~Forward to the nearest attacker,~ Johnny commanded his glap'ta as he swung his battle axe into attack position. The glap'ta lurched forward, charging at full tilt straight ahead.
Another scream sounded to Johnny's right. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sergeant Zimasa engaged with one of the Horde skirmishers, bronze battle axe against what appeared to be a steel sword. Oh, shit! Johnny thought. Hopefully these Borial axes can hold up to the punishment they're going to get!
His thoughts were interrupted as another Horde rider swung another steel sword toward Johnny's head. Almost reflexively Johnny raised the axe above his head to parry, then grabbed the Horde rider's arm and attempted to jerk him off his saddle. The rider remained solidly planted on his mount.
What the hell? Johnny thought as he struggled to keep a grip on the rider's arm. The Horde rider turned with his free arm and smashed Johnny across the face with a bare fist. A veteran of many bar fights, Johnny shrugged off the crudely swung fist as he took advantage of the rider's shift in the saddle to twist his sword arm around behind his back as Johnny's glap'ta flanked the Horde rider's. The two beasts, sensing their riders' antipathy, snapped at each other passing, the Horde glap'ta narrowly missing Johnny's legs. Johnny's glap'ta bit down on the Horde glap'ta's tail. The Horde rider was thrown as his mount thrashed in pain!
Johnny, still hanging on to the Horde rider, was thrown with him to the ground. Both warriors had lost their weaponry and their glap'ta mounts were fighting furiously amongst themselves. It was hand-to-hand combat.
The Horde rider swing blindly at Johnny with balled fists. Johnny, schooled in Starfleet martial arts training as well as bar fights in half a quadrant's starbases, caught one of the rider's fists, turned his hip into the rider's body, and threw him over his shoulder in a classic judo throw. The Horde rider began to get up, but Johnny knew better than that. Johnny delivered a roundhouse kick to the rider's head, rendering him unconscious.
Johnny's mount had been almost as successful. The Horde glap'ta lay dying, deep purple blood oozing from several mortal wounds. The mount on which Johnny had come, however, was badly wounded itself. There was no way it would survive the trip back. With regret, Johnny retrieved his axe and brought it down on the poor beast's neck.
The sounds of fighting had died down. Let's see how we came out, Johnny thought. "First squad, report!"
Five of seven names called back. Farouk was not among them, of course; the Ferengi Krag was missing as well.
"Second squad, report!"
Six of seven names called back. Zimasa was missing.
"Fall in, people!"
The remaining eleven Marines assembled before Johnny. Lance Corporal Barek Nim, a former Bajoran resistance fighter, somehow much older than his rank suggested, formed up what was left of the platoon.
"Report, Corporal."
"We've routed the enemy. No survivors save the unconscious one you took down. Sergeant Zimasa, Corporal Farouk, and Private Krag are dead (may the Prophets embrace them) and we've four wounded as well, mostly superficial. Four of our mounts are dead but we were able to capture six from the enemy."
"Very good," Johnny responded. Actually, not very good: three of the best people I've served with aren't coming home because of a fight that we have no business being involved in! "Corporal Barek, you're acting sergeant; Zog, I'll need a corporal. Make whatever squad realignments you need. When we get back I'll recommend permanent promotions for you.
"Now let's secure this area and move out! Get our dead and wounded packed onto mounts. Get the remains of our Klingon friend up in the clearing as well. Also, strip the enemy dead for weapons, supplies: anything we can use to learn more about them."
"What about the enemy dead, sir? They look a lot like Dweezle, the bartender back on the Virgo!" brevet Corporal Zog replied.
Johnny thought for a moment. The alien he fought did look almost exactly like the ship's bartender. But Dweezle was loyal to Starfleet and hadn't just tried to bury a sword in Johnny's skull or kill his friends and fellow Marines. "Leave them to rot. They didn't show any consideration for that Klingon they killed, and it's very likely they'd have left us to rot in the woods as well. Besides, we've already got a prisoner," Johnny replied, gesturing toward the Horde rider who was just now rousing from his involuntary nap. "Corporal, secure the prisoner!"
The remaining Marines rounded up the Horde riders' gear as Zog none too gently tied up the surviving Horde rider. They all carried an assortment of swords, axes, and polearms forged from steel as opposed to the bronze the Borials used. The Horde's bows were double-curved, like ancient Mongol or Japanese bows, and fired arrows well over a meter long with barbed steel heads. The ration bags on the saddles (which had stirrups for greater leverage, Johnny noted) were nearly full with fresh bread and meat. Their main encampment can't be far, and they've got a decided technological advantage over our Borial friends. The captain needs to know these things!
"Okay, let's mount up and return to camp: double time!"