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Chapter 07 – The Best-Laid Plans of Raptors and Men
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Nesma peered out the front window. “Zat's odd...” she said with a perplexed expression. “Zere's a man from ze Army walking up to our door, but I've never seen him before...”
Merideth looked up. Her blood ran chill.
There was a knock on the door.
“No...” Mary softly whispered. She stood up and paced nervously as her mother walked to the door. “No...” she softly whispered again.
The door opened and an officer stood on the other side with a stern yet somber expression. His hat was perched under his arm, and his face was adorned with an orange mustache. Nesma stood there confused for a moment.
The officer began speaking. “Are you Missus Weston?”
Nesma nodded. “...I am.”
Merideth clasped her mouth hand-over-hand and walked around nervously, trying to keep her eyes fixed on the man at the door, while also wishing she could look away.
The officer continued. “I am Colonel Rye; I have some news about your husband.”
Nesma's stature seemed to shift. “Did... did you want to step inside?”
With a hint of shame in his voice, he continued. “That won't be necessary, ma'am. I'll only be a minute, and then I need to be on my way.”
Merideth quietly stammered “No-o-o...”
The telephone began ringing. Nesma looked back toward it for a moment; Mary could see the concerned look on her mother's face. She looked back to the man standing on her doorstep.
Colonel Rye continued. “Your husband was on assignment to fight on the border of the Tanfax isthmus, near the Alve river.”
Merideth stared at the phone as it rang a second time. She didn't want to risk missing what the officer was saying, but at the same time, she knew she didn't want to hear it. She set her hand on the receiver, and froze there.
“He and his squadron were sent out on a mission to eliminate enemy mages, and...”
The phone rang a third time, and reflexively Merideth picked up the receiver from its cradle. She pulled the receiver to her ear as her lips trembled near the mouthpiece. “Hello?” she instinctively said. A moment later she realized she had answered in English. She clenched her eyes and tried again with the correct language. “Hello, Weston residence?”
“...That was ten days ago. At this point, we can only assume that your husband is dead.”
A familiar voice came through the receiver. “Mary?”
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Ten days earlier...
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“Sir, I see something up ahead!”
Lieutenant Wieseltier pulled out his scope to get a better view. Three Norlan mages were right in front of them, moving toward them on their flying platforms. “Only three?”
“Sir, should we move to intercept, or maintain our position?” Hamerling asked.
Wieseltier lowered his scope. “The moment they realize we outnumber them, they're going to run away. Let's take them down now before they can get in reinforcements!”
“Roger!”
Wieseltier boosted ahead. It would be foolish to pass up such a golden opportunity. Eight against three? When would they ever get a chance like this again? In a few moments they would be wiped out, and Lima Squadron wouldn't even lose a single man.
“Close the gap quickly!” he called out, “but make your shots count! Don't fire until they start running!”
The lieutenant steadied his rifle and began taking aim. The Norlans weren't nimble enough to make a quick turn-around; if they tried, they would all get shot down before they had a chance to realize their mistake.
But yet they weren't turning around; perhaps they were aware of how deadly it would be. Very well, they can die in a blaze of glory!
They were just about at a good range. “Take aim!” the lieutenant called out. “Ready! And...”
Suddenly explosions began popping all around him and several shields began lighting up. “What the – to the left! To the left!” Glowing streaks began coming in from the side.
The men shifted their aim as quickly as they could and began returning fire. Another three Norlans were there, almost right on top of them. Where did they come from?
And then another volley came through, this time from behind. Hammerling dropped to the ground.
“Behind us!” Wieseltier called out. Another three Norlans had appeared on their right flank, now behind them. They were surrounded.
Reinhardt and Kanner screamed out as their shields shattered, and then they were silenced.
Nalder kept looking around, his face slathered in confusion and panic.
The lieutenant quickly gestured, “There! There! Just shoot!”
But it wasn't just Nalder; no one knew which way to turn. And the moment someone seemed to decide on a direction to shoot, they got shot first.
The three from the front, the three they were trying to close on, began firing.
Weiseltier felt his shield ring out from another explosion, rippling down into his spine. “Fall back!” he called out. It was the only option now. But as he tried to evade, he suddenly felt as if he had no mana left, and his flight pack wouldn't move. He looked down and saw a large patch of blood on his suit. Glowing shards of a broken shield danced around him.
He looked back up. The explosions seemed to stop; no one was firing anymore. The enemy soldiers were all above him; they grew further away, and the ground grew closer.
Cedric Weston lowered his rifle with a smirk. All eight Argan air mages were down. “Everyone report!” he yelled.
Corporal Owens called out, “Alpha flank, we're all fine!”
Corporal Maddex responded, “Beta flank, I took a few hits, getting low on mana, but I've got more than enough to get home.”
Cedric turned to face Lieutenant Reuben. Julian just smiled at him. “Not a single loss, Captain Weston!”
The nine men pulled in together and Cedric looked over his men.
Cedric placed his hand over his orb and called out over the radio. “Rooster-one to Den Mother. Target is down, no losses. Preparing to fly home. Over.”
A voice soon came back over the radio. “Copy that, Rooster-one. Good work. R-T-B, over.”
“I got two kills!” Stark boasted to his commander.
“Shyne almighty,” Bivin called out, “that's the third time that ploy's worked without a hitch!”
Ward said “Really Commander, how did you come up with this strategy? It's brilliant!”
Weston smiled. “You really want to know? I actually came up with the idea while playing with my daughter.”
“No shit?” Ward remarked with surprise. “How did that happen?”
Cedric chuckled slightly as he recalled the scene in his mind.
He was laying on the living room floor with Merideth and a set of wooden figures carved to look like dinosaurs. For some reason, the young child seemed more enamored with them than the dolls the toymaker was selling.
Cedric took one of the big scary-looking ones and slowly plodded it along the ground toward his daughter. “Oh no, look out! It's going to eat you! Raaaah!”
Merideth looked up at him with a devilish smirk on her face, holding a small one with a long tail. She wiggled it around like it was making a dance.
Cedric's dinosaur plodded closer. “Oh no, you better run!”
Merideth grinned. “No, you bette' wun!”
“Raaah!” Cedric softly roared.
Suddenly Mary dropped the wooden figure and reached her hands out to the side. She grabbed a wooden figure from under the rug and another one hidden behind the sofa. “Waptow attack!” she called out as her two other dinosaurs leaped onto Cedric's.
Cedric quickly turned his dinosaur around to face them, but he was hit on both sides. Merideth's wooden figures pounced on his while Mary made screeching and clawing noises. He tried to have the large dinosaur face the smaller one to its side, but then the toy in Mary's other hand just bore down all the fiercer.
At last Cedric had to admit defeat. He turned his figure onto its side and emitted an “ugh!” sound.
Mary pulled all three of her small wooden figures on top of the large one and danced them around while humming a majestic tune in victory.
Cedric looked at his daughter in wonderment. Of course you let the little girl win, that's how you play with children. But yet he couldn't help but feel genuinely defeated; he was just outsmarted by his daughter, and they both knew it.
Cedric's reminiscence was cut short as another call came over the radio. “Den Mother to Rooster-one, belay that. We have troops near your position that can't advance due to an enemy scout. Can you move to intercept? Over.”
Weston looked out across the faces of his men. “Well boys, who wants to put another pair of wings on your platform?”
Chuckles arose from the group.
Weston put his hand over his orb. “This is Rooster-one, we would be happy to help out. Please send us coordinates. Over.”
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Captain Weston crouched low but quickly hustled to the ridgeline of the mountain. He knelt down and carefully looked over the vista with his binoculars. Lieutenant Reuben and Corporal Owens were crouched beside him, likewise scanning the scene.
“I see him,” Owens declared, “about 38 degrees from the North, about 6,000 high.”
The other two focused their binoculars in that direction.
“Yup, there he is...” Weston drawled out. “Something looks odd about him; I'm going to risk getting a better look.” He reached into his pack and pulled out his scope-clip. It was a simple-looking device with opaque orange lenses designed to clip onto his binoculars. He attached it and looked through it toward the Argan soldier with magically-enhanced vision, the lenses turning clear and glowing.
He could see the soldier clearly, hovering in the air in an olive-drab flight suit with an over-sized Argan flight-pack on his back. But no, the flight-pack wasn't over-sized, the soldier was tiny; short and scrawny with sandy-blonde hair. “What the... Shyne almighty, it's a girl?”
“Why is that surprising?” Reuben asked. “They've been using women mages for a while now.”
“Not a woman, a girl!” Weston passed his scope over to Reuben. “I don't think she's even nine years old!”
Weston raised back up to a crouch and made his way back down the slope to where the rest of his squadron waited.
Owens followed behind him, reading the expression of his commander. “Sir? She's still keeping our troops from advancing.”
“I know,” Weston replied, “but I still don't like it.”
Private Bivin spoke up. “Sir, did you say it's a little girl?”
“That's right. She looks like I should be sending her on play-dates with my daughter.”
Bivin looked around nervously. “Sir, I... I didn't sign up to become a child-killer!”
Reuben returned to the group and handed the scope back to Weston.
Cedric pulled the clip off his binoculars and put both back into his pack. “Alright listen up! Regardless of how young she looks, she's still a soldier of the Argus Empire! And right now, there are good men on the ground who are dying because of her scouting, and she's keeping our troops from breaching the valley! If you've got a problem with her age, you take it up with the Argan commanders who put her out here, you got that?”
Weston looked across the faces of his men as they swallowed their concern and belted out “Yes, sir!”
In a softer tone, the captain continued. “That said, I think we should try to capture this one alive and take her prisoner.”
Several thin smiles crept across the faces of his men, and several more heads nodded.
Weston wrapped one hand around his orb and then waved his arm across in front of him, summoning a transparent display into the air, level with the ground. He began drawing green triangles. “With that in mind, I want to make an adjustment to the ploy we've been using. Since we easily outnumber her, she's obviously going to run away instead of running into us.”
He placed a red X on the field to represent the enemy soldier, and pushed the green triangles into three groups. He moved a group of two triangles to one side. “Owens, Stark, you two will be alpha flank.” He moved another two triangles to the other side. “Reuben, Maddex, I want you to take the beta flank. Everyone else will take the center. In fact...” he made four more triangles, colored yellow. “I want the flanks to make decoys to stay with the central force, making it look as large as we can.”
Reuben spoke up. “If we do that, then shouldn't we have Charles and Bivin take beta-flank? They're our best at making convincing decoys.”
Weston nodded. “Good call. Charles, Bivin, you'll be beta-flank.” He began moving the triangles around on the field. “We're going to keep the central force behind the ridge until the flanks are in position. Since we can't lure her into the trap, we need the flanks to get further out than we normally do, so you'll need to take extra care to not get spotted by her. Give her a wider berth than normal, and stay low.”
The two smaller groups moved in a wide arc around the red X.
“But once you are both in parallel with her, we'll bring the main force out, along with the decoys, like so.”
The central triangles began moving toward the red X; the flanks on the side slowly moved toward each other in front of the red X.
“Once she sees us, she'll begin to flee. Ward, this is when I want you to start jamming her radio. Don't give her a chance to call out for help, but don't jam it earlier or else she'll suspect something before the flanks are in position.”
The red X began moving away from the large group.
“At that point, we'll move the flanks in to cut her off. If she tries to run to either side, whichever side she runs to, just stay in front of her and let the other flank move around to her side.”
The red X moved toward the right and the two flanking groups began moving around her.
“As soon as she sees troops in front of her, she'll try to flee in the other direction, and then...”
The red X moved toward the flank on the left, but now the main group was close. All nine green triangles began forming a circle around the red X.
“We'll simply surround her. I'll yell to her, <drop your gun and surrender,> which is how you say 'lay down your weapon and surrender' in Argish. If she starts moving faster than we can close the gap, fire a few rounds at her, cause them to burst on the side where we don't want her to go. Tap her with an under-powered round if you feel you have to. Any questions?”
When there were no responses, he dismissed the display. “We'll take her orb, and she can ride on Reuben's platform. On the way out we'll hit their artillery and be back at camp in time for dinner. Alright men, let's move out!”
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Weston hovered near the ridge of the mountain watching the scene as the two flanks flew in low to their positions. He freely looked through the scope because there was already plenty of magic being used that could be detected, and if anything, he would rather someone detect the magic where he was rather than the flanks.
But someone detecting the magic soon became a lesser concern. A small patrol of Argan soldiers showed up in the fields beneath beta flank, and one of them pointed up directly at them. 'Oh no, they've been spotted!'
Bivin's voice soon came in over the radio. “Shit! I think I just got spotted!”
One of the soldiers on the patrol quickly began working with a large box he was carrying.
The captain called out, “Ward, please tell me that isn't a radio they have with them!”
“Just a second...” Ward stated. A moment later he replied, “I'm getting some increased transmissions, I think it's a safe bet that they do.”
“Alright we'll have to start playing this by ear. We don't want her to run from the flanks, so let's give her something else to focus on. Everyone move forward!”
The five men began flying over the ridge. Weston looked out through his scope toward the girl, looking for signs of her being told about their presence. “Flanks, there's still three decoys that are still parked on the other side of the mountain! Three of you are forgetting to move your decoys with the rest of the group!”
Weston could see the sandy-haired child spin around and look toward their group. She began a gentle descent while she pulled up her scope. Weston pulled his scope down. “She's trying to land. You four, boost ahead! Cut her off!” He pointed his finger toward the target.
The four men in front of him picked up speed and began racing toward her. Weston discretely glanced toward the flanks. “Alpha, Beta, please tell me you're in a good spot to make yourselves known!”
“Not yet, sir!” Owen's voice came through the radio.
“Sorry, sir,” Bivin replied.
The target was speeding away. Weston looked at her through his scope. Her posture was a little odd; her hand might have been on her orb. “Ward, tell me you're jamming her radio!”
Ward called out, “Oh shit, sorry sir! Jamming now, sir!”
Bivin's voice came through the radio. “Sir, Beta-flank is in a good position to cut her off if she turns left!”
“Roger, Center Group, encourage her to turn left!”
A moment later his men began firing. One of the shots connected with her shield and she looked back. After another round of fire she turned to the left.
Bivin called out “Shit, she's fast! Auughh, she didn't turn sharp enough! I can't cut her off from here! Damn, how's she so fast?”
“She's probably got an insane power level,” Ward called out, “I can't imagine they'd make her a soldier at that age otherwise.”
The thought sent a chill down Cedric's spine. But there was no time for that now. “Fire another volley! Try to get her to turn more left!”
“Roger!” four different voices sounded in Weston's ear.
Just then the girl came to a stop and then spun around.
“...Sir?” Ellis asked.
A moment later the girl began charging toward the group.
“Encourage her to go the other way!” Weston yelled.
The men fired but the child veered away in a spinning pattern. All the shots erupted with nothing hitting her. She straightened out and the men fired again. All the shots missed wildly. Through the scope Weston could make out a psychotic expression on the child's face. “Shoot her, shoot her!”
The men fired again but the shots still missed. Then the child shot back. A powerful blast hit Private Maddex and he screamed in pain. The child seemed to be yelling something, and she sped right through the middle of the group with incredible speed. She immediately began slowing, trying to fly right back into the group, firing more shots while trying to change her velocity.
Weston was too slow with changing between his scope to his rifle, and before he knew it, Ellis's shield was broken and he took a fatal shot. And then there was... only Reuben left? Ward was falling to the ground, clasping his neck, his torso covered in blood.
The child screamed again, and by now Weston was close enough to make out her words. “Blood for the Blood God!” With a glowing bayonet she swiped her weapon through Reuben's neck. “Skulls for the Skull Throne!”
Weston was frozen at the sight. The child flung Reuben's head out into the wild, and yet... it seemed to impossibly curve, as if it somehow changed direction and flew straight at him. Cedric instinctively tried to catch it, losing grip of his rifle as it hung from his arm by its strap.
He stared at Reuben's head. His dear friend stared back, still alive, his face in horror, his mouth moving.
“Oh God... Julian!”
What was he trying to say? His lips were getting slower, and Cedric couldn't read them.
There was so much Julian could have said. There is so much he had said already. Cedric had known him since he first was deployed to Kumar. They sat in a bunker in the sweltering heat, swapping jokes. They flew across the sagebrush fields, telling stories. Together they perused the shops and the bars that lined the H'teru River.
Julian Reuben and Cedric Weston seemed inseparable; he was even with him the very day he first met Nesma.
“If you love her, I don't think there's anything wrong with you marrying a Kumerian woman. Hell, I'll be your best man at the wedding!” It wasn't just a casual statement; he was true to his word.
But now, no words were coming out of his mouth, and his lips slowed, and his face went limp.
More gunfire rang out. Charles fell dead.
Bivin began screaming “Get it off! Get it off!” His hands were firmly wrapped around a grenade, pressing it against the bottom of his chest.
With a panicked voice Weston yelled “What are you doing? Throw it! Throw it!” It didn't look natural, something in the movement was wrong. Why wouldn't he throw the grenade? But before Weston could make out what was going on, the grenade went off.
“No!” Weston called out. 'What is happening?!'
Suddenly Weston realized that he didn't know where the enemy was. He looked around and saw her flying toward Owens and Stark. Just as they fired at her he noticed a faint glow around her; an illusion. Another image began flying toward them, but it was likewise an illusion. The two fired at it anyway.
“They are decoys!” he yelled out, “don't waste your shots!”
More decoys began appearing from all sides.
“Get back to back!” Weston yelled, “look for the real one!”
The two remaining soldiers obeyed and began scanning the field for the real target. Weston spun around, expecting to see the real one behind him, but nothing was there. He heard her yell and looked back in time to see the monster flying above his men, firing into the compacted group like shooting fish in a barrel. Only Owens managed to get off a shot before they both fell.
Weston stared in horror. No, this was beyond horror. He had just witnessed this, he had just seen everything, but it was impossible. Impossible, and somehow it happened.
“Who else wants some?!” the monster yelled, her arms held out wide. And then she looked at him.
Did Weston even have enough time to pray for a miracle? No, this would be the end.
The child-shaped creature began saying something with an expression of awe on her face. 'What about me could possibly make this thing feel impressed?'
And then she began looking around the battlefield. She looked at all the corpses, admiring her handiwork. As she did she began trembling with excitement.
What now? What could this impossible creature do next? She continued to tremble in excitement, and she let her rifle fall from her hands. Why did she do that? She began looking over the blood spilled on her uniform, softly muttering something to herself.
She trembled in more excitement, and pressed her hands against her head, and trembled harder. “Oh god!” it yelled out, “Oh god oh god oh god!” She began curling into a ball.
'That's not excitement...' Cedric at last recognized what he was seeing. He'd seen it before. Sometimes it hit men before the battle, but others would react when the battle was over.
He gently set Julian's head on the handles for his platform and began raising his rifle, trying to be as silent and unnoticeable as he could.
But the girl looked up and saw him again. She quickly reached to her belt and then threw a knife at him. Despite the distance between them it flew in a straight line and hit Cedric in the arm. He screamed and the rifle fell from his hand, tumbling to the ground.
The girl zipped toward him, and as impossible as it would seem, Cedric could swear that she had somehow pulled back her knife before she got to him. She grabbed Cedric's shirt and held her knife up to strike.
She paused there for a moment. At this distance, she looked more than ever like a child. A small and panicked child, terrified at what she had done, tears dripping across her face.
As Cedric stood clutching his bleeding arm, there was only one thing he could think to do.
“Please,” he said, recalling the best Argish he could, “Please, I have a daughter, the same age as you...”
Cedric thought of his precious Mary, hoping that he would have the opportunity to see her again. Maybe he should tell her more about Mary? How wonderful and smart she was? And how dearly she loved her father, and how heartbroken she would be if he never came home.
With pain in her eyes the child replied: “...Does she kill people too?”
The thought to compare his daughter to this depraved creature was horrific.
The girl pulled Cedric's flight suit tightly and bore her knife down, ripping into the fabric and just barely nicking his skin. She then thrust her hand inside his clothes and grabbed –
'Oh no!'
Cedric quickly grasped his platform's handles with both hands. He felt the magic power flushing out of his body, but he tried to pour everything he could into the platform's levitation spell. For a moment it seemed to slow, but the last of his power left and gravity began taking control again. He concentrated, tried to reach out, orb or no orb, pushing his mana into his craft, as much as he could muster. The air whipped around him, and it seemed to slow, just a little. 'More, a little more..'
Suddenly the craft rammed into the ground. Pain rang sharply through Cedric's whole body as he was thrown backward onto a stiff mound of dirt and grass. After a moment, the shrill sensation was gone, leaving only soreness in its wake.
Cedric looked up at the child hovering in the air, and the two soldiers looked each other in the face one last time. He quickly rose to his feet, and suddenly remembered the gash in his arm as it shot pain through the whole appendage. He looked around and spied a copse of trees that he then ran to.
Once he was underneath the meager canopy he looked back. The field looked far more uneven at this elevation; even hilly.
His men's bodies were strewn about that field...
'No, there's no time for that right now.' He needed to assess the situation first. What supplies did he still have? He quickly checked. He still had his pack with its remaining content, but no weapon. His binoculars still hung from their strap. The scope-clip had broken off one of its lenses, but it was still useful. It appeared that he had landed on his canteen, and it was dripping water onto his pants.
'Should I go back and get a gun? Could I get someone's orb? Maybe one of the platforms will still work.'
He stared out through the leaves, faintly still seeing the child soldier still there, floating in the air.
'I can wait her out; she's just a child.'
But not a minute later another Argan air mage flew in alongside her.
Cedric clenched his teeth almost as hard as he did his arm. He stepped back and crouched low behind a tree, looking up at the two, but they didn't seem to leave. He looked back down at the field. He couldn't make out where any of the wrecks were from this angle.
'How long can I wait before the ground troops get in?'
Cedric took a breath and then began retreating further back into the trees.
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Cedric had managed to find his way to a natural ditch carved by a vernal stream that had been quenched dry a month or two prior in the height of summer. In one section, the walls of this tiny ravine were nearly five dequas tall, just above the height of his belt. He found that if he laid on his side and pressed his back against the dirt wall, he would be well concealed from anyone's view until they were practically on top of him.
There he had spent the next several hours. He was just close enough to the battle site that he could faintly hear the sound of motorcars as someone arrived to clean up the wreckage from the battle.
The distant sound of artillery never seemed to grow louder. If it had, it would mean they had broken the line, and when the Argans retreated, he would be able to meet with his own countrymen and get to safety. But it sounded like no progression was being made; a reminder that he not only lost his entire squadron but also lost his mission.
Cedric had plenty of time to plan out his next move. After pulling some bandages out of his pack and applying them to his arm, he pulled out his map of the area and studied it carefully. The no-man's-lands that stretched across the dales between the mountains would be impossible to cross. Crossing a mountain where there wasn't a pass would be an incredible challenge, one that would also get him spotted. He had intently studied the operation while he was in briefing, so he had some idea of where the enemy was and where is countrymen should be. He just wasn't certain how passable any of the terrain was on foot. It hadn't been a concern before.
'If I wait until dark, I can cross this mountain range here without getting spotted. I can then keep moving north to this river, and then use this river to get past the lines.' He wasn't very happy with the plan, and it meant having to cover a long distance, but it seemed his best option.
At last he heard the distant sound of the motorcar start and slowly drive away. He waited another fifteen minutes and slowly peeked out from behind his cover. He cautiously made his way back to the battle site, hoping to find some equipment that was missed.
He found the hillside where he had landed. The ground was cut from the struts of his craft, but the platform was gone. He looked around. Owens and Stark had gone down... over there. After a short walk he found more disturbed ground, but the bodies and equipment were taken away. A part of the landing strut had broken off one of the crafts and remained at the site, ignored as a piece of refuse. Cedric took it; a nice metal bar was a better weapon than his one good arm, and it had better range than his dinner knife.
Cedric followed the depression in the grass made by the motorcar to find another of the wreckage sites. Two spots on the grass were marked from excessive amounts of blood; one from Ward and one from Julian. What were the Argans going to do with the bodies? Would they bother matching Julian's head back with his body? Probably not; they were likely going to all be stripped and just thrown into a mass grave. He began to wish he had kept Julian's head; if he could have brought it home he could have given at least that much a proper and respectful burial.
As Cedric neared the final crash site he stopped when he could see one of the artillery guns poking above the hill. He could faintly hear the yelling of the soldiers nearby. He crouched low and made his way up a short incline. He could see movement in the distance, Argan troops most likely. He was getting too close to the battle; he would get spotted.
He retreated back to the ditch and slumped against the dirt embankment, closing his eyes and conserving his energy for the climb ahead. Rest came easy; trying to land his platform without an orb had expended so much mana that he was on the verge of contracting magic depletion sickness. In fact it would be a challenge to not oversleep.
He managed to rouse himself in the last few minutes of dusk. The overcast sky made the landscape incredibly dark. But finding his way would not be a problem; he had studied his map well.
Cedric stood, faced the nearby mountain, and began his journey.
Before he reached the mountain he found himself shivering. Perhaps he just needed to get his blood pumping. Then a slight breeze managed to pierce into his chest. 'Of course, I'm venting body heat where that brat cut open my flight suit.'
He tried to close the tear with his hand, but it grew very bothersome to keep closed for long. To add to his agitation, every errant step sent vibrations that reminded him how his arm ought to be in a sling.
Then he had an idea. He took the rod he found from the platform's landing strut and slipped it into his sleeve. It stuck out past his fingers just an ircit or two, but it served well as a brace. Then he slipped his hand into the gash in his flight suit. Resting his arm like that served as a functional sling, while also plugging up most of the hole. Not a perfect solution, but an adequate one.
The hike through the countryside was somewhat challenging. The darkness gave him protection, but he was not walking down a country road. He was walking through wilderness, and there was little to guide his path other than occasional shadows that appeared in the shapes of trees and bushes. He couldn't walk too briskly because he couldn't see his footing very clearly. More than once he stumbled because the ground wasn't quite at the elevation he expected it to be.
He hiked several hours keeping the shadowy shape of the mountain to his left. When he found a similar shadow in front of him he knew he reached the point where he had previously decided to climb over the obstruction. If it were light, he could have picked an optimal path. Instead he found himself more than once dropping to all fours to scramble up a slope that was steeper than he expected. Eventually he made his way to the crest, panting heavily. Studying the various lights from the camps to confirm where he needed to go served as a good excuse to pause while he caught his breath.
As he scaled down the other side of the mountain, a brief slip alerted him to the fact that coming down would be even harder than coming up. He favored keeping his arm out of the makeshift sling to help keep his balance, and moved at a slow and steady pace. But the pace did not last. Several minutes into his descent, his boot landed in a spot of gravel and slid forward too far. He flailed his arms but there was no stopping his momentum. He tumbled into the darkness.
He landed squarely on his chest and began rolling over. He reached his arm out frantically and manage to grab something; a small weedy bush. It pulled out of the ground, but it slowed him down just enough to shift his direction. He slid down the slope feet-first for a short distance. He laid there for a moment, fully aware that it could have been a lot worse.
He slowly stood up and began walking more methodically, feeling a lot of apprehension as he walked the rest of the way down. Gradually the ground became less steep and eventually it leveled out again. Having gotten past the mountain, he slipped his hand back into the tear in his suit. The makeshift sling brought a welcome relief for his aching arm, but the pain had been an acceptable trade-off to help keep his balance. Now past that struggle, he kept marching through the dark wilderness.
He stayed clear of the enemy encampments, but half an hour later found it wasn't clear enough. He froze when he heard the footsteps. But a moment later he heard the footsteps stop as well.
“Who's there?” a voice called out in Argish.
Cedric couldn't see anyone, so it was a good bet that they couldn't see him. He began slowly dropping down to a crouch, hoping he might be able to slink his way into a bush.
The footsteps moved closer, and a silhouette emerged. As it got closer it clearly took the form of a man holding a rifle.
The shadow stopped, and the rifle stirred. The man had his weapon bearing right on Cedric. “Who's that?!” the shadow called out forcefully, “Stand up!”
Cedric briefly considered pretending to be an Argan, but even though it was too dark to recognize his uniform, he was sure the darkness could not mask his accent. Slowly he raised his hands up. “Don't shoot,” he said, “I am unarmed.”
The shadow mumbled something in a concerned tone that Cedric could not identify. He took a few steps closer and his head began bobbing around while the rifle remained fixed on Cedric. “How did you get here?!” he demanded, “where are your – ?!” Cedric didn't recognize the last word, but he felt like he was asking about his comrades.
“I am alone,” Cedric calmly stated. “I am an air-mage. Was shot, and crashed, only I survived.”
“Air mage?” The shadow came in closer. At last his face could be discerned. Not surprisingly he looked very suspicious. He began pressing the barrel of his rifle into Cedric's chest. He then took one hand and grabbed a clump of Cedric's hair and began turning it over.
Cedric suspected that it was too dark for the color to show clearly, and the lack of change on the soldier's face seemed to confirm this. “Please, I am unarmed,” he said again. With his arms still held up he brought his hands together to rest them against each other. He slyly placed the palm of his left hand against the metal bar he had slid into his sleeve.
The soldier began patting down Cedric with his free hand, starting at his shoulders. When he came to the gash in his suit he began poking inside. Cedric jumped a little as if the soldier was touching something tender. “Ah!” he called out. When the soldier looked up he quickly stated “Cold hands!” It was suitable cover to disguise the fact that he was pulling the bar out of his sleeve.
The soldier began feeling around; his fingers touched the sling and distinctly noticed its lack of contents. “Where is your orb?!”
Cedric nodded his head toward the side in a defeated expression. “She has it,” he said.
Quickly the soldier pulled his rifle out toward the shadows where Cedric had bobbed. “Who?!” he called out in a panicked and surprised tone.
Cedric didn't waste a single moment, and he seemed to have even less than that. He bore down the rod against the Argan's face. The soldier stumbled down, but before he could even finish falling, Cedric struck again. He shoved the end of the wrecked landing strut straight into the soldier's temple.
The Argan convulsed on the ground for a moment.
Cedric took the rifle and began patting down the body, searching for supplies.
He had only managed to steal the soldier's water canteen and two clips of ammo before he noticed voices in the distance. He paused for a moment and looked out in their direction. He could vaguely discern what might be light from a camp, gently reflecting off some trees or some tents. He couldn't hear footsteps, but he thought the voices sounded like they were getting closer.
'Was he just out here taking a piss, or is he part of a patrol?'
Cedric quickly decided there wasn't anything the soldier was carrying that would be worth the time to find it. He dragged the body over toward the nearest bush and dropped it there, hopefully out of sight from any casual approach. He then readied his new rifle and began resuming his previous course with a renewed hustle.
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As the hours went on, Cedric saw the headlights from several motorcars driving out to the North, coming in to resupply the frontlines. He was far enough away from the road that he held no concerns for being spotted, but the numbers he saw had him concerned about his army's ground forces. If the Argans can bolster their defenses this much, just what is it going to take to break through to the Alve? Taking that much ground would be a pipe dream.
It was sometime later when Cedric was certain that it was getting lighter. Dawn was approaching. 'Damn it, I haven't reached that river yet!'
Would it be better to try crossing in the predawn light? Or would it be less risky to hide somewhere until night came again? Perhaps when the light returned he could check his map for the next-best route.
He shook his head. 'It doesn't matter. I can't make that decision until I get there and see how much light there is.'
He kept plodding along, trying to hustle a bit more.
But then he noticed the first glint of the sun creeping over the horizon. 'Damn, it's definitely too light now.'
Looking at the cresting morning light, he paused for a moment. The sun was rising from the North. No, that couldn't be; it was only a couple weeks until the autumnal equinox; the sun should be nearly due east, but yet...
“Oh no,” Cedric softly muttered. He pressed his hand to his head and clenched his teeth. “I've been going the wrong way!”
The mental defeat gave power to the exhaustion in his body, and Cedric dropped down to his knees, and then rolled onto his back. 'What now? I can't climb back over the mountain in the daylight. How long have I been going the wrong way?'
As he laid there softly cursing himself, he heard the faint sound of another motorcar. It sounded like it was going in the same direction as the others.
But wait, that was to the East. Why are they sending troops out that way?
Cedric lifted his head up and tried to look toward the sound of the motorcar. He began to recall that there was something the higher officers were planning; he wasn't told what, but he knew them well enough to know when they were hiding something. All he was told was that it was particularly important that they push the Argans all the way back to the banks of the Alve.
But they didn't reach the Alve; they were still dozens of hetches away. But yet, the Argan forces were all headed to the East...
Something was off here.
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