Partisan (The Invasion of Miraval Book 1)

by Justin Bohardt

  The standing one appeared to be the leader. Alex could not quite make out what he was shouting at his men, but it was pretty clear that he was angry that the town had not yet been subdued. That was something at least, Alex thought to himself. However, he had no way of knowing how many men were left defending the gate and whether his brother was still… A rifle shot cracked out through the night and Alex saw the muzzle flash from the pantheon’s bell tower. He allowed himself a small smile- Dag was still alive and still fighting.

  “Tangrit!” Alex hissed. “Put a grenade into that wagon.”

  “With pleasure, boss,” the old soldier replied as he loaded the weapon deftly for someone with only one hand.

  Rising to one knee, he shouldered the weapon, sighted and pressed the trigger. A colossal roar accompanied the streaking rocket- loud enough to draw the attention of the four Dommies entrenched at the hay wagon. They did not have enough warning to do anything about it though. The rocket lit up the wagon and for a moment the silhouettes of all four bodies shone eerily against the fireball as they were thrown twenty feet in the air.

  Not even waiting for the bodies to hit the deck, Alex shouted, “Let’s move!”

  They raced forward into the Eastern Neck neighborhood, the wealthier area of Harren Falls. The rich had large houses on the eastern side of the Overlook Road that sat on the edge of the cliffs, giving them an impressively beautiful if not dangerous view. The houses on the western side of the road were not as impressive, belonging to the not as rich, but were still separated from the rest of the town by a ten-foot high brick wall. Once Alex, Aria and Tangrit arrived at the turn of the road and took up position behind the remnants of the neighborhood gate that the Dommies had knocked down, the remaining enemies were trapped between two groups of militia, a wall and a cliff. The noose was tightened- Alex’s plan had worked. Now, all that was necessary was to make the Dommies realize that their situation was hopeless. Alex spied three of them hiding behind a large mansion on the right, probably trying to avoid being hit by Dag’s sniper fire.

  “Tangrit, you see those three?” Alex asked.

  “I got’em,” he replied.

  “Burn’em out,” he ordered.

  “That’s Magister Macready’s house,” Tangrit replied. “I was thinking about doing it anyway.”

  Tangrit loaded and launched another grenade. This one hit the center of the Magister’s house and blew shards of wood siding and brick into the air, in addition to relieving the three Dommies hiding behind it of their lives. As Tangrit reloaded, Alex’s eyes scanned the scene waiting for another target to present itself. All the firing had ceased as the explosion coming from behind seemed to have caught the Dommies off-guard.

  Alex was about to order Tangrit to put another round into a building when a somewhat shrill cry shouted out, “Truce?”

  Alex’s eyes narrowed and he bellowed back, “Surrender!”

  There was another long pause before the same voice called, “We surrender!”

  “You will step forward, throw your arms away, and then lie down face first in the street,” he ordered. “Do you understand?”

  “We understand,” the voice replied immediately.

  “Make any hostile move and my man will carve your men’s heads into canoes,” Alex added. The surrender sounded sincere, but there was no reason to take any chances.

  Slowly, with their hands and weapons held high in the air, the Dommies emerged from their hiding places behind the various homes lining Overlook Street, threw away their weapons and lay face down in the street. Once he was confident that all of them had done so, Alex emerged from cover and led Alex and Tangrit down the street. Captain Beaurigar and the two constables emerged from their barricade as well and marched toward the Dommies from the opposite end of the street. Alex had no doubt that Dag was not moving from his perch in the tower until they were absolutely certain that all the Dommies had been taken care of.

  “Well, looks like your plan worked, lieutenant,” Beaurigar said with a grim smile that faded as he saw what had happened to his daughter’s face.

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly, a little too quickly, when she saw the look of concern on his face.

  Beaurigar recovered quickly and said, “Of course, you are. Well done, soldier.” He turned back to Alex and said, “I want you to collect the weapons, ammo, radios, anything of value that they were carrying. Tangrit, you help him. Logan and Paulson,” he added, looking to the two constables. “Get some restraints for these men and get them into the cells.” He turned back to his daughter and said, “Aria, you’ll help me with the wounded.”

  8

  The town doctor had fled with the rest of the civilian population, and Aria had been forced to watch as the two National Guardsman under her father’s command, Hullen and Patri, succumbed to their injuries and died on cots they had set up in the municipal center. The small town clinic had been destroyed in the shelling of the north end.

  “They held their ground,” Captain Beaurigar said of the two men after they had passed on. “They’d never so much as been in a firefight before and they still held their ground.” He touched each one tenderly on the forehead. Both had served under Beaurigar for four years as the only National Guardsman in Harren Falls. He had come to think of them as the sons he had never had.

  “They showed great courage,” Aria said. “They’ll find their way Home.”

  Beaurigar nodded and wiped away a tear. “To the halls of the gods, yes. I fear too many good men will see those hallowed stones before this ends,” he said. He looked over to the third cot where one of the captured Dommies lay wounded and chained to the bed. For a moment, his hand went to his pistol as red appeared before his eyes. He felt the reassuring hand of his daughter on his shoulder and he felt himself calm. “I should step outside and see to the situation,” he said. “I should not be left alone with this one. I might do something foolish.”

  Her father left and though she was loath to do it, Aria saw to the Dommie’s needs as well. There was still a chance that he could pull through, but Aria could not honestly say that she was looking forward to it.

  “Water,” the Dommie whispered. “Please.”

  Without his helmet on and with his gray-and-black uniform soaked in blood stains, Aria realized that he was little more than a boy. His face, covered in dirt, belied an innocent schoolyard boyishness. Somehow feeling pity for the young man, Aria poured a glass of water from a stone ewer and passed it to him.

  “Thank you,” he whispered as he took a sip and then immediately began coughing.

  “How old are you?” Aria asked.

  “Sixteen,” he replied weakly.

  “And why is the Dominion sending children to fight us?” she demanded.

  “My family had nothing,” he said. “Soldiering is the only trade available to the desperate. They told us that we would waltz through Miraval. Resistance would be light and surrender would be swift. We could rejoin our families not long after and we would have all the money we would need.”

  “I guess you didn’t find us so easy,” Aria retorted.

  “We’re just a fragment of the scouting wing,” he whispered. “We were supposed to find the town, not assault it. The gunnery captain had other ideas.”

  “Where’s the rest of your scout column?” she demanded.

  He did not respond.

  “If you want this to keep going easy on you, you’ll answer my question,” Aria pointed out.

  It was no good. The Dommie had passed out.

  9

  Dawn was breaking out over the Crest and Captain Beaurigar emerged from the makeshift hospital into the town center. The Dagenham brothers and Tangrit were having a conversation with Torrace, the moron who ran one of the wineries on the outskirts of town. Torrace was leaning against the hood of his truck and Beaurigar noticed his overalls were spattered with blood.

  “What happened to you?” Beaurigar demanded of Torrace as he walked up to the four men.

  �
��Couple a black hatted Dommies with rifles thought to sneak through my grape vines,” Torrace replied good-naturedly. “It ain’t pretty what a shovel does to a man’s face when it’s swung hard enough.”

  “A second sniper team,” Dag commented. “Probably were moving into position to support the scout’s attack from the east. Thanks Torrace.”

  “Aye, was nae a problem,” he replied. “Dead Dommie makes a fine compost, I’d imagine.”

  “We’ll all drink to that, I’m sure,” Beaurigar said. He turned to Alex and asked, “Where are our prisoners?”

  “In the constabulary,” he replied. “Logan and Paulson are standing guard. When do we begin interrogations?”

  “We’ve got more pressing matters,” Dag argued. “We need to recover that mortar cannon for ourselves. If it’s operational, it might give us a better chance of defending the town.”

  “What we really need are more men,” Tangrit added. “Plenty of able-bodied men and lads fled the town. If the invasion is as bad as the news said, we’ll need every man jack of them to pick up a weapon.”

  “Might nae be a bad idea to fortify the center of town with a little bit more than a man-made barricade, ya?” Torrace added.

  “Until we know the disposition and location of the enemy, we don’t know what we need,” Alex said. “We need information.”

  “We’ve got some,” Aria called as she stepped outside.

  “Where’s the prisoner?” Beaurigar asked.

  “Passed out,” she replied. “Before he did, he was kind enough to volunteer that his unit was but a small portion of the advance scouting unit of a large invasion force. It sounds like they were supposed to find Harren Falls, so when the larger force caught up to them, they would know what they were up against. Lucky for us, the arrogant captain decided that he could take our town all by himself. Otherwise, we would have had an entire army attacking us here.”

  Beaurigar’s brow furrowed in thought. “Why would they only send part of the scouting team ahead?” he wondered aloud.

  “Kind of defeats the point of having a scouting team if they stay stationary,” Alex agreed.

  “Unless there was something so crucial for them to hold that they could not advance,” Dag mused, a thought forming in his head. “Do you have a map of the Crest?” he suddenly asked Beaurigar.

  “Yeah,” the captain responded as he patted his pockets, found the right one and pulled out the folded piece of paper.

  He handed it to Dag who unfolded it and placed it on the hood of Torrace’s truck. “Do you think the Dommies’ main force has tanks?” he asked.

  “You bet your nuts they do,” Tangrit responded. “Their tank forces outnumber ours something like one hundred to one.”

  “That would slow them down coming up the northern slope of the Crest,” Dag said. “They would probably need to widen roads, plus they’re not the fastest moving vehicles in the world anyway, right?”

  “Aye,” Tangrit said.

  Dag studied the map for a moment. “They send their scout force ahead, but they have to hold for the most part, because there is one critical location to possess in the Crest if you want to get tanks into the southern part of the region,” he said. He pointed to a location on the map, a small line of black connecting two land masses broken by a line of blue water.

  “Ava’s Gorge,” Alex said, nodding. “Belten’s Bridge is the only way across the gorge. If it were to say…”

  “Be blown up?” Tangrit suggested.

  “Their force would be stuck on the other side,” Dag said. “It might buy some time for the military to organize a counter-strike.”

  “We are talking about a bridgehead position that they’ve had time to fortify,” Alex pointed out. “We don’t know their numbers, but we can assume they outnumber us considerably. We’re going to need more than seven men.” After catching a glare from Aria, he added, “And women.”

  “We’ll also need more firepower,” Tangrit pointed out.

  Beaurigar realized that all of them were now looking at him. He was the highest ranking officer in the area. It was up to him to assume command until he heard something from the brass. “Alright,” he said. “Everything that you said before needs to be done. Torrace, take Logan and Paulson from inside and go fetch back that mortar launcher and loot the bodies that Dag left there for armor, weapons, ammunition, anything of value.”

  “Na sure how I feel ‘bout grave robbin’, but awright,” Torrace responded.

  Dag pointed down to the map. “The launcher should be right here,” he said.

  “Tangrit, there’s an old military bus parked behind the NG HQ,” Beaurigar continued. “I need you to take it south after the townspeople and get as many men and boys old enough and willing to fight to come back with you.”

  “Women too,” Aria said. “There’s a few who’ll be willing to fight.”

  “Right,” Tangrit said.

  “Alex. Dag,” Beaurigar said heavily. “We need more information as to the disposition of the enemy. Get it anyway you have to.”

  The two brothers shared a glance and nodded. “We’ll do what we can,” Dag said.

  “Good. Carry out your orders,” he said. “I… I have some friends to bury.”

  10

  Dag and Alex walked toward the small, one story brick building together, talking in hushed voices as they did so. “How did you want to play this?” Alex asked.

  “I don’t suppose interrogation tactics was one of your courses at university?” Dag replied.

  “Not exactly,” Alex said as he came to a stop in front of the double doors with the word CONSTABULARY carved into the wood above the entrance. He mused for a moment as the old diesel bus rolled out from behind the National Guard barracks. The engine backfired a couple of times before settling into a low angry rumble, and Tangrit accelerated on the road heading out of town to the south.

  “We can’t just wing this, Alex,” Dag said. He paused for a moment before he added very darkly, “I can take this as far as you want me to.”

  “What are you saying?” Alex demanded. “That you’ll torture them if necessary? Kill them?”

  “If necessary,” he agreed. “Gutting a human can’t be much more different than gutting a deer.”

  “Except one is a human,” Alex whispered harshly.

  “You didn’t seem to mind that I was hunting humans instead of deer last night, lieutenant,” Dag said.

  “This is different,” Alex protested.

  “I don’t see the distinction,” he argued. Dag placed his hands on his hips, turned his head, and looked into the distance. Almost instinctively, Alex knew he was looking at where their family home was. “All I know is that our home is under attack. If we don’t get the information we need, then our mother, our sisters, and everyone we have ever known will be dead or on the run.”

  Alex seemed to consider that for a moment.

  “In the name of all the gods, they shelled a neighborhood last night,” Dag spat. “Not a military base, not even a fortified area. Gods, there were only three soldiers and a few coppers on patrol.” Dag shook his head. “No, they started this, and I will end it by any means necessary. Do you understand?”

  Sighing, Alex nodded. “Just don’t do anything until I try talking to them first,” he said.

  “Talk all you want,” Dag replied. “Just remember, every minute is another minute closer to annihilation.”

  Alex walked past Dag and pulled open the door; Dag entered right behind him. There were eight Dommies in the constabulary, four to a cell. There was never much in the way of trouble in Harren Falls, and the cells were mostly there for the local drunks (mainly Tangrit) when he got a little too deep into his cups. Constables Raphael Logan and Matthias “Paulie” Paulson were resting on wooden chairs behind their desks. Exhaustion was written all over their faces, but they were being vigilant all the same. Their eyes did not leave the prisoners, save to identify Dag and Alex as they entered.

  “The Captain
has some orders for you,” Alex said.

  “Both of us?” Paulson asked.

  Alex nodded.

  “What about the prisoners?” Logan asked as he stood up from his chair.

  “They’ve been left to our discretion,” Dag responded, his voice steely as he threw a stern glare toward the eight men huddled in the cells.

  Logan smiled grimly and said, “Right. Do what you got to do.”

  The constables left and Alex turned to face the prisoners. “We have questions,” he announced in the officious voice he used whenever he was in charge of something, whether it had been the debate team in school or giving a toast on Remembrance Day.

  “We’re not answering any of your stinkin’ questions,” replied a gruff voice from the cell on the right. The owner of the voice was a grizzled looking veteran with sergeant’s stripes on the sleeve of his gray-and-black jacket. His face was scarred and he had a tattoo of a spider-web on his neck. He was different than the others in the cells, who were mostly kids- eighteen or maybe nineteen years old, seeing their first action.

  “So you’re the tough nut? Is that it?” Alex demanded as he stalked over to stare at the sergeant. “All I want to know is what the size of the force that is holding the southern side of the bridge is.”

  “Piss off,” the sergeant responded. “You ain’t doing nothing to us. The Treaty of Verona specifically outlaws the use of torture on prisoners of war.”

  “The Treaty of Verona guaranteed the sovereignty of our nation, you pig,” Dag spat. “You shred your own agreement to invade us and then hide behind it when it suits your purpose.”

  “Easy, Dag,” Alex said. “The Treaty of Verona applies only to prisoners of war. I have no knowledge of any declaration of war by the Dominion against us. That makes you criminal conspirators, renegades, or bandits. Take your pick because the punishment is the same: death by firing squad.”

  The sergeant seemed to consider that for a moment. “Semantics,” he said at last. “You Miravallian piss pots ain’t got the guts to do what needs to be done.”