Rebuilding the Defense

“Those boys in medbay?” Sarge asked when he saw Andy step back onto the wall.

Andy nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Across the lake, the Warmonger was almost above the shoreline. Andy heard gunfire in that direction, and saw faint signs of movement. It was hard to tell what was going on from so far away.

“You think they may fire on us, sir?” Coulson asked. “They have to know the planes are down.”

Sarge grunted. “Maybe.” He handed Coulson his pair of binoculars and pointed into the distance. “Or they might do that.”

Coulson looked. “Gods,” he muttered.

“We were too focused on them doing a bombing run, we never considered it.”

“Considered what?” Andy asked.

“That they’d fire on the shore,” Coulson answered, handing back the binoculars. “But this means….”

“They have plenty of space for more men.” Sarge turned around. “Polski! Send word to Spartan and the Commandant! The Warmonger is aiming for the shoreline!”

“Yes, sir!” came Polski’s voice from inside.

“How are we doing with the mortars?” Sarge called out.

Andy looked down. A handful of mortars had been brought up to replace the decimated defense. The men were scrambling to put them together and keep them steady on the now uneven ground.

“We’re doing what we can, sir!”

“Do better than that,” Sarge called back. “Crusader, make yourself useful. Go down and help.”

“I — what?”

“You heard me, kid.”

Andy stumbled. How was he supposed to help with the mortars? He glanced back down at the men struggling.

“Hurry up, kid. I think it’s about to fire.”

As if on cue, Andy heard a dull “whoom”, followed by an explosion. A cloud of smoke rose where a pillbox once was. Then there was another, and another. Sarge grabbed Andy’s shoulder to turn him around.

“Stop waiting around, soldier. Get down there and help.”

Andy nodded, then ran to the stairs.

#

Andy stood in the open gate for several seconds before stepping out. He still didn’t know what he should do. After all, he’d never had to do anything like this. His mind was racing, but none of the thoughts were even close to what he needed. Mostly, they were wishes and prayers this place would fade away like the bad dream he wanted it to be. He walked over to the nearest three men, who were struggling to get their mortar situated. Yet another boom sounded as the sixth shot was fired by the Warmonger.

“Not there!” Sarge yelled. He pointed over to the far end of the line. “Over there.”

Two men were dragging a mortar along the ground. Andy lightly jogged over to them. The men were at either side, so Andy grabbed hold of the back and lifted. With his fingers wrapped around the framework connecting the feet to the mortar’s body, its jagged edges dug into his fingers, and the weight of the artillery sent a burning sensation in his hand. His arms ached and his legs shook with the effort. He gladly put it down when he heard one of the other two say so. One of them patted his shoulder.

“Thanks for the help.” Nodding to the other one, he asked, “Think the angle’s okay?”

“Should be.”

Andy looked around, taking note of something missing. “Don’t you guys need rounds?” he stammered out.

“Jameson and Ajax are getting those,” said the one who patted his back. “Should be getting here soon.” He held out a hand to Andy. “You’re the alien, right?”

Andy shook it. “I guess I am.”

“Name’s Spencer. This is Branson.”

“I guess they’re calling me Crusader or something.”

Branson pointed at the mortar. “You ever fire or load one of these before?”

Andy shook his head. A series of three booms sounded from across the lake. He hadn’t realized the Warmonger stopped firing. Must have needed a reload.

Spencer stared at a dust cloud. “Jackson was down there....”

“Not anymore,” said Branson. “Damn it, where are they?”

One of the other mortar teams fired off a shot. The other teams already had their ammunition and were loading.

“I swear if Ajax is messing around again, I’ll throw him off this cliff,” Branson snarled. “We don’t have time for this. Smith!”

The closest man to them perked up. “Yes?”

“You got a round you can spare us?”

Smith dropped a shell into his mortar. “What happened to yours?”

Branson held up his hands. “No clue. Ajax and Jameson went to get ours, they haven’t come back yet.”

“Alright, alright,” Smith replied. He lifted up a shell and walked over with it. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Branson loaded it.

“Don’t mention it.”

As Smith walked away, Andy heard another shot from the Warmonger. He had gotten used to it already, only bracing himself for the immediate boom. Except the boom didn’t come. All he heard was the sound of men shouting down the line, and all he saw where them pointing to the horizon. So he looked.

In one split second, he caught sight of a massive round barreling toward the castle. He didn’t even have time to react before it hit the castle’s wall, sending a deafening boom which left his ears with a disorienting ring. Everything went black as a shockwave blasted him in the chest, sending him flying through the air. Through his armor, he felt the impact of the ground, followed by the pressure of being drug through the dirt. With the minimal protection on his limbs he felt what he could only describe later as the world’s largest piece of sandpaper being rubbed against him. He stopped moving long before he could see or hear. Carefully, he reached out his hands in an attempt to get his bearings. His left hand felt the safety of the ground, but his right hand grasped at empty air.