The one good thing about marching along the railway tracks was the footing. Markos could put his foot forward for the first time in a while and not have it sink up to his calves. He, the Captain, and four others marched, pushing the metal bunker door along the tracks when it became too heavy to lift.

They’d been moving along the rail lines for nearly a half hour, enough time to talk. The artillery corps corporal was Zalai Duvat, formerly a farmer on an outlying territory that had long since fallen to Aetherians. Gortil Marus was his hulking subordinate, an artillery loader who used to operate heavy machinery in the factories of Drezast before the annihilation of the fourth army last summer had forced emergency conscription.

The last two were siblings, Ilsa and Ildat Gorenz, from the underground colony of Arselak. Serving in different units, a medic in one, an assistant gunner in another. By luck, they’d found themselves retreating along the same road.

After all small talk dissipated, they’d settled on something else to do.

“I don't want to join the Army, I don't want to go to war,

I'd rather hang around Morasia underground

Living off the earnings of a high-born Drake

I don't want a bayonet up my asshole,

I don't want my face shot away

I'd rather stay in Scaveria

And fornicate my entire life away”

It was perhaps dumb to be singing where any Traveler or Aetherian could hear them, but there was little chance of escape if they were that close. They might as well do it in high spirits. It helped take their minds off the rain still coming down in sheets, soaking them all to the bone.

Lightning stabbed down somewhere in the forest, thunder booming a second later just in time for the second verse to begin.

“The King of Aetheria has only got one ball

The Crown Prince has two, but very small.

His brother has something similar.

But then their ol’ Uncle has no ba-”

A whistle sounded, the shrill noise cutting through the air. Their heads looked up to face it as the rails they’d been walking on vibrated.

“Off the tracks! Get ready to hail it down and hope they stop.” The Captain yelled.

They cleared the tracks, the bunker door safely lowered as fast as possible. This was their ticket out of here, something that shouldn’t have happened. Markos waved while others in the group settled for reaching for their weapons before firing in the air.

“You idiots, do you want them to think we’re attacking? Stop firing!”

With a screech, the train shuddered and slowed as metal hit metal. The metal behemoth slid to a halt past them, train cars moving past. Passenger cars and flatbeds in equal amounts, both looking equally crowded.

With a final shriek, it all ground down, a flatbed carrying three tanks and maybe forty soldiers the closest to them. About a half-dozen were getting off, coming over to help with Hervosare.

“Morons,” Captain Haskill muttered under his breath. The other soldier moved to either side, helping them get Hervosare onto the flatbed. “Where did you come from? The latest train on this line was barely fifteen ago?”

A corporal with an arm in a sling saluted. “Far northern line. Essentially empty. We had empty berthing space and received orders to come here since the station was last reported as overcrowded. We saw the sun blast and considered turning around, but we were almost here. We were planning to head down all the way to the station.”

“Forget the station. Sun Goddess’ cleric reduced it to nothing but glass! There might be a few stragglers besides us, but the majority got turned to ash!” The Captain gestured towards the end of the line. “The only thing down there is those responsible, probably chomping at the bit for seconds after their first meal. Hell, even waiting here is a risk!”

A faint keening shriek on the edge of hearing, but growing louder. Markos looked to the sky, seeking the source. A dot of light, coming up above the trees, flying straight up. One he was familiar with.

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“Traveler flying in! The same mage as before!” His voice joined a chorus of others as those on the flatbed noticed.

Screams overlapped, orders to get the train moving and to move to the passenger cars, to open fire, a dozen voices rained as one.

The shrieking grew louder. The dot in the sky lazily turned towards them, slicing a wide arc in the clouds as it dove.

“Incoming Traveler! Flak guns on target now, Svardos, take your souls!” One of the officers screamed. The gun on the rear flatbed already tracked the dot, rotating along its track.

Something roared at the front of the train, then screamed repeatedly. Shells streaked across the sky towards the dot, bursting into shrapnel as they neared their target. Occasional bursts of light as a shield spell went active, blocking near-misses from harming the Traveler.

The rear gun opened up, four barrels chattering as a stream of twenty mil flew through the air. It flew high, but then the gunner dropped the elevation. The occasional flares of the shield turned into a continuous burning light as the Traveler neared.

The sky roared, and lightning burst from it, striking towards the train. It flew down, then suddenly jolted to the side, hitting the front of the train instead. A squealing sound filled the sky as someone screamed.

The roar of the big gun stopped, but the other flak gun still fired, now joined by the chatter and barks of smaller weapons joining in. Without Markos’ rifle, he could do little but see the swarm of tracers fill the sky, chasing the Traveler around it.

Lightning struck again, but instead of hitting the train, it diverted, going into the forest instead. More bolts raised down, very few even getting close now, most striking into the forest, a few on the rails ahead and behind the train.

The dot in the sky veered off, chased by shells flying after it. Markos breathed out a desperate rasping exhalation.

“On the train! Quickly! They’ll circle back around eventually!” The Captain dropped the front of Hervosare’s impromptu stretcher on the rail car. Pushing, Markos and the others moved it and her the rest of the way on board the rail car.

The bursting light of the wizard’s shield sparked less and less as they flew further away. The noise of the flak guns tapered off.

“Is there anyone else?” Soldiers on the train grabbed Hervosare, beginning to move her to a passenger car closer to the engine. Orderlies moved from the car, likely a hastily set up medical post.

“If there are, they won’t be fast enough,” The Captain growled. “That damn Traveler won’t be stymied forever. Whose in charge of this unit, corporal?”

“Lieatenut Helskas, sir, at the train. It used to be Captain Kells, but he took a crossbow bolt on the way here. Travelers have infiltrated the woods.”

Markos bit on his tongue, using pain to drive away the urge to scream. No place was safe. Knowing their luck, they’d reach the bridge just to find more Travelers.

“Not enough to cut off the route?” The Captain was helping another Scaverian in. Markos tried to get onto the flatbed, only to fail, falling to the ground. All his limbs burned, his feet most of all. A taller soldier with red scaling held a hand out to help, and soon, Markos was hauled into the flatbed.

He practically fell onto the ground, muttering an apology as he nearly hit another soldier already in there. He rested there for now, unable to muster the will or energy to get back to his feet.

“No, sir. Wherever they are in the woods, they haven’t attacked the trains yet. They’re wasting their restraint. Incindenaries are going to blanket the wood till it’s ash.”

The train’s whistle blew thrice. There were no yells in response or movement, simply silence and the swaying of plants in the wind. Thunder rumbled as more lightning struck towards the tower of Trost over the horizon.

I am still standing. Somehow. Is anyone even alive in there? There must be. Otherwise, a tidal wave of Travelers would have come upon them instead of a drizzle. How many members of the garrison and their last soldiers, mages, priests, and any classes with levels above the fifties are in there?

The entire amount that was not held back in the army reserve or kept for defending the last surface cities. And those were dwindling, too. Even if the number in the central spire was only twenty, it’s twenty that could not be lost.

But they were, and thinking about that led Markos to places he didn’t want to go. He instead turned his attention to the sky.

The Traveler still shrieked further away, moving away from the train for now. The sound returned to a faint, distant keening. Whoever it was, they must not like the taste of twenty mil.

Hervosare was being taken into the rail car ahead, and Markos went to follow, scrambling back to his feet. He tripped, fell into some others, and picked himself up with a quick apology.

They were through the doors, and so was he, tripping once again on the last step.

Someone caught him, one of the door-bearers, stopping his face from smashing into the ground below.

“Easy there, Private. Take a few breaths. Get a seat. When’s the last chance you had to rest?”

Too long ago at this point, and Markos didn’t resist as the other soldier gently but firmly guided him to an open passenger compartment. Four others slept there already, but there was still barely some room.

“The wounded soldier you just dragged in. Where did she go?”

“Further down the car. Heading towards medical. You two from the same unit?” One of the others who’d dragged Hervosare asked him. Markos shook his head but didn’t elaborate as he sat on the floor. The hardwood of the wall wasn’t the most pleasant place to lay against. The rattling of the train as it moved down the line didn’t help.

Still, his eyes wavered, drooping. He shook his head, trying to stay awake, but couldn’t muster the energy to stand.

“Rest for now. She’s in good hands. You being awake won’t change that.”

Markos couldn’t shake the feeling it would, but the words wouldn’t form.