Don pulled the case containing the sniper rifle out of his pack and swiftly assembled it; it was too long to carry otherwise. He pulled his binoculars and focused on the Sintiya forces. He needed to identity and tag the commanders that he was going to kill. Fortunately, they were easy to spot; their armor was more ornate than that of the other knights, they were pointing at maps rather than holding shields, and they were surrounded by a lot of other knights who were listening to them.
They couldn’t have been more obvious if they’d had target markers bouncing over their heads like in one of the video games his little brother liked to play. Don snorted at the irreverent thought before his heart panged. He ignored it and put it out of mind. Thinking about his family wouldn’t help them now—in fact, it could hurt them. He needed to focus and get this right. There would be time for sentimentality later.
He looked through the scope. There were five targets, and he tracked the rifle from one to the other. He would hopefully be able to get half of them before they realized anything was wrong. Given their unfamiliarity with snipers and the chaos of battle, he might even be able to get all of them. Piece of cake—in theory.
“Five bullets to save the world,” Don muttered.
Half an hour passed with no action, and he shifted uncomfortably on the damp ground. He supposed he should be grateful that it was overcast; if the sun were beating down, that would probably have been worse. Don shook his head. He’d never known warfare like it. They were actually staring each other down, watching each other prepare for battle.
If you could see it, you could kill it. Where were the trebuchets or the cannons? Why were they not attacking one another already? It just made him think of the ridiculousness of video games even more, where the players sat in front of the target and made their preparations to kill them in full view, and the target just waited for them to do so. It was okay that the game showed no intelligence because it was a game, but this was real life. Shouldn’t they have been sabotaging one another?
He supposed this was why the marines had made such an impact on this world. They had taken out the dragon in Kaslea, and they had so far performed well against the forces of this world, limited though their engagements had been. It gave them something to trade; in addition to the benefits of their equipment, they also had strategy which was alien to this world.
Don snorted again. They were on an alien world, but here that made them the aliens. Finally, horns started to sound. Don looked at his watch and wondered again how Leo and Nick were doing. He took aim at his first target and then waited, and watched. The horns stopped sounding, and for a moment, nobody moved, the two sides staying on their respective lines. Then, suddenly, it was like a dam broke.
The knights on horseback started thundering forwards, the horses’ hooves kicking up clods of earth. They were positioned to the side and slightly behind the tightly packed infantry that made up the bulk of the attacking forces. The infantry formed a strong line and marched forward, clutching pikes and staffs. To Don’s eyes, they looked so vulnerable next to the sea of shining armor that made up the cavalry. However, it quickly became apparent that wasn’t the case, as horses shied away from the pikes, and did nothing to halt their inexorable march forward.
The riders clashed first, barreling into one another, finally mixing the two lines as the knights started slashing and hacking at everything around them. Don winced, wondering how in the melee they could tell what they were swinging at. They were wearing different-colored tabards, yes, but it looked like a mess down there. However, he could see some strategy developing.
The two archer regiments on either side of the infantry were picking off the vulnerable with surprising precision. There were also several groups on both sides that weren’t fighting, likely the reserves. Under Don’s gaze, a Sintiya commander obviously barked an order, and a unit of reserves dashed forward to hold up a faltering infantry line. Perhaps he had misjudged them; it wasn’t how they did battle on Earth, at least not anymore, but that didn’t mean it was a disorganized mess as he had first assumed.
Don looked down the scope. His first commander target was pointing, waving his arms and directing the squads in front of him. Don took in a breath, held it, and then released as his finger pulled the sensitive trigger. There was a spray of blood as the bullet hit the knight in the left eye socket.
He swung the sniper rifle to the left, going from right to left on his targets. He acquired the next commander, hitting this one in the forehead, but the bullet blasted through, the bones of the skull no match for the heavy-caliber rounds. The next target fell just as easily, but by now the deaths had been noticed and Sintiya’s side was starting to panic.
Knights were surrounding his final two targets, looking around like they could protect the knight from whatever enemy was mysteriously dropping them. Don sighted through them, took aim, and fired. The bullet hit a knight, and not a commander. Don swore and re-focused, shooting again. This time he caught the commander in the ear.
The commander clutched his head, screaming in pain, the sound indistinguishable over the sounds of the battlefield. Don swore. That had hurt him but hadn’t killed him, and now the commander was on the ground and out of sight. He swung the rifle to the final target and took careful aim. Right when the commander was giving an order, the round went through his open mouth and exploded out through the back of his neck. He dropped to the ground.
“Four out of five,” Don whispered to himself. He turned the rifle back and looked through the scope. He had to be certain of success. If he didn’t get all five, then King Oswald would have an argument to use against giving them what he had promised, and that was not going to happen today.
Two of the commander’s knights helped the man to his feet and started half carrying, half dragging him away from the battlefield. Don took aim. A moving target was always harder, but he was marine special forces, and they weren’t the best of the best for no reason. The bullet went clear through the commander’s skull, splattering blood and brain matter over both the knights who were trying to help him.
“Perfect score,” Don breathed.
He looked down at the battle. The Sintiya forces were panicking; they were faltering in their attack, at least those that had noticed what was going on, anyway. There were some at the front who were still fighting with all their hearts, but they were getting cut down, as there was no support being offered from behind. Sintiya started to fall back as Gatlan mercilessly pressed their advantage.
“Mission accomplished.” Don smiled.
He quickly packed up the sniper rifle, and checked his watch once more—it was time to reunite with Leo and Nick at the designated point. Hopefully they had been as successful in their mission as he had been with his. Although he didn’t have to hurry; it wasn’t like anyone was looking up here, not so far from the battle.
How would anyone have reached out and touched the commanders from so far away? It made sense why Cain was worried that they would suspect it was magic, for what other than magic could do that, within their comprehension? That wasn’t his problem, though; he had done as King Oswald had asked. The battle had been won for Gatlan. Whatever happened next was no longer their concern.
It was time they went home.
Chapter Twenty-One
When Yannick had informed her that his plan involving the ‘marines’ winning them the war against Gatlan would mean that her forces lost a major battle against Gatlan first, Eleanor’s first response had been to rage. It seemed counterproductive; they should be formulating a plan for victory, rather than merely accepting any kind of defeat.
Especially considering handing a victory to Gatlan at this stage would just give them more hope of a victory. It would drag the war out even longer, as King Oswald’s false promises would appear to hold more weight. Gatlan was nearly bankrupt; Oswald couldn’t afford to finance his military any longer. But she had seen the barbarians his forces had turned into. If they thought that there was loot in it, they might stay
despite Gatlan’s inability to pay.
Eleanor was past ready for the war to be over. Yannick’s smug expression and his calm demeanor had eventually calmed her. If Yannick was confident that it would gain them the result they wanted, then in the end she supposed that she needed to trust him.
He had invited her to watch, should she desire, and with the peace talks suspended while Prince Edmund waited on his sorcerer confirming the contents of the memory vial, she had the time to spare. The knight he had dispatched would be due back that evening, and then no doubt there would be changes.
The Northern Kingdoms had asked for a reason for the delay. Prince Edmund had claimed fatigue, which they had begrudgingly accepted—not that they had a choice while Kaslea was playing host. Eleanor understood Prince Edmund’s decision; he didn’t wish to deal with the Northern Kingdoms until he had confirmation. If she were in his position, she would have made the same choice.
However, it meant that today she had nothing but time. Therefore, Eleanor had cloaked herself in magic and transported herself to the site of the battle. She had watched in disbelief as one man—one marine—had done what an entire army could not. He had singlehandedly turned the tide of the battle, slaying her commanders from a distance that magic would’ve struggled to match. It was very impressive—and a little intimidating, if she was honest.
Beyond his actions, the fact that he was alone had intrigued her. Thus far, the three marines had stayed together as a group. It was the work of a few minutes to find the whereabouts of the other two, and Eleanor had been shocked to witness their actions. Gatlan were supposedly their allies, at least for the moment, but they were working against them—to do what was right.
Eleanor watched them rescue the abused women. She focused on the leader’s face, Staff Sergeant Leon Frasier; he looked desperate and concerned, but strong. His comrade was facing away from her, but he was obviously cut from the same cloth, as he didn’t hesitate to kill the squire who discovered them.
This level of respect and chivalry was something she had never witnessed. In her experience, most soldiers were beasts. When a man was given even a small amount of power over others, he lost all respect. However, these men, these marines, were risking everything, and for no obvious personal gain. In fact, she couldn’t see what the marines would get out of this, which meant it was an act of true compassion.
Once they had been discovered did the freed women and one of the marines start to run. Frasier remained, and Eleanor gasped in shock when she saw him release the beast and she heard the trapped women dying. She magically transported herself after him, her presence still cloaked by magic, and she saw his response. His horror at his own actions and the conviction that had driven them.
She had before witnessed them attempt to save a burning village. There had been no survivors for them to save; the screams had been created by her magic to test them. They had made the attempt but had eventually walked away—before the screams had stopped. There had been no reckless heroics. She had thought then that they might have the rare combination of skill and common sense. This was another example of that in action.
The marines knew how to get the job done, and they didn’t hesitate, acting decisively in the moment when it was called for, but using compassion when they could. Eleanor had never known men like it; she had never known anyone like it. It made her more eager to get them to work for Sintiya. With these men leading her forces, she would soon conquer the surrounding area and fulfill her dreams.
They had certainly made an impression. Eleanor didn’t think highly of anyone generally, but these men had impressed her from the moment of their arrival. Every action they took just enhanced her opinion. Eleanor looked at the sky, and at the position of the sun. She had some time before Prince Edmund’s knight returned. It was time she went back to her palace and managed her own affairs.
*****
Leo saw Don waiting for them at the designated rendezvous point. Don looked worried, but Leo couldn’t summon up the requisite feeling to care. He knew that they were late, but corralling the women they had managed to rescue had been taxing. They had been afraid; a few of them had slipped into the trees, and Leo had to force himself not to worry about them.
They couldn’t save everyone. Hopefully the women would be fine; they would return home and they would be safe and cared for. It was a fairytale to tell himself, so that he felt better. He knew the reality of these situations, having seen the aftermath overseas more than once. Out on their own, they would be lucky if they weren’t recaptured, or killed as an example to others.
They might not have homes to return to. They could have been ransacked, their loved ones killed defending them. All Leo could hope was that they could keep their mouths shut about the marines’ involvement. It was a risk letting them go, but short of killing the entire group, there would be no guarantees as to their silence.
That would have completely invalidated them saving them in the first place, and Leo had already committed murder once today—he wasn’t keen to do so again. The chance of anyone listening to the women, even if they did talk, was remote, and personally Leo thought that they would likely be too scared to mention what had happened at all.
It was a disgusting situation, and Leo repeated to himself that they had done all they could, they had done more than anyone could have expected. It had been a fool’s mission from the start, and he had to be grateful for the few that they had managed to save. The women looked at them fearfully, like they were their new masters. It made Leo sick to his stomach.
“Leo,” Don called. His expression turned guarded, his eyes flickering between Leo and Nick. “What happened?”
“Nothing good,” Nick said hoarsely, his eyes dark and distant.
“There were two pits. There couldn’t be any witnesses,” Leo explained briefly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. His gut twisted, but there was nothing more to throw up. He swallowed the acid as his penance, his expression grim.
There was nothing else he could have done. There couldn’t be any witnesses, and they couldn’t have saved them without being caught. It had been the right call, but Leo really, really hated himself for it. He hated himself, but it had to be done. For Earth, for the greater good, the ends justified the means.
Don raised an eyebrow and then nodded once in understanding. He could fill in the blanks; Leo would likely explain everything to him later, but he wasn’t reliving it now, not while surrounded by the survivors.
“Where are we going to take them?” Don asked solemnly.
“Kaslea,” Leo decided.
It was the only option, really. What the women chose to do after they left had to be their choice. However, Kaslea would be safer for them than war-torn Gatlan. Don gave a tight nod. It took a few minutes to get organized. The women were light, obviously malnourished and nowhere near the weight of a knight in armor, so they were able to place them two to a horse. A couple of the stronger ones still had to walk, but they could trade places if needed.
They were relatively close to the border; it would take longer than Leo would have liked to make the deviation, but he felt it was the least they could do. Their pace might be slow, but it might just ease the burden on their hearts a little.
By the time Leo spotted a Kaslea village that wasn’t abandoned or destroyed by the rampaging war that kept crossing into the kingdom, it was close to midday. They would make it back to King Oswald by tomorrow evening if they hustled, but they might not be granted an audience until the following morning. The Kaslea villagers eyed them warily, until one stepped forward.
“Welcome, marines,” the man said, nodding his head in respect.
Leo blinked, surprised at having been recognized. Don looked just as puzzled, and so did Nick for a moment, before a genuine smile crossed his face. He pointed, and Leo looked and saw a mother cradling her baby. Finally, Leo realized what had happened.
This village had already taken in some refugees, from the village they had ‘saved’ the f
irst time the battle had clashed there. They hadn’t been there when the forces of Gatlan and Sintiya had returned, and them saving the village the first time had given the villagers false hope; it had done more harm than good. Still, some had survived the second attack to move on, and their presence here showed promise that this village might accept those affected by the war.
“These women are refugees, they have been driven from their homes by the war,” Leo explained. He paused, biting his tongue. “They were captured by Gatlan’s forces, imprisoned…”
“Say no more, friend.” The man raised his hand, his expression dark. “We are well aware of how those dogs treat their prisoners. They will be well taken care of here.”
“I didn’t expect we’d get such a warm welcome,” Leo ventured hesitantly.
The man exchanged a glance with the man behind him and shrugged. “You warned us to leave and we did not,” he said simply.
Leo looked at Don, who raised an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving of this easy acceptance. They had lost everything, they had buried friends and family, and they didn’t hold the three marines in any way accountable? In Leo’s experience, people rarely placed blame with those responsible; instead they blamed the convenient target, or someone that gave them hope and then disappointed them. The villagers being hostile would have made a lot more sense.
“Some blame you, but not I,” the man added, seeing their expressions. “You did your best, and we should have heeded your warning.”
“Thanks,” Leo muttered, and the weight of pure failure lifted a little from his shoulders.
The memories of the screams of the poor women he’d had to leave behind would haunt him, but perhaps they had done a little good. The road to hell was paved with good intentions, but they had meant well, and perhaps in the end that did count for something.
Justified (#2 Divided Destiny) Page 21
