for now he had to be somewhere else. A defensive wall surrounded the entirety of the upper town; this too was constructed from large wooden beams sourced from the nearby lumber yard.

The stationed guards saw Jesse approaching at speed; and with the well-executed skill of completing the same action every day; they opened the small gate within the larger door quickly. Jesse flew through the opening to burst into the market district. The guards were used to seeing this figure on his morning routine so did not question why he was moving at such a speed.

There was never anyone around in the lower town at this time. As the customers didn’t appear for a few hours, the shopkeepers took their time, slowly presenting their wares for maximum engagement. Small two-storey houses lined the well-trodden road each one built with a store front. The quality of the buildings’ lumber was slightly worse than the higher town but regardless the houses stood tall and strong. The high street went on for another half a mile like this.

Further on, the shops thinned out to reveal residential houses for the townspeople who worked in the fields and the forest. These houses were too constructed lumber but from the off cuttings. All the timbers used were different sizes yet they had been skilfully arranged to form solid living quarters. The handiwork of the lumber smiths was on full display. The buildings too eventually gave way.

Jesse passed the cavalry barracks containing the messenger stallions, just before he entered the cultivated fields. He turned slightly at pace and made for the river where the granary mill was. The fields lay still, soaking in the early morning sunshine. He saw large crops of vegetables beginning to emerge from the cultivated soil. A straight muddy road ran through the fields and Jesse followed the highway to his destination.

The river emerged ahead through the morning mist and revealed a large building sitting on the side of the waterway. The granary had a water wheel attached which was currently turning with the slow-moving river. Jesse stopped to hammer on the ruggedly carved door; being careful to not pick up a splinter. Something he had managed to do repeatedly in the past.

The door swung open and the miller’s wife appeared into view. She recognised him and smiled. The young man had slightly tanned skin from the continuous sunshine, the area received in the summertime. His black hair stood out amongst the brown and blonde hair of the average townsperson making his appearance unusual for the people living in this region. It had been suggested to Jesse in the past that his ancestry might have hailed from the south lands. For the young man who had spent his early years on the streets, this information had very little interest to him. With a quick movement the strong woman grabbed the two heavy sacks by the door and passed them over to the young man.

Mind how you go, she said with a calm smile.

Jesse smiled back and then set his face for the feat of strength he was about to perform. Grabbing both sacks he hauled them onto his shoulders. Then he turned to make his way back into town. The young trainee was tall for his age and he still had time to grow further still. At just over six foot, Jesse was already the height of most of the men in the village. His broad shoulders aided him with the transportation of the delivery.

The journey back was significantly slower and as Jesse made his way, the town was starting to wake up. The forest workers were beginning to leave their houses steadying themselves to head towards the forest. The foresters were stony-faced, bulky men capable of felling trees several metres across. The occupation was notoriously dangerous work as accidents were prevalent. The foremen were milling around to make sure that everyone was accounted for. Several of them goaded the slower members of their teams quicker up the road. The over laden trainee was a common sight and they weaved around Jesse as he trudged closer to his goal.

The young man picked up the pace as he sensed his destination approaching. One of the first shops on the high street was the baker. Jesse headed around the back and knocked on the wooden door. It swung forward and almost took Jesse out.

Excellent, we have just finished using the morning flour! shouted the baker over the hustle and bustle going on in the kitchen.

He grabbed the sacks on Jesse’s shoulder and hauled them across the floor. The large figure of the baker was a fearsome sight. He was dressed in his baker’s whites puffing and bellowing. Evidently in the middle of his busy morning schedule, the pastry man was red in the face from the effort or the heat.

Sloth, come and get these! the large man shouted into the bakery.

A dishevelled scraggily boy appeared and started trying to drag the bags across the floor. The baker kicked him to hurry him up. He was about to close the door in Jesse’s face but the delivery boy stood in the doorway. Jesse was a foot taller than him and much harder to push around than his usual stooge.

Yes? asked the baker impatiently, shooting Jesse a filthy look.

My usual fee, please, asked Jesse, irritated he had to go through this charade every morning.

A common tactic of the baker was to ‘forget’ to pay his workers and Jesse had been caught out by this too many times.

The baker grabbed a lumpy bag that was sitting on the side and passed it to Jesse hurriedly, not looking the young man in the eyes. Jesse took it with a cursory nod and disappeared through the back door. He entered the main high street once again catching a sight of the baker’s daughter putting out this morning’s wares. They were nicely glossed and ready to enjoy for the passing customers. Not surprisingly, the baker used his daughter to sell the wares as she was far more effective than he was.

Jesse looked ahead and saw an oncoming troop of cadets. They were from the Dao dojo, experts with the finely balanced Dao sword. Only the leaders of the troop carried Dao swords; this signified their place in the warrior unit. The warriors in the dojos were allowed to carry weapons around the town. In return for this privilege, they were expected to train new recruits and to serve the lord at his pleasure. Weapons were scarce and closely monitored not only in Rugged but also across the mega continent. The construction process of such weapons was also closely guarded, the blacksmiths being the only ones with the means, knowledge and the resources. It was common law that anyone carrying a forged weapon had to be branded.

The lead warrior halted the march to talk to a passing townsperson and the trainees spread out waiting for the conversation to end. Jesse passed around them taking a wide berth to avoid any additional complications. They had a reputation for bullying outsiders of their dojo. Jesse did catch a glimpse of the lead warrior who was conversing with a passer-by. The experienced fighter’s blade hung at his side and on his arm burned the brand authorising the use of such a weapon.

‘A street dweller and should be treated as such.’ A familiar statement Jesse had often heard hurled at him over the years. He had grown up initially on the street and had never forgotten the hostile treatment he had experienced whilst doing so. It did teach him though to keep his eyes open and to trust people’s actions rather than their words.

As Jesse approached the main gate that protected the higher town from the squalor and bustle of the lower town, he gestured towards the guards on duty. The sentries perked up at his arrival. Jesse drove his hand into the bag and produced two bread cakes, misshapen but still fresh from the oven. He passed one to each of the guards on his way past, both muttered their thanks. The young man slowed as the road steepened ahead.

He approached the blacksmith area while trudging up the steeping hill. The forge apprentices had been busy while he had been gone. The fires were all blazing away and the students were feeding the wood in carefully. One of the smiths was out and about monitoring the situation.

The overseer stood close to the forges watching in silence. The hulk of a man was shaven bald allowing everyone to see his proudest feature. His face was tattooed with the Sigil of the Blacksmith guild. A hammer crossed with a scythe.

The tattoo identified him as an expert in his craft and thus untouchable. To kill anyone bearing that tattoo carried the sentence of death for the crime of losing technology. The guild was quick to exact out punishment, placing kill contracts on anyone who harmed their members. As one of the few organisations that had members all over the continent, they had the reach to mete out justice wherever they needed to.

The blacksmith had his arms folded and was watching Jesse as he wound his way through the forges. Jesse approached and offered the blacksmith the bag; he took it and tossed Jesse a pouch of small coins.

Thanks, he muttered.

Before turning and entering the building behind him, Jesse waved to his friend Aman who was busy laying out the forge tools. The forge apprentice gave him a little smile before gesturing Jesse forward. Aman had been Jesse’s friend for several years; they had met each other growing up in the back alleys of the town.

The blacksmith you asked about before is visiting next week. Do you have the money? Aman whispered to Jesse.

Jesse nodded before saying, I think I do; I need to double check. Sensei needed medicine last week.

Aman nodded and then bustled away sorting out more equipment, anxious to look busy for the blacksmiths. Jesse carried on back home. Sensei should be awake by now, he thought to himself.

Luckily, he remembered to save one of the bread cakes to split with him. Jesse pulled the reward out and put it in the money pouch. As he passed the three other dojos, he slipped into a side street. Behind a large-looking silk shop was a much smaller, shabbier looking building. Jesse paced over to the door and walked through.

Sensei, I’ve got breakfast, he called out.

Chapter 2

As Jesse entered the threshold of the old building, he felt immediate pain, a heavy blow caught him in the stomach. Jesse collapsed to his knees, the surprise attack winding him. A shadowy figure was standing next to him. The attacker swung again and Jesse reacted. Swinging his foot low and around he attempted to upset the attacker’s balance. His leg swung around but it passed through thin air as the figure read the move and stepped over the desperate attack. Subsequently, the attacker was now wrong footed and Jesse made his move. He rolled to the side and aimed for the weapons rack. The rack stood dusty and in a solid state of disrepair. Laying on it were rows and rows of wooden quarter staves. Jesse reached out and grasped one. Spinning around he brought the quarterstaff into a defensive position blocking the next swinging attack.

Sensei, I’ve brought breakfast, said Jesse.

His sensei appeared from the shadows that were masking his face. The old warrior was in his late fifties but the wrinkles on his face accentuated his age harshly. The fighter’s piercing green eyes penetrated through the shadows being cast across the room. His hair was in dire need of a cut, as it lay thick on his shoulders, mangy and unkempt. Running down through his chin the old fighter had a scar that followed on through to his neck, a souvenir from bygone battles. Regularly the Sensei would stroke the permanent groove when considering his options or just debating a thought in his mind.

In spite of his ragged appearance, the old warrior was a patient man, who was only too happy to repeat himself frequently to his only student. Jesse also found that his Sensei had a quick mind and usually had a witty comment for any situation.

Breakfast will have to wait; I am feeling much better this morning, said Sensei Thatcher. It has been too long since you had a proper training session, he announced.

Jesse resigned himself to go hungry a little longer; there was no stopping the master when he was in this mood. He took up the defensive form. His right arm gripping the butt of the weapon and his left arm halfway up. Jesse steadied himself ready for the oncoming attack. However, Thatcher assumed the same position mirroring his student’s form.

You have plenty of practice at the defensive techniques, today we start on the attack, Thatcher informed Jesse. You are capable of defending yourself against many foes. Eventually however, you will need to attack back in order to finish the fight. Come at me, cadet!

He finished with a command and stood ready for the attack.

Jesse was taken aback momentarily. He had been taught defensive technique for the last twelve years and now suddenly the lesson was attack. Thinking back, he tried to picture Sensei’s form and technique when he attacked. He had practised the attacking form on his own but never against an opponent; countless hours of him striking at shadows on walls and lifeless training dummies. Sensei had always stated that defence was the epitome of combat. So much so that other students had quit because of it, leaving Jesse the only pupil. Jesse had seen it as an opportunity to have one-on-one training regardless of the nature of the training. For many hours, over many years, he had toiled away at improving his defensive technique. Thatcher constantly critiqued his grip; his footwork; the placement of his hands; his agility; his aggressiveness and many other attributes. Now the very same master who had emphasised the importance of defence was switching up the lesson.

He must have stood too long doing nothing as the Sensei stepped forward as quickly as a striking viper. Thatcher jabbed at Jesse. Jesse blocked the blow to the