Josaph scratched at short dark hair under a dull gray helmet. Adjusting the rifle slung over his right shoulder, he gauged how much time remained before their destination. He could see anxious anticipation in the eyes of those around him. All were as young as he was if not younger. He wasn’t the largest of his company, but his athleticism had gained the notice of his trainers early on as they saw great promise in him. Being athletic was second nature to Josaph, though he had doubts as to his superiors’ misplaced hopes.
Josaph had been relieved that he was at least a member of the mobile infantry division. It was probably the athleticism and his competence that helped. Had it not, Josaph would have found himself shipped out weeks ago with the Lance divisions. Josaph was not knocking the division of course. He had met many who were fine soldiers, in fact. Personally, Josaph preferred the flexibility offered by mobile infantry. It meant he and his fellow troops would be more inclined to be of use, their training more comprehensive. And Josaph would much rather prefer to take out his enemies before they were close enough to engage with a lance or bayonet.
A sudden nudge from his left brought Josaph’s attention back to his surroundings. His stout friend Mason was taking a stab at his attention. The two had become friends during basic training and had planned to do everything they could to stay together for the duration of their duty. So far, the duo had been successful. Josaph had found the man annoyingly loud, but you could not help but like the bastard. Mason held an eagerness that was contagious. “So, Joe, how far you think we got left to go?” he asked.
Josaph looked at the sky and the back to their road, doing some mental numbers. Finally, he came up with an answer that was satisfactory to him. “About five hours at least, but it could be a bit more.” He turned his head toward Mason, a wicked smile forming on his lips. “You tiring out already? I won’t be carrying you the rest of the way, just so you know.”
Mason hit his chest with his hand. The features of his even-tempered face took on that of proud reassurance. “Me? Tired? Course not. I’m a lean, mean, fighting machine, Joe. Hell, the way I feel right now I could handle an entire garrison of Vallance’s tricksters. They won’t get the drop on this ol’ boy, that’s for sure,” he stated proudly.
Joseph smiled at Mason’s fatigued facade and reserves of pride. “Whatever you say, man. Though I am still glad you’re on my side,” he replied. Mason’s words made him think again of the enemy ahead.
For weeks, his group had trained themselves into finely tuned weapons, ready to take the fight to the amassing hordes of Vallance. Their superiors felt that it was only a matter of time before Vallance gathered enough force to attempt a strike on Thorne. Therefore, the decision was made to take the fight to them first if necessary. Their training had been as quick and comprehensive as possible, covering tactics and weaponry as they drilled incessantly. However, nothing had prepared Josaph for the time spent on learning about the enemy.
Even at a young age, Josaph encountered stories from the lands of Vallance. While many of the tales that crossed his ears seemed unlikely, the repetition and frequency had been hard to deny. Much of this information found more detail during training. Each soldier prepared to face a country where any man, woman or child would gladly twist your mind to their ranks. And while they could deceive you with earnest or innocent intentions, in the blink of the eye they would turn upon you and administer a grueling death.
Josaph still found it hard to comprehend such a dip into depravity, that a country could be full of such wickedness. Soldiers learned to accept that Vallance was a region of unfathomable treachery and terror. Through unexplained means, possibly pacts with demons or dark gods, it was said that the populace held the means for unnaturally long life and other unexplainable powers. While most details were vague about such strengths, high command warned that it was wise to expect anything and everything. To falter, to give them even one moment of hesitation could prove disastrous, or even fatal.
Apparently, Mason had picked up on Josaph’s thoughts. “You hear the one about the convoy heading to Fort Mire that strayed too close to Vallance?” Mason shuddered before continuing. “Tortured every person in that group for days until there wasn’t anyone left. I heard they wrote warnings in blood and hung the bodies as a message to anyone else that would be foolish enough to come around.”
Josaph nodded grimly “Yeah, I’ve heard that one,” he said, not wanting to hear it again.
Mason continued. “You think their capital is the cesspool that Intelligence claims it to be?”
“I guess there is only one way to find out,” said Josaph absently.
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” said Mason.
Josaph had hoped that many of these things were not true. However, he was told that to relinquish his guard was to risk death. High command had been thorough in addressing the horrors from the south. For it was an atrocity that his superiors hoped would not find the hearts of their own people. The consequences could prove dire. Once afflicted, there was no going back. They all were to be the light in the darkness to restore goodness to the lands of Vallance before all was lost. Their mission was to strike at a dark, corrupting regime and save a dangerous, but misguided populace.
That is, if they could be saved.
Their training, along with the accumulating intel, planted unease into his battle group. The quickest way to Fort Mire was to cross through the Passing Plains, several miles of unpleasant terrain that rested on the Thorne/Vallance border. Reports showed that few inhabited the dull stretch of land, save for brigands from the southern regions. It was said that these men and women were the vilest outcasts of Vallance and would happily relieve you of your life and belongings, no matter how meager.
Near barren, the Passing Plains offered little in the way of scenery. Sparse grasses fought for life among the rock and boulders. Trees were a rarity and Josaph wondered if any crop could flourish in these parts. Large crows circled in the air, shrieking their disdain at the new soldiers on tired feet. Josaph could not quite shake the feeling that they knew something that he did not.
Josaph listened to the sound of steady boots striking the soil in near unison. To his left Mason still looked as cheery as ever. To his right, Shane Roberts did not appear so promising. Color was draining from his face at a steady rate. He clung to a cross that hung loosely on the chain around his neck. His eyes darted left and right, with sheer terror filling his pupils. Josaph had to know. “What’s on your mind, Shane?” When no response came, Josaph pressed again. “Shane?” Josaph hit Shane’s shoulder absently with his hand.
Shane practically jumped out of his skin. His rifle slid down his shoulder, but he grabbed it before it hit the ground. “Holy crap, Joe! You scared the hell out of me,” he stammered.
Josaph spun his head to look at him, speaking in hushed tones. “You mind telling me what’s eating you? You’re going to spook the whole damn squad.”
“Sorry.” Shane took one more look around before turning his attention back to Josaph. “This place is giving me the creeps. You’ve heard the stories. There’s no telling what we might find…or what might find us. People disappear out here all the time. I really, really have a bad feeling right now.”
Mason reached across Josaph and thumped Shane on the arm. “You and your bad feelings, man,” he said impatiently. Shaking his head, he turned to Josaph. “It’s no wonder he hasn’t gotten us killed with those things yet.”
Shane leaned his gaunt frame forward so that he could see past Josaph at Mason. “Mason, I’m serious. This place is cursed.” Shane made the sign of the cross over his head and chest. “The sooner we get through it the better.”
Josaph gave him a light back slap. “Relax, Shane, and just try to breathe, man. We’ll be through here before you know it. I’m sure some of the stories we heard are just to scare you.” And they are doing a good job at it too, thought Josaph.
Shane focused on taking some calming breaths before replying. “I hope you’re right J
oe. I really do. I just can’t get them out of my head, that’s all. I’ve heard that the worst of the Vallance lot can bend your will to theirs, and that they like to toy with you before they eat your–”
At this, Mason reached the end of his patience. “Would ya pipe down already, Shane? The hell if you’re not worse than a kid around a campfire with all that garbage!” he spat
“Sorry,” whispered Shane.
Mason couldn’t stop, as he’d opened the floodgates of his frustration. “Why don’t you just put your rifle to all of our heads and be done with it?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Or better yet, why don’t we make a fire tonight, and you can rock us all to sleep with your bedtime stories. Maybe whip up some hot chocolate, so we can all write mommy and–”
Shane threw up his hands in defeat. “I said I’m sorry already!”
“What’s going on over here?” All of them turned to find their commander nearing on horseback. An aged man molded of equal parts muscle and fat, Sergeant Dural wore a suspicious look of interest as he closed the gap. His trimmed beard sat well on his face and, like everything else about him, was excessively tidy. He was not a bad man, but when he asked, it was best to give him answers quickly.
Josaph broke the silence swiftly. “Sorry, sir. We had a difference in view on our present location. I believe it to be resolved now, and it won’t happen again,” he said.
Sergeant Dural’s features relaxed slightly. “See that it doesn’t, Private Pearce. The Passing Plains are bad enough, but we can’t have our own men fueling the discord.” The sergeant raised his voice enough for all to hear. “And that goes for the rest of you. Look alive out here. To surrender to your fear is to give power to the enemy. We don’t know what strengths they may possess, but do not help them in their wickedness. To allow doubt is to give them the advantage. Remember your training and survival is yours. Do you understand?”
“Sir, yes sir!” Josaph responded in unison with his group. That seemed to be enough for Sergeant Dural. He prodded his horse and took up position again toward the front of the ranks.
For a span, all that could be heard was the steady rhythm of boots over the dismal terrain. Scattered whispers slowly increased in frequency before the squad finally mustered up the courage to carry on conversations again. Their commanding officer allowed talk so long as it did not hinder speed or morale. Josaph continued his subdued conversation with his two friends. The sound of voices was comforting, as there was little else to hear save for the caravan and monotonous footsteps.
Mason turned again to Josaph. “So, what do you think the new fort and chain of command will be like? We’ve been pretty lucky so far and that sure can’t last.”
Josaph shrugged, shunning away the urge to grab his canteen and empty the contents upon his leathery throat. “I suppose we find out when we find out. It’s not like we have a choice at all.”
Mason nodded absently. “Yeah, you’re right, though I am glad that we got to stay with the sarge. Things can’t be all bad with him around.”
Speaking of which, what’s up with him right now? Josaph had just noticed that Sergeant Dural had stopped his horse. In the last few moments, he had plodded on several feet ahead of the marching lines. However, his horse had slowed recently until coming to a halt altogether. The squad had caught up and was continuing to march past as Dural looked off into the distance. Josaph began to wonder what was gripping his attention.
Apparently, he hadn’t been the only one. As they caught up to the sergeant’s horse Mason could not help but ask. “Permission to speak, sir.” No response came. “Sir?”
Josaph shot a glance himself. What he saw then brought him to a grinding halt, which started a chain reaction of soldiers bumping into one another. A few bewildered comrades spat complaints, but Josaph could not hear them. In an instant, he knew what Sergeant Dural had seen. The hole in the man's chest and his wide, dead eyes spoke of everything Josaph needed to know.
Sergeant Dural had seen his own death.
All eyes soon focused on the body of Sergeant Dural as it slipped lifelessly to the rocky ground. Screams of surprise scattered among the men. Dural stared on with vacant eyes. Josaph found his wits fastest of the men as he tried to rouse them. “We've got snipers! Form firing lines, ready your weapons, and be quick!” Josaph approached Sergeant Dural. Kneeling, he checked for a pulse and found none. Gritting his teeth, Josaph examined the lifeless body of his fallen commander. What magic could have done this? Josaph found the distinctive burn marks of laser fire through Dural’s chest. Wait. That’s no magic. Those burns are distinctive and there is no mistaking I have seen them before. Vallance does not use that kind of weaponry. We do.
Josaph heard more screams from behind him. The air was suddenly perforated with hues of blue as two more soldiers fell dead. His squad fired wildly in all directions hoping to hit an invisible enemy. Josaph tried desperately to gather their wits, but it was no use. Apparently, he was the only one still in possession of them.
From cover of rocks, the enemy burst forth with rifles blazing. It took Josaph only moments to realize these were not Vallance warriors. The armor they wore was soiled, but under the tarnish and muck was the distinctive plating and insignias of Thorne Special Forces. They attacked with everything they had, hitting Josaph’s comrades and friends with eerie precision.
Most of Josaph's group fell in the first few seconds. Josaph fired at whatever target he could find, not waiting to see if he hit or not. More of his friends toppled then wounded or dead. It took no more than moments, but each second of the assault dragged on with painful clarity. The enemy drew closer as Josaph’s group dwindled. A fire erupted from their supply vehicle, the explosion that followed rocked Josaph and Mason off their feet. Others were not so lucky. Some of their bodies landed near Josaph as their clothing and blood fell on him.
It was then that most of the remaining survivors tossed down their rifles and threw up their hands. Shane took shaky steps forward, eyes wide. “We surrender! Whatever we have is yours! Please stop shooting!” Shane’s pleas met with silence at first and then casual laughter. In moments, he was riddled with laser fire. His broken body danced a waltz of death before falling in peace upon the path. Of more than 225 men who started out that morning, Josaph could see that less than 20 still stood, clinging to what hope that thinly remained.
Josaph held firm to his own rifle. For some reason, the firing had ceased. Their attackers came from their cover and now advanced on the decimated force. It took Josaph’s entire will to not to fire on them. He realized that acting on that impulse would have meant death for more than just himself. Holding to the one shot remaining in his rifle, Josaph did the one thing that his body desperately rebelled against. He waited.
Josaph counted no more than 35 soldiers in their opposition, little more than there were survivors in Josaph’s own company. Even so, they had torn through his group with uncanny skill. From their tactics and precision, Josaph surmised that these troops were skilled veterans. Josaph tried to think on how to escape the situation. From the looks of the approaching group, they were not planning on taking prisoners.
Josaph walked to where the others stood. Mason was standing there, still alive but hardly unscathed. He had been shot in the stomach, and while the wound did not appear fatal, blood loss and shock could quickly change that prognosis. Josaph put his free arm underneath Mason’s to help support him. He wanted to reach for the med-pack in his bag, but he knew a sudden movement would spell the end of him and his friend. With no other choice, he turned to the approaching assailants and readied himself for the worst. If he were to die today, he would fall in honor with his comrades.
Of the approaching group, one of the taller men stood out. From his demeanor and his overbearing confidence, Josaph surmised that he must be the commanding officer. As he approached, he dug his double-bladed bayonets into a crawling straggler. Josaph clenched at the rifle in his hand but Mason urged him to remain still. Whe
n finished, the large man came closer as his men surrounded Josaph’s party at a relaxed distance. He wore an eye patch, the dim cold blue pupil that remained emitted gentle, amused casualness.
The “captain” stopped a couple of feet away from Josaph and the other survivors. He towered easily over all of them, looking like some deranged mountain man. His face was rugged and dirty, but there was a depth to his remaining eye. It was the kind of depth that hinted at madness. Josaph did not favor that look one bit.
When the captain smiled, his teeth were surprisingly white and well kept, though his grin was anything but welcoming. “Hello, boys! Helluva day we’re having today, wouldn’t you say?” He then looked at Josaph solely. “Course you buggers are finding yourselves in one doosey of a pisser now aren’t you? Now I hope there are no hard feelings about this. Business is what brought us here chums, business I say.”
Josaph stared at the man bitterly. The captain's gaze burned back at him, but Josaph held it still. He could feel Mason faltering next to him, but Josaph held him firm. “What is it that you want?”
This brought a ruckus of laughter from the surrounding ruffians. Their leader joined the chorus as he grabbed his belly. Finally, he found his thick accented voice again. “Well I thought that’d be easy to figure out by now, bright boy. ‘What is it that you want,’ he says. What a hoot!” He set his eye back on Josaph with fire and ice. “Your heads skewered on poles and set on the road will do us just fine.” He took in the group with mock sadness. “You’re another sad statistic of the invading swarms of Vallance scum and their growing web of treachery.”
Josaph could control his responses no longer. “Why? You’re no Vallance soldier. You are one of us, god damn it! Why would you do this?” he demanded.
The captain’s smile dimmed as his face grew stern and cheerless. “We’re just doing our part for Thorne, the same as you chaps. You’re more useful as dead messengers, and your service will feed the fires for months. As I said, chaps, it’s our duty for Thorne, and yours too,” he said before turning his rifle to one of Josaph’s comrades and pulling the trigger. The burning projectile seared flesh as it ripped through his quarry’s abdomen. The victim fell easily to the ground and died with bewilderment carved upon his face. A few of the other prisoners lowered to their knees, yet Josaph would not.
Ashener's Calling Page 3
