Soul at War (12 page)

I began
to walk back, keeping my eyes on the forest as ARC forces began to
move ready to assault again. A dozen more shells landed behind us
and the men of the north wall seemed fixated with them.

"Ignore
them, lads. They clearly can't shoot straight," I said, just as one
landed a hundred metres from them, spraying them with mud and clods
of grass. They started to panic again. "Look out, here come our
boys."

The
mortar crew moved into position in pre-dug holes, six in total.
These mortars were a little more powerful than the conventional
type, packing a heavier charge and a more dependable launcher.
Something had to be said for the equipment the ARC industrial
planets were producing.

"Mortar
crew, Shap."

"Shap
receiving. Go ahead."

"Mortar
crew in position, ready to launch. Confirm location please." Before
I could answer, another voice signed on.

"Brand,
Mortar crew. Distance two-point-six clicks, location
two-eight-three degrees north, wind minimal."

"Mortar
crew, Brand. Received." Brand of course had a much better view and
a keener eye for distance than me. A Sniper's skill. After a few
moments the air was filled with the thuds of the mortars as they
slung shell after shell into the air and over our heads. The
violent conversation carried on for twelve minutes, but already the
damage could be seen. In the forest, fires were rising up above the
canopy and some of the muzzle flashes had ceased.

"Burns,
Shap."

"Shap
receiving, go ahead."

"South
forest sees troop movement."

"Phillips, Burns."

"Burns
receiving."

"West
w... s.... ARC tr..pers inbo..d."

"Burns,
Phillips, repeat. Over."

"West
wall sees movement on horizon, four clicks."

"Burns
received. Give 'em hell."

The
north wall was struck again, just as a formation of light fighter
craft crested the horizon from the north east. A line of tanks
backed up by APC's were advancing across the field and the men had
no choice but to get down behind the wall as the craft swooped by
overhead.

They
came in low, blasting the wall with streams of tracer fire. Three
on my right went down screaming and another two were caught by
stone fragments and dropped clutching their bloodied faces. As soon
as they'd passed by I gave the order to stand but the wall shook
again - the tanks were close enough and were aiming higher this
time. The firing post on my left exploded and I fell face down
landing badly on my weapon. The pain in my ribs was terrible, but I
was able to stumble back onto my feet and I clutched the wall for
strength.

"FIRE AT
WILL!"

More
volunteers rushed to fill the places of dead men, adding their fire
power to the rest. From his commanding rampart, Wulfgar sent rocket
after rocket into the spaced out line of tanks, most of his shots
making good hits. Some went wide and blasted the already scarred
ground.

Then
from one of the command post buildings I saw slivers of light cut
through the haze of cordite, Brand's contribution to the melee. I
saw one of her well-aimed shots pass through the open hatch of a
reckless vehicle as it strafed across her field of fire. It spun
out of control, rolling onto its side and spilling its human
contents into the chaos. Some lived only a few seconds before being
cut down by the frantic fire.

My ears
suddenly stung with the shriek of the fighter craft as they made
for another pass, two short after the anti-air defense had dealt a
punishing blow. I ordered the men back and down behind the rear
wall, but six were torn apart as the craft banked hard and opened
up with everything they had. As they turned to make another sweep,
two guided rockets caught up with them and felled one in a
brilliant show of blue light and heat, the wreckage falling down
into the forest and setting the dry vegetation alight.

Then we
were up again and firing down at the troops ejecting from the
APC's. Most were carrying large cases, most likely highly volatile
explosives to weaken the wall. They were designed to generate an
exothermic reaction, one that wouldn't just blow up the wall, but
weaken the supports inside with intense heat. It was a suicide
mission on their part, but they also knew we could risk detonating
the bombs with our own grenades.

I
directed the men's fire down onto them, calling up one of the few
flame units we had on the digi-com. With tanks strapped to his
back, Green came jogging up the wall.

"Afternoon, Shap," he said chirpily. "Good day for it." His
bizarre sense of humour was all but refreshing.

"Time
for a barbecue." I said, leading him to the wall. He leaned over,
me grabbing his belt for support and emptied the tanks down onto
the ARC troopers while the others continued to fire. The heat from
the flame unit wouldn't be enough to set off the explosives and as
the screams rose up with the smell of burning flesh I yanked him
upright again.

"Glad I
could help," he said, unbuckling the spent bottles and hurling them
over the wall. "Catch you later." He began to run back down the
wall just as the remaining craft were making a final pass. The men
fell back without orders and as I got my head down the world became
a swirling mess of stone chips and burning flesh. Three to the
right had their legs blasted by the attack; a fourth fell down
gargling blood as the hole in his neck opened up. From where we
were we saw the anti-air crew open up, rockets chasing after the
ships like wild animals. One went down in a spiral, slewing into
the ground. Another swung right and crashed into the tree line. The
third nose-dived and horrifically slammed into the remains of the
landing pad where a unit of reserves were waiting. Flames licked up
from the site and I felt my heat sink. Over twenty men had been
waiting there to bolster the southern wall. Now they were dead
before they'd even started. I could sense the men were as morally
crushed as I was.

As we
stood up, the enemy forces were in retreat. At the base of the wall
the suicide squad had failed to plant any of the explosives, which
was a victory in itself. But we didn't feel victorious. The dead
were lying amongst the shattered stonework, their blood pooling
where the drains ran it to a down pipe and into the fields below.
Those lucky enough to have survived with serious wounds were
already being carted away by civilian volunteers, most likely to
the university medical wing. That made me think about Rebecca and I
wondered where she was, either in the church, or helping the
wounded. My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the
digi-com.

"Burns,
Shap."

"Shap
receiving, go ahead."

"Enemy
in retreat at south wall. Stand by."

"Shap
received. Standing by."

"Phillips, Burns."

"Burns
receiving."

"Enemy
in retreat, west gate."

"Burns
received. Stand by." It looked like we'd repelled them. For
now.

CHAPTER 11

The sun
was setting when I was relieved from the north wall. Eric Titus
greeted me at the base of the ladder as I climbed down.

"How are
you doing?" He asked, his uniform covered in grey dust.

"Fine,
but the lads look a little shaken, they could do with some rest," I
replied.

"I'll
relieve them once I've been allocated some more men." I turned to
go, the command centre looking more and more appealing.

The
command centre was relatively quiet as I climbed the stairs to the
temporary billets. I passed a number of volunteers heading the
other way, most likely to relieve the north wall. They tried to
smile, some waved, but most just marched past with blank faces,
faces already resigned to their fate. When I found a free bunk I
unbuckled my boots, slid out of my chest rig and led back on the
hard mattress. My mind whirled with the whole day, replaying scenes
over and over again from different angles, different perspectives.
I thought about those who'd fallen, those who'd been carried away
with horrendous injuries. I could still smell the thick odour of
scorched human flesh and it clung to the inside of my nose and
wouldn't go away. I felt my ribs and winced at the tenderness.
Under my shirt I found a little swelling and bruising, but nothing
serious, probably just a cracked rib where the stock of the machine
gun had slammed into it.

I slept
fitfully, dreaming of the end. It played itself over and over.
Sometimes I died alone, sometimes surrounded by troops, sometimes
shot, sometimes crushed under stone. In the end I woke up and led
there staring at the bunk above me until I drifted off again, only
to repeat the torment.

The
third time I found myself led on my side and as my eyes adjusted to
the darkness I noticed a shape kneeling beside me. I sat up and
flicked a switch for an overhead reading lamp. The pale white light
cast itself on the kneeling form of Karen Brand.

"Brand?"
I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "What's wrong?" When she
looked up her eyes were red raw and her cheeks stained with dry
tears.

"I don't
want to die."

"None of
us do, so we must try to stay strong and survive another four days.
Help will come." I swung my legs over the edge of the bunk and sat
there, elbows resting on my knees, head bowed.

"All my
life I've watched death through the scope. All this time I've been
so far away from it all. But now I can see it without the scope -
it's right there in front of me and now I'm in its sights. I'm the
target.”

She
looked down at her rifle and I wondered if she was capable of being
more than three feet from it. Had she become so engrossed in her
internal struggle that her only anchor to reality was in that piece
of steel and plastic? Or had her life been halted prematurely by
parents who forced their little girl into military service too
early?

“True. I
can't give you some tale about how we're going to get out of this
or how it's all part of some divine plan. Or that even in death
things will get better. I don't have a false hope for you. But all
I do know is that I’ve been here before. I've survived because me
and the people around me didn't give up. Those that did are dead
now.”

“How do
you not give up?” she asked through broken sobs.

“Keep
asking that question and you'll find out.”

Eventually she smiled, wiped away the tears and together we
stood up.

"Thank-you," she said. "Sometimes I just need to vent some of
the stuff that’s built up. Call it therapy."

"Hell,
we all need to sometimes."

"Maybe
I'll return the favour one day."

"I hope
you never have to."

*

As dawn
broke I found myself on the wall again, though this time I was
surveying the damage done to the western gate. Although the attack
here had been less concentrated than the north, the main entrance
and exit to Dothon had suffered. The two metre thick doors had been
hit with a successful suicide bomb and the outer skin had fused in
a molten heap that dribbled down to the ground. Joined permanently,
they would never open again but they had been significantly
weakened.

"The
early bird eh?" said a voice from behind me. I turned and saw Tekoa
walking his patrol line.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Me
neither. Green and Walker though - out like a light and snoring
away in the billet."

"That's
typical." He came and stood next to me, whistling low as he looked
at the doors.

"Those
bombs of theirs are quite nasty, aren't they? I sent a team out to
retrieve the ones left at your side of the fence. Quite a piece of
work. I thought I might as well out them to good use." I looked at
him, puzzled. "Oh you'll see. Wouldn't want to spoil the
surprise."

The
bodies of the ARC troops lay rotting in the early sun. Large black
birds swooped down and plucked strands of muscle and skin from the
bones, carrying them away in their shimmering silvery beaks. I
noticed that there were no weapons or belts on the corpses,
probably retrieved by Tekoa and his men.

"What a
way to die," I muttered but he must have heard me.

"There's
worse ways, Shap. I've been listening to some of the civilians;
they've been sharing their horror stories with us. Friends and
families taken while working the farms, coming back in pieces
dropped from the air to terrify them, blood dropping like rain onto
the city. Seeing those bodies out there makes me feel robbed of
some kind of justice, like maybe they should have suffered
more."

"That
would be a waste of resources,” I said coldly.

"I
suppose.”

"Peace
is the largest cause of war in my opinion.”

"Is that
some kind of Zen shit?” Tekoa said.

“Possibly. Sounds smart doesn't it?” We laughed.

As we
stood gazing over the edge, lost in our own thoughts, there was
movement from the tree line to the west. Tekoa, binos swinging on a
cord round his neck, lifted them to his eyes and surveyed the
forest.