Feeble Senses

There was nowhere to hide. Viking’s only option was to run. Trying to maintain a semblance of stealth, he headed to the front of the ship. This was a combat vessel, a Warmonger, which meant there would be another way out. Not the bombing hangar, of course. Heading back that way now was suicide. He had to get back to Drügeldorf and deliver the information he had to the Commandant. He also had to live long enough to see if there was a way back home.

He had to live long enough to see his girls again.

Viking stopped in one of the soldiers’ nests. These were one of the combat fixtures of the Warmonger. A 50mm artillery cannon almost filled the room, its barrel facing forward. Moonlight illuminated the room through windows on the far sides. He moved over to one and began feeling for a latch. Roaring footsteps came from the hall, growing louder.

Where’s that damn—

Click. The window swung open. The drop wouldn’t be pleasant, but it was survivable. He clambered through, letting himself hang momentarily from the frame. Just as the Khardis charged into the room, he dropped. Even when he absorbed what he could and rolled, pain shot through his legs upon impact. Ignoring it, he ran to the ship’s main body. The Khardis above wouldn’t see him there. A rifle barrel’s shadow was on the ground, scanning the area. More yelling from above.

“He can’t be far!”

Viking inched his way along the airship’s side, working his way to the back. He saw men beginning to fan out from two points. The first was the airship’s entrance. The second was the building the Khardis were occupying. Thankfully, he heard no barking. No dogs put them at the mercy of their own feeble senses. The alley Viking hid his cloak was a few yards away. He needed to get it fast: the cold of the northern night was beginning to take hold. It was out of the way enough they wouldn’t see him. He darted toward it, keeping low and sliding behind a stack of crates, bumping them as he did.

“I heard something over here.”

He cursed silently. With no time to waste, he reached into a nearby bin and snagged the cloak. His arms numb, he fumbled the furry bundle on while keeping pace. He ran into another alley, seeing lights at the other end. Viking made a beeline to a door and slipped inside. He was now in the cluttered storage room of a store, crates and barrels lining its walls. Crouching, he deftly maneuvered his way through to a set of stairs. Lights shown through the windows as he made his descent, accompanied by voices. Once he was at the bottom, he knocked on the wall to his left.

Shave and a haircut, two bits. A simple tune he brought from home that still gave him a smirk after all these years.

In response, a section of the wall moved. Viking slipped through the opening. Two men sat in the far corner, Johan and Gallager, and a third held the bit of wall that moved. The Berserkers. Their backpacks and gear leaned against the far wall. Once Viking was in, Stevens, the man holding the wall, replaced it, then slid a barrel against it. Johan stood up.

“Sir, what happened? Did you get on board?”

Viking nodded. “They’re not making it to Drügeldorf. Did Calhoun’s squad ever make contact?”

“No,” Johan answered.

Viking grunted. “Do we at least have a way back?”

“We do,” said Stevens. “Farmer just outside of town is willing to give us a cart and a horse.”

“How much?” Their commanding officers would want to know. Pointless bureaucratic concerns as far as Viking cared.

“Nothing. The people here really don’t like the Khardis.”

“Good.” Now the question was when to move out.

A crash came from above, then another, followed by boots on wooden floors. Shouts and crashing as Khardi soldiers invaded the building.

“Bring the occupants!” came a heavy accent.

The screaming and crying of children joined in with the clattering of boots. Soldiers yelled at them to be quiet. A man’s voice asked what was happening, why his home was being occupied.

The Khardi in charge answered, his voice calm yet firm. “What is your name?”

Everything quieted down, save the sobs of a little girl.

“What?”

“Your name.”

“Struger. Dolph Struger.”

“Someone got into our airship tonight. Would you know anything about this, Mr. Struger?”

“Why would we know anything about that?”

No answer, only pacing.

“Please. We know nothing.”

Viking grit his teeth. He wanted to do something, but he couldn’t risk giving away their position.

“Search the house,” the Khardi C.O. ordered.

Viking and the Berserkers stayed quiet as the pounding footfalls deafened them. Struger’s family said nothing, and Viking couldn’t peek through the floorboards to see them. He was certain the C.O. was watching them. There was nothing he hated more than these moments of powerlessness, of just sitting and waiting. Especially after everything that happened back home. The noise of searching continued around them. He heard a couple Khardis in the basement. Stevens was holding his breath, scared an exhale would give them away. One hand was on his sidearm. Johan and Gallager had their rifles trained on the bunker’s entrance. Viking was the only one not ready to act. Though muffled, he was the only one who could understand the soldiers.

“Just bottles, shelves.”

One of them tapped along the wall.

“Doesn’t sound hollow or anything.”

“Check everything. We don’t want to piss off the General.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The tapping continued until he came to the bunker’s entrance. “Hey, come listen to this.”

“Is there anything there you can move?”

“Hold on.”

Viking grabbed an axe handle. Only the sound of struggling came from the other side.

“Not moving.”

“Might just be a hollow point in the wall.”

“Should we tell the General?”

“Heh, as if. The rest of it doesn’t sound hollow, you really think there’s something back there? General has us all jumping at shadows. I just want to go back to bed. Let’s go.”

Footsteps going upstairs. After another couple minutes, all the noise quieted down.

“Well?” came the General’s voice.

All of his men said they found nothing. The General was quiet, thinking.

“Very well. Let us confer with the others.”

The Khardis filed out of the building orderly, quietly. Eventually, the Berserkers heard Viking’s signal knock from above, cutting off before the “two bits”. Viking responded with those final two notes.

“Are you okay up there?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dolph said. “Just a bit shaken. But now they know someone from the Alliance is here. How will you get back?”

“Don’t worry about us. We’ll figure it out. I would also recommend nailing shut the bunker when we leave.”

“Why’s that?”

“The men in the basement found it. Couldn’t get it open with the barrel in the way, but if the Khardis search your store again and find it….”

“I understand.” Dolph’s voice shaked ever so slightly. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Dolph.” Viking meant it. After all, it was Dolph who offered to hide them while they ran their mission. Although, it nagged him they were occupied by Khardis. The Warmonger was Alkenian based on how it looked, and with how far away Al-Khardi was it just didn’t make sense for them to be here. It also perturbed him none of the townsfolk had seen much of them during their occupation. As old Marcellus once said, something’s rotten in the state of Denmark.