By Dawn's Early Light

by Jason Fuesting

  “What’d they take?” Hadrian asked.

  “Sixteen crates of weapons, handguns to rifles, six crew served weapons, possibly heavier weapons. Still a few unopened crates in that area. In addition to that, somewhere around a hundred thousand cartridges, total.”

  Byron whistled.

  “Fuck. That’s more than what we have in the armory,” Hadrian said.

  “I am,” Turing paused to rub the bridge of his nose, “Not pleased.”

  “Will you reconsider my request?” Hadrian said.

  “I’ve been reconsidering it for ten minutes. I’m still uncomfortable with the idea. We’ll speak later.”

  “What idea?” Eric asked.

  “What heavy weapons do we think they might have gotten their hands on?” Byron asked simultaneously.

  “I asked some of the others to spot check the crates and see if the labels were accurate. They’re not. Some crates don’t match the label, others didn’t match the manifests we found, nor the list found on Father. There are some crates that don’t exist on any of the lists. What worries me is that they took four crates of 83mm rockets. One would think they took at least one launcher to go with that.”

  The group shifted uncomfortably.

  Byron broke the silence. “Well, shit.”

  Turing sighed and muttered, “Nothing to be done for it now.” He rubbed his chin for a few moments before asking Byron, “What are you about right now?”

  “I was coming back in from checking with the sled team, but in light of the weapons theft, I’ll need to debrief Hadrian and Eric on last night’s operation,” Byron replied.

  Turing nodded, “Good, if you can come up with a--”

  “Excuse me, sorry for interrupting,” Pascal said, coming out of the maze of crates. “I’m sorry, I’ll be quick. Turing, I just went over the numbers Denise has on what’s here. You wanted to know about the ag plan right away, so, with what we have here, I can get you a harvest that will feed everyone. There’s one catch.”

  Turing frowned at Pascal for several seconds before saying, “Your interruption is forgiven, go on.”

  “Labor. To do it, I’d need every hand we have here working almost constantly on the fields. I heard a bit of what you were saying from below, so I know I’m not going to get that.”

  “No. No, you probably won’t,” Turing said as his features darkened ever so slightly. “I’ll find a way to get you your labor, Lieutenant. Carry on.”

  Turing started pacing, staring off into space while Pascal departed.

  “Turing?” Eric said. The man startled and looked over at him. “Hadrian said something about groups of people living in some of your outlying cabins. Couldn’t we contact them, make some sort of arrangement? Food for labor?”

  A slow smile came over Turing. “That might just work. Thank you, Eric. Byron, finish your debriefing, I’ll want to speak to you about Eric’s idea. I’ll be downstairs inspecting the cryogenic tanks.” A shadow passed over Turing’s features and he quietly added, “We’ll see to grandpa later, when the bulk of the work is done. He’d understand.”

  Eric muttered as Turing departed, “Cryo tanks, huh. Wonder what’s in them.”

  “Embryos mostly,” Hadrian told him. “Was with Turing earlier when Pascal told us. No clue if they’re useful or not. Turing wasn’t sure the backup power had kept the tanks chilled enough.” Hadrian grunted and looked over at Byron. “We already had my debriefing.”

  Byron held up a hand. “This won’t take long. I have something to show both of you. Eric, recount what happened after Hadrian was wounded. We’ll cover the rest when we have time back at the manor.”

  Eric talked through the creeping approach and the following gunfight as he followed Byron out of the bunker and toward the house. Trevor waited near the corner the two raiders had relieved themselves on the night before. The man’s rifle had left a light pink patch on his snow gear where it hung.

  “Nice rifle, Trevor,” Eric said.

  “Yeah, only moderately used. Brains are surprisingly hard to get out of fabric, did you know that?” Byron quipped.

  Trevor’s hard stare slowed Eric’s step. The man turned and walked away, following the tree line to the south side of the house.

  “Careful, Byron. These folks aren’t used to seeing this kind of thing,” Hadrian said. The wind picked up as the trio pushed into the new clearing.

  “They’ll get used to it. That, or they’ll break. They don’t have a choice,” Byron replied, deliberately picking his way through the shattered trees.

  “True, but--” Hadrian started.

  “No buts, Hadrian. I haven’t told Turing about this yet, look,” Byron said as he stopped by a pair of legs protruding from under a fallen trunk. He pointed to the other side of the trunk. Hadrian glared at Byron before leaning over the trunk. The commando winced.

  “Now, tell me we have time to pamper them,” Byron grated.

  Concerned, Eric stepped forward and peered over the edge at a florid mess of splintered wood, bloody clothing, and broken flesh. Why-why doesn’t it look like a person?

  Eric swallowed back bile and choked out, “Hadrian, what am I looking at?”

  “Neck line, where it would’ve been mostly protected by the coat. Tattoo. And the trophies.”

  “Trophies?” Eric started to ask but the words lodged in his throat when his brain quit refusing to put it all together and he saw. Revulsion surged through his gut and he staggered to the side fighting back the urge to puke. “Holy shit, Byron. That guy’s face is gone.”

  “Yep. Jaw’s gone too, and pretty much everything else that wasn’t bone. You fucked him up good, Eric. Found another who didn’t even have hands. Good timing on the clacker.” Byron’s tone conveyed a weary sympathy.

  Eric swallowed back bile again. Those were--

  “Byron, why does he have ears? On a necklace?” Eric managed.

  “Trophies.”

  “The fuck? Who the fuck does that? There’s at least a dozen ears!”

  “Twenty three. You catch what’s left of the tattoo?”

  “Looked like something skeletal in some kinda squarish outline? Hard to tell, there’s not a lot left.”

  “Skull in a hexagon.”

  Hadrian spat into the snow and said, “Sixth penal legion. Death’s Head. They’re the only ones that match. Well, guess we know how they trim down their numbers now.”

  “Complicates things, doesn’t it?” Byron asked Hadrian with a grim smile.

  “Yeah, yeah it does. Fuck. I have to tell Turing about this.”

  “No, you don’t. When I’m done recovering what I can from this clearing, I’ll inform Turing myself. Until then, neither of you will say a damn thing about this. Trev’s the only other person who knows.”

  Eric spat to clear the flavor from his mouth.

  “Who’s this penal legion?” he asked.

  “Prisoners given a choice between execution or giving their life for the Protectorate. Shock troops, more or less. Each odd numbered legion is field army strength, the even numbered ones vary by the unit. Some are division strength, some are company,” Byron replied.

  “The even legions are usually special assignments,” Hadrian grimly added. “The penal equivalent of maximum security.”

  “If you armed your inmates and let them police themselves,” Byron added.

  Eric’s gaze drifted back to the legs jutting from underneath the fallen trunk.

  “So rabid animals?”

  “Rabid?” Byron contemplated. “Possibly. Probably. Depends on who leads them. But they’re here somewhere relatively nearby. Their numbers are unknown but they’re at least as well armed as we are. So long as they live, we are in danger.”

  “What are we going to do about it?” Eric asked numbly.

  “We?” Byron asked with a clipped laugh. “Trev saw this but doesn’t know the significance. We’ll keep this amongst us until I tell Turing. As for last night, it sounds like you were incredibly lucky. One of
us will go over it in a bit finer detail with you at the house to see what lessons you need to learn. Until then, unless Hadrian has any objections, you should probably go help the sled teams load up.”

  Eric glanced to Hadrian who nodded.

  “That works. I know Turing was wanting the first group out of here in less than an hour,” the commando said.

  Eric nodded and carefully made his way out of the kill zone to find Trevor back at the same corner.

  “Trev,” Eric began and the man scowled in reply. “Look, sorry, I didn’t know. Not that it helps, but I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. You know what’s up with the sled crews?”

  Trevor stared a moment before replying, “Fair enough. Terry was putting the finishing touches on the first batch. Jeff and the rest should be inside prepping stuff to move.”

  “Ah, that’s what the folks near the hole were doing. I’ll go see if they need help. Thanks, Trev.”

  A bit over an hour later, Eric found himself learning against the bunker door sweating profusely despite the chill.

  “Jeff, remind me to never ask if you need help moving shit again.”

  The burly machinist grinned and pulled out his canteen. “There’s a reason I didn’t tell you we were moving ammunition first. Soft kids tend to disappear when hard work shows up.”

  “Well, I didn’t disappear. Didn’t bitch either.”

  “Nope, you might actually have some work ethic in you,” Jeff said as several people emerged from the pit. The first two down the slope to the sleds were last night’s prisoners. Hadrian and Byron followed a few steps behind them carrying rifles.

  Hadrian waved to Eric.

  “What do you need?” Eric asked, hustling over.

  “Byron has the rest of your kit. Your rifle’s on the last sled. You’re going back to the manor with them. Get your shit,” Hadrian told him.

  Walking back to the group a few minutes later with rifle in hand, Eric found Hadrian addressing the prisoners while Byron fit apparently heavy packs onto their backs.

  “So we’re clear, right?” he asked. The two prisoners nodded in unison. “Good. But just in case we’re not, I have something for the two of you. It makes a fashion statement.”

  Byron handed Hadrian two braided loops of detcord and Hadrian snugged them around the prisoner’s necks.

  “Now, I know one of you knows what those are, but for the other’s benefit,” Hadrian said and pulled a small device from a chest pocket. “This is an RF trigger. So long as it’s active, all I need to do is press a button and you stop being a problem. If, at any point of time, those detonators lose contact with the trigger without hearing a disarm code, you cease to be a problem. So, to be clear, if you get outside twenty meters from whoever is carrying this, your body will stop at twenty five meters, your head a few meters further. Got it? Good.” Hadrian smiled and handed the device out to Eric. “They’re your problem now.”

  Eric stared at the device in his hand.

  “Head out!” Byron yelled at the assembled teams.

  “I’m staying here with Turing to oversee the rest of the recovery,” Hadrian told Eric. “Other than the prisoners, your primary concern is keeping the folks with the sleds safe. Got it?” Eric nodded. “Good. Remember, stay safe.”

  “Roger that,” Eric muttered as he slipped the detonator gingerly into his vest. He glanced over his shoulder to the two prisoners and snorted. Neither had moved to follow. Eric’s step didn’t slow as he mused out loud, “You guys might want to keep up. Or not. Your choice, but if you do decide to come along, keep your distance and keep your mouth shut. We don’t need the supplies in your rucks that badly.”

  The next several hours proved trying in ways he hadn’t expected. The travel downhill wasn’t taxing but his newfound responsibility weighed heavily. The return trip simply did not have the same level of anticipation, the adrenaline induced alertness. Instead, he faced a constant struggle to focus, to fight off boredom and remain alert. People were depending on him.

  Eric was mildly surprised when the group stopped for their first break. He wasn’t close to tired, but with fatigue evident on every face but his and Byron’s, he couldn’t help but wonder how soft these people were. The prisoners didn’t appear to have even broken a sweat.

  Lost watching the falling sun’s rays peek randomly through the growing cloud cover, he barely noticed Byron’s footsteps before the man spoke.

  “Looks like snow soon.” Eric nodded silently. “I talked with Turing. He didn’t take the legionnaire news well. Still, that’s put things in motion. Hadrian has a plan, but it’s going to take a bit to implement. This is strictly voluntary.”

  “What is?”

  “Hadrian’s idea is a training program. We teach everyone which way to point a rifle, drill them on small unit tactics. Try to get them to where they don’t panic under fire. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to mount a half-assed defense. Caledon has specialists for this kind of thing, and we’re not them. I figure though, between Hadrian and me, we could train a half dozen people at a time, figure two or three months for the basics, but then we’d still be training people a year from now. We don’t have time for that. We need a training cadre we can trust to be there when we can’t.”

  Eric frowned. “Isn’t that a bit overkill? I mean, there’s only twenty of us and some of those can’t easily spend two months away from their jobs.”

  “Think long term, Eric. Do you think we’ll always have just twenty-two people here? Right now you have three folks with solid military backgrounds we can depend on, maybe four if you count that woman--”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Yes, Elizabeth. But she’s a pilot, not a grunt. What happens if Hadrian or I buy it? There’s plenty of ways to die here, and not all of them are on purpose.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess you have a point.”

  “This first group of folks, part of it is proving to everyone else they can learn, too. Part of it is giving me and Hadrian some peace of mind, some hope that if we don’t come back one day, our loss won’t cripple the rest of you. Are you in?”

  “Do I get to almost shoot more cats?”

  Byron gave him a flat look for several seconds before he snorted and shook his head. “Sure.”

  Eric broke into a grin, “Well, if you guys taught me anything so far, if it’s don’t settle for half an ass. Get the whole thing.”

  Byron chuckled. “This leads to the next question. When we get back, I’m interrogating these two. I’m going to need someone to help. You interested?” Eric shifted uncomfortably as memories of Doctor Isaacs flickered by. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would help you deal with what happened on the Shrike.”

  “I--”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t have any problems. I know better.”

  “Well--”

  “I’m not asking you to do the difficult stuff. Mostly I just want you to watch, learn, and be another set of eyes and ears. Round the clock interrogation isn’t a job for one man.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Good, now you can apologize to Leah for that broken nose you gave her.”

  “What?”

  “She’s walking over here. Have fun!” Byron winked and walked off.

  Motherfucker.

  “Uh, hi?” Leah said, slowing as she neared. Her face was mostly hidden behind a dark scarf, but what little was exposed to the sun was red and bruised.

  Eric took a deep breath and said, “Hi. Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I would’ve apologized earlier if I’d known you were part of the crew. Hard to tell people apart under the all the jackets, hats, and scarfs.”

  “It’s okay. I should be the one apologizing.”

  Eric blinked at her before saying, “Huh, why?”

  “Well, I’ve been talking with Elizabeth since Doc looked at my nose. She told me I kind of had it coming.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t want to hear it, but I calmed down and thought abo
ut it while we were moving boxes. Ever since we got off the Shrike I’ve been, I dunno, jumpy. Makes sense you would be, too. I didn’t think about it that way. Sorry?”

  “It’s okay, I guess. You okay otherwise?”

  Leah nodded.

  “I think I like Elizabeth,” Leah said. At his quizzical gaze, she continued, “She’s been through what I have, but she doesn’t act like it bothers her that much. And she listens. She’s pretty much everything I’m not.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “She’s smart. I mean, she’s a pilot and a navigator. You’d have to be to get those kinda jobs. Still, she’s useful too. She’d actually set my nose before Doc got to me. I- I dunno. She’s just better at this than I am, I guess.”

  “Okay?”

  “I dunno,” Leah said, suddenly sounding very flustered as she looked away. “I- I’m, I don’t know. I’m jealous? Maybe? I just feel broken. But she’s not broken at all. I wish I could be like that.”

  “Leah?” Eric said. She looked back at him without saying a word. “I don’t think you’re broken. Paint might be a bit scuffed up around the edges, but that adds character. If you were as broken as you think you are, you’d probably have just given up and laid down to die a long time ago.”

  “You don’t understand--”

  “I don’t understand feeling lost? Feeling that shit just keeps happening and you don’t know how much longer you can keep it together? Afraid that people will see through you and realize just what kinda of hot mess you are and abandon you? Like you’re hurting and can’t make it stop? That the pain won’t ever go away?” Leah’s gaze dropped to her boots and Eric sighed. He didn’t hide the pain in his voice when he continued, “Or maybe I don’t understand being worried that nobody gives a damn about you? Like there isn’t anything you can do right? Feeling like you’re alone? Like you need someone to talk to, but you’re afraid to talk at the same time? Maybe because you think the moment you open your mouth, people will see you for the fraud you think you are?”