Out of the Way

Commandant Cahill was the only person to stop Spartan and Albrecht’s people on their way out of the castle. He knew what Spartan was doing without explanation, only asking where he was sending them. After Spartan told him, the Commandant let them go. Men who weren’t yet needed in other places littered the halls; sparsely at first, then more when they were closer to Spartan’s designated exit. They parted for him and his followers to pass by. However, one lieutenant did stop them to ask about the map he’d received. Spartan informed him it was just in case the Khardis got the better of them here. The lieutenant, taking note of Albrecht’s team, nodded with a curt “Sir” and let them go.

A five-man team was stationed at the tunnel entrance. All the known entrances and exits were be guarded. It was unknown which entrances the Khardis knew of, and their wildfire operation was sure to reveal more of the tunnels to them. At the sight of Spartan, the men stood at attention. He looked them over to identify the highest-ranking among them only to see they all bore the same rank emblem.

“No one is to know we came this way. Is that understood?”

The men gave that hand-to-shoulder salute. “Yes, sir!”

Spartan nodded, then beckoned Albrecht’s team and escort to follow him.

More prominent tunnels and passageways through the mountain had some guards; a couple men here or there and even the occasional small unit. This was not one of those passageways. It was a smaller tunnel a bit out of the way for any good logistical use. All it had was the standard ten-foot reaching light to show the door. After that, Spartan and the escort led the way with their flashlights. No one said anything. Spartan wondered how it was going with the Berserkers. The Khardis would be at the mountain by now, setting it ablaze. His exit would be unaffected for now, even if the Berserkers were horribly unsuccessful in their mission. He was lucky this was the exit he knew of, but he knew some people back home who would say it had nothing to do with luck. It didn’t matter what it was.

Spartan stopped walking when he saw the unmistakable red glow of moonlight. He whispered the order to shut off the lights, then creeped forward. There shouldn’t be any tangoes here, he thought, but I can’t risk it.

He poked his head cautiously out of the entrance and looked. There was noise to his right. Gunfire. Yells. He smiled. The Berserkers were hard at work. Even better, no indication anyone else was close to where they were. He motioned for everyone to come up.

“We’re going to stay cautious,” he said. “At least until you’re all off this mountain.” He pointed slightly to the left on the adjacent slope. “Right there. Any of you ever been to Jürgenstag?”

No one answered.

“Alright.”

He sent three of the escort to cover the sides and back of the group. The other two walked with him. Carefully, he led them down the mountain. They left the openness of the backside for the front’s canopy of trees. Their pace dropped considerably as the researchers tried not to drop what they carried.

“I should be putting you close enough to the main road so you can use it as a reference point. Again, I want you all to avoid using it. I’m sure the Khardis will be keeping their eyes open. How many of you have lighters?”

A few of the researchers and a couple of the soldiers sounded off. Spartan handed his lighter to one of the two men up front with him. He could go without smoking for a couple days.

“If capture is eminent or unavoidable, destroy what you have there. It’s all paper, yes?” Albrecht nodded. “Good. If Drügeldorf falls, take it all back to Resturia. We’ll have to consider the Annexed Zone lost.”

The soldier he handed the lighter to — one of the two talking each other up in the hall — spoke up. “Is there some significance to what these guys are carrying?”

“Weapons research mostly.”

“Is there anything more significant than just weapons research, sir?”

“That,” Spartan said pointedly, “is none of your concern, soldier. If it comes to it, everything gets destroyed. Everything.”

Spartan motioned for them to stop. Again, he went forward a bit, this time peering through the treeline. Below them was an empty dirt road. He rejoined the group.

“The road is just past the trees,” he said. “Stay alive. If you do not hear from us in the next three days, go to Resturia.”

#

Spartan stopped briefly before heading back into the tunnel. All that time watching men get cut down by those planes, on top of all these preparations for failure, he now found himself wanting a bit of hope. He walked a few yards past the tunnel entrance. He wouldn’t be seen where he was at, especially if the Berserkers were keeping the pyros busy. By those continued screams and gunshots, Spartan figured it was a safe bet they were occupied enough. Although, he wasn’t too fond of the smoke when he saw it. That meant the burning had begun, and he wasn’t sure how well the conditions were for it to spread. He was even more displeased when he saw the fires for himself.

The shapes of the pyros were easy to make out thanks to a combination of his vantage point, the light of the half-moon, and the flames silhouetting them. Their numbers had been cut down quite a bit, but not as much as Spartan hoped they would. That was okay. Any loss incurred by the enemy was still a gain. The Khardis were yelling at each other, firing off bursts from their flamethrowers frantically. He couldn’t see it too clearly, but he was certain some of them were firing off their sidearms. The highlight of the show was seeing them disappear. With each disappearance Spartan observed their actions become more animated. He wished he was close enough to hear what they were saying.

Then his heart sank. One word began reverberating through their ranks. At first it sounded like “turn”, as though they may be ordering a retreat. That misconception was gone when all the pyros started moving up the mountain, haphazard and in different directions, all while shooting steady flames.