Stealing My Truck Back Part 2

Dawn. I rubbed my hands together to warm them and tucked them into my armpits. I was growing used to the early morning, but the chill still prevailed. It numbed, just a little, the type of early chill that bespoke autumn’s arrival.

Men clamoured around me, nervously adjusting their armor or checking their weapons. The shuffle of anxious feet resounded softly, surrounding me and blotting out the other sounds of the morning. It seemed as though the world had shrunk to a tiny hemisphere, the ground where the battle was to take place. I’d learned it the best I could, ever since the scouts had returned the night prior with confirmation that Spineripper had indeed camped atop Herron’s Hill, memorized the maps drawn by Father Alton, and eventually the lay of the land itself as our impromptu army drew closer.

Spineripper had chosen his camp well. He was well defended atop the high ground, with low, open approaches on three sides of the hill. The fourth was the west, and we dared not make our attack from that direction. It would be all too easy for us to become cut off from our town should a westerly attack fail.

We lingered just within the treeline, hoping that our position combined with our enemy’s confidence would hide our armies before the time came to strike. Our men knew the land well, having lived here their entire lives. Friendly villages lay to our rear, avenues of escape should our attack fail. But that was not our greatest advantage.

I felt the warmth of the sun tickle the base of my neck and I knew that the time had come. Ser Egis began organizing his men into loose ranks. Mort and Mikhail began doing the same with their companies.

“Alright you gutless lot!” I shouted, trying my best to match the tone of a drill sergeant, “Form up! Three ranks! Three ranks, you hear, not four!” I glared at a young farmhand who was standing by himself in the rear of the formation. He yelped and slipped into the third rank when he saw my eyes on him.

“Well, you certainly inspire fear in the locals.” Atlas commented dryly, “Shame you don’t have a similar effect on the enemy.”

“That’s what you’re here for.” I said, “I promised Imalor I’d make Spineripper bleed. I’m going to need you to keep that promise.”

“You promised Lynessa you’d come back, too.” Atlas muttered, “How many promises do you intend on breaking today?” The tiger had not been enthused about the attack, though he was never really enthused about anything. This may well be just another Tuesday morning for him, I reasoned.

“I don’t intend on breaking any of them.” I said. I looked over the three segments of soldiers before us. They looked about as ready as they were going to be with only one night’s planning. Everyone seemed frozen in place, waiting for the full dawn.

“I’d say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Atlas said, “But this is you we’re talking about.” He kneaded the grass with his paws, tail lashing in the air. For as much as he complained, I suspected that he enjoyed this on some implicit level. Something about a tiger’s predatory instincts, the need to hunt, to kill.

We made a strange pair of heroes.

Full dawn came at last and we advanced. This was our main advantage, the reason for our hasty attack. The sun was at our backs and it would be in our enemy’s eyes as we advanced. The demons, being stationed atop a barren hillside, would be forced to fight facing the blinding light of the newly risen sun.

The companies approached at a swift march. One man from Mikhail’s ranks stumbled as we closed the distance. Atlas streaked out, corralling him back into line with a vicious growl. We couldn’t afford to let the lines break, not against such a coordinated force.

As we reached the bottom of the hill, our foe made themselves known. They appeared at the crown of the hill, formed into ranks, and rained missiles down upon the middle section of our force. Most of the projectiles were spears; the demons only had four or five archers among them, evenly distributed among the ranks, though the spears did well enough on their own. At least a dozen from our frontlines had fallen before we’d even reached a quarter of the way up the hill.

Fortunately, the spears were not wholly a loss. Some of our peasants were able to appropriate them, exchanging their pitchforks and sharpened hoes for actual implements of war. One of the demon archers took a few shots at me, though I’d held back as Father Alton had suggested and they fell short. Halfway through the ascent the number of spears raining down had slowed. The demons were running out.

I dispatched a third of my force to bolster the vanguard. Ser Elgis’ forces had been hit hardest by the demons, a little over a half of their original number remained. The advance continued. Only the archers continued firing, their shots finding little success while hampered by the morning sun.

The initial line of demons fell back as we reached the top and a second line came forward armed with longspears and pikes. Our soldiers hesitated, refusing to be thrown against the wall of death. I understood their hesitancy. The first thrown into the battle would surely die. Still, the sacrifice must be made. The line needed to be broken.

Ser Elgis made the play himself. Followed by his three bravest soldiers, he charged the line of pikes. One caught him in the side. The knight shouted and wrapped his arm around the shaft, pulling with all his might. The demon holding the spear stumbled out of line. The soldiers following him pounced, plunging into the breach and swiftly meeting their end to the claws of the second rank of demons. Their deaths were not in vain, however, as the rest of Ser Elgis’ force rushed in, preventing the line from closing back up.

I sent another third of my force to reinforce the surge. The line fractured, then broke, splitting into two smaller forces. The demon’s left flank (the side to our right), was the smaller of the two, and so Mort had been able to make more progress. His troops made the hilltop and began establishing a foothold. Atlas rushed to support him, and soon the hilltop to our right was ceded.

Good. Very good. This battle was beginning to look possible. Ser Elgis’ remaining troops had linked up with Mort’s, expanding our foothold. I marched up my reserves to the crown of the hill. Only one lingering thought kept me from committing them to the battle. Where was Spineripper?

My eyes swept the demon encampment. Hasty fortifications had been erected out of packed earth and fallen trees, and the demons had begun to fall back to a secondary defensive line. The demon archers continued to plink away at us from behind waist-high mounds of dirt.

An arrow came within inches of me. I ducked down, frantically looking around for the assailant. I caught a glimpse of him turning to the side, followed by a flash of orange and a sharp yelp. Atlas had found him first.

There. I now saw Spineripper. He was kneeling down next to my truck, his hands wrapped around the horns attached to the hood. The Demonlord’s horns. That was why he was interested in the truck, the horns must have contained some kind of power. He yanked on one of the horns. The truck lurched forward, the horn wiggling in place.

That was it. That had to be his goal, and I couldn’t let him accomplish it. I didn’t know why exactly, but I had a feeling that if he was to succeed we would all be done for. It was time for some bravery in the field.

I marched the rest of my men upwards into the vanguard. Ser Elgis, who was hastily being tended to by one of his men, looked up at me as I approached.

“Order your men to fall in with mine.” I said, “We’re going to make a straight shot for my truck.”

“That would leave us exposed on the flanks.” He protested.

“If Spineripper gets the Demonlord’s horns off that truck, we’ll have far bigger problems to worry about.” I said. Ser Elgis nodded wearily and gave me command of his force.

“Onwards!” I shouted, “Vengeance will be ours! Spineripper will bleed!”

My men surged forward. They hit the demon lines hard. The demons pushed back with equivalent conviction, but our force was superior in number. We punched a hole through and continued past them, ignoring the spears that came stabbing from the sides. The demon lines closed up behind us.

“Eyes forward!” I shouted, “Cut off the head and the rest will fall!” We surged forwards.

Spineripper glanced up at us and growled. Only about a half dozen of us had made it past the demon line. He unslung his mace and swung at the air a couple of times.

“You’re back.” He said, “And you’ve brought me some more spines.”

“You killed Arthur.” I shouted, “You harmed my friends, and worst of all, YOU STOLE MY TRUCK!”

“Truck?” The demon general asked, bemused, “Is that what you call this thing? I thank you for notifying me. I was worried I would never know what to call it once you died.”

“Kill him!” I ordered. The men charged forward. Spineripper laughed.

I bolted towards the truck as my men closed in on him. Spineripper sent one crumpling to the ground with an overhead slam of his mace, then knocked two others aside with a single swipe. He slammed a hand through another’s ribcage, pulling out the man’s spine through the front of his chest.

I reached my truck and threw open the door. Spineripper noticed and tried to turn towards me but one of my men managed to stab him in the back with a spear. Spineripper cursed, swinging around and flattening the man with a powerful blow. I revved the engine and slammed on the gas.

Spineripper tried to bring his mace around to strike my truck but Atlas came up from behind and bit him in the ankle. Spineripper howled, swung around, and was hit square-on by my truck. He flew, crashing into the ground a dozen yards away.

Atlas closed in and leapt for the finishing blow, but Spineripper rolled to the side and regained his feet. He swung his mace around, connecting with Atlas’ side. I gasped in pain as I felt my ribs crack. The blow stunned me for several seconds, and when I finally had the wherewithal to check my surroundings, Spineripper had vanished.

I pulled up next to Atlas, who’d managed to find his feet. He hopped up into the pickup bed. I swung around to face the battle. It was mainly over. When the middle section of our force had plunged through the lines, the demons had managed to assemble back together into a unified force. They’d launched an offensive of their own, smashing Mikhail’s men before turning on Mort.

I made several passes in my truck, scattering the demons when it became obvious that they could not stand up to its power. Dalf approached me afterwards. He had taken command of the right flank after Mort had died while establishing a foothold. Mikhail and his forces had been slaughtered completely after my charge for the truck. Ser Elgis had died of his wounds. In all, seventeen of our force remained.