GhostImageArt
patreon
The Rifleman - Bk1 - Ch.33
🕑 Added 2024-06-29 08:00:07 +0000 UTCChapter Thirty-Three
A Long Day.
Getting a meal seemed like a great idea right about then. It had been way too many hours since the glorious meat pies, and they had all been going non-stop. Making their way through the crowded streets without their guards was a lot more difficult, and it took them almost a half hour to find any sign of the mess hall for soldiers.
They found the one for the guards, for the civilians, and the Officer’s Mess, but the average soldier? Nothing.
When they eventually located the large tent, with the smell of something that almost smelled like something someone might once have wanted to eat, they joined the long line for entry. While they waited in the bored shuffle of occasional movement that was shared by every line, everywhere, the squad traded stories and rumors with the people in front and behind them.
It was a pleasant enough way to pass the next hour, but the time for rest passes quickly in war. Hence, the very moment that Wesley laid his hand on one of the beaten copper plates, their officer came running up.
“Have you eaten yet?” he asked. What a difference a few days could make. In the few days since he first walked nervously into their tent, the young man seemed to have aged from eighteen to about thirty. His formerly pristine uniform was ragged and stained, while the sword he wore at his hip no longer looked like an ornamental affectation, with chips and scratches marring the formerly blemishless metal.
“Just about to, sir,” Peterson said meaningfully.
“I’m afraid it will have to wait,” The officer sniffed and grimaced. “I’m sure I can find someone to make you some food on the way.”
“On the way where?” Wesley asked, looking slightly longingly at the pots bubbling over the fires. It was only a slightly longing look, as the closer they got, the worse it smelled.
“You are to reinforce the southern end of the fallback barricade,” the officer looked a little put out. “It might not be needed, but I prefer to be safe than sorry.”
“Understood,” Peterson nodded and gestured for the officer to lead the way with Wesley and the other remaining squad members falling in behind them.
They wound through the streets, troops moving everywhere, but most of them seemed to be going in the other direction.
“How are your squad holding up?” the officer asked Peterson, as if the rest of the squad wasn’t literally steps away and eavesdropping constantly. “It has been a long and rather costly battle.”
“It has,” Peterson nodded, “But we are a strong group; we’ll stand our share.”
“You already have, Captain, and several other peoples as well,” the officer sighed. “And every loss is a blow.”
“A blow, sir?” Peterson asked with a slight edge in his voice. “Losing a friend is a bit more than a blow.”
“To you, certainly,” the officer said as he fiddled with his sword, adjusting the hang slightly, “But each person, be it someone as irreplaceable as the ones you lost or a peasant with no one to mourn them, is still a great blow to the city. To us all.”
“I see,” Peterson said, his anger passing as quickly as it came. “They are all irreplaceable to someone, sir.”
“Yes, they are.” the officer nodded, “And we will lose more before the day is done.”
“Yes, sir,” Peterson nodded grimly.
“Make sure it is none of yours,” the officer said simply as the group arrived at a half-built barricade. “I want no more missing faces, understood?”
“Sir,” Peterson said noncommittally.
“If things go badly,” the officer said, looking off into the distance, “My final orders are to get your squad out of this zone alive.”
“Sir?” Peterson asked, “You are telling us to run if the city falls.”
“Yes, Captain, run. Run far and fast.” The officer grimaced as he looked around. “We have given our all. If the city falls, it falls. People matter, places don’t.”
“Understood, sir.” Peterson saluted.
“Ah, perfect,” the officer strode away, returning a few minutes later with an armful of some kind of pie. It wasn’t anywhere near as good as their ones last night, but it was guaranteed to be better than whatever the mess was serving.
For the next two hours, the squad worked on completing and reinforcing the barricade. The civilians helped, dragging tables, chairs, and more out of their houses to donate to their own last line of defense. It was almost surreal, as the two hours ended when the Builder arrived and took a few hits with his hammer, transforming their meager construction into something real and solid.
Less than ten minutes later, the soldiers began to rush back through the streets; the southern wall had fallen.
“Get to the top of that thing,” Peterson said grimly. “We got some more work to do!”
He wasn’t wrong.
Wesley used every bit of Hawk Eye-boosted sight to scout the street stretching in front of him, seeing nothing but fleeing soldiers at first.
The first bit of fur he saw made him frown and rub his eyes, but it was no illusion.
The street was filled with giant squirrels, their hands holding daggers, as they leaped from street to building to building before launching themselves at the fleeing troops. The moment they did, he realized they were flying squirrels.
Flying. Fucking. Squirrels.
“SHOOT!” Peterson roared in his ear, making Wes’s first shot go wide, but his second slammed into a squirrel's head, knocking it to the floor, if not killing it.
“You really need to get some power boosts for that thing!” Split sighed as her arrow skewered one of the creatures from head to tail without seeming to slow down. “It’s embarrassing!”
“Fuck off,” Wesley muttered, adjusting his aim to take the next one in the eye, the thinner skull behind shattering easily.
“Better,” Split nodded.
Wesley took the next one on the shoulder, shattering it and pushing it back to the ground with a screech of pain. From then on, it was too busy to keep track, simply firing at the first joint, eye, or open, blood-ringed mouth that he saw as the retreating soldiers scrambled over the barricade.
“Up there!” Mental yelled, yanking Wesley back and pointing up to the left side of the street. Wes looked, seeing a line of the squirrels preparing to leap off the roof.
“Use your simulacrums!” Bitchy yelled at him as she ran up from a side street with a bunch of other mages coming to reinforce the barricade. “They need to be told what to do, idiot!”
Only then did Wesley notice his two wispy allies standing patiently at the base of the barricade, doing absolutely nothing.
He had forgotten about them…
“You two!” Wesley yelled, “Help me!”
Immediately, they moved into action, drifting up next to him and waiting expectantly.
Wesley raised his rifle and began to fire just as the first of the squirrels leaped into the air.
Three bullets caught it in mid-air, and the wisp created bullets even seemed to do slightly more damage to the thing than the real ones.
The next one to leap was wrapped in mana strings before it could clear the building; it hung like a bit of fruit in a net until the strings drew tighter suddenly, and the result was frankly something he never wanted to even think about again.
Over the next frantic hour, Wesley slowly got used to having these two new… whatever they were. They seemed to do absolutely nothing unless he told them to, which was maddening. It made an already busy fight a nightmare as he had to juggle managing them with fighting and keeping his eye on the other members of his squad.
At one point, he complained a little too loudly, and Peterson just laughed in his face. “Welcome to my world, rook,” he said and slapped him on the back, chortling as he headed off to breach a gap in the left of the barricade.
The squirrels gave way to wolves, but only briefly. With his simulacrums sharing his Wolf’s Bane passive, the three of them decimated the attempted charge, and the wolves were replaced with more Rock Eater Gerbils.
Squirrels and Gerbils. It should have been funny.
It wasn’t.
Twice, the squirrels managed to land beyond the barricade, decimating the civilians before they could be cornered and put down. The giant gerbils were nightmares, armored in rock and faster than they looked. A single one reaching the barricade nearly destroyed it, and another would finish the job.
Slowly but surely, they were being pushed to the breaking point. Even with Bitchy and her mage squad, they were losing.
Then, just when they thought that they would have to break and run, he arrived.
“Things are looking a little dicey, Captain,” Their officer climbed the half-broken barricade as if he were taking an afternoon stroll. “Might I offer some assistance?”
“Anything you can do, sir,” Peterson grunted as he held one arm, savaged by a squirrel and still healing up after an Emergency Heal from Wes.
“Very well, I have command,” The young man straightened and pulled his sword.
“DEFIANT STAND!” He roared.
Wesley had never done drugs. It wasn’t that he had a strong moral argument against them or some kind of significant fear of the things. It was more that he just didn’t see them as much of a plan. He was more than happy with a few drinks and a tumble in the sheets as his method of relaxation.
He had never seen the point of drugs that made you hyper or feel invincible. Wes was well aware he was definitely vincible—very vincible—and he would like to make his decisions with that in mind.
None of that mattered very much, but it might have been why he was so unprepared for the effect of the Officer Level Buff that hit him a microsecond after the young man shouted.
Energy and strength poured into his body, everything suddenly clear and effortless as a feeling like being made of steel pushed fear and doubt aside.
It suddenly occurred to him that he was crouching behind a barricade while the enemy seemed to have no ranged attacks.
That would never do.
Wesley stood tall, propping one foot on the top of the wall. He roared his defiance at the enemies who had dared to challenge HIM of all people!
“Kill them all!” Wesley roared at his two wispy comrades, and they unleashed a flurry of shots. He had never been able to aim and fire this fast, his M1 growing hot in his hands as he fired in an unstoppable stream backed up by his two simulacrums.
Beside him, Split howled like a banshee as she split into several copies, and the sky seemed to darken as they loosed arrows so fast they were mere blurs as they drew and aimed. The mages soon joined in, and the street turned into a charnel house that caused three nearby buildings to collapse as the clash of spells destroyed their lower floors.
Not one of them seemed even to be able to stop fighting, even as the enemy poured in from behind them, some other barricade somewhere having fallen.
“FIGHTING RETREAT!” the officer roared, and they turned as one, falling onto the ambushers in a frenzy.
When Wesley and the others came down from the enforced high of the buff, they were still fighting. The whole city was lost, with only the final, large courtyard left in control of the desperate defenders.
It turned out that City Hall was the absolute heart of the city. It was the final hexagon of land not occupied by the invaders, and they would lose that soon enough.
There was just no other way it could go. The only member of his squad he could still see was Split, and she was clear across the courtyard, firing fitfully as she tried to conserve what arrows she had left for the largest threats.
Wesley was in much the same condition.
Fun fact: When some young idiot overloads your adrenaline level and messes with your head, you forget about ammo conservation completely.
Wesley was down to his last two clips. He mostly fought with his bayonet now, guarding his two simulacrums, who could fire as much as they liked, lucky bastards.
He gutted a charging wolf man before the Sara copy blew its head clean off and smiled. She seemed to like that, smiling every time she made a head explode.
He really hoped it was not a reflection of some part of him, but being coated in brain reassured him. Anything that made him feel that sick was guaranteed to not be some secret desire of his.
They were forced back step by step, the enemy numbers dwindling until only the very strongest were left. However, it was still more than enough to overwhelm them eventually.
But they were running out of time, and they knew it.
Wesley felt a brief surge of hope when he saw the shadows lengthening. They only had an hour or so left until dark and the end of the invasion.
That surge of hope lasted just as long as it took to hear the deep, echoing howl from the entrance to the square.
The enemies in front of him melted away into the shadows as someone burst through the defenders at the entrance to the courtyard as if they were made of paper.
A massive wolfman in gleaming silver-blue armor with a gigantic moon on the chest strode into the courtyard as if he owned it, and Wesley felt the Killing Intent washing over the entirety of the survivors.
It was the most potent version of it he had ever felt, and it drove him to his knees.
The doors to City Hall opened, and Miles Earnshw walked out, stepping calmly down the stairs in his cloth and leather armor. He had a rapier on his waist and a strange mask over the bottom half of his face.
“You have lost; retreat,” Miles demanded.
“We lost?” The enemy general laughed. “I can take this town and still have time to eat your corpse before the last light of the invasion, Earnshaw.”
“I will not fall so fast,” Miles chuckled. “You overestimate yourself.”
“I’ll eat your heart!” The wolfman roared and leaped at the Mayor, who stepped aside. The two became a blur as they fought.
Even with Hawk Eye, Wes couldn’t follow the fight.
“Protect the City Hall!” Someone called, and Wesley saw the figures slinking through the lines and toward the open doors.
None of the defenders could even move, watching helplessly as the figures crept closer to the doors.
“Kill them!” Wesley was just able to mumble, and his two sims rushed to obey.
They got two of the creeping monsters, but the third made it inside the doors.
/////////////////
It came flying back out a couple of minutes later, decapitated, as a certain young officer walked out the doors, bleeding profusely from the chest and arm.
“Squad, to me!” he ordered.
Wesley felt himself moving before he even knew he was free from the pressure of the Killing Intent. From all around, the squad members rose and ran to the officer, forming a line in front of the doors.
“We shall hold this line,” the young man nodded to them. “Nothing shall pass.”
Wesley took a firing stance, sending one of his sims to each end of the line.
“Captain Peterson, if I fall, you shall hold until the last.” The officer swayed suddenly, clutching his arm.
“Wes,” Peterson nodded, and Wesley rushed over, casting two Emergency Heal charges at once into the officer before bandaging the arm, the rest of the squad unmoving.
“Thank you,” The officer nodded. “I’m sure this will—”
The blurred forms came to a stop, the scene a frozen tableau as they were still for the first time.
Every eye turned to Miles, lifted off the floor by the enemy general’s grip on his throat, and for a moment, Wes thought they were all dead…
Then he saw the rapier, buried up to the handle in the chest of the enemy general.
“I gave you a chance to retreat,” Earnshaw said mildly as the claws tightened around his throat. “Thousand Blade Strike!”
The rapier seemed to be everywhere at once, and then the enemy general just kind of fell apart.
None of the pieces seemed larger than an apple.
Miles Earnshaw, Mayor, brushed some blood off his leather doublet and sighed.
INVASION FAILED!
//////////////////
Of course, the invading forces did not merely leave. The enraged forces did as much damage as they could in the few minutes before the light finally left.
Darkness fell on a town in ruins, with the population about a tenth of what it had been when the invasion began.
It seemed that the work was not done, and the squad was busy until almost first light, putting out fires, clearing rubble to allow Healer’s tents and much besides to be set up.
The war doesn’t end when the movie does, Wesley thought over and over that long night. While the credits roll on the hero's victory–Earnshaw, not him–the destruction and death don’t magically disappear.
Well, to be fair, the bodies did magically go away, thanks to the area looters wandering the streets and making them disappear as massive storage carts collected everything left behind.
Still, when the squad was finally told to go and rest, it was a massive relief to hit that crappy bunk and sink into sleep.
The nightmares he had that night would be with him for many years to come, but at least he was able to sleep. More than once, he awoke to the sound of someone screaming or crying in the nearly empty city. The sounds would turn to sobs or whispers, and then all would be quiet again.
After a few hours, they were up again, cleaning and checking their gear for a whole five minutes before someone came and told them this person or that group needed help with the cleanup.
They finally got to the mess tent, and Wesley left, hoping someone would hang the cook once this was all over.
No one should be able to make anything edible taste that bad.
Giving it to soldiers in the middle of battle should count as a war crime in his book.
He cast an Emergency Heal on every member of the squad the moment they left, and given what they heard from other soldiers, that was a wise choice.
News spread, and soon, Wes was drafted again, this time into one of the many healing tents set up around the city.
No one had gotten out of the battle unharmed, and they all needed healing before that minor cut or open wound became a larger problem.
For the next two days, Wesley worked with the Healers. His own healing skills were useful, given that he could cast a Healing Flare into the center of the tent, where a wind mage kept it aloft until it was drained of power. Meanwhile, his wispy helpers moved to and fro, using their own lesser healing spells. Their version was the basic heal he used to have, but that worked fine for helping people along.
It was then that he learned one of the great hidden truths of his new world.
The healers always got the best food.
It was unfair, unjust, and unwise, but Wesley was too tired and hungry to complain much, so he just ate it and was happy to have something that at least tasted like food.
While resting was not exactly possible, he did figure out a new trick with his wisp form that came in handy. Wes had shifted into the form, casting Emergency Flare through himself before concentrating the energy into his hands.
It was getting easier and easier to do, but it had another advantage, which he discovered when an emergency arrived, having been found buried under rubble.
His internal injuries were terrible, and Wesley placed his hand on the man, feeling the energy rush into the injured area, and he unconsciously pushed it deeper, where it found the worse-hit areas.
That little nudge was new. He had never even tried to direct the energy as it left him before. His next break, a whole ten minutes to sit and relax, he spent attempting to repeat the trick with an Improved Flare.
It worked, and Wesley discovered his ‘wisp form’ actually included an area a few inches wide beyond his actual visible body. It had just never occurred to him to try and move energy there until now. Any further than a few inches, and he would lose control of it, but until that point, it was as easy to control as it was inside his wispy body.
Aside from healing, it didn’t seem to have much use, but it did give him the ability to push his already limited Emergency Heal a little further, closing the gap between it and other heals, which was bound to come in handy.
It had already helped him save one man, so he called it a win but put it out of his mind for now—something to experiment with later.
