The Draylon Wars

The wound on Jack’s forearm stung; it burned hotter than the laser pulse that caused it; it ached so badly he was having trouble focusing on anything but the pain. He drove it from his mind and tried to take in the environment around him, he needed to concentrate if he was wanted to live.

The smell of burning plastic lingered in the air, and he could hear the light crackle and spit of a small fire. Tiny pieces of concrete and brick pinpricked his cheek and he could feel the unforgiving edges of his mass-produced pulse rifle as they dug into his pelvis. Jack wasn’t interested in these though, he was trying to make out any signs that they were near; the sounds of distant gunfire, of explosions caused by their plasma disruptors, the screams of their victims and the high pitched whine of the fusion engines that drove their war machines.