When the knocking failed to gain the attention of the enemies within, Zan pounded the door mercilessly.

Was he truly expecting the soldiers within to open the door? Not really.

Yet… maybe?

His banging caught their attention, though.

From beyond the stained-glass window, which was featured as the sole port in or out, Zan saw golems shift themselves while operating the many levers and buttons within. How did they know what to do? Zan wondered.

Continuing to bang mercilessly, eventually, Zan forced them to do something about him. At first, they tried to maneuver the machine and ‘scrap’ him off, for lack of a better term.

This proved ineffective. Zan easily held on by the handles right before the door and remained a pain in their wooden asses.

To his bliss, the automotrons did what he hoped! They opened the door!

After opening, they attempted to strike him with spears, but he expected such things to happen in war. What else would they do? Throw him a tea party?

Dodging the strikes, Zan contented himself to making an entry. Harder to do than someone might think: Zan had to hold on for dear life, dodge the spear strikes, AND draw his sword — while still holding on and dodging — and then wait for an opening to strike and enter the cockpit. Zan needed a gap in it all. One gap. That was it and he would fling himself into the driver’s seat, enduring many bodily indignities.

Zan found his gap. Whether it be a wayward calculation in their spirit-stone mind or mere mistake, eventually, the striking golems were slow enough in their strikes, Zan took up the lagging time for himself and instead of parrying a blow, dodged it and thrust himself into the cockpit. He swung his sword, did a slash, a stab, hardly thought about such trite motions, really, and before him laid two slain golems.

Elation spread through him. He felt lightheaded, but the good lightheaded.

‘He had done it!’ His mind sang his praises repeatedly in a sing-songy way. He had taken down a walker all by himself! He could finally take a seat and rest.

Zan was not in the cockpit for any longer than a moment before the panic set in; odd sounds went off in the command pit. Clearly, the machine wanted input from the drivers to maintain something in its systems.

Crap! Zan realized. How do I drive this thing?!

Obviously, he did not know, and clutching odd buttons didn’t help.

Failing multiple times to stabilize the war engine, Zan did the only thing he could do: he let it fail.

Through the simple view port, Zan saw the sun crest the horizon. The operation had lasted all night. Alas, he could not focus on the viewing port for long. Not with the treeline coming in hot and the ground hotter!

Zan braced for impact!

And boy, did that impact come with a crash.

His world spun; a chorus of broken tree limbs; his own screaming; the holding on for dear life; then Zan’s split-second decision to evict himself from the machine, flying from the war engine like a bolt in the blue; his crashing overshadowed by the siege weapon’s crash, which, in a blur, Zan saw had sent a great plume of debris. Then it was over. Audio after ripples — fragments of trees destroyed settling in the chaos; animals fleeing the devastation — spread and settled into calm. Then silence came.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

Zan evicted himself at the right moment. The War engine had tumbled close enough to the ground where once he evicted himself, the fall was merely tough bruises and pain instead of broken limbs and agony. Which he would take any day.

Slowly, Zan moved his body. He twitched his toes, fiddled his fingers. Blinked.

“Holy crappola… wicked,” Zan said, slowly rising.

A chime in his ear. “Zan, are you okay? We’ve been picking up elevated heartbeat and hormonal outputs,” the Screen Master whispered.

Zan pressed the tiny button to send a reply. “Yeah. I’m fine. I am now… had an encounter with one of those giant four-legged walker war engines. Like the one over the command center before it was uncovered. It’s destroyed now. All gone.”

“Excellent to hear. Continue to do well and be brave, Zan.”

The message ended and Zan returned to thinking of what he survived.

Turning, Zan saw a figure in the distance.

Darkness still consumed everywhere despite the rising run. Squinting, though, and walking a bit toward the figure, Zan figured the figure was Jiehong. Who else would it be?

Letting the figure gain distance, Zan saw the man was, in fact, Jiehong, but he had in toe… Whiskey? Or maybe…

Returning in the direction he came, Zan sought his bike while his battle buddies caught up to him. Not like he expected to find it so easily, of course. It had to be further back, Zan reasoned. He did not know how long he spent climbing the walker. With the rising sun and the allies returning to him, Zan reasoned it had to be at least an hour or longer before he was aboard, trying to fell it.

Before finding his bike, his companions caught up with him. It was Jiehong and Colonel Winters, with none of his men.

“You’re a crazy son of a gun, son!” Colonel Winters exclaimed with the vigor of a man half his age.

“I could say!” Jiehong joined in on the praise. “I thought you were crazy for even attempting it. Or said so as a joke? No, though! You actually did it! Wild, buddy — wild!”

Taken aback with the praise, especially from Jiehong, Zan blushed. “Thanks, guys. Just doing my part.”

“Please, boy! Don’t be so modest. What you did tonight is extraordinary! Take pride in it and use your victories to your advantage,” the Colonel said.

Zan continued to blush. He said, “Sure. Force of habit,” then laughed. Lightly.

“Okay,” Zan said, continuing. “What is the status? Where is Whiskey?”

Colonel Winters picked up the slack and told Zan, “Whiskey is back with her deplorable rebel camp. Worry not, lad. The operation was a success. My men are clearing out the final outposts now. I won’t lie — when I saw that walker, I thought we would have to withdraw, send a pigeon for help. I should have known no such thing would need to be done with you on our side! Incredible, Zan! Just incredible…”

The Colonel continued to sing Zan’s praises for the duration of the way back to their operations camp. While walking back, Zan found his bike. On his transportation, the way back went a lot faster, though he rode on the back of the Colonel’s horse for a while. It felt good for Zan to let his legs rest. Although his arms — holding on tight to the Colonel — had no rest.

Back at camp, the Colonel asked, “Is there anything I can do for you boys before I return to Thundervale? Escort you anywhere?”

Zan and Jiehong looked at each other. Shrugged. Zan said, “I think we’ll be fine. I am going back to Feathervale. Have unfinished business with Whiskey.”

“Trying to get her to join your Order?” Winters asked.

“Trying. She ain’t making it easy,” Zan replied.

“Keep at it. Women are fickle creatures, Zan. Remember that!” Winters said with a laugh. Jiehong rolled his eyes. Zan didn’t believe that himself, but what could you do when a member of a certain generation just had to share their strange thoughts on women with you?

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Remembering suddenly the messenger, Zan said, “Oh. Before I forget. While on operation, I discovered a prisoner.”

“A prisoner? What do you mean? The Expanse took a sole prisoner?”

“Yeah. A messenger. I found him huddled in some strange goop in one of the huts. I freed him, of course. He went on his way.”

“It is rare for the Expanse to take individual prisoners. They like taking whole communities as prisoners. More bargaining power… did the messenger say why he would risk the journey alone?” Winters asked, highly intrigued by what Zan had to say.

Zan made a motion like he did not know. “Something about taking a letter from one noble to another? Gallant to Talent? Or maybe it was the reverse? Something like that… he said his lord direly needed military help.”

Watching as Colonel Winters became agitated, Zan wondered what he could do to help. Realistically, though, the answer was ‘nothing.’ What could Zan do to help? Besides, not every problem was his problem.

“Thank you for telling me this, Zan. I must be off to Thundervale right away. Excuse me!” the Colonel spoke, then sped off.

“Odd man,” Jiehong said.

“I don’t think ‘odd.’ Just frazzled,” Zan replied.

“Regardless, what now? I need to sleep. Shall we return to Feathervale or get back on our bikes and ride to Thundervale and catch up with the Colonel?”

Zan thought about it, but the decision was clear. “To Feathervale.”