by DJ Cooper
Creed had made the promise.
He planted his explosives and turned, making his way back to the ditch. He glanced over just in time to see Ecker being ripped apart as bullets hit his body, sending it jerking and spinning. Kael bit back a scream as he watched in horror as the man was nearly ripped in half by the onslaught. Rolling, he dove into the ditch as bullets bit the dirt behind him. Tears filled his eyes and bitter bile rose in his throat. His whole body shook with fear and rage.
Frantically, he searched the darkness for Aeryn, and his heart plunged as his eyes set upon his bloody, ravaged body a few feet away, the explosives still clutched in his hand. A roar of agony erupted from his throat as he climbed to his knees. He lifted his rifle from the dirt and opened fire on the group of soldiers in the back of the nearest truck. Explosions tore at the air around him and in the bright light of each earth-shattering boom, he saw soldiers from his own group mounting their attack. His mind spun with a red haze and agony as he grabbed more bricks of explosives and ran toward the remaining vehicles. If they couldn’t stop the vehicles, the enemy would breach the village barricades. And if that happened... it would be a slaughter. They were outnumbered by the hundreds.
Old Man moved more men to the wall, shouting orders for them to climb. He stood atop the wooden structure; binoculars held to his eyes as he watched in horror at the enormous wave of enemies pouring toward them. Sulfur, acrid and bitter, stained the air with its heavy presence and he choked back a cough. Another explosion hit the wall and he felt it tremble beneath his feet. A man, three feet away and to the left, crumpled as bullets riddled him, spinning him like a marionette before he fell off the wall and plunged to the ground below. A sharp pain of agony ripped through Old Man as he watched the young soldier fall. They were getting slaughtered. Screams ripped through the air around him and he turned to see Roswald leading a large group of men to the wall. Grim expressions met his gaze as another assault was launched from atop of the wall, more men replacing those that had fallen. On the ground below, bodies were strewn about like cordwood. Old Man clutched the binoculars to his face as he looked toward the west then the northwest for any sign of reinforcements. His heart sank when he saw none.
“God help us,” he muttered as he set his binoculars down and picked up his weapon.
Bevin and Mikah stared at each other with expressions of horror as the sounds from the battle carried to where they were. They were just a mile shy of the village. Bevin swore angrily and shouted to his men behind him. The Honor Guard had beat them to the village and now all hell was breaking loose.
Millicent moved quickly up beside him and grabbed his arm. “What do we do now?” she asked, her eyes wide with fear.
Mikah turned to her and grimaced. “We have a stronghold about four miles west of the village. Our villagers are already there,” he said. Bending to the dirt and grabbing a stick, he drew her a map, “You take your people there,” he commanded.
Millicent turned her eyes to him and nodded. Turning, she ran back to her sister who was calming the group. “Okay, you take our people here,” she said as she explained the directions to her sister, “I’m taking the warriors, we’re pushing ahead,” she finished.
Her sister shook her head, ready with an argument, and she held up her hand impatiently. “Do it! Do as I say!” she snapped, then seeing the misery on her sister's face, she softened her tone.
“Please, I need you to get them to safety. I love you... but you know I have to fight this battle. They….” she said and pointed to Bevin, Mikah, and his men, “They will need every person they can get to go against these Honor Guard.”
Her sister's face crumpled and filled with tears. She of all people knew what the Honor Guard would do if they captured any prisoners. “Okay,” her sister moaned, “I will, but damn it, Millicent, don’t you dare get yourself killed.” She grabbed her and squeezed tightly before turning and gathering the group of women and children.
Millicent watched with a heavy heart as they made their way west toward safety. Bevin turned when Millicent, leading a small group of warriors, moved up beside him. He growled angrily and turned his gaze to her. “And what do you think you are doing?” he asked.
Millicent met his gaze with a steely one of her own. “I am defending my people!” she snapped, turning her head toward her small group. “We are warriors!” she finished, almost daring him to challenge her.
Bevin shook his head and turned his face away so that she would not see the anger sizzling in his eyes. Foolish woman! “I don’t want you anywhere near this battle,” he moaned.
He knew what would happen to her if she was taken captive, he knew exactly what the Honor Guards soldiers would do to her and the women with her. Anguish was chiseled into this steely stare.
Her eyes softened. “Bevin, we are warriors,” she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The men who’d gone into their camp kept out of sight. The one who’d led them knelt on the ground trying to catch his breath. Through the night he and his warriors had been harassing and battering the Honor Guard at every availability to slow them down and reduce their numbers. For every soldier they killed, another would step in and take his place. There were too many of them and too little of his own. His heart sat heavy with pain as he realized that he would probably not live to see another day and neither would those he called brother.
His men gathered around him and every face wore expressions of fatigue, horror, and grief for the brothers they’d lost. Their faces were covered in dirt and grime, eyes hollowed, as each man dug deeper for the strength to fight on. Some wore wounds that needed medical attention but they fought on nonetheless. He knew they all would never give up, they would fight to the last man, to the last breath. No matter the odds against them.
“Okay, we hit them again, this time from the rear,” he ordered once he caught his breath. The sun was just lightening the sky and the air smelled of fresh dew mixed with sulfur from the explosive blasts that rocked the valley.
His shoulder bled freely from a bullet wound and one of his men stepped forward and plugged the hole with a bit of rag. He glanced at him and nodded gratefully as zig-zag bursts of what felt like liquid fire ached down his arm. He clenched his fist tightly against the pain. One young soldier, his face crusted with blood from a head wound, glanced at him.
“We,” he said pointing to a small group of warriors, “can go high, shoot down from the treetops into the middle of the convoy,” he volunteered.
A good idea, he nodded, glancing at the man’s head wound. “Are you sure? I don’t want you getting dizzy up there and falling,” he muttered.
The man grimaced and touched his head. “I’m sure. This is just a flesh wound,” he growled.
The other concern he had of the group going high was that the Honor Guard was now expecting it and training their rifles toward the treetops. In the night, with the darkness cloaking them, the warriors couldn’t be seen among the thick foliage. But now that daylight was nearing, the soldiers would have no trouble picking them out of the trees.
“Okay, but you stay hidden, one slip and they’ll have you,” He growled. He’d lost enough of these men and he winced as the realization of losing even one more set on him. He watched the man turn and motion to several other warriors. A group of them set off leaving only a couple dozen men to engage in the ground fighting.
“Okay, brothers,” he growled, “let’s engage,” he said, and once again he led these weary men into the battle.
Bevin heard the pounding of heavy artillery as it echoed in the valley below. He shouted for his sharpshooters to take out the men manning the big guns, while Mikah and his men crawled down the hillside, engaging the enemy. His ears rang from the screams and explosions as the Honor Guard battered the village’s fortress wall. He shouted for his men to spread out and launch at the enemy everything they had to give. Bayonets were fixed to rifles as his men charged down the hill. Above him and behind him, Millicent and her warri
ors were taking up the rear, felling men with their bows. Bevin’s heart was heavy with grief. They would fight the good fight but as a seasoned soldier, he knew that none of them stood a chance against a force so large. He prayed for a miracle as he led his men into the battle.
Creed threw his body across Zyla’s as an explosion split the air around them, sending shards of shrapnel into his back and legs. He screamed in agony and Zyla struggled against him. Rolling out from under him, she grabbed his shoulders and dragged him over the edge of the wall onto the platform below them. Her hands moved quickly, her fingers grabbing at the larger shards of metal and wood, pulling them out and then putting pressure on the wounds. He moaned and glanced up at her.
“Are you okay?” he muttered, struggling to sit up.
She nodded, a fierce expression on her face. “They are slaughtering us,” she cried.
Creed gripped her roughly by the shoulders. “I want you to run, Zyla, go to the woods, find the villagers,” he pleaded, his face a mask of agony.
She shook her head. “No!” she hissed. Another explosion rocked the wall and she screamed as she ducked her head and curled up into a ball. Creed moaned and pulled her into his arms. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest.
Sucking in a deep breath he released her. “Then pick up your weapon and fight!” he growled as he grabbed his bow from where it had fallen and reloaded an arrow. From the corner of his eye, he saw her do the same. With blood flowing down his back and his legs, he launched his arrows once again into the swell of soldiers below.
Thindrell watched from his safe vantage point and saw the group of men coming down the hill. He lifted the binoculars to his eyes and sucked in a hissing breath as he recognized the traitorous First Rank Bevin leading the charge. Anger rolled through his chest and he grabbed his weapon. He would take out that bastard himself. He leaped down from the armored truck and pushed his way through the battle toward Bevin.
“I will gut you, you cowardly son of a bitch,” he growled. He stormed his way across the field, ignoring the gunfire around him, ignoring the screams as men from both sides fell. A red haze of savagery filled his mind, deafening him to everything around him other than the man he wanted to kill. His eyes stayed on Bevin like a hawk on a mouse as he moved forward. How dare he turn on his own men, his own brothers? How dare he help these subhuman filthy animals? He shouted Bevin’s name above the din.
Bevin turned his attention toward the sound of his name being shouted only to set his eyes upon the General of the Honor Guard. Before he could react, he felt the bullet slam into his upper leg, the force of it knocking him to the ground. He rolled and came up on one knee and with one swift motion, raised his own weapon and fired. His heart crashed as he saw the bullet hit the dirt a few inches from Thindrell’s feet. The General was on him in two short strides, bearing down with his bayonet. Pain seared his shoulder as Thindrell drove the blade deep and twisted, a cold and savage grimace on his face.
“Boy, this is gonna be fun,” the General hissed as he stood over Bevin and smiled. A twisted mask of gleeful pleasure shone in his eyes as he drew his knife from his side sheath.
Bevin scrabbled backward, his ass dragging over the pebbled grit and dirt beneath him, dragging his now numb and dead leg. With his uninjured hand, he struggled to pull his own knife as the General advanced on him. One kick from Thindrell sent Bevin’s knife flying from his grasp. Thindrell stood over him, breathing heavily as he gazed down at him with a twisted grin on his face.
“Oh, I am going to carve you up boy and I am going to take my time,” he growled.
Bevin stared up at him defiantly, his heart beating erratically in his chest as he fought for breath. He was staring death in the face and he would not go out whimpering and cowardly, he would die like a soldier.
“Screw you, you animal,” Bevin screamed as Thindrell bent toward him. He spat in the General’s face as he felt the knife in Thindrell’s hand bite deep into his side. Pain turned his mind to a dark haze as the knife twisted. A scream ripped from his throat.
Millicent watched as Bevin fell to the ground and her heart leaped into her throat. She whipped an arrow from its holder on her shoulder and nocked it into place. Taking a deep breath, she ignored the misery that flooded her heart and of the man standing over Bevin. Instead, she focused her concentration on a point in the mid-center of the attacker’s chest. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, opened them, and let the arrow fly.
“God, please let my arrow fly true,” she cried. Holding her breath, she watched as the man standing over Bevin clutched at his chest as he fell. Standing, she ran down the hill toward Bevin as her group launched arrows around her, providing cover. She slid to the ground and shielded Bevin with her body as she checked his wounds.
“Bevin, son of a bitch! I told you to be careful,” she groaned as her hands pressed gently against the flow of blood pouring from his side.
He groaned as he struggled to sit up.
She pushed him gently back. “Damn it, stop struggling,” she hissed. One of his men ran to her side and helped her drag him to cover where she worked frantically to stop the flow of blood. Glancing at his face her heart dropped. His face was ashen, and she screamed at him.
“Don’t you dare die on me!”
Old Man stood wearily and tried to quiet his shattered heart. He stared down into Roswell’s face, into his eyes that stared skyward, glazed with death. Pain rocked his chest as he reached down and gently closed his friend's eyelids. They were about finished. His forces had been reduced to a third of what he’d started with. He bowed his shoulders in defeat as the Honor Guard breached the gate.
“May you go with God,” he said, his voice hitching with pain.
He stood rigidly, watching his men stand and try to hold the enemy back. He knew it would only be minutes before they were overrun. From somewhere in the distance, above the din of screams and shouts, he heard the sound of a roar that swelled to an almost ear-shattering rumble. The earth beneath his feet trembled and the sound of a bugle screamed in the distance. Climbing the ladder to the top of the wall he raised his binoculars to see thousands of men and women pouring down over the hill, accompanied by hundreds of military vehicles heading toward the village. A screaming roar exploded from his mouth as he yelled for his men to hold strong. Tears stung his eyes and joy flooded his heart. The reinforcements had arrived.
“Oh Roswald, if you could only see this,” he sobbed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
For hours the battle raged. Zyla and Creed shifted in and out of foxholes, stuffing coffee and food into their bodies and replacing their fellow soldiers so they could do the same. Zyla, each time she rested and pulled away from the fighting, searched frantically for Kael and each time of not finding him, her heart broke just a bit more. She desperately held on to hope that he was still alive. When she could, she wandered into the medical tents and she searched the agonized faces of the wounded, asking about her brother. She was met with vacant stares and groans. On the outside of the tents, she searched through the stacked bodies of the dead, praying she would not find him among them. Creed stood beside her each time, pulling her into his arms, helpless to ease her sobbing pain.
“I can’t breathe, the pain is so bad,” she moaned.
Creed held her as his heart shattered. “I’m sure he’s okay,” he murmured. Even Creed knew the empty platitude rang with the hollowness of doubt.
Zyla stepped away from his arms, steeled her shoulders, and wiped the snot and tears from her face. “Time to go back,” she sighed. Back, meant back to the wall, back to the fighting.
Creed nodded and they headed for the wall. The front line moved and shifted as well. The Honor Guard would fall back against the heavy resistance, only to surge forward as more troops moved in from the districts to replace the dead. The resistance fought them off at every turn as thousands of fighters poured down into the valley. Villagers from throughout the districts rose up against the Elitists and th
eir armies, meeting them head-on in every village and the fields and on the roads. The villagers fought with pitchforks and scythes, axes, and clubs, bows, and spears. Anything that could be used as a weapon was grabbed as the angry mobs met the Honor Guard with forces of their own. War extended across the country as the resistance fought for their freedom.
Bevin woke and fought his way through the fogginess in his mind. He opened his eyes to see Millicent sitting on a chair beside him. On her face lingered an expression of weariness. “I’m alive?” he murmured.
Millicent smiled. “You’ll live,” she replied. She bent her head and brushed her lips across his.
He sighed. “The war?” he asked.
She grimaced. “We are still in it, God knows if we can win, but dammit we aren’t out yet,” she murmured.
Bevin closed his eyes. Once again, the darkness of sleep drifted over him.
Kael pulled himself along the ground. His mind was a cesspool of misery as he looked out over the battlefield. Most of his unit had been killed. Aeryn and Ecker both lay dead. There were, at his last count, only six of his unit left and they had been pinned down by the heavy enemy fire. If reinforcements didn’t arrive soon... they would all be dead. They were down to their last handful of bullets and each one of the men were saving one for themselves. He thought of Zyla, trapped in the village where the fighting was heaviest. He should have stayed with her. He should have been shoulder to shoulder with her but instead, he chose to be here, in the dirt, on his hands and knees and watching his brothers die. He screamed in misery, his throat parched and raw from choking back tears.