Battle of Belgera: 1

The silence! How could it be so silent after that horrible sound?

He stared at the rubble where once the gates to Belgera had stood. Bodies twitched there, mouths open in moaning, some screaming and yet all mute. He heard nothing. The world was filled with dust, smoke and above all, silence.

It was market day, like all other days since the caravan arrived, and he needed to get to Downtown. He had good coins in his pocket, borrowed from his sister, and if he didn't go he'd lose an opportunity to make a good deal. He didn't want to do that.

Furniture from Erkateren. He must buy a new bed, and a cupboard to go with it. Elina would want him to, and the children were grown enough to have a bed each rather than share one. They would be so disappointed if he failed to come home with one.

If he could only pass that wall of silence.

Something wrong with his legs. Strange. He couldn't see his legs. If he could but find his legs he might yet have time to reach Downtown before someone bought his bed. He had to find his legs. Elina wanted a new bed, and he had good coins in his pockets.

#

"Mama, what is he doing on the street?"

"He's tired, dear. Now come away from the window."

Michain wouldn't obey, but she could have dragged him away if only she was able to close the shutters. Impossible. She needed to watch, needed to see the remains of the balcony across the street from which their neighbor had fallen two stories head first. Now his body was still, just as if asleep, with the balcony draped over his legs like a winter blanket.

She hoped he wasn't cold. It was still winter, but maybe covered like that he was warm enough. Tears ran down her cheeks.

Darain, you never told me it was like this. How do you stand the campaigns? Darain, I love you. Please come home!

She continued staring blindly out the window long after soldiers cleared away the corpse and the sharp cracks of destruction were muted thunder several blocks away.

#

They weren't well armed, but the devil spawn were everywhere.

Hua Chang ducked another quarrel and returned the favor with a burst of needle grenades.

Damn the bastards! Didn't they understand they didn't have a chance with ancient weaponry against automatic weapons? As if leather armor would do them any good!

Idiots! They were fools all of them, just like his relatives back in China, destroyed in the last rebellion to fail bringing the nation back into the federation.

He, at least, was fighting on the winning side this time. Not like his father taking part in the incessant wars liberating or forcing Beijing back and forth from the folds of the Terran Federation almost every generation. Currently it was Free China, and maybe it would be again when he was old. The endless cycle of liberal rule and stark oppression revolved since over a century with thousands killed each turn, and Hua, long since disgusted with the never ending wars, for the first time fought for something that promised personal gain. Not a grave benefiting but the few who ordered the peasants to attack the city, or the other way around depending on if Beijing was breaking away or not.

Something came his way. A spear this time. Curse the fools!

Hua strapped a crowd buster to his launcher. He liked killing defenseless humans no more than anyone else, but sooner or later someone would get in a lucky shot.

The wall, behind the corner. High explosive shrapnel. Dirty weapon, but it would do the job. He aimed. He fired.

#

"Get moving monkey food!"

"They're too strong, sir!"

"Strong? You call that strong! Get your ass moving or you'll lose the opportunity to get clubbed by a Khraga come summer!"

That made it. Somehow the prospect of getting slaughtered by the giants in the mountains had the effect he needed.

"You heard the captain. We regroup. Fast, you sorry bastards or you'll earn being called halfmen, by the gods!"

It wasn't fast. They crawled away from the deathtrap. Rising and running was suicide. He'd seen what happened to the gate guards.

Almost across the street now. Then he had to try burying his face into the stone pavement when the whiplash of projectiles tore the very air apart over his head. He turned. The remains of a building covered most of the street in the direction of the attackers. Collapsing walls meant death to some poor bastard in the house, but the rubble of stone was all he needed to get to the corner. They'd make it to safety yet. Just around the corner, a new defensive position, and if they survived the next onslaught he might be able to see his men following him into a summer's worth of fighting against Khraga.

"Strong! I'll give you strong," he muttered as he crawled. Twice the height of a man the Khraga still gave you a decent chance to strike back.