Page 2 of My Tiny Giant
A Ravil warrior suddenly appeared right above where I was about to strike. I jerked my arms back to halt my blow at the last moment, lest I hurt the ally.
The Ravil stabbed both of his daggers into the very spot I’d been aiming for. Leaping off the fescod , he sliced through the gray bulk all the way down. Reaching inside, he ripped out the pulsing cluster of the fescod’s hearts. Raising it over his head triumphantly, he crushed the bloody cluster in his bare hands before tossing it to the ground.
He then turned and winked at me, even though the tinted front shield of my helmet concealed my face from his view.
“You’re welcome!” he yelled in Ravil. My translator implant picked up the language, instantly translating his words.
Did he think he’d just done me a favor? I would’ve been fine without him. In fact, he’d just gotten in my way.
“What an idiot,” I huffed, annoyed. Not that he would hear me or see me shake my head in my helmet.
The Ravil immediately got busy stabbing and slicing through another fescod . I turned around, finally getting to use my blades on the one rolling at me from the side.
Fescods were quick to regenerate their tissues and organs. Removing their hearts was a sure way to stop them from healing and literally coming back to life. However, one didn’t need to be barbaric about the whole thing. Instead of ripping out the fescod’s heart cluster like the Ravil had done, I neatly sliced it out with my blade, then tossed it under the nearest bush and out of the way.
Sweeping the clearing with my gaze, I searched for more fescods . The same Ravil who had “helped” me earlier came into view on my right. He’d just ended another fescod , and now was running under the trees, heading for one in the distance.
A pulsing light on my monitor alerted me to a live being hiding in the tree foliage above. It was too small to be a fescod but large enough to potentially cause harm. It wasn’t alone, either. A group of them gathered above, looking like they were about to attack the approaching Ravil.
A lithe, greenish shape launched at the Ravil as he came closer—a yirzi, another intelligent species of Tragul. These guys only formed short-lived alliances, and only for the immediate, tangible benefits—like money. Right now, they were not on our side.
The Ravil was in danger.
I tossed one of my curved blades at the yirzi, a green-skinned creature with two arms and four legs. Hurtling through the air, the weapon sliced off one of his arms. A laser knife flickered in the fist of the cut-off arm as it hit the ground at the Ravil’s boots. The weapon was clearly not meant to be used against fescods . Lasers were much more effective against us—humans and Ravils.
The yirzi must’ve allied with fescods , at least for the duration of this battle. Criminals and opportunists, yirzi didn’t take sides for long, fighting for whoever paid more, and staying loyal to no one.
Two more green figures jumped from the tree onto the Ravil.
I got into position to throw my other blade at one of them, but the Ravil was making quick work of them himself, using his short, sharp daggers.
I had to admit he was a sight to behold in a fight. His bulging muscles rippled with strength. A sheen of sweat slicked back the velvet fur on his wide shoulders and thick arms covered in intricate tattoos. He had a strong, magnificent body, and he obviously enjoyed pushing it to the limit.
Shoving the dead yirzi aside, the Ravil picked up my blade. With a brief wave and a freaking smile , as if he hadn’t just deflected a potentially lethal attack, he tossed my blade back to me then charged two more fescods who rolled his way.
“Sixteen-o-eight,” I read out loud the number written on his chest plate in three languages—Ravil, Voranian, and in Arabic numerals for the benefit of us humans.
“Lieutenant Agan Drankai,” my suit’s computer informed me. “The leader of the Ravil’s platoon on this mission.”
The leader?
No wonder the rest of them were often so incredibly reckless when they had a hothead like that as a role model.
* * *
“I ’VE HEARD HUMANS ALLOW females to serve in the army,” one of the Ravils snickered.
All twelve soldiers of my unit and most of the Ravil platoon had left the clearing littered with the hulking dead bodies of fescods and a few of the yirzi . Our pickup wasn’t scheduled for another hour. We gathered by a wide, orange river that ran lazily through the jungle a short distance from the earlier battle ground.
“It’s not a woman’s job to fight,” another Ravil scoffed. I recognized the number on his breastplate as that of Lieutenant Agan Drankai’s. “Females would only be a distraction on a battlefield.” He shook his head with a grimace of deep disapproval.
Well, Lieutenant Drankai turned out to be not only a hothead but also an outspoken misogynist.
I knew that Ravils’ culture had clearly defined gender roles. As a species, they also exhibited an extreme possessiveness of their females. Unlike humans, Ravils opposed a marriage agreement with Voranians, refusing to have a program that would encourage Ravil women to marry Voranian males.
All of that was fine with me. What bothered me was that Agan blatantly projected his species’ customs and expectations on everyone else.
As a petite woman who had chosen a career in the military, I’d dealt with my share of condescending stares and patronizing comments. Sadly, there were still quite a few men on Earth who treated me like I didn’t belong, even after I had been selected into our newest and most prestigious armored unit and proven myself during the many missions since.