Stage 02 - The Farm
Stage 02 - The Farm, is split into 3 parts.
Part A) Pineford...
After escaping from the Colonels men and stealing a truck Edmund heads into town looking for help. He searches desperately for help tracking down the Inuit girl before the Colonels men do.
Bakahir, the Lost Continent.
Stage 02-A
-Edmund Cannuck, January 1923, Just outside Pineford Alberta.
---
The half-tracked truck rumbled down the dirt roads into town. It was dark now and the snow was starting to pick up; The headlamps on the truck could only do so much in the sheer whiteout.
I squinted into the darkness, trying to stay on course I sat and I pondered this enemy force. From the sounds of it, these boys were former military gone mercenaries; Mostly American. Leading these heavily armed sellswords is a man called “The Colonel”, who was allegedly on his way to personally kill that Inuit woman over her magic stone. I needed to find her….
--
Pineford’s main street glowed yellow with the flicker of electric lights. I parked the truck by the curb and stepped into the cold. My boots crunched the snow underfoot as I trudged into the Legion Hall. I was greeted by the familiar smell of cigarettes and cheap booze. Medals and photographs were hung up around the room and a hearth filled the back corner where a fiddler played songs from the old countries. The door bell chimed and Fred the bartender looked up and spoke: “Long time no see there Ed, how’s the timber?” I kicked my boots on the rug and strode over to the bar and chatted with the elderly barkeep. “Fair as fine could be I ‘suppose. Sold a good yard’a lumber to the Rail co last month.” I fished some change outa my pocket and ordered a Keiths.
“Slange’va—” I muttered and drained the mug. As I drank Fred seemed to have noticed the sorry state of my attire: the holes and bloodstains covering my jacket: “Rough night there ‘eh bud?”.
I turned my mug upside down and cracked my shoulders: “Got attacked by some well off guns for hire. American ex-military, highly organized, superbly well equipped.----”
Suddenly the man in the stool next to me bolted back and shouted: “G-Guns for hire? The enemy is here??” And older man with a long grey beard and sunken eyes knocked over his stool and started panicking and flailing around; A few others began to take notice. I fished some more coins outa my pocket and ordered him another drink. I picked up his seat and firmly gripped his shoulder until he was seated again. “Easy there pop, it was just a joke, some fantasy novel I were reading earlier, the war is over, the enemy is gone for good!”
I consoled the poor old bastard and he began to calm down, he eventually turned back to nursing the drink Fred just poured him.
Remembering the kinda place I was in, I leaned over the bar and discretely asked Fred if anyone had come in the last few hours talking about an Eskimo girl or some mercs. Fred polished mugs and slowly nodded. “Trembly and Mortimer’ve been working at the old McGooding farm, they just came in before yee did. Mentioned something about seeing an eskimo on a dogsled while out ranchin’.” I thanked Fred for the info, ordered another ale and walked over to find Trembley and Mortimer. Fair crowd of the men who drank here were vets from older wars, but there were at least a few men from my generation who had survived the great war… I was 86th infantry and if memory served these boys were 98th. We had drank together a few times in the past, but I hadn’t been coming round town much the past few months, for one reason or the other.
We exchanged nods as I walked up to their table and pulled up a chair. “John, Jon. How’re’ya now?”
John Trembley looked up from under his wide brimmed cowboy’s hat and replied: “Been better mon chum. Word is there’s some fellas making trouble by ze old mine.” Jon Mortimer piped up from behind his toque and round-rimmed glasses: “Bad omens coming these days. Looks like ye’ve been put through the ringer Eddie? You wrestle a bear or somethin’?”
I took a swig of my ale and told them of my run-in with theses ‘bad-omens’. “There I were, splitting timbers, as I’m oft ta do. When suddenly I hear these gunshots. I figured it’s just the echo of the axe and that I’ve gone mad again, so there I go back to choppin’. One thing leads to another and I find myself taking a walk, suddenly I hear these barking dogs, next thing ye know I’m knocked flat on my ass by some Inuit girl on a dogsled. She takes a tumble and I’s tries to help her to ‘er feet but she ain’t having it. She just mutters about some Rock she dropped in the crash. Musta been one hell of a rock, cause I see these two trucks moving like gangbusters down 5 sideroad; Halftracks with MG’s mounted ontop. So’s just as I’m about to be run down I wish to high heaven that I were holding a sturdy log and by joseph there it was in my hands. The truck runs into the log and flips. I get sent flying from the impact and wake up tied to a chair in me own damned cabin! The never of these ruddy bastards…. Anyways, these fellas got some portable radios and fancy rifles I ain’t ever seen b’fore. I’ve got no clue who they are but they mean business I’ll tell ya that much! I was able to take down about two dozen of ‘em by the grace of them fools using clubs on me. Apparently, their boss must want ta speak to me something awful. Whoever their boss is he’ll surely be here by morning. So’s, I stole one of their trucks and came right here.”
John and Jon both were bewildered by my tale. Once the shock of the events had worn down, they both cast eachother a glance and spoke in unison. “Did the girl have three wooden masks tie to ‘er waist?” “Aye that’s the one, have ye see ‘er? She’s in grave danger!” I realized I was shouting a little louder than I should. The fiddler in the corner kept on playing but the tables around us were starting to get nervous.
John Trembley leaned in and spoke: “We seen ze girl an hour ago, we were packing up for the day at Monsieur McGooding farm. She looked ragged, no dogsled, carrying three fresh hares. I think she trade them for a night’s lodging.” Jon Mortimer interrupted “We ain’t think nothing strange of it at the time, aside from an Eskimo coming so far south. But to be honest I was more concerned by this lovely beef stew at the time” Jon turned back to his stew and John drained his whiskey. “From the look of the town on a ‘Chrewsday night me and Morty are the only able-bodied help you’ll find to sort out these hooligans. Might just be ze Crown talking but I could go for a scrap. Morty you down for a scrap?” We both stared at Morty as he loudly slurped down the last of this stew. With a hearty belch he nodded. “Aye lads, let’s have us a scrap!”
--
Trembley was riding his trusty horse Stormwuld so it was me and Morty driving the stolen truck. Jon Mortimer was an indirect fire specialist, real egghead, good ad doing quick arithmetic. We found him a nice knee mortar in the back of the half-track which he was silently admiring the craftsmanship of. Morty had a Cavalry Postol and rapier stowed on the saddle. The dirt roads were now iced over and it was nearing midnight. We had just turned off Mainstreet heading towards the McGooding farm when suddenly the trucks windows were shattered by a hail fire of bullets. Morty and I ducked under the dashboard as I slammed the breaks. Trembly had dashed into the alleyway beside the Pineford Church and I did my best to skid towards the safety of the brick alley. We knocked down a wooden fence and dented the wall of the drugstore. The trucks engine was smoking, likely worthless now, I dove out of the truck and into the alleyway. The three of us pressed up against the wall of the drugstore and caught our breath.
“Seems like your new friends have found us…. Tabarnak!” Trembley cursed under his breath and calmed his horse. Morty and I brushed glass from our clothes and crouched next to the brick wall. My axe was fitted into my old rifle sling. I focused hard. I reached out to grab my rifle: Grabbing it from when I had held it last…. Like tossing a snowball into the air and catching it when you needed it most. I whispered: “How many did ye see lads?” “Two motors running not counting ours.” John muttered. “Southwest, fifteen degrees north.” Jon repeated and wrote on a pad of paper.
“Whaddya need to get a firing position on ‘em Morty?”
“Cover me so I can get up to the church bell.” Morty pointed to the church looming at the end of the alley while shouldering his mortar and pack.
Trembley scratched his horse’s mane whole muttering “Mon Osti…” He retrieved a wooden stock from the saddlebag and began fitting it to his cavalry pistol. “I’ll draw them south away from ze Church. Morty get into position and rain hell. Eddie, make sure they don’t have anything larger than infantry…”
I crawled to get a view of the street from under the stationary half-track. I saw two trucks parked on the opposite side of the store lined street 200ft away. There were two dozen men slowly walking towards us in two well organized flying V formations. Each mans gun and eyes were surveilling for danger as they came closer to the alleyway we had crashed into. It seems whatever me being “attuned” meant, they weren’t taking chances with me anymore, we’d have to gun our way outta here….
The soldier’s gait and candor told me they were a lot tougher than the greenhorns I had encountered earlier. Their hands weren’t shaky, their eyes told of a hundred sleepless nights. The two Corporals leading the V’s were out of uniform and treating this business as if they were a street gang coming to scuffle with a rival group of hoodlums.
We quietly scuffled along the brick wall away from the road and crashed truck. Suddenly, there was a strong gust of wind. I turned my back towards the alley to see the whirling winds of a miniature twister kicking up snow and scree just behind the truck. The cyclone was nearly as tall as I was and growing still; on a direct course towards us. *THuu-Nkk* The sound of metal on metal rang out around the town block. I squinted to see a projectile the size of a baseball whirling around inside the twister. A moment later the twister dispersed with a large gust of icy wind, leaving nothing but a small black ball to roll through the snow and stop right under the crashed truck…
“GreNaaaa~---!!!!"
The crashed truck erupted in a fiery explosion launching shrapnel and hellfire across the alleyway. The shockwave knocked me forwards face first into the snow.
My ears were ringing like the crash of cymbals. I gathered my surroundings and found myself lying in the scraps of what used to be a wooden crate. I could see Trembley’s horse bucking and feeling north up the alleyway. I centered myself and rose, dusting off the splintered planks from my back. I gripped my rifle and aimed back at the tuck which was now a blazing scrap of sheet metal. I got low and recalled the smoothness of the ice. I took a final look towards the truck, then to the looming bell tower behind the alley, before siding my way up the alley towards the doors of the church.
I could see the front double doors now; I turned the corner and ran across the snowy lawn housing a frozen fountain. Morty was there holding the door open for me while shouting and pointing past the fountain towards the road. There was a fence between the lawn and the road, I wasn’t sure what Morty was pointing at, but then I felt the sudden drop in wind pressure. There was another whirlwind same size as the last, cutting across the lawn towards me and kicking up dirt and snow. I squinted to see another ball sized mass spinning around in animated air current. I could feel danger in the put of my stomach, like a foul premonition. I crouch low, focused on the ice and kicked off as fast I could muster. The gust of wind pivoted sharply to follow me before suddenly dispersing outwards alongside the blast of what I guessed to be a frag grenade held within….
I had slid just far enough away for the flying shrapnel to not have torn my flesh to shreds, though I could feel a few new bits of metal lodged in various places; Not much worse than stepping on a tack or twelve…. I staggered up the stairs and dove to the ground with Morty slamming the doors shut behind me. Out of breath and panicking Morty starting sliding church pews to the doors to keep em shut.
Breath shaky he blurted: “-‘ts some Facking weather we’re havin’ eh bud?”
“I ain’t ever heard of Grenade Tordnade-a’s b’fore.” I replied and dusted myself off before grabbing some pews to help him barricade. After we had finished piling what we could, we stood back and caught our breathes. “Jesus FU-”… Morty caught himself and muttered an apology towards the cross at the front of the church. “And here I thought I had seen some bizarre things back in the war. What the hell was that?!!” I sat back and pieced together what we were up against. I clutched my head and pondered out loud. “How many other folks got strange power from touching that damned rock? If their entire army is full of guys like that then we are SNAFU!”. Morty looked pale and closed his eyes while tapping his temple. “Wait a sec there Ed. Didn’t ye say ‘afore that you took down a few of these bastards? Did any of those guys have strange abilities like yerself?”
I sat on the floor and recalled my scuffle from earlier tonight. “Now that you mention it. No. I don’t remember anything weird from any of them, not even the lieutenants…. I suppose that suggests they either don’t or can’t just bestow these things willy nilly. Whatever the case, we can’t have rogues like this having something like that in their hands. We gotta find that girl fast!” Morty checked his gear and stood. “First things first, we need to take care of those damn tornaduhs. Somehow one of their guys is making small tornadoes and using them to launch grenades. Where the hell’d Trembley go?” I pulled a shard of shrapnel out of my elbow and recalled: “I saw his horse stampeding up the alleyway after the first blast. I’ll go find ‘em. You get to the bell-tower and setup for support fire.”
We exchanged salutes. I stood and cracked my knuckles. I grabbed my rifle from when I had held it last and charged towards the altar at the back of the room. I hooked a right out the side door behind the altar and found myself standing in the alley east of the church. There were two cracks that reverberated loudly around the brick buildings all around. Two flowerpots sitting by the doorstep beside my shattered with a clatter. I recalled the ice and slid forwards from the doorway and between the buildings on the east side of the alley. The shots came from the south, I peeked around the corner to see two riflemen walking slowly towards my position. I pressed back around the corner and planned my attack. I heard a curt quiet whistle and turned to see Trembley crouched next to a crate in the alley. He looked my way and silently gestured his stratagem.
I psyched myself up and peeked around the corner. With my rifle dig into my shoulder, I took a shot at the two riflemen. My shot was off center, but one of the men cried out and clutched his leg in agony, the other tried to return fire with his triple fire rifle in short bursts. **BaDaDa~ BaDaDa!** I fell back behind the building corner and rechambered. Trembley whistled sharply twice. A moment later there was a cry from one of the riflemen accompanied by the dull thud from the kind of impact that sends a shiver down your spine just from hearin’. There was the whinny of a horse and the two of us rounded the corner and opened fire on the soldiers.
The snow was really picking up now. After the gunsmoke had settled, we braved the encroaching blizzard and walked towards the fallen men. Trembley muttered something to his beloved horse, who, for what its worth had kicked on of the poor bastards right into the other making the pair easy targets.
*Katoo-nkt!* In the distance behind a row of buildings there was low burst, the flash of fire. Trembley mounted his steed and gave a casual salute to the flames. “Smelling ze gas, it seems les boys found ze cars!”
I wiped my brow under my toque. “Looks like Morty is in position. That’ll slow them down at the very least. But listen, somewhere round here there’s a fella throwing grenades inside of miniature tornadoes! I ain’t got a clue where he’s throwing ‘em from but he’s got a hell of an aim.”
*Katoo-nkt!* There was another pop, and a moment later came the sound of another explosion and cries of the wounded. “Lets get goin’!” I gestured towards the most recent pillar of black smoke, recalled the ice and started sliding down the back streets towards the enemy. Trembley ran ahead of me atop his steed and fired his pistol towards three figures who had just rounded the corner to see us. With practiced precision, he fired into their extremities, the bullets passing clean through alongside the unwelcoming sound of metal piercing flesh. The figures doubled over in cries of agony. As I ran to catch up, I knocked their rifles far outa reach and gave each of ‘em a swift kick in the head so’s they wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.
The wind picked up and howled, the street was just head of us. The snow was falling faster now, the wind was rising. Trembley closed his eyes and gestured me silent. “ALLONZ-Y!!!” he cried and spun around on his horse. I took his panic as a sign and took a few steps backwards. Nearly concealed within the sheer whiteout was a black cyclone of gravel and dirt wreathed in the same wretched shape as the other explosions. The whirlwind wasn’t larger than 3ft across but the damned thing didn’t need to be; It was the delivery system.
The cyclone was barreling straight towards me. I turned and ran to the street sidewalk. The cyclone followed me whirling around the corners of the building and kicking up snow and dirt in a flurry around it. The torrent was nearly on top of me now and I braced for the impact…. The cyclone of wind burst with a howl and dissipated without the explosion of a grenade. Under the force of wind I was launched forwards in the air. I could feel the sensation of falling, then a moment later I was face first in the snow. I spat out a mouth of road gravel and stood to find myself on the main road south of the church where we had initially crashed the truck.
There were two fiery wrecks East and west of me. I could hear movement behind the roadside buildings, but standing on the snowy road before me stood but a single man. One of the two Corporals stood tall in the dimly lit streets. Under his open coat he wore a bandolier with a couple grenades on it; his dress code woulda gotten him reprimanded real quick. Untucked shirt, ripped clothes, back paint on the jacket and pant cuffs…. Who the hell did this fool think he was? In one hand he gripped a metal baseball bat and in the other he was making erratic gestures and hand movements in the air as if he were an old-bird spinning a cat’s cradle outta yarn.
“Shaky rifle hand, eh?” I spat and grabbed my rifle from when I held it last. “Where’s the rest of your men?”
The man laughed. “Shaky?!”. The man’s hand stopped twitching and instead began drawing circles in the air. “Fuckin’ Leaf…. I hate to tell ya’ gramps but you ain’t got a chance here.”
I scoffed and took aim. “Gramps? I’m younger than you ye bastard!”
On the south side of the street were three brick stores. From the roof of one of the buildings came another’s voice: “Ranging complete, ready to fire!”. The man on the street before me was distracted, I kept my rifle trained on him to maintain his attention. In the next moment sever things happened in quick succession:
--Firstly, Trembley and his horse crashed into the man from behind launching him forward right to my feet where I buried my barrel in the back of his neck with a stern “DON’T TRY IT!” to remind him of the situation.
---Secondly, Trembley’s, horse whinnied loudly and following that there was a flash of light and *Ka-thunkk* from the Church bell tower. Then the roof of building south of us exploded in a could of fire and soot. Pained screams rang out and were silenced.
--Thirdly, the roofs of the two buildings on either side of the now burning building burst with several flashes of light and the metallic *ka-thunk!* of mortar shells being launched…
There was silence for what felt like moments… Trembley and I met eyes for a fraction of a second as our brains pieced two and two together and we snapped our necks towards the church tower. The first projectile struck the church bell sending it loudly ringing across the whole town. The rest of the mortars obliterated the church tower where Morty was positioned, quickly turning it into burnt splinters. The smoke cleared and the tower was no more. The church itself wasn’t visible from behind the street buildings anymore…
“MORTY!!!” Both Trembley and I cried out in shock….
The man whose neck my gun barrel was pressed into began laughing and tapping his palm against he road.… “You yokles are way outta your league. You may have fought in the great war, but it is we who wage the greatest of wars!” As the man shouted there was a shockwave of air. Trembley, me and even his horse were blasted away from the man and launched skywards by the wicked winds….
So as not to lose it, sent my rifle ‘forwards’ and crossed my arms to ‘delay’ the force of the impact, which came swiftly. From the shock of the fall, I musta been launched twenty feet high. My spine was burning, my body ached and I ground my molars to keep my mind focused entirely on delaying the pain as long as possible…. I clenched my eyes shut and focused on where I would send the pain: The impact to my spine? Send it to when I got to sleep next. The aching of my bones, spread it out over the next day and a half. I still had a few birdshot pellets digging into my shins, might as well let that one play out now. I focused on resuming the damage I had so clumsily accrued earlier, bracing myself for the pellets to shoot out the back of my legs, but other than a sharp pain that nearly blacked me out, it seemed they had lost enough momentum to simply fall out of the dents they had dug themselves into…
As I processed these things lying in the snow, I could hear Trembley’s horse whinnying desperately somewhere for its rider. The ground was a cold comfort to me and I lay there a moment preparing to stand. I heard the sound of boots crunching the snow and leaned up to see the man walking towards me. My head was spinning, but as he got nearer I could just make out his insignia which read: [Corp. G.Torrit, 3∆, 40ch]. The insignia was the same design and format as the boys I had delt with back at my cabin, but none of them had the “three-delta” part. I deduced the delta was something to do with this guys wind control. I watched as the man got closer to where I was lying face up in the snowy road, he was walking slowly towards me and drawing circles in the air with his left hand. When he was within 5ft of me, he pushed his hand quickly and with a howling gust of wind I was thrown head over heels and rolled across the ground as if I were rolling down a steep hill. When I stopped rolling, I grit my teeth and stood up. My body was sore and aching from the beatings I had taken today, but now was not the time for weakness and fatigue. I grabbed my rifle from when I held it last and fired right at the center of mass. “CHUK!~” …Jammed…. Torrit had finished creating another gust and as soon as my rifle locked up I was thrown away once again tumbling backwards towards a smoldering wreck of a truck. This must have been the one Morty took out before he… No! Theres no time for sorrow, only action.
There was a pop of pistol fire. The enemy mortar teams from the roof had peeked over the ledge and opened fire at Trembley, forcing him back into an alley on the north side of the street. After he disappeared from view, the mortar fire returned, spurred on by the billowing commands of whom must have been the second Corporal. There was another pop and the roof of the southern western building erupted in a blast of fire. I was confused; were they firing on each other now? Torrit was distracted, so I took the chance to pull myself away from the ruined trick frame and slammed the butt of my rifle hard against the engine block. The jam cleared, I cycled the next round and opened fire on the bastard. The first shot cleared straight through his leg, dropping him to one knee. As I cycled the rifle, a strong gust of wind pummeled me from the side; my following shot flew wide. Torrit began viciously drawing circles with his arms, like he were winding up for a fastball. I steadied my rifle and strafed south. Shot after shot missed the bastard by centimeters, deflected by the wicked winds.
The blizzard was growing fiercer now, the wind bitter enough to make your eyes hurt. I dove to a snowbank in front of the sidewalk of one of the buildings that had been shelled. The flames had stared to die down but I could still feel the fire hot as hell through my boots. I kicked my boots into the snowbank to cool ‘em off and quickly scanned the area to see where the enemy was. To my shock, the fast falling snow had ceased, the winds had dropped and the only sound was the crackle of smoldering fires.
Then, the whirlwind began. A twister nearly ten foot tall spurred into life pulling into its dark embrace all manner of shrapnel. Glass, splintered wood, broken bricks, jagged icicles; Death by a thousand spinning cuts. Torrit was wielding his meta bat, taking a few warmup swings. “The nerve of that jackass” I shouted in fury. I scrambled to my feet and ran from the cyclone of death. My coat and jeans were cut by the scattering scree; I braced for the worst. There was a sharp whistle and I turned to see Trembley barreling down the street towards me. With practiced agility he simultaneously rallied his horse with his boots in the stirrups, discharged several rounds from his stocked pistol towards Torrit and held out his hand to assumedly help me onto the horse. I reached out a hand to grab the saddle.
The air pressure dropped and so did the whirlwind of shrapnel. There was the metallic *thunk* of a bat connecting to ball. A grenade flew past our heads and directly into a second tornado that Torrit has placed blocking our escape. When the grenade entered the second vortex, the swirling black dirt and white snow morphed in a flash of fire as the blast from an incendiary grenade was expelled from the cyclone. Trembley’s horse fell over and knocked him to the ground. Fire scorched my clothes, hot burning flames and molten gravel. I dove into a snowbank while waiting for the next string to come…
*KABOOM*
The third roof full of enemy soldiers exploded in a burst of fire. Perhaps Morty had set a few long drop shells before the church was destroyed… Torrit panicked and shouted into his handheld radio box: “Sid? Yo! Come in! Sit rep! I need observer. We’re still taking fire here!”
I didn’t waste time moving. I charged the bastard, dashing on memories of the ice. I fired my rifle, but a sudden updraft knocked my rounds off course. I stowed my rifle and drew my axe, swinging overhead as I slid on the ice towards my opponent. My blade connected with his metal bat, denting it only lightly. I delivered a kick to his midsection and he rolled back taking the blow and rolling to his good leg. He swung hist bat in a circle overhead kicking up wind and gravel, it seemed as if the winds themselves were wrapping around his bat. I reached out for that particular log, felt it piney needles and charged him with the tree-ram. The metal bat collided with the trunk of the tree in a blast of wind and splinters. The tree shattered under the force of the wind-wrapped bat, hewing it twain. It collapsed to one knee and tried to swing my axe at his gut with my left hand. “USELESS!” he shouted and disarmed me with a painful strike to the wrist.
I looked around, Trembley was being chased up the street by suppressing fire from the remaining riflemen. He cursed and fired his pistol as he dodged behind post boxes and street signs. The good new was, Torrit was all out of grenades, leaving him with just his winds and metal bat. I spat blood from my mouth and squared up my fists; One-Two-Three jabs landed in his gut, winding him. As I threw the forth punch, he whirled the bat in an arc in front of himself, slamming me in the guts and knocking me away with a blast of wind a brutality. I fell and rolled along the snowy dirt road. The blizzard was clearing and now only this guys false winds remained. I stood once more: tired, bruised and bloodied. Torrit flourished his bat as if it were a dueling sword and kicked up a whirl of winds that surrounded his bat like barbed wire.
I charged him once more trying to close the thirty feet between us as fast as I could by foot. The air pressure fell and suddenly a think nearly invisible line was sheered clean in my direction. I recalled the ice and dashed sideways to avoid the line. The ground was hewn with a thick line as if a 1inch by 3inch deep trench was carved into the road. My thoughts were panicked and my head was racing. A blow like that coulda slicked me in two. Gotta keep moving forwards. “Stand down you Leaf bastard, the boss just wants what you stole from him!” pleaded Torrit as he threw another blade of wind, and then another. I was fortunate enough to dodge the windy blades, but even being near them was enough to shred your skin with the flying scree. I couldn’t let him swing those air blades anymore, I had to stop him. To take his attention away from forming the blades and swinging them, I grabbed my rifle from then I held it last and fired some shots as I strafed to his left. Instead of generating the blade-like currents, he swept wide and once again dissuaded my shots with a localized updraft. Now was my chance.
I recalled the ice once more and launched forwards into a tackle. “Two slow ya prick!” A cyclone of wind lept from the tip of the bat curling through the air like the tentacles of a great sea beast. I crossed my arms over my chest and focused everything I had into delaying the blow. The winds whipped across me, billowing my coat and knocking away my toque. Nearby me, snow dirt, scree, glass bottes and even mailboxes flew past me. And yet I didn’t not budge. Torrit spat and started winding up another wind blade, his bat swinging in his hands fast enough to create a cyclone at the tip. “Hey, why the hell weren’t you blown away? No matter. This air blade will finish you off….” We were fifteen feet apart now. Torrits wind blade was ready and judging by the currents around his bat, this would be a lethal and unavoidable hit. Good thing I was in position.
While focusing everything into delaying the blow, I had managed to stagger myself around so my back was facing the Corporal now. I took one final deep breath and let the tentacle of winds from earlier take its effect…
The world spun and I was head over heels. Earlier today I had used that tree to soften the blow of being hit by a truck. This must be karma, because the blast from the wind sure as hell felt like a truck. I flew and crashed into something solid. Flesh and bone were crushed, but not mine. After that impact, the world spun and I tumbled across the ground and face first into a brick building on the street. My vision was blurry again and my head still spinning. In my haze I could see Torrit lying tangled in the shelled-out truck that was still smoking. I could hear him swearing and groaning. “Where the hell are ya Sid? You bastard, leaving me all alone to fight these assholes.” From around the corner Trembley galloped atop his horse dragging something behind him tied up in ropes. He looked in my direction and saw that I was still moving; however little, and mused: “Mon Dieu! What happened here mon chum?” Trembley whistled loudly and curtly, tossing a bright red hand flare onto the wrecked truck next to Torrit. The soldier panicked and tried to clamber from the wreckage. ”SHIIIITTTT!!!” A moment later, the shell of a truck was once more fully engulfed in the blast of a mortar. The fight was over.
~~~
As the dust cleared and the winds returned to normal. Trembley dismounted and helped me to my feet. “Frere, you look like shit.” I dusted the blood and dirt from my clothes and stood to assess the damage. “Couple of cracked ribs and a dozen more scars… I’ll live. Where the hell is Morty? I was afraid he was in that tower when it blew, but those were his shots just now weren’t it?” “Shit, and here I though Krauts were tough!” Morty rounded the corner with his mortar sling over his back. He was covered in dirt and splinters but otherwise seemed intact. “Hell of a Piece they got here!” Morty said gesturing to the weapon over his shoulder. “This things got a fancy set of wires to let you operate it from another room. Took me a while to reset though, since half the damn belltower fell on me.”
I sighed and clutched my aching ribs. “Glad to see yer alright fellas. Look I’m terribly sorry for getting ya mixed up in this crap.” Trembley lit a cigarette and sighed. “Whether or not you asked. I wouldn’t sleep right knowing these thugs were roaming our little Town.” I sat down and propped myself against the nearest building. “Eh, Trembley, any of them still able to speak?” Without uttering a word, he walked over to his faithful warhorse and cut the ropes attached to the body he was dragging. Morty adjusted his glasses and nodded. “The second Corporal by the looks of it. That’s all hostiles, by my count.” The man was unconscious by the looks of it and had a big red hoofprint stamped very cleanly into his face. We tried for a few good minutes to wake him, but as hard we tried, he wouldn’t stir. “With a welt like that on the forehead, I’ll be surprised if he wakes in the next week, if at all.” Morty gave his assessment and went rummaging in his bag and pockets. The man had a sling bag, a pistol a handheld radio box matching Torrits. The radio was busted from battle damage, and we left the pistol since we didn’t know what kind of round it took. Inside the sling bag we found something astonishing. It was a book labeled “the Art of War.”
Sun Zu was a great and important read, but as I flipped through the book it seems the pages were mostly blank. The few pages that did have anything on them consisted of unbelievably sharp photographs of various locations as if they had been taken by a survey balloon. As I rifled to the center of the book, I noticed there was a map of Pineford. As I stared at the map, I noticed something odd. “Oy, Morty, did the old Church ever burn down before tonight?” “Negative Ed, there was a church on the far side of town but this one has been standing since it was built 30 years ago.” I turned the book towards Morty who was utterly astounded. “This is…. This photograph looks like it was taken just minutes ago… no wait a sec…. Trembley, throw a flare down the street.” Me and Morty glued our eyes to the page and suddenly a bright red light appeared on the street we were standing on and as Trembley threw the flare, so too did the light on the page fly down the road.
“Instantaneous Real-time maps? No wonder his tornadoes could follow us around buildings. How is this possible? Is this the work of that rock you were talking about Eddy?”
“I ain’t got the foggiest, Morty. But, Eh, check to see if they have any other useful maps in there, we can use that book to our advantage.”
“Mes Amis: Je parlerai à la montée”. Five of the local boys in red rode towards the scene of the battle rifle drawn and pointed towards us. Luckily Trembley’s uncle was a service member and diplomatically explained the situation to them. “I turned back to Morty who said, hey, the McGooding farm is in this book!” I grabbed the top of the book so as to get a good look, there were three half-tracks pulling up to the farm, and dozens of men dismounting with rifles.
“Shit, we gotta get move, they’ve got guys there already. Two trucks are toast, but they came with two squads right, they gotta have a second truck somewhere?” “Morty tapped his temple and replied “South west edge of town, I saw them park the other truck there when I was setting up the mortar.”
Trembley walked over with the Mounties and the Proud handlebar moustache of Sherrif Dolty spoke: “Hell of a mess we have here lads. Some American mercenaries think they can roll into the Rockies guns ablaze and get away with it eh? Mr. Trembley tells me there’s more of these guys going after a civilian girl. You three’d best get movin’ well take care of the mess here and make sure none of them ever think of trying to start anything else in town.”
…
I climbed into the back of the truck with Morty and the horse while Trembley took the wheel. I lay down on a bench and focused on burning through as much stored up agony as I could before the next sortie. The truck erupted to life and the treads dug into the snow. Trembley floored it, slid back the divider and shouted: “Let's go les boys, on va au diable une aut' foix!” (Hell, once again.)
The Colonels men are closing in on Inue. Will Edmund be able to reach her in time?
Find out in part B.
