“Colonel Winters?!” Zan said, shocked. “What are you doing here?!”

Seeing the last of the civilians from the crashed wagon enter the stopped wagon, Zan did two things at once: one, he conversed with the colonel; two, he released from its harness one of the three horses pulling the wagon, telling the driver, “I know it’s already impossible, but you need to deal with more impossibility! I need this horse!”

Removing the horse, the driver snarled, but otherwise accepted it. Zan didn’t take the snarl personally — everyone was under duress.

To Zan, Colonel Winters said, “I got captured. After your left, we went on a raid. You remember. Point is, that raid went sour.”

If they got themselves captured, ‘sour,’ to Zan, seemed an underwhelming way to describe the turn of events.

“Sorry to hear that,” Zan said to the colonel. “I take it you are ready to help us fight and to flee?”

“Sure am! Where do you need me? Bring me up to date on the situation,” the colonel replied.

Zan had to think fast. In his hand were the reins to a single horse. To whom should he give the horse? He had thought the horse would be perfect for Whiskey. She knew the land and could lead her people to safety. Yet the colonel… was a colonel. A highly ranked military officer with experience on the battlefield.

Huffing up spittle after coughing on his own heavy breathing, Zan said, “Colonel, do you know the land? If so, take the horse and get ahead of the wagons. Defend them, lead them anywhere you think is safe!”

Understanding the situation, Winters nodded and took the horse without thinking, and to Whiskey’s dismay. It didn’t require heavy thinking on Zan’s part to understand why

Whiskey was upset over Zan’s decision, seeing as how these were her people, but Zan was running on fumes. The Colonel had the experience in both horse riding and combat.

“We’ll find you a horse!” Zan shouted.

By now, the entire camp knew what was happening, and seeing the difficulty they were having in dislodging the intruders, Zan saw the enemy deploy troop carriers, the mobile ones with the cannon in front.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Zan swore heavily. His heart raced. But he had to stop another wagon.

Standing in the road, the driver again stopped for him, but a touch too late, causing Zan to leap out of the way. “Whiskey, take one of those horses, and help me rescue Jiehong! See! He’s over there all by himself and needs our help!”

Whiskey took the horse and rode headlong to the rear of the field, where the last of the wagons were clearing away from the enemy. Defending the wagon’s rear as they slowly maneuvered into position and fled down the road was Jiehong.

By himself, Zan scrambled for his own safety. Dashing into the side-field, Zan had thought he would zig-zag and join with Whiskey and Jiehong defending the wagon rear, but a barrage of enemy arrows — from either machine or golem — prevented such an action.

“Watch out for archers!” Zan said into his ear-piece.

Backtracking using his zig-zagging, Zan forced himself to act as rearguard for the fleeing wagons. Checking the sky once more for the Slipstream, Zan found nothing.

What good is magic if it only comes out during the day?! Zan raged.

Watching part of the engagement from the other end of the field, Zan saw Jiehong. A one-man army, Jiehong stood defiant as he bashed rows of foes backward, sending them prone. Whiskey then came trotting in to help. She rained well-shot bolts into the enemy ranks when not dashing through their columns, hacking with her own melee weapons.

Although Zan wanted to stop a third wagon, his nerves wouldn’t allow him. He had risked his life twice already for the horses, so there would not be any point in a third time, not when his allies might need his help.

‘What can I do, what should I do, what CAN I do?!’ Zan grunted as continued enemy fire rooted him in place, a place which, as he saw, was gradually being overtaken by rows of automotrons advancing from places all over the encampment, from gates and passages impossible for them to have accounted for during their infiltration.

In the distance, Zan saw a bundle of grenades go off and send to the flames several troop carrier vehicles. Such an action refreshed Zan’s spirit, though it only sank again when he saw different troop carriers advance on his position.

‘I have to do something or this really will be the end of me!’

He had nothing left. No explosive grenades, only one smoke grenade, and he wanted to save the smoke grenade in case he needed it on his own retreat out of the camp. What could he do?

What Zan could do was an important question, especially with mobile troop carriers bearing down on his position.

Losing space, Zan acted and took cover behind the perimeter wall, just outside the lowered gate. The wall would give him cover, at least.

Zan didn’t have to wait and see if the cover would serve him well. As soon as he dived into position, a blast, followed by a booming explosion, raked his position. One of the troop carriers must’ve fired its cannon!

Others soon followed and small, but deadly, explosions continued to rake Zan’s position, setting small flames to the chunks of wood blasted apart in the barrage.

‘Fire!’ Zan exclaimed once he saw the spreading flames.

Watching the fire, the flames gave Zan an idea.