When it came time to break down camp there was no conversation to be had. What else was there to do but go forward? Common purpose and loyalty were all that bound these soldiers to their mission. Though, it was not necessarily enough to say that such ideals could motivate suicide, especially one as drawn out as a march across the desert with only enough water to make it halfway. Who was to blame for such a lack of resources but surely those in command? Oh, how unlucky the 79th Vanguard were, that amongst the only survivors of the train were the few commanding officers who were crazy enough to not immediately declare a retreat. Or so thought Damien Brebis, at least.
Perhaps the urge to continue forward was correct and righteous, like the fairy tales of knights in armor who wielded the heroic will of Pouire in righteous fury against the forces of evil. Surely, Laëtitia reasoned, that even if they didn’t feel like errant knights, King Castin would not send them to battle for a cause that did not, at least, benefit a greater good. A city ravaged by machines and brought to silence in the course of a single night was surely the stuff of legends. If they were not knights, they surely deserved to be.
Or maybe, this mission was for their own sakes. There could have been no survivors of the train, and surely Central Strategy would have accounted for such a thing. There could be no people to save, and Norone could be nothing but a wasteland of blood and metal. The ghosts of the dead could already be in Geralt’s embrace, and these unwitting Vanguards were simply trekking up the road behind them; the God of Endings’ judgment having already been cast. Perhaps there is no skill in marching to one’s death, but Louis felt there must at least be honor in it.
Truthfully, the dead would have no bearing on the charted course. The mission was, the mission still is, and the mission will be, carried out. So long as one man, one gun, and a single bullet remained at hand, there was no other thought to be had. If Maxwell had to drag the others along, he’d do so. The world was so much larger than this desert, all they had to do was cross it.
Of course, there was no singular justification that would assuage their fears. Dead men were plentiful, and there was plenty of land for graves in Myere. Soldiers aren’t duty-bound warriors, they are statistics. With zeal or trepidation, the soldiers will march. When only one or two make it home, there is no cause for celebration. More soldiers will be needed elsewhere, and less will make it home tomorrow. If you were truly exceptional, you would no longer be a statistic, but an outlier. Outliers sometimes made the headlines and were awarded medals. Often, outliers died on the battlefield, many while breaking rank and abandoning post.
Alas, they were just soldiers, and thus, their march continued on.
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“C’mon big guy,” Damien kept a reassuring hand on Chestnut’s side, allowing the beast to guide him through the caverns. With his other hand, he kept his nose pinched shut to avoid the decaying stench of Yelda’s body as it lay tied down on Chestnut’s back. Chestnut was deemed necessary for transporting as much food and water as possible, but was also impossible to separate from Yelda’s body. As such, a small debate about whether to simply leave him sprouted between Maxwell and Levonne, but was quickly squashed when Fritz produced a length of rope. Not even death would stop Yelda from marching towards Norone.
On the other side of the beast, Avril marched in contemplative silence. Her rifle dangled off Chestnut’s side while her crossbow hung over her back. Her head felt empty. She could not fathom the powers at play that could compel Maxwell to continue the mission. Moreover, she could not understand what it was that compelled the others to listen. She desperately wanted to find a reason to turn around. She wanted to take the explosives from Chestnut’s back and start blasting a tunnel back towards Dever. She desperately wanted to grab Maxwell by his stupid handlebar mustache and demand that he send her back to basic training. With each step, Avril’s resentment only grew. Her knowledge that there wasn’t even enough water to make it all the way only further infuriated her. There was no chance that they would make it. They did not even have the physical supplies to do so. They were not marching to Norone, they were marching to Hell.
Yet, despite the annoyance, the anger, and the fear, Avril marched silently. Her eyes wandered to the cavern roof, and for a split second, she saw Yelda staring down at her. Yelda rode atop Chestnut, both feet dangling over the side as she looked down at Avril. Despite the hole in her chest, her skin was flush with color. She looked down at Avril with the same motherly smile she gave the other recruits in the train car. Avril felt no fear nor confusion looking up at the dead woman. If anything, it was reassuring.
Maybe, they’re marching for her. Maybe, in the face of the formless, endless, machine mass of the UBM, their lives had to be disregarded for the lives already discarded. Be it strength or foolishness, the others had either steeled or deluded themselves into listening to their captain. Only in death would it be clear whether such a distinction mattered. Avril wasn’t convinced, but she was certainly empathetic. With Yelda watching from above, maybe she too would let herself believe it was okay to march.
“Halt!” Maxwell’s voice rang through the caverns. Immediately, guns —
and a crossbow — were drawn. Damien and Avril crouched down and aimed into the darkness behind them. Up ahead, Maxwell and Levonne were doing the same. When nothing emerged from the darkness behind them, Avril quickly glanced up to Yelda. The woman was no longer sitting atop Chestnut, but rather was once again laying on his back, the rope keeping her from falling off as her head hung limply over the side. Avril shook her head and turned her weapon to face forwards.
“It’s me!” Louis’ voice called from ahead. Slowly, he stepped into view at the front of the caravan. “There’s a couple of turns up ahead but then it empties into the surface. It’s nearly sunrise,” Louis stopped just in front of Maxwell and Levonne.
“Any sign of UBM troops?” Levonne asked, relaxing and lowering her rifle.
“No, ma’am.”
Maxwell idly pulled on his mustache as he asked, “Any landmarks? Do you know where we are on the map?”
“The train tracks are just north of the cavern, maybe a hundred yards or so. The canyon we crossed isn’t too far back to the west either. I could still see the train just, uh, sitting there on the tracks. It’s stuck on a section that hasn’t fallen somehow and it’s just… floating I guess,” Louis shrugged his shoulders.
“Well drat, there goes the idea of fixing that back up,” Fritz lamented. He began to mime stroking non-existent facial hair in time with Maxwell.
“Oh,” Louis perked up, “I also could make out the cliffs to the south where the artillery support is supposed to be. I couldn’t make out any people, but I saw movement.”
“Good,” Maxwell nodded, removing his hand from his mustache, “let’s pass out the artillery flares.”
“Aye aye captain,” Fritz stated with unnatural enthusiasm. He feigned a salute towards Maxwell before skipping back towards Damien, Avril and Chestnut. Soon, alongside their normal kit, everyone was also carrying a hefty, forearm-sized flare.
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The troops emerged into the evening twilight. Steady but calm winds mixed with the cool air to produce an even colder temperature than the stale caverns below. With Louis pointing out the various landmarks he used to determine their direction and location, the 79th Vanguard marched. By his own admission, Louis estimated that they were just about halfway to Norone, with at least another two days of trekking along the edges of the massive canyon that bisected the desert. As they stepped over rocks and hopped along the stone-faced cliffs, Maxwell, Levonne, and Fritz devised a plan. The mission necessitated heading east and the most direct path was to follow the railroad tracks. In order to avoid unnecessary run-ins with UBM troops, the group would follow at a distance. Norone was built on the northeastern shore of a massive lake at the edge of the desert, so heading slightly southeast would give the trains a wide berth and allow the group to hopefully reach the lake. The plan was to reach the lake and from there scout the exterior of the city. Their movement would hopefully be obscured by keeping within the canyon rather than moving through open desert. While everyone had agreed to the plan and began to march, their sunken eyes and solemn gazes spoke out: How far will we get?
For about an hour the unit marched in silence. The night sky began to shift in color, from pitch black to faint indigo. Another hour later, an orange glow began to emerge from beneath the earth, signaling the coming day. Rationed water was passed out as the troops took in the new morning. In the southern distance, a faint glint of light hinted at movement from the artillery crews, though the information did little for their dwindling supplies.
Avril took a seat on the floor beside Damien, who blankly stared ahead. Mindlessly, robotically, Damien brought his ration bar to his mouth and took a bite. He chewed mechanically with an open mouth, seemingly unbothered by the crumbs that escaped and disappeared among the sand at his feet. Avril sat with him in awkward silence, slowly chewing her food as though she expected to choke. When Damien finished his, he lazily dropped the wrapper. Avril watched as it caught the wind and flew a short distance before lodging itself in the sand.
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“I think you should go get that,” Avril said with half a mouthful. Damien declined to respond, and merely stared at the wrapper flapping uselessly with the wind. Avril looked between Damien and the wrapper, hoping to elicit some form of a response. After a moment, Damien’s cat-like eyes suddenly dilated and then narrowed once again. At the same time, a sudden shiver seemingly went down his spine, snapping him to consciousness. Perhaps finally realizing what Avril had said, Damien stood up and retrieved the wrapper, rejoining Avril and throwing the litter into the depths of his pack.
“Sorry about that,” Damien said.
“That’s fine,” Avril replied. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just… tired. Thirsty too, I guess,” Damien made a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle.
“Are you gonna be okay to keep going?” Avril spoke. She gestured towards the remaining half of her rations. Though, it wasn’t as if Damien was looking at her to acknowledge the offer.
“I’ve got, like, four more hours in me before I collapse, I’d say,” Damien raised his arms over his head in a stretch as he spoke.
“Really? I’ve got, like, four minutes left in me,” Avril joked, eliciting a genuine laugh from Damien. The man dropped his stretch and leaned back against the cliff as he let the amusement wash through him. From the corner of her eye, Avril caught Laëtitia looking at Damien with a raised eyebrow and a disapproving shake of the head.
“Honestly,” Damien said, now relaxing with his hands behind his head, “me too. Although… I would gladly walk for four days straight if we were just moving the other way.”
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A subtle shifting in the ground first drew the attention of the ever-observant Louis Cadieux. Whilst the others sat and stood about, the Infantryman crouched down and placed a hand on the ground. His brows furrowed in concentration as he kept an eye on a rocky spire beside him. Pebbles began to shake themselves loose from the walls and the sand began to sift itself off the rocky edges. The others seemed oblivious, though Maxwell quickly took up position behind Louis.
“What is it,” Maxwell whispered, trying to avoid a commotion.
“Something big is coming,” Louis whispered back, “Something… fast.”
“Where from?” Maxwell crouched down, now inches away from Louis.
“Somewhere north…” Louis tried to focus once again, but was cut off.
“Um, excuse me,” Fritz suddenly shouted over everyone, drawing the eyes of all the troops. “Was anyone looking for a train back to Dever? Because I believe we’ll be boarding soon,” Fritz pointed off towards the northeast.
Rapidly, a train was barreling down the tracks that once connected Dever and Norone. The markings of the Myeran military decorated the train engine as it sped along. In the early morning light, the headlights were illuminated and cast a menacing white light on the empty desert. Panicked commotion quickly turned to obedience towards authority as the 79th Vanguard fell in line behind Maxwell and Louis. The pair directed the troops to sprint back down into the canyon, hoping to take cover under rocky crags and behind stone spires. The nearest point of safety lay about fifty yards eastward across open terrain. The troops tripped on sand as they desperately clamored to safety.
“Why the fuck are they sending trains this way?” Maxwell yelled to Fritz and Levonne as they ran.
“Scouting, perhaps,” Fritz responded, taking long strides over the sand. Despite his unwieldy steps, the man still managed to outpace all the people of the 79th Vanguard. In fact, the only one faster than him was Chestnut, who, at the first sign of the train, burrowed underground. Occasionally, the beast would breach the surface so as to guide the troops and remind them that he was still around. With each surfacing, Yelda’s barely-secured body would fly up, her hair forming a brilliant black fan as Chestnut quickly dove back beneath the surface.
“We’re barely halfway to Norone, they could be planning to march on Dever too,” Levonne shouted, her voice particularly somber.
“We could signal the artillery to shoot the train!” Louis called towards the group.
“No,” Levonne responded, “we can’t give away the artillery’s position, not until we reach the city.”
“But…” Louis tried to conjure a defense but was caught off-guard by the loud whistle of the train.
Further back, Avril and Damien ran side-by-side. Damien sprinted with superhuman efficiency. His breathing remained even and steady despite how quickly he moved. His legs and arms pumped and pushed through the sand as though it weren’t there. Avril, meanwhile, struggled to keep up. Her breathing was ragged and erratic from panic and fatigue. Her arms uselessly clung to the straps of her backpack while her feet nearly tripped on each rock she passed.
“You got this,” Damien yelled back at Avril between breaths. He turned to her to flash her a sympathetic smile before turning forwards and pulling ahead of her. Avril mustered the strength in her legs and picked up the pace. Her eyes were locked to the ground, watching each foot take each step. Yet, the rumbling grew louder. The whistle of the train blew once again. Avril closed her eyes and focused. She could make it. She could make it.
A great rumbling threw Avril off her feet. A great ringing in her ears brought her hands around them. Her head began to spin as she tried to open her eyes. The world was spinning. The world was smoke. The world was black. I’m dead. Avril surrendered herself to her fate as she flew through the air. However, just as quickly as death was accepted, it left her. Avril struck the ground with a great force that stole the very breath from her lungs. Her senses sharpened and she saw the world as it was once again.
“Minefield!” Maxwell’s voice shouted above the ringing in her ears.
“Damien!” Laëtitia cried. Avril managed to bring herself onto her hands and knees. She watched blood drip down her face and onto the sand below her. Hesitantly, she brought a hand up to her head. She desperately searched for the source of injury only to come up safe. It wasn’t her blood.
“Help…” a quiet voice whispered to Avril. She turned her gaze to find Damien lying beside her. He was on his stomach with his eyes fixed on Avril. His face was turning blue while his expression remained frozen in fear. Further ahead where Avril watched him run ahead, Damien’s leg lay approximately a yard away.
Avril let loose a sharp, shrill screech of terror as she quickly pushed herself back and away from Damien. She would have continued crawling away had a firm hand not grabbed her shoulder.
“Get up.” Avril looked up, expecting to see Fritz. She was met by a solemn face with goggled eyes. In the reflection of those goggles, Avril saw herself, small and frightened on the floor. She did not see a soldier, a warrior, a knight, or any honor in the face before her. She saw the face of a girl consigned to death; a girl who was an active victim of a passive system. Avril did not know the girl who looked back at her, but she felt sorry for her.
“Chestnut!” Maxwell shouted once more. The beast popped his head out of the sand beside Maxwell. Without additional command, the beast dove back in and appeared beside Avril. Chestnut bit down on Damien’s clothing and submerged it’s head while leaving Damien’s remains above ground. Damien’s leg leaked blood as he was dragged through the sand ahead of the group.
“Follow it!” Maxwell commanded, taking initiative and following the crimson trail in the sand. Avril watched, horrified at the macabre sight unfolding before her. However, Fritz tugged on shoulder, pulling her up with surprising strength. He then planted a hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her to follow the blood.
The crimson path weaved its way through the buried mines. Each of the soldiers followed without words. The encroaching train once again blew its whistle. The ground shook more violently as the train was mere seconds away from having them in view. One by one, the Vanguards crossed the minefield and dove behind the rocky cliffs. Chestnut dragged Damien’s body well behind the cliffs before popping out of the ground himself. Maxwell rushed over and placed his fingers on Damien’s neck.
“He’s still alive!” Maxwell shouted. He opened the medkit on his waist and began pulling out alcohol and bandages, aided by the passing light of the train. He examined Damien’s leg and began preparing his tools. “I need to cauterize this or he dies! Fire, now!” Laëtitia jumped into action, pulling a firestarter and kindling from her pack, but was sidestepped by Fritz.
“Move!” Fritz shouted. He ran beside Damien and pulled a pistol out. Before Maxwell could stop him, Fritz fired the weapon directly in the air three times. Maxwell covered his ears, but still managed to shout at Fritz.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Maxwell shouted.
“Saving your soldier’s life!” Fritz pushed Maxwell aside and proceeded to shove the smoking gun barrel against the bottom of Damien’s stump. As he did so, the flesh began to sizzle and soon Damien’s eyes shot open and the man screamed. Had the mine not been loud enough, had the gunshots been chalked up to friendly UBM units, perhaps the 79th could have passed through unseen. However, the frenzied cry of a dying man was recognizable to all. Damien screamed from the depths of his soul. When he could scream no more, he tried anyway. Perhaps driven by instinct, Damien reached for his knife. When he grabbed it, he attempted to violently swing it about. Fritz pinned the man’s arm as Maxwell went to work applying alcohol to the various shrapnel wounds on Damien’s body. The blade in Damien’s restrained hand began to glow brilliantly. It began to rapidly change shape. First a knife, then a handgun, then a sword, a club, and more. Each time, the weapon held its shape for less and less time. The weapon shifted rapidly and emitted a constant, blinding light. Soon, it resembled a shapeless, shifting mass in Damien’s hand. All the while, Damien desperately tried to struggle and scream against his encroaching death.
The rest of the Vanguards watched with their mouths agape. Avril shut her eyes and covered her ears as Damien wailed away. Her thoughts were scattered and her instincts were running on overdrive. For the few seconds she remained frozen, Damien’s struggle quickly faded as the strength left his body. His grip on his weapon faltered, and soon the knife fell from his hand and into the sand. His lungs ran out of air and soon his throat stopped rattling. His eyes fell closed and his breathing slowed even more.
“They’re gonna come this way! We need to move!” Levonne shouted. “Move deeper into the crags and collapse the passage behind us!”
Frustrated, Maxwell motioned for Chestnut. Quickly, he and Fritz lifted Damien and hung him over the bear’s back. They grabbed their packs and rushed to follow Levonne.
“Come on Avril!” Laëtitia shook Avril by the shoulders, snapping her out of her stupor. Avril bent down and grabbed her crossbow. As she did so, the glint of Damien’s knife in the sand caught her attention. With her other hand, she grabbed the handle. Avril rose to her feet and sprinted after the rest of the 79th Vanguard.