Dark clouds swirled above as Scharf raced on horseback toward the rear lines. The offensive had failed and, as the sole survivor, it was his duty to bring this catastrophic news to headquarters. A faint thrum of disturbed air came within earshot as he pushed through the barren, tortured landscape. The corporal perked up, turning his attention to the sky, scanning the open grey for any sign of life. Though the sound grew closer, no source could be confirmed. It wasn’t until the noise echoed from directly above Scharf’s position that he was certain of its nature; the flapping of wings.
Not the wings of any simple bird, but something much larger. Scharf glanced up and, seeing a dark shape burst downward through the clouds, was quick to take evasive action.
“Huah!” he cried, gripping the reins tightly as he pressed his foot against the horse’s flank.
Heeding Scharf’s command and sensing the dire threat from above, the animal vaulted forward just as a swift blur impacted the ground with enough speed to launch hundreds of kilograms of dirt and debris several meters into the air. The corporal had narrowly avoided being crushed, but there was no time for celebration. Looking back over his shoulder, Scharf watched as a winged shape tore forth from the dust and careened toward him. Were it not for his impressive reaction speed, the corporal would have been decapitated by the assailant rocketing just over his ducked head. Despite his turmoil, this second pass had given the seasoned Iron Knight ample opportunity to identify his attacker.
Shockwave- often referred to as “The Empire’s Icarus.”
A dangerous and accomplished adversary, he was an English exceptional capable of breaking the sound barrier under the propulsion of his giant, feathered wings, which he boasted in place of arms. His leather mask and cap, adorned with rounded metal goggles, protected his face from the friction generated by his high-speed dives and break-neck maneuvers. Sixteen foes had found themselves crushed by the 1,000-kilometer-per-hour impact of his cleated boots.
Scharf, however, was not keen on being added to the British Crusader’s kill tally. Tracking the airborne man now far in the distance, Scharf unbuckled his anti-tank rifle from the leather saddle as his horse charged onward through the wasteland. When Shockwave turned back in his direction roughly three kilometers out, the corporal raised his rifle and opened his dreaded reversed lens, casting its fatal gleam directly through the scope and toward his target. Within seconds, the Englishman accelerated to several hundred kilometers per hour. Scharf, knowing a sonic boom was imminent, steadied his hands and prepared to deal the killing blow. However, with his target’s rate of speed increasing rapidly, the sharpshooter struggled to ascertain the proper lead. This minor hesitation was all it took to allow Shockwave to hit his full stride.
An earth-shaking boom erupted as the superhuman aviator was suddenly shrouded by a vapor cone. The ensuing vibration, coupled with the enemy’s obscured form, made it impossible for Scharf to judge the correct firing angle. With not a second to spare, the corporal let loose with a desperate shot. Miraculously, the high-velocity round clipped Shockwave’s wing, knocking him off course by a few centimeters; just enough to save the Iron Knight’s life. Sweating profusely in the wake of this near-death encounter, the corporal jerked around in his saddle to see his opponent pull upward into the sky once more.
For one man, the next clash would spell certain death.
Dust was flung into a thick screen behind the horse which, urged by its rider, now peaked at its maximum speed. Meanwhile, Shockwave climbed to a high altitude and arched back, intent on dive-bombing his target a second time. Knowing that the Crusader would be unlikely to miss again, Scharf readied himself for this final gamble. He swiveled around so that he was facing the rear of his horse and laid back against the animal’s mane. From this position, the corporal was able to angle his rifle upward toward his enemy. Now, with his reversed lens projecting a sapphire gleam through his scope, Scharf was positive that Shockwave’s dive matched the exact trajectory of his rifle.
There would be no need for the marksman to lead his shot.
When the enemy’s form filled the scope’s full view, Scharf fired his weapon, projecting a thirteen-millimeter round upward at over 2,800 kilometers per hour. Swift as he was, at just half a kilometer away, Shockwave was entirely unable to react. The high-powered bullet tore through the man’s upper right shoulder, severing his right wing and leaving a trail of red mist and blood-stained feathers as he plummeted to the Earth. Unable to control his speed or direction with only one wing, Shockwave crashed into the ground just ahead of Scharf’s horse, blowing a shallow crater into the ground nearly as wide as those left by artillery shells in the surrounding area.
“Fuck… f-fuck!” screeched the broken and blood-soaked crusader, flopping upward to his knees as he desperately grasped the stump of his right shoulder, helpless to stop the bleeding. “No… God fucking damn it, no!”
Shockwave’s final sight was that of Scharf's steed diving over the rim of the crater and, mid-air, blocking his view of the sun before crushing the dismembered warrior's skull under its mighty hoof. The animal then hauled up the opposite crater wall and, now unabated, continued its dash toward the rear line.
This would be Corporal Scharf’s twenty-sixth kill. However, the events that would unfold later that day would prevent him from ever officially claiming it.
Having returned to an upright riding position, Scharf gave his horse a congratulatory pat on the side of its neck. “Bravo!”
After another twenty minutes on horseback, the corporal arrived at his destination. He approached the forwardmost sentry post, hopped off his steed, and hitched it at the gate.
“Deadeye! Back so soon?” a voice inquired from behind Scharf. “The Hurricane has yet to return, but he’ll certainly be at the front in time to participate in the assault.”
The corporal took a solemn breath and turned to face the sentry. “The assault has failed. The front is unprotected.”
“Failed? But it hasn’t even begun! The Hurricane-”
“The captain gave the order to charge without the Hurricane,” Scharf replied forcefully.
Shaking his head in disbelief, the sentry took a short moment to collect his thoughts. “That’s… I don’t… How many survivors?”
“One,” answered Scharf grimly, pointing his thumb back toward his chest.
The sentry turned to the side, pacing as he placed both hands on his head in turmoil. “Unbelievable…” he huffed, “That damned captain is going to be hanged for this! What a fool!”
“They’ll have to hang his corpse,” said Scharf. “He died in the attack.”
“Ridiculous…” the sentry replied with a sputter. “Such a disgusting waste of life… You must report this to the general at once.”
Scharf dusted off his jacket and started past the guard post, intent on doing just that. However, urged by the sudden onset of an ominous wind, he stopped to make one final inquiry of the sentry. “Where is Erma?”
“Erma?” the man repeated, removing a ledger from his leather satchel and flicking through its pages before comparing the records with his pocket watch. “She left with Fiesel, erm… about two hours ago.”
“With Fiesel?” Scharf growled anger and concern building. “What the hell for?! Neither of them was scheduled to take part in any mission today!”
Surprised by this aggressive reaction, the sentry took a step back. “I-I don’t know. It just says ‘urgent.’”
“Where?!” demanded Scharf, stomping back toward his horse.
The sentry looked down at his book, held by trembling hands. “Villers… Villers-a- I can’t read this! Let me find who wrote it and-”
“There’s no time!” shouted the corporal, untethering his horse and mounting it once more. “Why the hell would Fiesel be allowed to just walk out on his own?! What’s wrong with you people?! You know he’s a disturbed psychopath!”
“Well, what were they supposed to do, stop him?!”
Scharf had to concede that it was a fair point. If Fiesel had truly desired to exit the premises, it was far beyond any normal human’s ability to impede him. Nevertheless, that twisting knot in his stomach told him that he had to find Erma without delay. After all, there was no legitimate reason that Fiesel, who benefited from a regenerative factor unparalleled by any known exceptional, would have required the aid of a field medic.
“Corporal, where are you going?” asked the sentry, looking up at the now-mounted Scharf. “You don’t even know where they went. Let me find out what this says.”
Commanding his steed onward, Scharf paid the thought little concern. “It’s a village. There are only two nearby and one of them can’t be home to more than fifty people. I don’t know their names, either way.”
“But then how do you know which one they went to?” the sentry inquired.
“The demon wouldn’t waste his time in a village of fifty people.”
ns 15.158.61.20da2
