Markos didn’t expect to survive.

He and Hervosare had made good progress, even as a new wave of vehicles had traveled down the road, crowding them out. They now walked along the side, far enough away to avoid whatever artillery might come.

They could hear the whistle of the shells as they fell and the blasts as they landed. None of the artillery had hit within view of them yet, but the gaping holes in the paved surface of the road spoke to the enemy’s accuracy. So they walked twenty meters to the side, trading the ease of the road for some small measure of safety.

He cursed as he lifted his boot out of the muck again. The mud pulled back, trying to rob him of his footwear. He finally pulled it out, shaking a futile fist up at the sky as more raindrops fell. The Traveler’s Storm poured more, turning the entire field into mud and wet ash.

In another half hour, the only traversable part would be the road.

He barely heard the cracks of bullets and the chattering of machine guns behind them. Their trek had brought them distance from the rear guard. But here, it was just as chaotic.

Trucks barreled down the road, weaving in and out of shell craters, horns blaring as they picked their way between the holes in the road. They weren’t the only vehicles on the roads, joined by occasional half-tracks, assault guns, a tank, and a self-propelled AA gun. Markos was surprised so much had survived the battle.

None had passed with any room for them. Or for hundreds of others marching within sight.

This road serviced just the middle section of the defenses. Fleeing soldiers and material probably choked the other routes as well.

A half-track clattered by, soldiers rushing towards it, trying to get on board the already overcrowded transport. The thing strained and shuddered under the weight as it moved next to a shell crater, teetering between that and the road's incline. The infantry gun towed behind it also stalled, wheels sinking as they churned up mud. Soldiers on either side of the road moved up, trying to free it from the morass.

Markos considered suggesting they help, maybe see if it could earn them a ride. Something whistled in the air.

“Incoming!”

The earth shook as shells plummeted down to the ground. Markos ran, heading for a slit trench.

With a shriek, a shell impacted in between a truck and a half-track. Shrapnel sprayed into the back of the truck, scything through fabric and soldiers. The force crumpled the front of the half-track, smashing the engine in while the fragmentation tore the machine gunner into shreds of flesh.

Markos kept running, getting closer to the slit trench. Hervosare had to be close behind him. On the road, another shell landed on the far side of an assault gun. Earth flew; the vehicle shuddered as it ground to a halt. It exploded, armor plating flying as its ammo cooked off. Shreds of steel flew all around, and Markos bit back a scream as something stabbed into his bicep.

Thirty feet to the trench. Something buried into the earth next to him.

The earth shuddered and exploded around him, knocking him off his feet. Pain burst across his right side as he slammed into the ground below. His head sunk into the mixture of earth and water.

You’ve taken 12 damage from 80 mm Italvo mortar. You have suffered disorientation. You have suffered Hearing Damage.

He gasped, then spat out the mixture of mud and water. He lifted himself out of the muck, his ears ringing, clothes heavy on him. The sound of artillery echoed all around, adding to the ringing in his ears as he tried to regain his balance.

Someone yelled something behind him, barely audible.

Hervosare. She couldn’t be far behind. Markos got to his feet, moving forward. The muddy earth pulled at his feet. He let it take his boots. They didn’t matter. Getting to the trench did.

The ground exploded behind him, flinging him forward. Something rammed into his lower back, ripping a scream from him before the ground smothered his mouth.

You have taken 18 damage from a 105 mm Helver Artillery Gun. You have suffered damage to your left and right legs and lower back. You have failed your saving throw against the conditions disoriented and suppressed. You have passed your saving throw against

Snarling, he turned the UI off, pulling himself with his arms. He forced himself to his feet, ignoring the pain. Hervosare had been behind him.

He forced himself to turn. Hervosare was back there, still. A chunk of her leg, from the foot to just below the knee, lay next to her head.

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Cursing, he ran back. She wasn’t moving, either from shock or something worse. The shrapnel had sliced through her leg. Strips of flesh and skin hung from the jagged wound carved across it, a cut in half-bone jutting from the center. Blood poured freely from the injury.

He had a bandage. Not enough for this. He grasped at his uniform, tearing. Tourniquet first, then a dressing. “Hervosare? Hervosare, stay with me, talk to me.”

Across the fields, other groups were moving, trying to tend to the wounded or screaming for help. Vehicles resumed their dash toward safety, now weaving between wrecks and artillery craters blasted in the road.

The whistle of the artillery sounded again.

***

Lancer’s teammates slept in half of a Scale barracks. The wall collapsing had torn the room in two, leaving a massive gaping hole on one side. The floor slanted towards it at just enough of an incline to threaten to send you flying. The cold of the wind and the rain intruded from the massive gap. The four of them shivered under three layers of blankets.

The screeching of his spear’s edge scraping along the steel wall was more than enough to wake them up.

“Seriously? Did you have to use that?” The Blade yelled, having jolted awake. Her Uncanny Reflexes had triggered automatically, reflexively, sending her up to the ceiling. The Assassin class Traveler dropped down, fully alert, sharp, and at full attention, all barely four foot ten of her, blonde hair streaked grey still from soot and ash.

The other three got up with less grace, yawning, stumbling, or, in the Stormsummoner’s case, simply wrapping her blankets further around herself.

“Five more minutes, please, Trevor,” the Stormsummoner muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Do they need us that badly?”

Lancer ignored the urge to kick her and nodded. “Scales are still trying to hold onto a crossing over the river. And the Aetherians don’t want to risk calling this a success until they’ve pushed across. Besides, every one of them that gets killed here is one less we’ll deal with trying to cross the river next spring.”

The prospect of murder woke one of the group up faster than the rest.

“Also, another little bundle of XP for us to get for our next levels,” the Juggernaut added, the hulking armored Traveler checking the edge of a sword almost as big as him. “They can’t get everyone across one bridge in time.”

“That’s a disgusting way of putting it,” The Blade snapped.

“Wait. You telling me you want to deal with this all over again, except now there’s a river we must also cross?” The Stormsummoner asked. Everyone gave her an exasperated look.

“What’s your key ability again? It’s intelligence, isn’t it? Have you not been paying attention this entire time?” The Juggernaut snapped.

The Stormsummoner shot him a dirty look in return. She finally pulled herself out of her burrito of blankets, smoothing out rune-scribed robes.

“Hey, you take out a big massive fortress; you expect that to be the end. Nobody mentioned any mop-up afterward.” She finally extricated herself from her blankets, then cursed as a stone stabbed at her foot.

Lancer rolled his eyes, then, seeing her boots on the ground, tossed them to her.

The briefing they’d attended had, in fact, mentioned mop-up and the bridge, but it would be best to get them focused in the interest of not sparking an argument.

“It doesn’t matter if we knew ahead of time or not. They need us right now. Everyone else is still trying to take the central spire. They need someone to ensure the storm keeps going and that as few Scales make it across the river as possible. That way, pushing across it will be as easy as possible.”

“But we were promised a break,” The Stormsummoner whined.

He resisted the urge to clock her. Or stab her. She’d survive, either, and it would help with the throbbing headache beginning to sprout behind his eyes.

“Listen, it’ll be a few weeks to organize the assault anyway. We have leave earmarked for us. They need us to fight for one more day.”

“Oh, it’s after the vacation?”

Maybe letting his subordinates beat each other up for fun wasn’t the worst idea the Juggernaut had suggested.

“Just get in the air and keep the storm going.”

Keeping the storm running was vital. The muck would slow the enemy down. The winds and lightning deny them the air. The conventional Aetherean units had taken a beating. Letting enemy airplanes and drakes into the sky would hurt them even further.

Their fifth group member finally chimed in, having quietly gotten ready. “If she is dealing with the storm, my task is to eliminate their egress from this battle?”

“You’re the only one of us besides her who can do it,” Lancer admitted.

The Priest nodded. In truth, the Juggernaut could shut the traffic down on the bridge long enough for reinforcements to arrive, but high command wanted the railway running through it destroyed. No trains over the bridge meant no attempts to retake Trost’s ruins. No large-scale evacuation of the remaining Scales. From above ground, at least, but there would be other measures in place for the tunnels.

“Then they shall know the Sun’s Wrath,” the Priest said earnestly, earning an eye roll from Lancer. LARPers. More concerned about living out their fantasies about this world than dealing with the realities of it. However, the Priest had been a little strange since he’d fallen into the Scale tunnels. “I will make sure they know the death of their hope.”

“Tone it down a little bit, okay? You're to snipe out the railway, do not take down that bridge.” LARPers. He pined for the days when ordinary people ended up in this strange world, not people wanting to act out fantasies. They tended to be less annoying in general.

At least the Priest was motivated since they dragged him out of the tunnels. It was better to have him raring to go instead of tired and demotivated. So far, His performance, and that of the other two new members, was impressive for Travelers out of the Dungeon so recently.

They’d managed to survive Trost. The fortress had claimed several other Travelers, but not them. And now Scaveria couldn’t claim many more. No more fortresses like this. Once they were over the river, it was straight into their heartland and the mines.

This front of the war would end soon once they forced the Scales permanently underground.