“Good job. Are you okay?”

“Most of them were reloading, sir. Yarland took a wound to the shoulder, but he’s…” Vulrick looks behind him, and sees Carl dancing around the corpses and singing a rather culturally-offensive song about the easterners; something about their mothers and how much said mothers appreciate swine. “He seems to be fine, sir.”

Rayull nods, keeping his eyes on the borderline crazed Carl. He turns to the others: “Rally up, we should get moving in case we were heard.”

“S-sir?” Bayl mutters pathetically.

Everyone looks to Bayl, kneeling over Cet.

“Yeah?”

“Cet’s alive, but he’s… strange.”

“Shellshock,” Awnway says right off.

Gathering around, the three see that Cet’s staring straight ahead, shaking, and completely silent.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Awnway adds, “The shell did go right over his head. It should’ve killed him.”

“But he’s still here,” Rayull pokes Cet, waits for a response, and then flicks him. The boy gasps as if waking from a dream.

“Help!” Cet screams senselessly.

Rayull sighs and picks him up.

“We were lucky that this is all that happened. I’ll carrying him for now,” he decides.

Vulrick nods. “I’ll take the vanguard then. Let’s go.”

Bayl takes a deep breath and gets back to his feet. “Alright, ready when you are, sir.”

After giving Carl a quick treatment for his shoulder, Vulrick leads them away from the house and further into the front lines. Not only minutes later does a magic-barrage from the West come soaring over to the house, blasting it to bits.

“Wow… are they using echolocation magic?” Bayl asks outwardly.

Awnway and Carl look to one another, and Awnway shrugs. “You know, I never thought about it like that. I just assumed they were really good at guessing,” Awnway says with a chuckle as Carl laughs heartily.

Bayl sighs, and notes Rayull, calmly nodding. “The artillery mages are a two-part group now- one that uses echolocation to find firing points, and one that actually does the firing spell. With the noise the eastern firearms make, they can be easily picked up and used for strike locations. Were you not taught that in basic training?” the half-dragon asks the boy.

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Bayl inhales sharply in his teeth. “Eh, it was a week of getting yelled at and being taught how to dress wounds and stay in a formation- that was about it.”

There’s a collective sighing.

“As expected of glorious Kanvane, the capitol of road-shows and cafès,” Carl says with a snide look about him. Bayl huffs but knows well that Carl hit the nail on the head- most Kanvanians would rather sit in a café and read pretentious novels than be worthy of the reputation of a stronghold of education and knowledge.

The group continues their move East, passing through a single abandoned town in which they find some downed westerners. As Awnway and Carl cheerily loot their corpses for expendable weapons and armor, Vulrick looks over one of the men in particular and sighs. “So that’s where you ended up,” he says so softly that only Bayl hears him.

There’s a quick discussion about wearing heavier armor, and it’s decided that Carl should put some on, as his traditional Whihelmishian garb, while culturally honored and pleasant, is not very good should one be stabbed in the shoulder by a bayonet. Carl of course complains that he never needed it before and that his superior northern genetics allows him to take a ton of damage- as the only northerner in the group, however, he is promptly laughed at by Bayl and Awnway as Vulrick hands him pieces of plate armor from one of the westerner corpses nearby.

There’s no shortage of weapons and armor out here from either side, apparently.

Night’s steady dark is now falling upon them, and there’s immediately talk of making camp during the dinner of rations. The remnants of a secluded wood are nearby, half burnt, but the trunks are still high enough to provide some cover in the night. There too is an outcropping of rock with a small, lead-polluted stream next to it. Finally, there is an abandoned shack, overtaken with layers of dust.

Carl claims the shack is the best idea, as the group could peer through the windows and watch for enemies.

Vulrick says the wood would be the best plan, as it would cover the group well and minimize their chance of being heard.

Bayl, more outspoken due to his recent heroism, notes that the outcropping would be the finest route, considering the sound cover of the stream should cloak them- such would provide both a visual, and auditory cover.

Awnway likes all the plans but Bayl’s, saying that we couldn’t hear camp intruders with the stream’s movement, and would be less likely to wake up due to the ambiance. Bayl proceeds to call Awnway a southern barbarian, and Awnway calls Bayl a lazy person that has improper sexual interactions with magical tomes- Bayl shut up after that.

Cet’s slowly regaining some feeling and is now lucid enough to cuss at Rayull every time he asks how he is.

Rayull just shakes his head. Despite what all these humans think, he’s not here to vote.

“The woods, clearly,” Rayull decides as if it were entirely obvious, though he makes a slight glance of recognition in Vulrick’s direction.

Years later during a business trip in Ragnivan, one of the surviving squad members asks Rayull why he trusted sleeping outside more than sleeping indoors. The survivor watches Rayull take a sip of his glass of water, smile, and says “I didn’t. I trusted Vulrick knew what he was talking about. I’d rather be cold and safe than warm and waiting for a tank shell to pop into the room, I s’pose.”

Surprisingly, everyone slept soundly, with the exception of Vulrick, who also volunteered to keep first watch just in case. Cet was second to take watch through the night, but for some reason Vulrick didn’t wake him up.

It was only Awnway who realized immediately that Vulrick suggested an untrodden area to sleep in so he could trust himself to avoid conflict completely. Though he’s in a full squad, Vulrick’s acting just as he did when alone- cautious.

The sun rises, and the group wakes in quick synch. Breakfast is eaten, and the group sets off further East.