Partisan (The Invasion of Miraval Book 1)

by Justin Bohardt

  Dag’s mother had suggested that he pursue a relationship with Aria, but Dag had rebuffed that suggestion immediately. He was only twenty-two, with plenty of time to start a family. Besides, with his father dead, his brother in university, and a mother and two small sisters to take care of, he could not afford to leave his family. Dag’s father’s military pension was tiny and without the game that Dag caught or shot or the foraging that he did in the woods, there would not be enough food on the table for his family. Marriage was simply not an option for him yet.

  Dag finished bathing with a second and eventually third bucket of water and bar of soap he had rendered from animal fat. Still mostly naked, he walked into the backyard where the laundry line held some of his clothes. He quickly got dressed as he felt slightly more subconscious than he normally did, mostly thanks to Aria’s wolf whistle. Once he was dressed, he headed in the back door of the home and was greeted by a small missile slamming into his legs.

  “Dag!” Elissa shouted as she wrapped her arms around Dag’s legs. “I missed you so much!”

  “Missed you too, half-pint,” Dag said to his youngest sister.

  Elissa was six years old and had not yet been born when they found out that Raslan Dagenham Senior had died during the Great Strife. She had cute blonde hair, done up in pig tails, and bright blue eyes. Although Dag had never known his paternal grandmother, his own mother swore that Elissa looked just like her. Dag picked her up in his arms, freeing his legs to be able to walk again, and moved through the kitchen to the living room.

  There was a fire going in the fireplace, which was probably Alex’s work Dag thought to himself. Mrs. Dagenham, as she preferred over her first name of Grace in conversation with almost anyone (she only barely tolerated Mom, Mother or Mama), was not one to bother with things like cleaning, cooking, or making sure the house was warm enough. She had never been able to do much of anything from a domestic standpoint since their father had died. Vara, Dag’s other sister, who favored Dag in appearance with brown hair and brown eyes, had taken over as the matron of the household despite being only twelve-years old. She was sitting on an old faded blue couch that pre-dated Dag’s birth and was patched in a dozen places. Mrs. Dagenham sat next to her. Alex had taken Dag’s normal chair, probably on purpose, a beige monstrosity that was large enough to envelop an average person. Everyone was staring intently at the old television set that was broadcasting the news.

  “Why so glum?” Dag asked as he set Elissa on the couch between Mrs. Dagenham and Vara, and then sat himself in the smaller and far less comfortable wooden rocking chair just in front of the fireplace.

  Alex looked at him as if he was noticing that his brother had just entered the room for the first time. “Dag, this is bad,” he said.

  For the first time, Dag paid attention to the woman who was sitting at the news desk and looked like she was on the verge of tears. “Repeating our top story,” she began. “Many of our viewers are aware that all contact with the cities of Highskye and Greybridge has been unavailable for almost forty-eight hours. Initial reports from the government stated that this was an infrastructure problem and that telephone lines were affected by recent storms in the north of the country.”

  She paused, seemingly in order to collect herself, and continued, “We now know, and government sources speaking on the condition of anonymity have confirmed, that this is not a technical malfunction, but rather the opening move of a Dominion invasion of Miraval. We go now to Elloret Daisuke, reporting from Highskye.”

  “These are just some of the images that our camera crew was able to capture two days ago,” Daisuke’s voice spoke over the video images. The video showed a cloudy sky with the Alvinine Mountains in the background. The buildings of Highskye, a large industrial city in the northern part of Rock Maze sitting on the Rampart River, were ablaze. It was an ethereal sight and a terrifying one to say the least.

  “What in the world?” Dag whispered to himself.

  The video continued and the reporter was speaking, but Dag was not listening to his voice. He was concentrating on images of Dominion airships, massive wooden bodied hulls with heavy armament kept in the air by colossal air balloons, firing down on the city. There did not appear to be much in the way of return fire coming back at the airships, but no one had expected an attack at Highskye. It was protected by mountains, rocky hills, the Rampart River and the Principality of Feyne was a buffer between that part of Miraval and Dominion territory. Most of Miraval’s army had been sent to the northern frontier of Miraval, where the northern part of the Crest bottomed out and became the River Lands. The Rampart River was wide and fast moving, surrounded by cliffs in many places, and most of the bridges across had been destroyed during the Great Strife. The last standing bridge of note was in the city of Greybridge, so named for the massive bridge that spanned the river, and most of the Miravallian army had been stationed around it, expecting the Dominion to attempt an attack from their side of the river.

  “How did they attack Highskye?” Dag muttered as he continued to watch video of the bombardment. Now, airships functioning as troop transports descended toward the town and dozens of ropes dropped to the ground from each. Dominion soldiers were rappelling into the city.

  “The Dominion force sent airships over the legal airspace of the Principality of Feyne without raising so much as a word of objection from the Feynian government,” Alex said. “At least, that’s what they said just before you came in.”

  “Probably worried that the Dominion would turn their eye toward them,” Dag muttered.

  “It’s still cowardice, plain and simple,” Alex argued. “Anyway, we had very few soldiers stationed in Highskye, which left the National Guard and the militia to defend the city. Unfortunately, the city was mostly taken with armories and militia barracks destroyed or captured before we could get any force mobilized. The city surrendered within a matter of hours.”

  “Is the military moving from Greybridge to try to retake the city?” Dag asked. “They have to, right?”

  The reporter continued as the video shifted to a new clip, showing the airships dropping down into the Rampart River, releasing the air from their balloons and stowing them as the airships became naval vessels, firing up propeller turbines and heading down the river. “Once the city was subdued and garrisoned, the main Dominion force dropped from the sky and headed down the river in the direction of Greybridge,” the reporter said. “As of now, we have no footage of the firefight that occurred there and all communications with the city continue to be down. Back to you, newsroom.”

  “Two nights ago, the Dominion fleet managed to sneak down the river and then landed the majority of their troops just southwest of the city,” Alex said. “That’s what they reported anyway.”

  “And our troops there?” he asked.

  “Taken completely by surprise,” he replied. “No report as to what happened in the battle though.”

  “If the Dommies take Greybridge, or worse have already taken it, they can pour their whole army into the country,” Dag said.

  “Raslan!” Mrs. Dagenham interjected harshly. “You are scaring your sisters.”

  Dag eyed his mother for a moment before nodding slowly. He had a feeling that if anyone was scared, it was Mrs. Dagenham. She knew what a Dominion invasion meant in all likelihood. She had one son who as an educated upperclassman at a university. He was almost certain to be called up to militia duty, most likely as a conscripted officer. Her other son was of draftable age, so he could be drafted into the army or conscripted into the militia as well. Part of Dag wanted to believe that her trepidation was out of fear for their safety, but the realist in him believed that she was far more concerned with what would happen to her without her children to take care of her.

  Personally, Dag did not really have a feeling toward being forced to serve in the military. He had hated the Dominion for killing his father and a part of him would not mind lining up a few of them in the sights of his rifle, but that had been h
is ambition as a teen when his father had first died. Now, he was far more concerned with protecting his family and that meant feeding them far more than it meant fighting an invading army. It was Alex who was more of the bright-eyed idealist, ready to volunteer to fight, to serve, to defend his country. If the war was as inevitable as everyone had said it was three years ago before he went off to school, Alex knew that by going to university he was essentially guaranteeing himself a position on the frontlines.

  The two brothers shared a look- it was one they had shared often. As much as they had fought, scrapped, scraped, wrestled and generally tried to kill each other as they were growing up, they both refused to let anyone else harm a hair on each other’s head. Only an hour after they had been at each other’s throats and left each other bloodied and bruised, it would have taken only one bully trying to push Alex for Dag to be riding to his brother’s rescue and vice-versa. The look they shared said the same thing it had when they were children standing up for one another against neighborhood bullies: I am with you.

  An explosion ripped through the air, shaking the Dagenham house on its foundation, even though it sounded as if the blast had hit the eastern side of town. Alex ran to the window that offered a view of the northern neighborhoods and saw a plume of flame and smoke rising to the gray evening sky.

  Dag looked to his mother just as another blast rocked the town. “Get the girls and get down in the storm cellar,” he ordered.

  “You need to come with us!” Mrs. Dagenham pleaded, her voice sounding desperate, tears streaking her cheeks.

  “Do as I said,” Dag countered sternly as he pulled his keys out of his pocket and walked over to his gun cupboard.

  He unlocked it and threw the doors open, taking a moment to study his options. Quickly, he handed over a .22 caliber A-2 rifle to his mother and a box of ammunition for it. To his sister Vara, he passed a .32 revolver and the rounds for it. “Only if you need it,” he told the twelve-year old girl, whose face wore a more resolute expression than his mother’s. “Now, get into the storm cellar and lock the door. Shoot anyone who tries to break in.”

  “Yes, brother,” Vara said calmly.

  “What is happening? What is happening?” Mrs. Dagenham wailed at the top of her lungs as Alex passed her Elissa, who had gone as stiff and motionless as a statue.

  Alex strode away from the window just as another mortar exploded on the town. “They’re on the hills to the north of the city. It looks like only one mortar launcher. Probably a small scouting group that grew opportunistic,” he said.

  “Well, look who learned so much,” Dag smirked. “They teach you that at your fancy-pants university.”

  “Reserve officer training,” Alex muttered back as he placed a tender hand on his mother’s shoulder and steered her in the direction of the cellar. He pulled the trap door open for her and held her rifle as she climbed down the stairs and flipped on the lone electric bulb in the darkness. He passed the weapon back to her as Vara and Elissa climbed down next and closed the trap door behind them. Alex heard the lock slide into place as he stood back up.

  “What the hell are the Dommies doing attacking the neighborhoods for anyway?” Dag demanded as he tossed an MC-14 rifle to his brother. “Shouldn’t they be targeting the armory or the constabulary?”

  “Probably didn’t realize that they didn’t have range,” Alex answered as he caught the rifle and locked a round into the firing chamber. “I don’t suppose you have any automatics, do you?”

  Dag grunted as he pulled out a .38 Revolving Sidewinder and a .45 Service Pistol, their father’s, and stuffed them into his belt. “I’m a civilian,” he said. “They’re illegal.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Alex replied.

  “I’m a hunter,” Dag countered as he loaded his MC80 hunting rifle. “Never needed to spray a hundred bullets at a deer.”

  “Right,” Alex muttered and looked out once more to the window and the growing fires blazing through the homes there. “We need to buy time for people to escape those houses and get to safety.”

  “The constabulary and the national guard…” Dag began.

  “Won’t be enough,” Alex interrupted. “You’re talking about seven men and who knows if they even held their posts.”

  “You want us to go toe to toe with Dommie regulars?” Dag demanded. “Why don’t we just shoot each other here? We’ve got no armor and a few household weapons.”

  “We’ve got to get to the armory,” Alex answered. “People will be headed to the town center anyway. Maybe we can organize a force, arm ourselves better… I don’t know, we got to do something.”

  Dag smiled ruefully. “Alright then, brother. Lead on.”

  3

  They left their home and started sprinting up the street, headed back into the center of Harren Falls. The sun was nearly set, but the skies were still well illuminated to the east where the columns of flame roared high into the night. Apparently, they were not the only ones who had the same idea. Several dozen men, women and children ran through the streets, many carrying suitcases and valises, clearly with the intent to flee rather than to fight. Over the heavy footfalls of people running and the sounds of terrified screaming, the concussion of a bullet whistled through the air near the brothers Dagenham and ripped into one of the men running in front of them. He collapsed to the ground, covered in blood, his breath coming in ragged gasps. A woman, his wife, fell to her knees next to him, a look of horror frozen on her face as a second round carved through her head. She fell atop her husband.

  “Sniper!” Alex yelled as he grabbed the two small children that had been running with their two now deceased parents and dove behind a public water well.

  Dag dove behind a park bench as a third shot ripped into the wood. He rolled effortlessly to his feet, bringing his rifle to bear. The sniper had not been wise enough to reposition after shooting, and Dag had seen the muzzle flash from his last shot. The Dommie was in the woods that ran between the houses in the Dagenham neighborhood and the northern homes that were currently ablaze. Tracking where the last shot had come from, Dag sighted and fired, then worked the bolt action on the rifle and fired again. Despite the wailing of the children and the continued cacophony of the artillery barrage, he would have sworn he heard a scream after his second shot. No more sniper shots chased them into the village center regardless.

  Chaos reigned in the town center. Four of the Harren Falls’ constables were hiding behind makeshift barricades, made of burned out cars, park benches, even furniture from the sheriff’s office, occasionally popping up to fire a shot or two down the road at the unseen assailants who were pumping machine gun fire into the barricade. One of the constables lay dead and both members of the National Guard appeared to be wounded, but were still trying to get off the occasional rifle shot. Captain Beaurigar was standing in the center of the roundabout bellowing to the people streaming into the town center.

  “Leave behind all but the essentials!” he shouted. “Make your way south! Leave behind all but the essentials! Make your way south!” He recognized the eldest of the Dagenham brothers approaching him and referred to him by his given name. “Raslan! What are you doing? Get those children out of here!”

  “They aren’t ours,” he shouted back. “Find someone to take them out of here. We’ll stay and fight.”

  “Gods damn you both, you aren’t soldiers!” he shouted.

  “Lieutenant First Class Aleksian Dagenham reporting for duty,” Alex shouted back. “I’d salute, but my hands are full.”

  “I’ve a good feeling I’m about to be conscripted anyway,” Dag added. “Besides you need our help!”

  Beaurigar considered this for a moment, his bearded face contorting into a thoughtful grimace. “Mrs. Gramble!” he bellowed at one of the women fleeing down the western road.

  Beaurigar had a battlefield voice. In moments of pure panic and chaos, he had an uncanny ability to get people to listen and obey. Mrs. Gramble, a middle-aged widow, stopped and turn
ed toward the captain.

  “I need you to take these two children to safety,” he said.

  “But…” she began to protest.

  “They were just made orphans,” Alex said. “There’s no one else.”

  “Unless you want to pick up a weapon and hold the line, I suggest you do as I ask,” Beaurigar growled.

  Gramble picked up the two children, both still with looks of shock on their faces and hurried off down the road. Beaurigar watched her for a moment before turning back to the two brothers.

  “What’s the situation?” Alex asked.

  Beaurigar guffawed darkly. “They’ve bombed the northern areas of the town to perdition and sent a strike force around the flank to take the town from the east. That’s who the constables are trying to hold off. There are snipers moving through the northern wood, trying to get into position.”

  “I got one of them,” Dag said.

  “That would be comforting if we knew how many there were,” he countered.

  Alex looked to the eastern area and studied it for a moment. “Captain, I think there might be a route through the north and to the eastern neighborhood. We can circle around behind the strike force on the east and pin them in. Maybe even force a surrender out of them.”

  The captain shook his head. “Any force that tries to make it through the northern neighborhoods is going to come under mortar attack. I can’t waste men in a futile pursuit. Our job here needs to be to hold as long as possible so the civilians can get out.”

  Alex kicked the ground in disgust.

  “How far out is that mortar launcher?” Dag asked thoughtfully.

  “No idea,” the captain replied.

  “Standard range of a Dominion mortar launcher is a thousand meters,” Alex answered. Dag looked at him appreciatively. If Alex was taught anything in school, he sure as hell remembered it. Dominion tactics and capabilities were all a part of reserve officer training. “Given where the shots are landing, it’s probably fifteen hundred or two thousand meters out. Why?”