Taking his sword from its sheath, Zan carefully touched it to the flames.

He had to steady his arms and hands, but with him knowing how much was on the line, he managed, and the blade held firm over the fire.

‘That’s it!’ Zan again exclaimed. The blade caught aflame!

With a burning sword, Zan plotted his next move, waiting for the reload.

Suddenly, the cannons ceased.

Launching himself from cover, Zan dashed ahead and straight between any footsoldiers. Acting as he did when he defended his village’s withdrawal, Zan stabbed his sword straight up into the vehicle’s back pipe. Just like the previous times, Zan saw the wooden machine go up in flames astonishingly quickly.

Pulling his sword free, Zan staggered his way to the next carrier. Breathing was easy. It was moving, which drove Zan mad. Despite his belabored state, however, Zan managed his way to the next carrier and gave it the same treatment as the first.

With two carriers and a host of henchmen golems eradicated, Zan figured that would earn him some breathing room.

As usual, Zan was wrong.

With the sun rising, the smoke clearing, and the flames having already extinguished themselves, Zan could now see a greater distance than even twenty minutes prior. Aways still even from Jiehong and Whiskey, lumbering in the distance like an angry titan, was another one of the giant four-legged machines Zan had faced down several days ago

when it was blasting the command center’s way stones.

Only one word came to Zan’s mind when he saw the large, oak war engine: “Shit!”

With a trembling finger, Zan raised it to his earpiece and spoke. “Jiehong. You see that? Get out of there!”

“On route,” was all that he said back, Zan hearing the obvious fear in his tone.

A horrible sound echoed throughout the whole camp. At once, all the nearby gates which hadn’t already opened, opened. Zan saw what he could only describe as a swarm emerge — some held torches and Zan saw thousands march directly toward the road they were using to evacuate the civilians.

Running a fighting retreat to the outside perimeter wall, Zan kept a close eye on how Whiskey and Jiehong fought alongside each other so complementarily; with Jie acting as a shield and she the blade, Jie would slam into golems, thus buying Whiskey time to dice-n-dash the surviving automotrons to pieces. By which, Jie already was knocking back a whole other group of golems. It was like a brutal dance.

As with all dances, this one ended suddenly, but with grace.

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Jiehong and Whiskey had bought enough time for the final wagon to depart. Hitching a ride as it left, the wagon now sped toward Zan and the still lowered gate.

Seeing the final wagon rush through the gate, Zan’s heart swelled, and not only because of the final wagon’s passage, also came his friends; with an unbeatable sum of foes upon them, Zan knew they had to go now! Zan thanked the gods with how the incoming danger coincided with the end of the operation.

Seeing the wagon’s approach, Zan prepared himself for jumping up into the wagon once they crossed the threshold. One, two… three! Zan grunted as he hurled himself into the wagon’s caboose.

Jiehong helping him, Zan managed perfectly well and skidded to a splintery halt.

Panting, Zan’s breathing couldn’t have been heavier. Out the back, Zan saw the open yard, the one they were just inside of and fighting for their lives, fill with automotrons.

Behind the golems, the large four-legged engine continued to lumber.

Did… we do it? Zan spoke softly, as if to himself.

Next to him, Zan saw Jiehong and Whiskey, both of whom now looked as tired as he knew they must be; whatever protestations they might have once had before this operation began, they now had to admit, they were a short breath away from total collapse.

Zan’s first instinct was to ask what happened. But he already knew what happened. What Zan wanted to know now was if the wagons filled with people had made it out alright.

They should have made it out, Zan told himself. I put Colonel Winters in charge…

Content to watching the occupied countryside pass him in the wagon for a while, watching only to make sure the enemy did not catch up to them, since their horde-drawn wagon was moving awfully slow, once he watched for a bit, Zan’s curiosity regarding the enemy’s ability to catch up to them became satiated. As long as they continued their retreat in haste, there would be no reason for the enemy to catch them.

With one question answered, Zan turned to answering the other.

I’m not done yet. Zan lumbered to a standing position and told his teammates, “None of us are done until everyone is safe.”

Tightly gripping the back end of the wagon’s frame, Zan stuck his head out from the back. Careening his head, Zan tried to see ahead of the wagon.

But nothing!

Although the sun rose ever faster with each passing second, the forest was thick, and the semi-dark of the morning dim dominated all.

Taking a risk, Zan swung his body onto the wagon’s outside frame. He had spotted on the wagon clear iron-built handgrips; why the automotrons would build their war-wagons with handgrips when none of them had hands was beyond Zan. Nevertheless, he used them and inched his way to the driver’s seat, taking care to announce his presence before his arrival. He didn’t need the driver to think he was some new enemy or a monster, dropping on him from the trees and swatting at him.

“Hey! Just me! The dude who rescued all of you!” Zan yelled, so his voice traveled over the crunch of horses.

The man did not turn to reply but kept his eyes on the road. Good man, Zan thought. The last thing he wanted was for the whole wagon to shoot off the road and crash. The man shouted back, however, a “Nice to meet you! What do you need?!” His words were brief, so Zan did not waste his time.

“Staying up here to direct us in case danger sneaks on us!” Zan yelled, slightly weirdly.

“I can take care of us if that happens, lad! I am my village’s stable master!” the ill-shaved man spoke.

Hearing the man speak caused Zan to err on the side of embarrassment. He had been so sure of himself only for the seemingly ignorant prisoner to one-up him. Boosting his mood, though, the man said, “Thank you for the offer, lad!” Pausing, the man took a breath and said, “Sorry! Thank you for the offer, young sir! You’re no normal kid. You deserve respect for helping us out like that!”

Filled with pride, Zan had no time to enjoy the adult’s kind words. Ahead, he saw his answer to question two: what happened to the other wagons who went before?

Before them, Zan half-a-dozen or more of the wagons locked in pitch combat with the colonel and his surviving men.

And the colonel was losing.