09/14/22
Many thanks to my friend Pt35, who puts up with my constant excuses and somehow manages to give valuable insight. Thanks also goes to everyone reading and reviewing this story – your viewership helps give me the motivation to keep writing. Stay awesome folks.
0400
2nd August 5,015.
Orwen.
"Somers?" asked Starling.
"In the flesh, sir," he deadpanned.
It wasn't the Somers Kyde remembered. Open cuts covered almost every inch of his body, and instead of his usual business face he wore a grim frown, one fang peeking out beneath his upper lip, each step taking him exactly where he wanted to go. Blood covered his wings and shoulders – mauve splashes of it so dark they could only be wasp blood, and bright red ichor seeping from the multudinous gashes and cuts on his muscular form. His talons shook minutely – post-combat jitters.
"I've got a tagalong behind me," Somers continued, "don't lay a talon on him, he's delicate."
"Alright," said Starling. "Stand down, Robin." The soldiers around them lowered their spears, but their eyes still scanned the night.
Somers craned his head to look behind him. "You can come on out now. It's safe."
A four-winged dragon emerged behind Somers, and Kyde brandished her weapon before even thinking about it. "Stay back!"
"He helped me break out," said Somers, "he's on the level. And he's not a hive."
She realized he was right. The new arrival was too thin and colorful to be one of the wasps. He looked thin, his shoulder bones gaunt beneath the dry, cracked scale. He didn't look like an adult either. "What is he then?" said Starling.
"Beats me. The wasps take his kind for slaves."
"Where's Griff?" questioned Starling.
"Gone," said Somers. His eyes glistened. "Just. Gone."
Starling's brow sunk. "Where were you?"
"The tower," said Somers. "I killed their commanding officer and scrammed less than an hour ago. We were captured – ratted out by one of our own, the toad. Killed him as the black-and-yellow faces of some of the guards until they turned black and blue." He paused. "I'm getting this all out of order but -"
"I understand," said Starling. He locked eyes with Somers, silently lending him a shoulder to lean on. "Can you still fight?"
"I'm fine," said Somers, though he'd lost enough blood to make a Skywing feel light-headed. "Trust me, I'm fine. I'll see this through. Where's Falke?"
"…"
"Oh," he said. It was all he really could say. The conversation died, and all became silent save for the constant chatter of the marsh frogs.
"It's confirmed then," said Starling. "We'll give the Seawing plan a shot. Cowslip, inform Sergeant Snipe that we are resuming the offense. If we can push them back into that tower, we can get the most effect out of the new Seawing weapon."
"Sir, yes sir."
"Even if burning the tower doesn't kill them, it might smoke out the hives," said Starling. "Sergeant, stay here for the moment."
"Yes sir," said Robin.
Meanwhile, Somers stared off into space, tense. Finally his attention snapped back to Starling. "And I, sir?"
"You'll be fighting here with us," said Starling. "Our liaison will inform the sergeants of our plans."Funny he'd say that, thought Kyde, given Crab and Lou wanted to see him.
"Aye sir," said Somers.
Starling turned to a Skywing standing with Sergeant Robin's group. "Red, double-time it over to Lou and tell him we're preparing to push the wasps back into the tower. Any help he can lend would be good, we need to get the most out of our surprise attack. We'll tell him when we're ready. Got that?"
"Got it, lieutenant," said the Skywing. "You learn to have a good memory in this line of work." Leave it to the Skywings to have dragons trained in liaison duty. Kyde was more used to Mudwing commands, where the officers just grabbed anyone available for the odd tasks. Who cared if the guy wasn't qualified? He'd just learn on the job.
She pointed to the four-winged foreigner Somers had brought along. "What are we doing with him?"
"Quintain?" asked Somers, "leave him out of the way for now. He helped get me out of the tower, I don't want to see him killed."
"Can he speak the language?"
"Hell if I know, deal with it," said Somers. "He's not stupid."
"Looks strange to me," said Cowslip. "Be back in a few."
"See ya champ," said Deere. Cowslip beat his wings and leaped into the sky, vanishing over one of the buildings in a moment. Commotion descended into the camp as Starling began giving orders.
"This is a scouting run, so nothing foolhardy," he ordered. "Robin's wing will be divided into recon flights. Meanwhile, Falke's men will be attached to Snipe's wing and perform scouting in force. Recon! You are looking for civilians, not the enemy. If you are engaged by wasp elements, blind them with fire and withdraw to Snipe immediately so we can take care of it; we're roughing it until the Skywings drop in with some support. Again, we're not looking for a big fight, just putting on pressure. Any questions?"
"What about civilians?" asked Robin. "Is there any risk to Mudwings that around the tower when the Seawings go in for their strike?"
"They don't say," said Starling. "Queen knows they've got up to shady stuff before, but they only mention a fifty-yard standoff range for best safety. Hopefully they can keep this stuff contained. The mission I'm giving us is just putting on a little pressure before the big show, understood?"
"Yep," said Robin.
"Good. You'll be explaining it to Snipe when he gets here. And remember, ID your targets."
"Sir, yes sir."
Sergeant Snipe's men arrived, almost a full wing of soldiers kitted out with carrying pouches, borrowed harnesses, spears, wasp javelins and about a dozen other bits of gear. One of them wore a wasp officer's silver hexagonal crest, perhaps a souvenir from the 28thor even tonight. They dropped to the ground with a long series of thumps, each dragon flaring precisely over his landing spot save private Squirrel, who lost grip on the dirt and had to lean on a fellow soldier for support. Kyde's lips twisted. Squirrel. It was wrong to wish death on a companion, but few men would complain if the ornery private happened to get his block knocked off somewhere.
Sergeant Robin crossed over to Snipe to discuss the plan, whilst Somers led Quintain over to a nearby building.
"Just hang out in there till I come back, bud," he said. "Wouldn't do you any good to run into the Seawings and get yourself killed, huh?"
The dragon nodded. What were they supposed to call his kind anyway – Bluewing, Greenwing, Lacewing? Kyde snorted at that last thought. Still, she felt concerned for Somers. Too many good dragons became hollow shells after they lost someone, or succumbed to the desire for revenge. He was a good guy, she thought. He didn't deserve everything that had happened to him.
"Oh, thank the moons there's a well," said Deere. Starling had picked a good place to convene; the street had a stone casement over to one side, with a trapdoor and pulley for taking up water.
"Fill your canteens, don't waste it," she said. "Wash your faces later."
"I'm not washing no face," said Deere, "Just need a drink is all."
"A drink you say," said another dragon. "What's this, water?"
"Only water," sniffed grunted but said nothing; better the men goof off a little than stew over the casualties they'd recently suffered. The burly Deere relented under her stare. "Alright alright, just joking." He hoisted up the bucket, filled his canteen and tapped on the lid.
The men would perform far better given a few minutes to refresh, rather than being thrown straight back into the action. The hives must've figured they were outmatched, and hunkered down in defensive positions while they waited for reinforcements to arrive. It would be common sense to send out messengers under cover of darkness – although with the Skywing patrols overhead and Seawing night vision, those messengers might never escape.
"Everyone ready?" asked Starling.
"Sir, yes sir," said Kyde.
"Alright, just like we discussed," said Starling. He glanced at Somers, still doubting the soldier's capability at a time like this. Somers held his lieutenant's gaze, until the el-tee looked away, his eyes gliding from dragon to dragon. "Take it safe, I don't want to lose any more tonight."
"Aye sir," said Robin.
"Yessir."
"Aye," said Kyde.
One more sortie in a long, long life of sorties. It felt normal to creep down the dreary, narrow streets; normal to uncover the broken body of a wasp, shattered by his precipitous fall from the sky; normal to witness the squat buildings bowled over, their walls crumbling where dragons had torn them down during the melee.
"Boy, when did our lives get so grim?" she muttered.
"Think of the hives right now," countered Deere, as he trotted along the rooftops. "Surrounded, outnumbered, caught by an attack that they didn't see coming."
"They deserve it."
"For sure," said Deere. He glanced over at Somers, just getting ready to head deeper into town with Robin's wing. "Buddy-boy's got a grudge and joe stinger won't like it."
"As long as he doesn't get killed."
"He'll make it," said Deere. "He always has."
A few yards ahead, Starling held up a fist and the unit ground to a halt. He raised two talons and pointed them forwards: point and flank guards peered out at the dark expanse of the village and the moor, their forms fuzzily visible with the light of the stable-fire illuminating their backs. Starling waved a few forward and Kyde crept up with them. More of the oddly-colored, four-winged dragons like Quintain scurried back and forth between the tower and several of the Mudwing flats nearby, while wasps goaded them on. They had lit the square with a single, dim lamp that burned without the distinctive flicker of real flame.
Suddenly the cloud cover broke, and Kyde noticed several more guards in the flats, their stripes like a paintinginthe pale light of oncoming dawn. A wing's worth of archers crowded beneath an awning, whilst dragons carried satchels full of scrolls and dumped them onto a pile outside.
"Looks like they're burning papers," said Starling. Their loss, Kyde thought; it wasn't as if Mudwings could read them.
"Hey, check that out," whispered a soldier. "That guy looks like an officer, can you tell?" One of the enemy waspsstood apart from the rest; he had a patch on his shoulder, but instead of a silver lining like on Snipe's souvenirs, the metal glistened like gold. Every so often he would bark orders to the dragons working around him.
Starling leaned over. "Officer for sure," he confirmed, his deep voice struggling to be discreet. "Who can make the shot?"
With only captured blowpipes for weapons, the Mudwings would've struggled to hit a target at thirty yards, much less an officer halfway down the street, with a noticeable breeze beginning to clear away the fog. It was a shot that would've made even a Sandwing crossbow archer hesitate.
"I can try, sir," said Deere. "Best to have everyone shoot at once, so it'll stick."
"We can't get a whole company lined up on the roof without them noticing," said Starling, noticing how every other soldier in Snipe's wing had somehow got their talons on a blowpipe. "Just the best shooters."
"That's me," said a soldier from Snipe's wing. "Corpsman's good too."
Soon they had three dragons lining up for a shot, including Deere.
"Ammo, anyone got ammo?"
"A few," said Snipe. "Don't cut yourself, you'll feel like shit." They passed around the darts; each one came wrapped in a strange, oddly stiff silk material wrapped around the sides, which slid off as the archers thumbed the dart into the muzzle of the pipe.
"Ready," said Starling, his voice a bit louder for clarity. "Aiiim." Deere took a deep breath, steading his muscles. "Fire!"
Black blurs shot away from the Mudwings and instantly vanished from Kyde's sight; she quickly turned her eyes downrange and saw nothing – suddenly a dragon roared.
"Missed him!" cried Deere.
"You hit the wrong one," observed Snipe, as one of the wasp overseers reeled, his comrades fleeing to the buildings as fast as their legs could carry them. "They know we're here now."
"A little popbow like this one probably didn't do any damage," said the corpsman. "Just buries itself a couple inches in Mudwing flesh, it does."
The wasp tried to drag himself into cover, but he had a limp, and it only got worse as they watched. Soon his back legs went out from under him and he had to drag himself forwards, blood spilling onto the mud far in excess of what usually came out of such a small wound.
"Where'd you hit him?" asked Snipe, a little incredulous at the damage the small round had done.
"Dunno," said Deere. Suddenly they heard a hiss and a long dart shattered on the brick just below Deere's neck. "Duck!" he said, diving preemptively as the wing of enemy archers lined up on 305th's location.
She dropped out of sight just before the first half-volley sailed into the place she'd just occupied, long slivers shattering this way and that, skimming off walls or lodging inches deep in the walls.
"Can't argue with that," she said.
"They chasing?" asked Starling.
"They look pissed as hell but no," said Deere, "bet they won't leave their cozy spot. Probably thinking it's a trap to lure them out."
"Usually the correct assumption," said Starling, "but if the Seawings deliver on their promise then there will be no safe place for the poor bastards."
The wind picked up, cool air blowing from the brightening skies to the , Kyde heard the flapping of wings above. She looked up, seeing the entirety of Klondike's Seawings arriving overhead, blue as blue could be in the waxing light before the sunrise. "Is Starling here?" asked Klondike.
"You're talking to him!" shouted up Starling, "now get down here before you get shot."
"Shot!?" asked Klondike.
A volley of darts whistled through the air and the Seawings landed post-haste, Cowslip with them. "Glad you've agreed to the operation," said Klondike, talking business. "Are all your forces outside the standoff distance?"
"Standoff distance? If you mean the fifty yards than yes, the wasps wouldn't even let our boys get that close," said Starling.
"It's more like a hundred yards upwind and two-hundred downwind, just to be sure," said Klondike. Kyde did a bit of quick thinking. A zone that big would reach outside the town to the south, and cover a good fraction of the interior, much more than they expected.
"Permission to speak, sirs," said SergeantSnipe.
"Granted," remarked Starling.
"Is there any danger to Mudwing civilians in buildings closer to the tower than that range?" asked the sergeant, repeating Robin's concerns.
"It's safer outside the standoff distance than within," hedged Klondike. "But it's getting close on dawn; the longer we wait here, the greater the chance that enemy reinforcements will come along and we'll all be down shit cave without a lamp."
"You want to risk casualties on a chance?"
"A small chance," said Klondike, eyes looking anywhere but Starling's. "Our forces are making preparations for the drop now. You have – at most – fifteen minutes."
"Understood," said Starling, the tips of his wings fluttering in the rising breeze."We'll stay here and keep the enemy from escaping the blaze."
"I'm just here to prevent any mixups, and return your soldier," said Klondike.
"Private Cowslip, reporting for duty," said Cowslip, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed despite the all-nighter.
"Thanks," said Starling, ignoring Cowslip. "Are you Seawings leaving after the strike, then?"
"Yes."
Sometime during the morning the whispering breeze had become a brisk windout of the north, and now it ruffled her wings and chilled her limbs. It whisked away the fog which had permeated the town, only thin tendrils of mist remaining in the distant ditches and treeline, rays of sunlight beaming through them as the sun's disk edged above the horizon.
"There they are," called Klondike, pointing at a Seawing formation coming in over the treetops from the north.
It looked like they had two wings worth of soldiers, thirty or thirty-two dragons in all with barrels slung on their bellies and a single soldier bringing up the rear with two torches. It reminded Kyde of the Sandwing flechette boxes from the seccession war, and she wondered if this was really some new wonder-weapon or a hyped up version of Burn's operational failures. The Seawings swept over the north side of town at a few hundred feet, letting the barrels fall. They hit the ground and shattered, the pale liquid inside splashing like water as the krump finally reached Kyde's ears.
"Boy, they're sure dropping from high up," Cowslip remarked. Some of the ammunition had gone wide, drifting far south of the target.
"Probly afraid of getting shot," said Kyde.
"Should've flown in at ground level, then the wasps wouldn't see em coming," said Cowslip. "They're just wasting ammo."
The last soldier dropped his torches, and ran.
It tumbled end over end as it fell, and hit the ground out of sight.
"Dud," pronounced Cowslip, wrinkling his nose as a harsh smell drifted through the air. "Duuuuud."
Flames sprouted near the base of the wasp's tower, licking eagerly at its base. "There's fire," she said, "Like a brush fire."
Cowslip scoffed. "Doubt it'll do much. Dud."
But the fire grew, the first puff of thick, black smoke roiling up from the street. It grew unnaturally fast, sheets of flame suddenly running up the nearest buildings, on the rooftops and the tower, a tower she now realized was made of wood. The first screams started echoing from the enemy positions, wasps heading towards the blaze, wasps trying to fly away and failing, their wings melted down from the blaze.
"Dud," she deadpanned, the soldiers' gallows humor turning to awe as they watched the wasp figures racing this way and that, dwarfed by the pillars of smoke rising to the sky.
"Here comes another wave," said Starling, this time pointing out four flights of Skywings coming in towards the blaze.
"We wait till they start fighting the blaze, then we drop another load on them," said Klondike. "Gets more of em that way."
A few wasps broke cover from the buildings and shot up into the air, but there were more Skywing patrols waiting overhead, a wing of dragons dropping down on the disorganized runners and spearing them to the quick. The wind changed direction as the blaze bloomed ever higher; though a moment ago it had blown from the north, now it shifted towards the blaze, the breeze hitting her back. Spurts of flame erupted from the rippling fire when the next barrels burst, and the Skywings above beat a hasty retreat.
"How long does it burn?" asked Starling.
"Fifteen minutes or so," said Klondike. He pointed out the wasps dragging casualties away from the fire, figures dancing because of the broiling heat. They fell one by one, dropping to the ground even though only the smoke had reached them.
Suddenly a wing-sized of wasps decided they had had enough and broke away from the tower, flying low to the buildings before the Skywing patrols noticed them, and right towards 305th. "Enemy group incoming!" she reported, but Starling had already seen it.
"Weapons ready," he ordered, his voice calm. "They'll surrender if they have any sense."
She clutched her spear tighter. The wasps' orange-to-black stripes matched the flames behind them, fleeting beauty contrasting with her dread. There were fifteen or eighteen of them, some with weapons and some without.
"Halt!" shouted Starling. The wasps lowered their spears and kept coming, their hum growing to a deafening buzz as the Seawing guard braced their bucklers. And what a funny thing, Kyde thought, that they always charged right into the line of-
The wasps sprung above ground level at the last second and dropped down on the Mudwings' heads, over the tips of their spears. OW! All of a sudden a snarling dragon slammed into her back and she rolled, dropping her weapon as her back legs raked his stomach and he slashed at her with razor-sharp claws. She shrieked and the last bit of fire sputtered out, enough to blind him, enough for her to grab a hold of him and punch once, twice, three times with sharpened claws, then push him away so she could snatch her spear.
His tail lashed out, biting deep into her flank as her trusty iron speartip buried itself in his heart.
She spat on his living body and looked around, her leg already stinging from the poison.
I'll shrug it off like the darts, she thought, I hope.
Three wasps went after Somers, two bounding towards his flanks while another lunged at the outnumbered soldier, who backpedaled towards her. She stumbled to his aid, talons covered in gore, heart beating a mile a minute.
The one on the left saw her and stopped before he impaled himself on her spear, but ugly number two flew right over her, letting her reach up and yank at his lowest leg. The two almost went airborne and then the wasp crashed down over her shoulder, spinning into a dirt wall with a crunch, his hind leg pierced by a protruding shard of broken bone.
She whirled back to the first opponent as he bore down inside her guard. He fended off Kyde's grasp and went for her throat, roaring as the two grappled for control – a grapple she started losing as his claws crept towards her neck. Suddenly Kyde gave way, pulling him over top as she kicked up with her hind legs and raked deep cuts into his belly, then slashed upward with her front legs into one of his arteries.
Kyde fumbled for her spear, finding the broken-legged wasp crawling towards it – it must've thought she would be tied up long enough for it to stab her in the back.
"Not today," she muttered,reaching for his neck.
He gasped, trying to pull away – too little too late.
Snap.
And the wasp knew no more.
She felt woozy, head starting to swim as she dragged her feet towards the embattled Somers. Funny. The blood loss usually didn't kick in until a little later.
Meanwhile, Somers had a fight on his talons. He could throw each wasp around like a toy, but every time he attacked the other dragon darted into his guard and he had to deflect: a poisoned barb misdirected with a lash of his tail; gnashing fangs driven away by an uppercut. The enemy didn't react to the Mudwings closing in behind them, didn't flee from the overwhelming odds. Fanatics, all of them.
Cowslip reached Somers before Kyde did, choking out a wasp from behind. Then the rest of the Mudwings fell upon the other, killing him.
"Is that all?" asked Somers, striding towards the wasp Cowslip had wrestled down.
The enemy kicked and bit, lashing its tail at Cowslip while the bigger Mudwing stomped it into the dirt.
Somers slashed the enemy's neck, letting the blood flow.
"I'll put him out of his misery," said Cowslip.
"Let him bleed, they die slower that way," said Somers. His head snapped towards Kyde, teeth bared before he recognized her and pulled them back. "Hey nav, you alright?"
"I'm alright," she slurred. "Got nicked but it ain't too bad."
Cowslip cantered over, catching her as her legs crumpled underneath her. She… just didn't feel like standing up right now. "She's got a sting in her shoulder – real nasty -"
Somers shouted "Corpsman! We've got a sting here!"
"What!?" shouted Stringer, the older medic rushing over with the pouch of wrappings he had somehow managed to hold onto all this time. He looked over Kyde. "That ain't good."
"You got anything?"
"Sandwing venom cure helps. Here, put her down. Don't get your blood up, soldier."
"I'll be up in a minute," insisted Kyde.
"You're not going anywhere right now," said Stringer, ignoring the sticky ichor oozing out of the dozen cuts scoring her body. Those were minor. "Drink this," he said, producing a corked wine bottle full of black liquid.
"Tastes like cow piss," grumbled Kyde, but she gulped it down anyway, grimacing at the sour, acrid taste of cactus juice. "What a riot."
Somers stepped away from Kyde, trusting the corpsman to do the best he could. She tossed her head, murmuring as Stringer cleansed the dark, grisly gouge on her flank, picking out splinters with thumb and foretalon.
Lt. Starling strode towards them. "How is she? We've got other casualties but this looks like the worst."
"She's badly injured and barely lucid," Stringer said, "Anyone got water?"
"Sure," said Cowslip, tossing his canteen to Stringer. "Who's in charge of Falke's wing now, el-tee?"
"You."
Cowslip looked at the lieutenant, then to Somers. "Sorry."
"No need," said Somers, "I don't have that much seniority over you anyway."
"You'll be taking orders from him regardless," said Starling. "Don't hesitate."
"Yes sir," said Somers, suppressing the knot of anger in his heart. After the sergeants, he was the most experienced guy in the unit; older now than his colonel had been when the army formed 305th during the darkest days of the succession war. EitherStarling didn't trust him to lead, or he'd passed him over out of pity.
"We'll wait for the fire to burn down a bit more, then go in and inspect the aftermath," said the lieutenant. "It looks… messy."
"There won't be much left," said Cowslip, eyeing the dying blaze. "Let's just hope they didn't torch our own guys."
It would be much better if they found the wasps' capital and burned it, thought Somers. Then they wouldn't have to worry about civilian casualties. His fist clenched. Or they could go in and kill them off, one by one by one.
"It's mostly died out," said Starling, "One big flare and then it's out. Grab your spears and we'll go."
"High risk of death, dubious allies and no hazard pay? Sign me up," said Cowslip.
"Killing wasps is its own reward," said Somers, stretching his wings. "You heard the boss, let's move."
And what else is left for me?' he thought.
"Will we take prisoners for interrogation, sir?" asked Cowslip.
"This is a cleanup run, no need to get sentimental," said Lieutenant Starling. "I doubt they'd give us anything, they're fanatics."
"Not even if we asked nicely, pretty please. Rude," said Cowslip.
Somers doubted Scarlet and her milliard of torturing devices could get a scrap of information out of the wasps in Orwen. The enemy wasn't just a alien army overrunning the eastern fringes of Pyrrhia, they were also terminally insane.
He spotted a few flights of Skywings circling the burning wreck of the tower, its arrogant six-sided face crumbling as fire and ash poured from floor after exposed floor and the uppermost story hung on by a hair.
"Looks like we'll be late to the party," he said.
Nevertheless, they grabbed their spears and headed off to check it out – a bit over twenty able dragons in all, vastly down from the night before last, vastly down from the men they'd originally had when Starling pulled the unit back together in the first days of July. Somewhere out there the other remnants of 305th fought on, though he might never meet them again.
As they drew closer to the burn site the air began to stink of burnt corpses, despite the steady northerly wind. And not even the regular smell either – Somers knew the nauseating odor of partially cremated dead as well as he knew the sulfurous scent of summer swamps. This had a different, harsher background that he couldn't place.
The Mudwings advanced slowly on the street; every building, every corner could have a mad wasp concealed behind it, waiting to strike. Four dragons flew fifty yards ahead of the formation, combing the maze of alleys, while the main body of the unit moved in a narrow column.
"What the moons is that!?" exclaimed a soldier, pointing to a body in the street. It was a corpse, Somers could instantly tell that much from the numerous burns on its back and the way it had folded to the ground, as if the dragon had given up the will to live. It had two wing-roots on each side, like the wasps, and each wing had been burned away, leaving only the bones. A little bit of blue scale peered out on its belly, proof that not all of the dragon had been burned.
"It's not one of us and it ain't one o' them either," said Cowslip. "Looks like that dragon Somers brought along, that Quintain."
And then the body groaned.
"Oh look, it's alive," said Deere. "Think it's a trap?"
"They wouldn't have had time to set one up," said Starling. He looked at the poor, emaciated wreck of a dragon and shook his head. "There's nothing we can do for him; leave him or kill him, your choice Cowslip."
"I was hungry, now I'm not," someone muttered.
"If we leave him in the street he might get stepped on," said Cowslip. He left the column of Mudwings and dragged the body to a nearby doorstep, dumping it there.
"Problem solved," he said, wiping the charred flakes of scale off his talons like a farmhand washing up before dinner. "Now there's more room for the rest away."
They all knew their situation was temporary, that a friend they made yesterday could be dead tomorrow. In that light, it didn't really matter that one of the aliens had died; it was just another body to add to the graves.
Still, Somers decided it would be at least an hour before he could enjoy a good side of beef again, shooting the breeze with Griff -
Oh.
He couldn't.
I'm alone now.
I'll take a bucket of blood for every drop they spilled.
Every soldier hears the phrase 'embrace the suck' at least once in their service. If someone tried to tell him that now, Somers would kill him and his family would never find the body.
"Look, another one," said Deere. "Alive, too."
The Waspwing looked dead, only the occasional cough revealing life remaining in its fire-wracked body. Its orange scales had fused with the shiny black ones, all of its body smirched by soot. Putrid pus wept from places where the scale had cracked and revealed the pale pink flesh underneath.
"Won't be the last," predicted Somers, stepping over the wasp. Is this dragon a brother to someone? Will they mourn him? He shook his head, banishing the thought.
No one moved the body this time. Either they would bury him later, or they'd drag him away and the flesh would go to the birds.
They advanced deeper towards the enemy's blockhouse. The stalwart tower lay in waste, reduced to rubble; Skywings picked over its ash on the other side of town, while the mighty invaders lay twitching at Somers feet, burned and broken. This should be an easy cleanup operation, yet his eyes still flitted from corner to corner, talons twitching, tail nervously coiled up near his feet. He blinked and missed a step, nearly tripping over his own feet. When was the last time he'd slept well? How long had he been cooped up in the windowless room inside the tower? He didn't know. When this was over he'd collapse into some mud and fall into a long, dreamless sleep.
Deere and Starling kept up the pace in front, but their dragging tails said they were tired too; fighting exhaustion just as much as the enemy. When this was over… experienced soldiers cling on to the belief they will make it, that there will be a time after the fight when they can relax. Once that hope dies, morale soon follows.
Somers knew he'd make it. He always had. He just didn't know what he'd do after the fight, now that Griff hadn't.
"Halt!" called Starling. "We've gotten close enough, stop and start searching the houses, one wing to each house. Check for civilian casualties and care for each casualty."
"Yessir," said Cowslip.
They had stopped about a hundred fifty yards from the sooty foundations of the tower, far enough that a decent number of intact houses and courtyards remained between them and the Waspwing redoubt. In some places the buildings bunched up and made a dense urban environment, whilst other spots had large courtyards and even grass growing on the top of a small knoll.
Cowslip knocked on the first door, chuckling when Deere rolled his eyes. "Knocking it down would be rude," he said.
"You should just open it," pointed out a soldier.
"It's locked."
"Break it down?"
"No, then we're back to square one."
A peg rasped inside as someone opened it, and then a Mudwing dragoness cautiously peeked her head out. "Who are you?" she asked
"We're from the – hmm…" Deere trailed off.
"We're freedom fighters and we're here to clear this house," said Cowslip. "Any wasps in there?"
She blinked. "Some of their servants fled in here -" dragons like Quintain, Somers assumed – "none of the soldiers."
"I don't think they'll cause trouble," put in Somers. Cowslip nodded.
"Thank you ma'am," he said, "but we can't just take your word for it. We'll be in and out real quick."
Faced with six burly dragons backing him up, she couldn't really say no. The soldiers filed in one-by-one, with Somers in the rear.
"Are you with the army?" she asked him.
Somers shook his head. "Just a militia."
"What about the queen?"
He shrugged.
"Don't know."
"Who are you with, then?" she asked.
"Seawings, Skywings, Rainwings," he said. He didn't feel like talking, much.
Cowslip finished up searching the house and they moved on to the next.
Not all the flat searches went so well. One must have had a stray barrel of hellfire fall next to it, for black soot covered the ground for thirty yards or so, flames still occasionally licking up from the grond. Every bit of green had boiled away as surely as the water in the puddles; even the duckgrass outside the burn area looked wilted.
Miraculously, the house still stood, with even the door still standing on its hinges. They must've been wealthy, Somers decided, if they had had metal hinges.
"Check inside," said Cowslip, "maybe someone survived."
"Found some Mudwings," announced a soldier, "a whole family that isn't burned at all."
"Moons, they sure got lucky," said Deere, practically standing on the tips of his talons. The ground steamed, and Somers rocked from side to side as he endured the heat.
Half the dragons of 305th peered into the mud brick, one-story house; a bit burnt on the outside, but structurally fine. A mother, father and two dragonets lay on the floor, their expressions placid and dreamlike.
"It's the militia," said Cowslip. "Wake up."
"Who would be sleeping at a time like this?" asked Deere.
The civilians hadn't stirred, didn't react to the soldiers poking through the house. They didn't even breathe.
"They're dead," said Somers. The inside of the house looked pristine; a tapestry on the wall, untouched by the fire, whilst someone had left wooden soup bowls out on the floor.
He suddenly felt tired, more tired than he'd already been. Cowslip yawned.
"They're dead… weird." The newly promoted wing leader poked one of the dead dragons in the head. "Ha. Wake up."
It reminded Somers of the time he'd walked into a Skywing bunker after 305th had finished smoking out both entrances and the emergency exit. The Skywings inside had looked just like this -
"Everybody out," he ordered. "Everybody out!"
"Boss says you take orders from me," said Cowslip, his words beginning to slur together.
"Bunker – bad air!" said Somers. Cowslip's eyes widened.
"Oh, shit. Everybody out! Deere! Har -" Harmon was dead, and Cowslip only said his name out of habit. "Fen! Move your ass!"
Somers stepped outside, took a deep breath. The world seemed to miss a beat, dragons moving far too much between blinks. Bad air combined with exhaustion, lovely. That was how Klondike found them; seven men panting desperately while the rest of 305thranged ahead.
"Where's Starling? And what happened to all of you?" he asked.
Cowslip took a deep breath.
"Ran into some bad air," he said. "There's dead Mudwings in that house – it's a hundred yards from the tower – how could you miss!?"
"It's not an exact science," said Klondike.
"Bullshit. Those guys dropped from too damn high."
Klondike's knuckles whitened around his spear. "Fine, we fucked up, but arguing fixes nothing. Next time we won't be so careless as to wipe out an entire force in fifteen minutes, a force that you would never have defeated on your own; a force thatwould've held back a conventional assault long enough for enemy reinforcements to arrive."
He paused, calming himself. "The Skywings have finished combing their side of Orwen for enemy survivors, and so have I. Since you Mudwings are almost finished, it's time we take our leave."
So that's it, huh? Somers thought. For all his cooperation earlier, he's just another arrogant Seawing.
And then another treacherous thought snuck into his mind. Well, at least he's right.
"Where are you going?" asked Cowslip, "the rainforest?"
"Yes," said Klondike. "Glory is providing every bit of support she can; she doesn't have a standing army, but at least the Rainwingsgot enough area to feed the troops. You can flee there if things get too hot for you here. And with the Skywings destroying one of their bases and us wiping out this garrison, someone's sure to be pissed off."
"Not to mention the company we wiped out a few days ago," said Cowslip. "I'll tell Lt. Starling about it, maybe we'll join. I think he's on the next street over. We appreciate the help – just watch your damned fire next time."
"Shouldn't we all," said Klondike. He jumped into the air and flew away.
Retreating into the rainforest made strategic sense; Klondike was right that the enemy would be pissed. A few more weeks and they would own this part of the countryside, with enough patrols to make life dangerous for any standing militia. They would have a much harder time taming the wild jungle with no maps or landmarks, fetid heat and the invisible Rainwings shadowing their every move.
There was a reason the Mudwings hadn't set up many bases in the Rainwing Kingdom during the war, even though they had every opportunity to. The diseases were too bad, the supply chains too long, the rainforest too vast and confusing. Many a Mudwing expedition had vanished into its depths, never to return.
Nowadays they would have Rainwing guides, and things would be different.
"Cursed splashers," said Deere, "they would be less annoying if they didn't make so much sense."
"Yeah," said Cowslip. "Alright boys, we still have a couple houses to clear… let's get to it."
The exhausted soldiers slowly picked themselves up again; a few more houses was all they could take.
"There's a talon sticking out the doorway," remarked Deere, pointing to a nearby house. "It's a wasp, and he ain't movin."
"Must've been azfix – astri -"
"Asphyxiated," said Somers. "Not the worst way to go."
The clay shingles survived the fire, but the timber supports underneath hadn't, and the whole roof had collapsed on the wasps inside, gables, shingles and all.
"Burned out door, roof fallen, hellfire marks everywhere – yep, everyone in here is dead," said Cowslip.
"One might have survived," said Somers. "Gotta be thorough." He didn't bother to use sir. Cowslip didn't comment on it.
"Alright boys, time to check out one more house."
Say what you would about the strike, Somers thought, but it had wiped out the enemy as a cohesive force in fifteen minutes. Earlier in the morning there had been a little fighting – the Skywings running into half a wing of surviving archers – but the wasps' hopeless charge this morning had marked the end of the battle and the beginning of the cleanup.
Cowslip started tearing into the wall next to the door, and in a matter of seconds the Mudwings opened a big enough gap to let all the smoke pour of the faster-burning hardwoods had burned away in the roof, leaving only a few slabs of oak smoldering on the floor, and coals scalding Somers' talons as he walked inside. He'd burned himself so many times that the heat didn't bother him much. The sight of the dead wasp in the doorway didn't bother him much either – though the melted wings still looked new to him. These dragons looked like they'd evaporate if they got close to a torch, like moths drawn into the flame.
"You're right Somers, one's still alive," said Cowslip. There were two rooms in the house, one a living room and sleeping area, the other a kitchen. Cowslip had vanished into the kitchen, and Somers poked his head in to see what was up. Light poured in through a simple square-shaped hole in the wall facing east, and the airflowhad saved the wasp's life.
"He looks dead to me," said Somers, observing the splayed out wasp, its bright stripes faded by the soot. Its chest rose just then, enough to show that he was alive even if not kicking.
Cowslip knelt down and tapped on the dragon's snout. No reaction. "Out of it. Would be a shame to kill him though."
"We should. Can't have a wasp waking up and escaping back to his own forces, or killing Mudwing civilians if he goes berserk like the others one did," said Deere.
"You're right," said Cowslip. "So… how about you do it?"
"…"
Somers had killed defenseless dragons before, but he'd never killed one who was just… sleeping.
Then again, the wasps hadn't cared about Griff either.
"I'll do it," he said. "Easy."
"I'll scope out the rest of the house," said Cowslip. "Seems like you have things… handled."
He turned to leave, and the wasp stirred, blinking away soot as it mumbled foreign syllables under its breath. It raised its head towards Somers, just in time to watch Somers bury his spear into its heart, see it sink in and then screech at its killer.
"Oh, be quiet," said Somers, and stepped on its mouth to shut it up. The wasp reminded him of a deer he'd killed as a dragonet, snuck up on it and put a javelin through its heart and then watched it run till it died. He and Griff measured the distance later – three hundred yards. A body could live a long time without its heart pumping blood, hyperventilating while its insides cried out for air.
The screaming faded away beneath him, replaced by dying sobs. Somers stepped over the soon-to-be-corpse, the blood welling up, the head lolling over the dragon's talons, clinging to its last seconds of life. He knelt down, cleaning his spear off on its leather pouch – a nice pouch, with pockets for darts and a canteen, and plenty of space inside for rations and other military paraphrenalia. Somers took it for himself, striding out the door as if he had just finished a merry jaunt in the woods.
One kill isn't much, but at least there's one less wasp in the world.
It feels… good.
