Slowly more people came into the square, dazed, worried, some crying. Now they had their first injured, along with reports of terrible destruction in the main housing area, and people trapped, calling for help. A squad arrived from the barracks, which had suffered a good deal of damage and two known deaths. A runner was sent back with news of what they were learning, and the injured conveyed to the infirmary. He was painfully aware of the need for haste, but also that panic could kill as efficiently as the earthquake, so he gave his orders calmly, and kept his tone as reasonable and measured as possible. So far the elders were doing a good job of controlling their sections, and people appreciated things were happening as quickly as they could—but the mood could deteriorate, if they didn’t think rescues were happening fast enough. He just hoped Wepizi was getting things together at the barracks because they needed the army, now more than ever.
~~~~~~~~
As he ran back down the main street towards the barracks, Wepizi tried to think of all the things they would need to organise. He also had to make sure the damaged town didn’t claim any more victims, starting with his little band right here. He ordered his soldiers and the civilians with them to keep close together—the street was strewn with debris, and more than once, they had to dodge a post or a wall that suddenly tilted and crashed to the ground. People were running, some with blood pouring down their faces, others yelling for help, or just in blind panic—he shouted at them to get to the square and stay there, that help would come once they knew people were safe. Twice he had to order one of his soldiers to stop and take charge of a civilian who looked more seriously injured, but he couldn’t stop to see to it himself—he had to get back and see how bad things were at the barracks.
It was as bad as he feared. They found a scene of devastation—most of the main quarters had partially or completely collapsed, though several buildings were eerily untouched. Soldiers picked at the rubble, and carried supplies into the courtyard, but even as he started to order them to get out of the buildings, an aftershock hit, sending the rest of the infirmary structure crashing to the ground, dust and debris flying up in a noxious, dangerous cloud. Wepizi and the soldiers went flat, while the civilians huddled together in fear as they waited for the tremors to end. It didn’t last long, but it was all the proof they needed that trying to recover anything from the infirmary or the other damaged buildings was too dangerous to be worth it. They would have to try and get what medical supplies they could later. Fortunately, the infirmary wasn’t a very large establishment and the main civilian building was better supplied.
It took several minutes for order to be restored again, but once the aftershock died away, he yelled for as many of his people who could to come to him. Finally he had a good number of soldiers assembled in the courtyard, and when he asked for a report, lep Tovoi, grim-faced and covered with dust, stepped forward. Two soldiers had been killed as part of the town wall had collapsed, sending them crashing from their watch position onto the building site, one being crushed by the wall itself, and the other breaking her neck. There were others injured in that collapse, though none were thought to be in danger of death.
“The infirmary is a shambles,” Tovoi said, waving his hand towards the wreckage, “and you can see we’ve lost the built sleeping accommodation. The tents are fine of course, but nothing else is.”
“Then we don’t want anyone in these buildings until all risks of aftershocks has passed. I want all the officers here, now. Tell everyone else to stay where they are until they have orders, even the injured. They’re safer here than anywhere else for the moment.”
As Wepizi waited for his officers, soldiers and even civilians streamed in with reports of the damage in the vicinity—many houses collapsed, more of the city wall gone, and people known to be trapped because they were calling for help. It looked pretty bad, but the only thing to be done was to stay calm and tackle the problem in a logical manner. At least he wasn’t trying to do it on his own. He’d been impressed by the rapid way the prince had taken charge—very often controlling the civilians was the hardest part of disaster relief, but they were in good hands there. But Wepizi still had to get his soldiers organised.
His officers assembled and he addressed them all, soldiers and civilians.
“Headquarters will be at the town square, where the governor has taken charge. I want all the tents we have, moved up there, and all civilians ordered to assemble there—we’ll move them to safety once we know how bad the damage is. The infirmary’s secure, but inadequate for the numbers of injured we’ll have. I want a field hospital set up near the infirmary, send our medics and injured there without delay. All bodies to be moved here, in the courtyard—they’re our lowest priority, but I want the dead treated with respect. We’ll bury them once the living are safe.”
He ordered the five hundred soldiers, and the seconded civilians, divided into six unequal groups—four to begin search, rescue and fire control, the fifth to attend to the supply of food and water, and the sixth and largest to go down to the square and begin working to support the civilians.
“We will need a camp—I suggest that big field downriver of the building site, by Covui creek. No soldier sleeps under a roof of any kind until every last civilian has shelter. No civilian is to go into a wooden structure, no matter what type, until all shocks are done or it’s ordered to be safe. These young people can act as runners—that is all they are to do, and they are not to be sent anywhere but to the square and back. All fit adults are to be seconded into the army on his highness’s command unless they’re in sole charge of children or elderly. I’ll move down to the square with a team of runners once we clear the barracks. Then the barracks, other than this courtyard, is off limits until further notice. Questions? Good. Then move it—Sephiz bless our endeavours.”
Soldiers streamed out from the barracks. Wepizi carried out a rapid inspection to see what they had left to work with. The stables had survived surprisingly well, as had the main stores—they were both older and stronger buildings, unlike the sleeping quarters. Lessons would have to be learned from this fact, but now was not the time for that analysis. The air was thick with dust, and there were already fires in the town—he could see the smoke and smell it. His soldiers had kerchiefs and rags tied over their mouths and noses as they worked to extract the most essential equipment from the destroyed barracks, checking none of their colleagues were trapped, and ensuring their doigs, which they would need to clear rubble, were safe and ready to be used.
His best-uniform would be wrecked, he thought rather irrelevantly, which he minded not at all, but it wasn’t the most practical thing he could be wearing either, not being designed for easy movement or hard labour. Still he could use the sash to cover his mouth and nose, which he did. Then he went to find his selected team of child runners, now standing safely out of harm’s away in the courtyard while the adults were sent to start work in the town. “We’re heading back to the square—walk in the middle of the street, stay away from the buildings.”
“I’m scared,” one boy whispered. “What’s happened to our house?”
Wepizi came to him and put his hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, gangly and scared, the height of a man, but right now he was just a child. “What’s your name, son?”
“Liroiz, sir.”
“Well, Liroiz, I’m scared too. Who else is scared?” Most of the children raised their hands immediately. “Yes, of course you are—it’s pretty frightening. But you’re all alive, and I’m alive, and even if our homes are destroyed, we’re safe. We just have to make sure everyone else is safe, but if anyone wants to stay in the square when we get there, I won’t say a word about it. Come on.” He clapped Liroiz on the shoulder, and bent to speak in his ear. “Sometimes it takes more bravery to admit you’re frightened than to stay silent, my friend. Don’t worry—we’re all in this together.”
He’d introduced the runners to his officers, and made sure they could recognise them, or
at least their insignias. As he walked them back to the square, he explained what the teams would be doing, how to avoid being injured by debris, and how the risks of aftershocks meant they still had to be extremely careful. He didn’t like using children, but there was no doubt they were essential, just as their parents and older siblings would be. There just weren’t enough soldiers to do it all, and the children could save the energy of the adults, which could then be used for more dangerous tasks.
Little over an hour had passed, but he found the square already transformed. There were many more people than there had been, and food and barrels of water had already been brought into the centre, ready for distribution. The governor had already given orders for latrines and other sanitary measures to be put in place, and Wepizi now set a team of ten soldiers in charge of that exclusively.
On the western side of the square, the injured were lining up at the infirmary. A tent had been set up in front of it to extend its capacity, and civilians were helping the injured—it looked as if that was under control, but they would need more supplies, especially bandages and clean water. His medics nodded as he checked in and told them he’d be based in the square with the governor.
At least here the air was a little clearer, and he could take the sash from his mouth. The prince had got tables from somewhere—most likely the school—and was using the podium as an observation platform and field headquarters. At first, the civilians at ground level seemed to be running around aimlessly, but Wepizi quickly realised that the prince had organised them into teams. Some were looking after the new arrivals, others were taking names and seeing who was injured, and yet others directed people either to the infirmary or the mayor’s house. He and his runners climbed up to the podium, and he introduced the children, before explaining quickly what he’d arranged with his soldiers.
“I thought it was best if we were both based here.”
“Indeed. Someone get the tezrei a chair,” Juimei called, and a runner raced off. Once Wepizi was seated behind his desk, the prince continued his briefing. “Now, I’ve arranged the kitchens in my residence and the mayor’s to begin preparing simple hot food, but we’ll need more supplies, and more ability to prepare it—can you set up a field kitchen over there?” He pointed to the mayor’s house. “I’ll have the elderly moved to my residence—it’s stable and safe, and they won’t tolerate the tents so easily.”
“Very wise, your highness. Liroiz, go find Jiren Heininke—he’ll be with the team in the square.”
The boy tore off—Wepizi told the others to rest and wait. They’d be busy enough soon, and he didn’t want them worn out. “Any reports from outside the town?” the prince asked, checking his notes.
“Not yet—but we should prepare for refugees, and more casualties. We’ll need bandages.”
“We’re going to need everything—we need to get a message to the coast, though it’ll be a month before anything can be brought from there. Have we got supplies to last that long, in your assessment?”
“I need more damage reports, Juimei. You know there won’t be room for everyone here in the square.”
“No, I know. We’ll have to move people outside the walls, but I want to know how many we have lost. You may as well get settled—let the young ones do the running.”
Side by side they worked all day, though it was hard to resist the temptation to get out and see for himself what the earthquake had wrought. The prince was right though—the two of them needed to stay where they were, coordinating, organising, deciding, letting others be their eyes and ears, and using reports to decide on the next course of action. By noon, they had reports from outside the town—a barge had been sunk by a rock fall as it sat in a lock three miles downriver, two sailors lost, and the rest of the crew barely escaping with their lives. The lock itself had been damaged and could not be used. This was a blow to plans to bring relief and supplies upriver since there were no proper docking facilities closer than a hundred miles down river, but nonetheless, a small civilian craft was launched from below the wreck site, with a message asking for help from the coastal town of Nedriz. Indications were that the roads from the mountain mines were also blocked, and the main bridge over the Huoinevol, some five miles upstream from the town, was damaged and unsafe to use. That meant the only crossing was by ferry ten miles further upstream. It would mean a longer roundtrip for anyone bringing in goods via that route, and the ferry could not carry the loads the bridge could. In the long term, that could be a serious difficulty.
The prince greeted each bit of bad news calmly, making notes, and asking Wepizi how he thought they could work around it. There was a constant queue for his attention, giving reports, asking questions, even complaints—each was dealt with patiently, or passed onto one of the civilians co-opted in as assistants. The eyes that could look so cold, were now warmly reassuring to frightened people. The voice that had been so cruel to Wepizi, now offered comfort, wisdom and advice as if it was used to nothing but. Two weeks before, Wepizi wouldn’t have thought it possible their governor would handle such a crisis with equanimity—he had nothing but admiration for how he was doing so now.
Though Wepizi and Juimei were both careful to make sure their child runners were not overworked and that their parents came to feed them, it was mid-afternoon before they themselves could stop just for a few minutes, and eat a bowl of soup with hard bread. The prince was tired—Wepizi could tell that from the way his speech was deteriorating, and he realised that with Neime occupied in the infirmary, they really needed someone to make sure Juimei was looked after. That would be him, he supposed—for now, at least—since he needed their governor as much as their governor needed him.
“Someone said they heard you say you’d dealt with something like this before?” he said, sipping a welcome mug of water. He was parched from the dust and talking to so many people. On the ground, things were still busy, though there was a slightly more settled look to the chaos. More grim determination, less outright fear, though there had been two more aftershocks which had upset people for a while after each had hit, until they realised they were still safe.
Juimei glanced around them before turning to him and giving him a crooked smile. “Yes—I lied. It was the only way to shut that fool of a mayor up.”
“Ah.” On balance, Wepizi rather thought that had been the sensible thing to do. “But you seem to know exactly what needed doing.”
“Yes—because I’ve been reading up on reports of similar events elsewhere in Andon, just in case this happened. My predecessor suggested it.”
“A blessing upon his memory, then—but still, I’m impressed. Organisation and leadership comes naturally to you.”
“Years of doig-ito have to be good for something, don’t you think?” He cracked his back. “Sephiz’s beard, I’m stiff.” He looked up at the sky. “Still a good bit of daylight left.” He looked at his notes again. “We still have two hundred people unaccounted for—how many more people are trapped, do you think?”
“Probably not as many as we feared—we were lucky it hit in the morning, with most people out and about. If it weren’t for this prize giving, there’d have been many more mothers with small children still in their houses.” And many more people inside with cooking fires going too.
“And if it weren’t for the fact that so many more came along to watch your soldiers, too.” He gave Wepizi a sober look. “We were lucky.”
“Some of us weren’t.” The death toll now stood at thirty, the bodies being stored at the barracks until they could be decently buried. The town holy man—who had barely escaped with his life from his shrine at the cemetery—had said prayers for the dead, but that was all they could do for now.
“Will we finish the camp in time?”
They were setting a camp up outside the walls for the fittest to use until reconstruction could begin on people’s homes. “We should have something usable—won’t be a very comfortable night, but then that’s true for almost everyone. Juimei, where w
ill you sleep?”
“Um...where Neime does. And you, I suppose. My residence is full of people, and I want to be here in case I’m needed. I don’t want to take up shelter someone more needy could use.”
It was a problem—they already had over eighty people injured seriously enough to need beds, and none of them could return home. The infirmary only had twenty permanent beds—pallets had been set up in the school, and in the tents outside. Elderly or infirm people who didn’t need medical assistance—more than a hundred of them—were at the governor’s residence. More people arrived all the time—there simply weren’t enough tents to go around, though at this time of year, and with the weather fine, it wasn’t a problem. More of a problem was waste disposal, and simple logistics of food and water when every available space was taken up with tents and pallets.
However, Juimei also had particular needs, and the last thing Wepizi wanted was a governor who was ill or injured out of misplaced sense of duty. “My feeling is that you should return to your residence, Neime too, and make sure you sleep well. If you weren’t governor, you’d be up there with the other....”
“Cripples?”
Wepizi gave him a look, but the prince’s expression was wry, not hostile, so it wasn’t meant to start an argument. “The other infirm, yes. You’re just as easy to find up there, Neime can share your room or your bed, and that’s two essential personnel who’ll be fit and ready tomorrow.”
“You?”
“I’m used to it—I’ll sleep in the camp. Tomorrow we’ll need to do an inspection, but there’s little point to that now.”
Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4) Page 35