Sorry for the wait on this one, guys. As I said in that last chapter of Whence We Came, things are super busy on my end. School, talking with army recruiters, all that junk. But I managed to sit down and make some progress on DoF, so that's good.
I'm not sure how I like this chapter, at least on my own terms. Once again, its a little short, but lots of stuff going on. Give me your opinions on this one, as it was written at an unholy hour of the night and under the influence of enough Diet Pepsi and Zipfizz to lay out an entire platoon. (Well, maybe any normal platoon. Long Patrol on the other hand...)
R&R!
The forest closed in around the small column of beasts, shrouding them in the impenetrable darkness. Trees loomed overhead, grasping and clutching at them with finger-like branches. Whatever light the moon could have offered was blocked by thick clouds, no doubt bringing rain with them. In the thick, choking gloom, every sound seemed amplified ten-fold. Every pawstep like a resounding explosion, every snapping twig like a rifle shot. The ten beasts moved with agonizing slowness, each step thought out and planned carefully. As soon as one moved forward they would stop and listen to the eerie silence, searching for anything that could give them away.
Samuel held his breath and lifted a boot, swinging it over a fallen log and setting it carefully on the other side. Thankfully, that part of the earth was covered in moss and dirt, not dry twigs. He did the same with the other leg, taking a knee once he was on the other side. All around him, beasts were making their way through the tangled mess of trees and brush. He knew that one broken branch; one step into a small bush, and it could all be over in a hail of gunfire.
Glancing over to his left, Samuel spotted Grigory. The shrew was stopped by a large sycamore tree and caught his glance. He smiled a bit, motioning forward with a paw. Samuel nodded in response, turning back to the task at hand. Ahead of him lay a seemingly endless expanse of trees, standing like silent guardians of their ancient land.
They had been moving for almost a solid hour. Nearly everybeast's muscles were aching from the long, drawn-out movements. But they all knew that it would be some time yet before a rest. So they kept walking, moving, slipping through the dew-laden night air.
Samuel had just stopped behind a large blackberry bush when a noise caught his attention. It was a short hissing noise, hardly even audible. But when he turned to the right, the otter Jones was gesturing to him with a paw. Samuel nodded, starting the painstaking process of moving across the dozen or so feet. It took nearly three full minutes before Samuel reached the corporal. The otter didn't bother with words. He used his paws to communicate.
Two fingers underneath the eyes, followed by four. I see four.
Tapping of the wrist with two fingers. Vermin.
An arching of the paw. Mortar.
Samuel's heart leapt into his throat. He responded in a similar manner. How far?
Thirty paces, straight ahead. In a clearing. Spread out, wait for the signal.
The otter was gone before Samuel could respond. With trembling paws and adrenaline coursing through his veins like battery acid, he looked back to Grigory. The shrew had seemed to understand the rushed gestures and nodded, turning to inform the others down the line. Samuel held his breath, taking another pace forward. Everything counted on their ability to stay quiet long enough to surprise the vermin. If the Rats had even a hint of contact, they would be gone like leaves on the wind.
As he put another paw down, Samuel looked up and had to suppress the urge to scream. Visible between two clumps of shrubbery, only a stone's throw away on the other side of the field, sat the vermin mortar crew. They had dug a shallow hole, just big enough for all six to rest in and fire their weapon. It was easy enough to spot, as the gunners had done a terrible job camouflaging the weapon and position. Most of it was just loose twigs and branches, with some ferns thrown in as well. But none of it was very effective. Samuel slid down to a knee, and then allowed his body to crumple onto the ground in a prone position. There was a small lump of dirt ahead of him, which stretched around the field. He slid his rifle up onto the berm, trying to adjust his sights. But it was nearly impossible in the darkness. He swore silently, shifting his body slightly in an attempt to catch the moonlight.
There was no warning, only a single, ear-splitting detonation that lit up the darkness like ten flares igniting at once. Samuel felt like he had been punched in the gut as a hail of dirt and debris came down. All he could hear was a high-pitched, keening whistle that overwhelmed even the muzzle flashes beginning to pop and spark all along the field. Samuel jerked the trigger on his weapon without even aiming. The familiar jolt of the weapon spurred him into action. He tucked the stock into his shoulder and began firing, unable to see any of the vermin themselves. The entire mortar position was nothing more than a cloud of dust, snapping tree branches, and flurry of tracers. Somebeast threw a grenade, which detonated with a loud thud and flash of light.
Samuel pulled the trigger over and over again, feeling the terror and dread start to melt away like spring snow. Every gunshot sent another surge of adrenaline through his veins, every spout of fire and smoke like a calming drug. His eyes never left the target. It was almost as if all he had to do was think, and the rifle would aim for him. It felt instinctive, like he was meant to do this. All the gunfire seemed to fade, leaving nothing but him and his rifle. Reality was condensed into a small pinhole of the target and backdrop.
It was only when the empty clip ejected with its tell-tale ping that he was forced back into reality. His fingers had just reached for a new clip when the last shots faded away, leaving nothing but the echoing report. Smoke drifted across the field, from the now-silent mortar position. It was obvious that nothing could have survived the onslaught. Two of the vermin had evidently tried to escape, and been cut down outside the dugout. The remaining bodies were strewn about the hole, some still leaning on their weapons. Even from the distance at which they sat, it was easy to spot the dark streaks of blood and mangled limbs.
Samuel's ringing ears had recovered just enough to hear a whispered hiss. He spun to the left, still flooded with excitement. Jones pointed to him and then the ground. Stay here. Without even waiting for a response, the otter turned and uttered a low whistle, waving a paw to three other beasts. They stood and began to work around the edge of the small meadow.
As they moved, Samuel realized that he was horribly exposed where he sat. The only remaining cover was a few clumps of bush and part of the berm. Most of it had been blown away by the initial explosion, whatever that had been. Checking on both sides, he could see nothing worth moving to. Until, at least, his eyes picked up a relatively intact tree-trunk to the left, big enough to conceal his frame. Some of it seemed to be dotted with shrapnel, but otherwise unharmed. Taking a breath, he pushed himself on the ground and set off at a crouched jog towards the tree, only about twenty-five paces away.
The scene around him became clearer as he moved. There was a large, smoking crater where something had gone off, but it didn't look like a mortar. The hole was too oddly shaped; looking like the explosive had detonated above and away from the ground. He actually stopped, perplexed by the strange phenomenon. But his curiosity quickly turned to dread when he noticed a figure lying on the ground near the hole.
Samuel was moving before his mind had registered the command. He skidded the last few feet on his knees, reaching the body. It was turned away from him, and the features were too vague to make out any detail. Samuel bowed his head and reached out a paw, trying to stifle the tears.
His heart almost froze when, his paw touched the apparent corpse's shoulder; it coughed and shuddered in pain. Samuel immediately leaned down and rolled the creature over, inhaling sharply when he saw the face. "Grigory, oh no, please no..."
The shrew offered a weak grin, blood trickling down his lips. "Hello, comrade..." A fit of choking coughs racked his frame, and he took a quaking breath. "...comrade Samuel. This looks like...a bad one, eh? Cursed landmines..." Samuel's eyes trailed down the shrew's body. One of his arms rested limply on his chest, while the other was mangled beyond recognition. And although they were partially covered by the dirt, he could easily tell that Grigory's legs were nothing more than stumps.
Samuel lifted his friend's head slightly, reaching for his canteen. "You'll...you'll be alright, Grigory. Just don't move too much and we can get you a..."
The shrew shook his head as another blood-choked cough shook his body. "No, Samuel. I know my fate. Please, just...just promise me one thing."
Not even realizing the sobs coursing through his frame, Samuel wiped away another trail of blood from Grigory's mouth. "Anything, friend, anything."
The shrew looked up at the night sky, letting his eyelids droop. "Tell my wife...and daughters that I...I love them very much. Good-bye, my friend, my...comrade..."
A final sigh escaped Grigory's lips, and his clouding eyes fell shut. Samuel collapsed, holding the broken body of the shrew warrior in his arms and wept like a child. All he was capable of was rocking back and forth on his knees, gasping as tears poured from his eyes. It was like a knife had been thrust into his stomach, and some sadistic beast was turning it slowly over and over. He didn't even notice when a small group of soldiers had gathered around him, taking off their helmets and wiping tears from their own eyes. It wasn't until a paw was placed on his shoulder did he look up.
Sagepaw's kind, but grief-stricken face met his. "Samuel," he whispered, just loud enough for both to hear. "I'm sorry, he's gone. We can't do anything more for him. Come on, let him go."
He looked back down to Grigory, staring at the quiet, serene expression on his face. It was like he had died in his sleep, not torn to shreds by a vermin mine. Samuel gently placed the shrew's head on the ground, remaining on his knees. Sagepaw gestured to a soldier, taking the wool blanket from his pack. He knelt next to Samuel and draped the blanket over Grigory's body. "We have to go." He said after a moment, wrapping an arm around Samuel's shoulders. "We have to get him back to the Abbey. Come on, Sammy. It's time we left here."
Sagepaw helped Samuel to his feet, gesturing silently to a few of the soldiers. They gingerly picked up the blanket-wrapped bundle and carried it between four of them as the remaining beasts began to march back to the abbey.
Not a single one of them spoke. They simply walked, with one boot in front of the other, for what felt like ages. Even the forest seemed to be lamenting. Not a single bird call, not one chirping insect broke the grief-stricken silence. A gust of wind blew through the trees, carrying with it a mournful whistle.
Dawn was already beginning to break pink and gold against the horizon by the time they reached the abbey. A few of the guards spotted the nineteen beasts returning and hurried to open the side gate. They stumbled in; body and souls weary after a night of marching and grieving. Some of the early-rising Redwallers approached, hoping to offer congratulations, but one look at the soldiers' red-ringed eyes and tear streaked faces sent most turning back to their previous tasks.
Samuel followed Grigory's body to the abbey basements, where it would be stored until a proper burial could be arranged. He watched as the corpse was lowered gently onto the cobblestone floor, still wrapped in the blanket. One of the soldiers put a paw on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, friend," the mouse said, speaking around the tears. "I truly am."
He waited until the rest were out of the room before approaching. Samuel extended a shaking paw, lifting up the blanket gingerly. Grigory's face was the same. No pain, only a lingering hint of sadness. Never to see his wife and children again, never to breathe the sweet scent of life that sSamuel was now. He felt guilty, like it should have been him under that blanket. After all, Grigory hadn't been a soldier. It wasn't his duty, his commitment to lay down his life for a greater good. Why was Samuel any better than this good-hearted shrew? Grigory had a family, somebeast to call him husband, another to call him father. Samuel had none of these things. He was just a regular creature, with nothing to offer to anybeast else.
Sinking to his knees, he couldn't hold back the tears. He wept like never before. He tried to push the agony, the fear out of him with every gasp. But nothing worked. It was still there, like a red-hot knife to the gut. Samuel collapsed, pounding a clenched fist on the stone floor until his paw was bleeding.
He heard Joseph enter, but didn't bother turning. The otter sat next to him, taking off his helmet and sighing deeply. "Samuel, I...I don't really know what t' say, other than I'm sorry. Grigory was a good beast, one o' the best. He won't be forgotten fer a long, long time."
Samuel seemed oblivious to his friend's comments, staring at the blood-spattered floor in front of him. "Why are we here?" He said, nothing more than a whisper.
Joseph didn't hear. "Sorry?"
His friend rounded on him, nearly shouting in the otter's face. "Why are we here? These aren't our homes, this isn't our war! Why are we fighting these vermin?"
Joseph stared coolly into his friend's burning eyes. "Because we're the only ones who can, Sammy. These creatures 'ave been oppressed for too long to fight back. Wouldn't you want the same, if yore home and everything dear to ye was taken?"
The ultimatum sent a bolt of lightning through his frame. Thoughts, pictures of his parents being taken captive or killed flooded his mind. Everyone he knew, forced into labor, or tortured for days until being thrown into mass graves.
Samuel had no response, only able to lean back and sink into more sobs. It was all too much; he couldn't take any more. He buried his face in his paws, huddling close to Joseph as the otter wrapped an arm around his trembling shoulders. "We'll be alright, Sammy." The otter said quietly. "Everything's gonna be alright."
