by Scott McKay
“Raptors!” said Milton. “Get under that rock!”
They did, making themselves as invisible as possible while watching hundreds of the birds powering off to the north.
Toward Fort Walder.
“We need to pop smoke and warn the fort they have raptors coming,” Milton said. “Ted, shoot that rocket.”
“Wait, wait. Let’s think about that,” Bill said. “We fire that thing and we mark our location for the next lot of those damn things to zero in on us. And what orders do we have? Haul ass back down that ridgeline in the same direction where those birds are going? That doesn’t work for me, fellas.”
“Shut up, Bill,” said Milton. “This isn’t Parliament. I’m in charge, and we’re going to follow orders.”
“Hate to tell ya, Milton, but Bill’s right,” Ted said in his Trenory drawl. “Not a great idea to shoot that rocket. Do ya think the lookout don’t already see them birds? What’s the rocket gonna tell ‘em they don’t already know?”
Milton then looked at Butch.
Butch shrugged. “I think we’re touched by the Saints either way, but I wouldn’t put up that rocket unless we see Udar,” he said.
“What the hell are raptors doin’ out here?” Bill groused, his Belgarden brogue showing through. “They’re extinct. Aren’t they?”
“Don’t look like it,” said Ted. “I ain’t interested in bein’ food for ‘em neither.”
“All right,” Milton said. “We scout for Udar like we’ve been ordered to, and we follow the circuit unless we see the enemy. And if we do, we follow orders and pop that smoke. Agreed?”
The other three nodded their assent.
An hour later they reached Deadline Hill, which afforded a good vantage of the flat plain to the southeast by which the enemy would come through The Throat. When they ascended the hill, they saw that was exactly what the enemy was doing.
“By the Saints!” exclaimed Bill. “How many is that?”
“Regiment strength cavalry,” Milton said. “Division strength infantry.”
The other three rolled their eyes. Milton had no more idea of the difference between regiment strength and division strength than they did. Butch did figure there were a good fifty thousand Udar languidly marching up The Throat toward their position, though, and that was more than enough to make him interested in getting the hell out of there.
“Pop smoke, Ted,” Milton said. “Pop it now. Right now.”
Ted did, but he didn’t aim the rocket straight up in the air. Instead, he angled it to the north, to keep it below the view of the enemy to the south. That was a mistake, as his trajectory was too low, and the rocket descended before it emitted enough smoke to be seen by the observation tower.
“You jackass!” Milton said. “How we going to warn the fort now?”
“We’re gonna haul ass back there, that’s how,” Bill said. “I say we drop these packs and sprint the five miles home.”
“I’m not dropping my pack,” Butch said. “Might need the gear in there if we get back to the fort and the raptors have had their way with it. We’ll have to take off for Fort Murtaugh in that case and that’s a months’s march.”
“Touched by the Saints,” said Bill. “You had it right. We are officially dead men walkin’.”
“All right, shut up,” said Milton. “Keep your packs on. Make sure your rifles are loaded, and your service pistols too. We’re double-timing it back to Fort Walder and we’ll see what’s what when we get there.”
They made their way north down the ridgeline as quickly as possible, keeping an eye out for Udar scouts and, more importantly, the raptors. If the birds were to spot them on the ridge, there would be very little cover, and even less chance of survival.
Four incident-free hours later the foursome arrived at Fort Walder, or what was left of it. The raptors had laid waste to the garrison. Bodies were everywhere, as it looked like they’d hit it during noon muster when the troopers were in line for inspection. The raptors were gone, except for a few that the fort’s chain guns had managed to take down. One was still alive, writhing and screeching as it lay on its side, a wing bent badly out of shape under its torso. It was covered in bullet holes and gasping for breath.
“Shoot it, Butch,” said Milton, shaken by the carnage surrounding them. “Make it shut the hell up.”
Butch shouldered his Benchford and did as he was told, hitting the beast in its back, then chambered another round and fired again. The second bullet lodged in the raptor’s skull and it went still.
There were a few surviving troopers, who had taken refuge in some of the buildings, and the four helped to gather them. The highest-ranking of the group was a second lieutenant fresh out of the military academy at Aldingham, a freckly-faced twenty-year-old named Goffler. He had a sergeant named Adams standing at his side, a bald middle-aged man with ominous-looking tattoos on his neck indicating he was a veteran of the East Principia gang culture.
Goffler and Adams mustered what was left of the garrison, numbering just twenty-eight souls. Adams said he figured there would have been another sixteen out on patrol, each of which would be due back within two days.
“That makes forty-four,” said Goffler. “We need to ride out for reinforcements.”
“No, no, no,” said Ted, popping off and speaking clearly out of turn. “Didn’t you see our smoke?”
Goffler eyed him with a look of complete displeasure. “What’s your name, Private?”
“Ted Shaffer, Second Lieutenant,” Ted said.
“You mean sir, you sonofabitch,” said Goffler. “You’ll speak when spoken to, and not before.”
Ted looked at Milton, who recognized he had a responsibility to defend his trooper. “Sir, if I may,” said the corporal, “we just hoofed it back from Deadline Hill where we saw a column of the enemy in strength marching this way. At least a division, with cavalry and infantry, probably ten miles to the southeast of here. I don’t think we can get reinforcements here fast enough to defend the fort in its current condition.”
“Why didn’t you fire a rocket, then?” Goffler demanded.
“We did, sir,” said Bill. “Maybe with the raptors, the tower couldn’t see it.”
Goffler gave Bill the same look he’d given Ted.
“Sir, we need to evacuate,” said Milton. “We need to get a warning to Fort Bountiful, and to Fort Harrow and to Fort Murtaugh and Fort Claire. We can’t do that if we’re committing suicide here with forty-four against fifty thousand.”
“With what?” whined a private named Sanders, who looked like he was even younger than Butch. “The raptors killed all the horses in the corral. We’re supposed to get out on foot?”
“Touched by the Saints,” Bill muttered under his breath as he stood next to Butch. “I don’t know about you but I’m about to light out for Fort Murtaugh on my own recognizance. You’re welcome to join in.”
“That’s desertion,” Butch whispered in response. “But I hear you. This Goffler kid had better have a decent plan.”
Goffler and Adams conferred quietly, and then the Second Lieutenant addressed the assembled remnant of the garrison.
“We’ll build a bonfire from whatever’s left of the fort,” he said, “and we’ll cremate the dead in that fire so at least they’ll be able to gain their rest with the Saints. The fire, hopefully, will be our distress signal. Then we take flight. Half to the north for Fort Bountiful, the other half to the east for Fort Harrow. We’ll leave written instructions for whoever’s left of the patrols to make their way to whichever place they can get to.”
As Goffler and Adams divided the remnant, it happened that Butch’s patrol troop was joined by ten others, all privates. Milton was the highest-ranking of the detail, and he was ordered to march east for Fort Harrow, which lay about twenty-five miles across the desert plain.
“This is suicide,” Ted said as they were hustling to gather enough combustible materials to assist in building the combination funeral pyre and distress beaco
n. “We’re gonna walk east and meet the damn Udar right as they pass in front of Fort Harrow. We’ll all die long before we warn anybody.”
“Got a better idea?” said Butch.
“Yeah, I do,” said Ted. “I think we ought to go northwest to Fort Murtaugh. That’s an actual fort and it can actually hold out against a large force, and we can actually make it there without getting killed on the way.”
“At least it’s not open ground for the raptors to come wipe us out,” said Butch. “It’s mountain passes. The Udar couldn’t put that many troops through it. Your idea is pretty good, Ted, but I don’t know if we have enough food for a month’s march there.”
“We’re touched whatever we do,” said Bill, joining them as they dragged a log from the horse-corral into the pile. “But if we drop our packs and just run, we can make Fort Harrow well before dawn. From there maybe we can get out to Fort Claire on horseback.”
“I thought you wanted to head for Fort Murtaugh,” Butch told Bill.
“Yeah, well, I changed my mind, all right?” Bill snapped at him.
Ted gave Bill a disgusted look. Bill stiffened, and it looked like the two of them were going to square off.
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with any of these decisions,” Butch said. “I really don’t like being stuck with these other kids. They gave us nothing but cooks and stable boys, not patrol troopers. They’ll all faint out there in the heat.”
“Then let’s just go,” Ted said.
“Fort Bountiful,” said Bill.
“Fort Murtaugh,” Ted said, shaking his head.
“We’re going to Fort Harrow,” Butch told them. “Like we’re ordered to do. It’s not important that we like the order. Deal with it.”
Finally, after two hours building the pile and dragging raptor-mutilated corpses to it, Adams said the bonfire was big enough. Goffler mumbled a few meaningful words commemorating the sacrifice of the dead for the Ardenian cause, and the fire was lit. It burned smokily, and Milton ordered his thirteen charges to gather up supplies and ammunition for the quick march to Fort Harrow.
Fifteen minutes after the march began, and a mile east of the bonfire that had been Fort Walder, Ted began badgering Corporal Blue.
“Milton, we should be making for Fort Murtaugh,” he said. “We’re gonna die out here. We’re gonna walk right into the Udar. You don’t think they’ll have some sorta advance party in front of that column? How are we not going to get hit on the way?”
“Shut up, Ted,” Milton said. “We’re following our orders. That’s it.”
“It’s wide open out here and there are raptors,” Ted said. “How is this smart? You don’t think we’re better off in the mountains where there’s a little cover?”
“I said shut up, Ted,” Milton growled.
“What good does it do tryin’ to warn Fort Harrow if we all just get killed on the way?” Ted said. “Come on, you know I’m right about this!”
Milton exploded. “Shut up, you damned yellow bastard! You think I don’t hear you? We got orders. Orders matter. We’re following them. You want to go to Fort Murtaugh, you go ahead. And if you keep me from shooting you in the back as a deserter then you can explain when you get there how you abandoned your troop, and they can shoot you in the front.”
That got Ted to shut up for the most part, though he continued to whine and curse under his breath. The fourteen made their way quickly east into the gathering dusk; Milton estimated that if all went well and they took no breaks, they’d be able to reach the fort by mid-morning.
Naturally, all did not go well.
After night fell, their navigation by starlight went quickly pear-shaped, as a line of clouds passed over The Throat and obscured the landmarks in the sky. Worse, as Milton had ordered his troop not to light torches for fear of marking their location to whatever advance scouts the Udar might have in the area, they were groping around in the pitch dark. Several of the rear-echelon types among their numbers proceeded to turn ankles and suffer other injuries as they struggled along toward, they hoped, Fort Harrow.
When dawn broke in the valley, they found themselves heading northwest, not east, and none of them had the faintest idea how far they were from their destination. Milton started frantically cajoling and bullying the troop to increase their pace eastward, but exhaustion and dehydration began setting in. Half the soldiers simply couldn’t go on.
“We have to stop,” Butch advised the corporal. “Maybe if you send a couple of people out to find the fort, we can come back with horses to rescue the rest.”
“Probably what we’ll have to do,” Milton agreed. “You in good enough shape to make it?”
“Yeah. Give me Bill and Ted, and I’ll get there.”
“You want Ted?”
“If I leave him, he’ll drive you crazy,” Butch said. “I can handle him.”
“All right,” Milton said. “Okay, listen up,” he announced to the troop. “This isn’t working, and we have too many walking wounded at this point. What we’re going to do is detach a scouting party and have them contact the fort and send horses to rescue our injured. Butch, I’m putting you in charge, and I’m sending Ted and Bill with you. Get going, and the rest of us are going to follow you as fast as we can under the circumstances.”
Ted looked at Butch as the three moved off eastward at a trot. “So, you got your first command, did you?” he sneered.
“Buddy, now isn’t the time,” Butch said. “Save your breath. We have an infinitely better chance of surviving, just the three of us, than being stuck with all the broke ankles and sunburned supply clerks back there. I’m doin’ you a favor.”
That got Ted to shut up, and for the next couple of hours the three made good time in silence.
It turned out that they were able to make it to Fort Harrow by mid-morning, or perhaps a little after, after all. Butch was a bit less disappointed by Fort Harrow than he was his own doomed base, as it at least was located strategically on a cliffside, with a large wooden palisade on three sides as it backed up to the cliff. A steep mountain path led up from the plain to the fort’s gate.
“Looks cramped in there,” said Ted.
As they approached the fort, a pair of horsemen rode out to meet them.
“Who are you all?” demanded a grizzled-looking scout in a non-regulation derby hat and a fringed leather coat.
“Private Butch Henry, sir,” Butch said, panting. “With me I’ve got Privates Ted Shaffer and Bill Crain. We’re from Fort Walder, and we need to make a report to the commandant and ask for a rescue for the rest of our troop. Got some injured who need horse transportation.”
The scout said something unintelligible to his counterpart, who took off up the mountain path toward the gate. “All right there,” he said. “You boys just sit tight, and we’ll get you sorted out. What kind of report you all got?”
“Enemy action,” Butch said. “Got, I don’t know, fifty thousand Udar headed this way. And Fort Walder got hit yesterday by a giant flock of blood raptors; just about wiped out the whole garrison.”
“Awww, you lie, kid,” the scout said.
“The hell he does,” Ted said, spitting on the ground. “Who would make up a story like that all the way the hell out here? You need to let us in that fort and get ready for war.”
The scout gave Ted a perturbed look and unsheathed his cavalry knife. “I ain’t accustomed to bein’ talked to that way by a lil’ sprat like you, boy,” he said. “Run that yap some more and you’ll git somethin’ you ain’t wantin’.”
“Touched by the damned Saints,” Butch could hear Bill muttering.
Ted started to say something else, but Butch grabbed his arm and shook his head softly. “Leave it,” he whispered.
Soon, a young lieutenant rode out with three others from the front gate.
“I’m Lieutenant Francis,” he said. “Are you Private Henry?”
“I am sir. This is Private Shaffer and Private Crain, and we’re here from Fort Walder. W
e need to make a report and a warning and request a rescue. We have eleven others of our group coming behind us, but they’re slower because of some injuries. They need horses, a wagon, something. And speed is of the essence, sir, because there’s an Udar army headed this way.”
“Told ya, Lieutenant,” the scout said. “He’s a storyteller, that kid.”
“That’s enough, Grubbs,” Francis told him. “All right, let’s get you three inside.”
He turned, while the three horsemen with him dragged Butch and his two comrades atop their horses and all five mounts trotted up the path and into the fort.
Here, Butch noted, was a proper military operation. He couldn’t tell from the outside, but Fort Harrow was bristling with chain guns mounted atop gun emplacements and had four six-pounder artillery pieces. He also noted that while the fort didn’t have a roof, per se, it had a mesh of metal wire strewn atop its palisade.
Francis saw him gawking at it as he dismounted. “For the raptors,” he said.
“You know about the raptors?”
“Since we saw them two weeks ago,” Francis said. “We had this wire we were going to use to string a teletext line over the mountains to Strongstead, but we figured it was better used makin’ a birdcage.”
“That’s good,” Ted said. “That’s very good.”
“Fort Walder got hit by a raptor attack yesterday while we were on patrol,” Butch told the lieutenant. “They took out most of the garrison. Just ripped them apart and left them little more than skin and bones. It was awful.”
“You from Fort Walder?” barked a rotund short man of about forty-five. “What’s your name, Private?”
“Butch Henry, sir,” he answered. “This is Ted Shaffer and Bill Crain. Are you the commandant?”
“I’m Captain Paul James,” the short man said in an unmistakable far-Northeast brogue. “This is my outfit. What happened at Fort Walder, son?”
“We lost most of the garrison in a raptor attack, sir,” said Butch. “What’s left of it split up, half heading this way, the other half making for Fort Bountiful.”