Disaster on Two Fronts

Johan roasting on the mountain was seared into Viking’s mind. He didn’t want it there, and despite never seeing it for himself, it seemed his brain wanted to dwell on it now he and the others were out of danger. At least his mind was off of other things. However, those other things were a bit more pleasant than the idea of a man burning alive. He set himself to tracking down the Commandant, keeping the remaining Berserkers close with him. They found him alone in the planning room, pondering the map of the Annexed Zone.

“Commandant Cahill.” Viking saluted. “The other side of the mountain is up in flames.”

The Commandant scoffed. “Guess the boys inside will get to see some action after all. What are we looking at back there?”

On the way there, the Berserkers tallied their kills, so Viking said with confidence, “I believe we may have cut them down by about half.”

“Roughly fifty, then. Did you see anyone else approaching the mountain?”

“No, sir.”

“We could see the Warmonger from Älgenhul,” Stevens said.

“Hm.”

Before the Commandant could say anything else, the castle shook. Dust fell from the ceiling, coating the map in a thin layer. The Commandant shot up.

Gallager glanced around. “You don’t think…?”

“I do,” said the Commandant as he pushed past them.

The Berserkers followed.

#

“Holy….”

Except for Stevens’s trailed off exclamation, they were all stunned to silence. Medical personnel rushed past them, carrying stretchers. A team went into a demolished room where Viking saw Calhoun and Polski. There was another soldier buried under rubble, but he couldn’t make out who it was. Viking didn’t worry about Calhoun and his men. The medics had that covered. He ran out onto the grounds where the mortars should be. Spartan was off to the side near the edge of the cliff, with Crusader close by. Viking ran up to them.

“You okay?” he asked Spartan.

Rubbing his shoulder, Spartan nodded. “Just a bit of over-exertion.”

Viking smiled. “Look at it this way: you’ll never forget the V.A.”

“Wish I could.” He pointed at Crusader. “I think the new guy may need to be looked at. Damn Warmonger fired on the castle.”

Viking flagged down a pair of medics. “You should get yourself looked at, too.”

Spartan shook his head. “No, not now. Right now, I need to keep my eyes on what’s going on. We can’t afford to lose Drügeldorf.”

“To Hell with Drügeldorf,” Viking spat. “We can’t lose you.”

One of the medics was looking over Crusader, the other bent over Spartan.

“Don’t worry about me,” Spartan told him, “worry about him. I don’t know how close he was when the round hit, but he seemed dazed when I got to him. Figure one of the doctors may need to take a look.”

“Sir, I think you should listen to your friend and at least let me take a look at you,” the medic answered.

Spartan grabbed him by his shirt collar. “I’m fine. Worry about him. That’s an order.”

The medic stared at him, motionless. “I’m sorry sir, but you’re not my commanding officer. I don’t take orders from you.” He gently grabbed Spartan’s wrist and pulled his hand away. “You winced when you moved your arm. Where was the pain, sir?”

Gritting his teeth, Spartan let out a long sigh. “The shoulder,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Saying nothing, Viking left the medic to poke and prod his friend. He joined the one looking over Crusader right when he was shining a light in the young man’s eye.

“Is he okay?”

The other medic shrugged. “Should be fine. Bit shaken is all. At most, he might have some minor injuries. Whatever the case, he needs to be taken off the field. Give me a hand, grab his feet.”

As Viking grabbed Crusader’s ankles, the medic wrapped his hands under his shoulders. With a count of three, they lifted him up and placed him back down on the stretcher. The medic then grabbed the handles on his end. Viking did the same.

“Taking this one down to sick bay, Joey,” the medic said.

“That’s fine,” Joey answered. “This officer will be down there shortly.”

“Listen here, you little—”

Joey pressed his thumb into Spartan’s shoulder, causing him to howl in pain.

“Like I said, he’ll be down shortly.”

Viking chuckled as they left the two there. Spartan had pushed off his medical treatment long enough; in the end, he’d probably thank Joey for that. How many times had the Alliance offered treatment? Viking lost count after a while. It seemed Spartan got too caught up in living his dream as a hero, he forgot he needed to take care of himself.

“Did you see it?” the medic asked him.

“Did I see what?”

“The shot the Warmonger fired.”

Viking shook his head. “Wasn’t put up front.”

“Oh. Okay.”

There wasn’t much conversation after that.

#

“Over there!” The nurse pointed to the far end of the room. Viking and the medic maneuvered around the people there.

Hell, just how bad is it? Viking looked around the room. A few beds were already occupied, but the activity could have confused someone. Pained groans echoed off the walls, men writhed on their beds clutching at wounds, and doctors and nurses rushed between the beds. If this was how it was now, then how much worse was it about to get? He tried not to think of it, to focus on what else could be done. Get the stretcher to the bed, deposit Crusader. Once the lad was there, the nurse began going through similar steps the medic had.

“Looks fine,” she muttered. “We’ll see what the extent of the damage is to your friend.”

“Thank you,” Viking said. He wasn’t sure if he’d call Crusader a friend, necessarily, but he kept that to himself. They only met yesterday, after all. He worked his way back to the front of the room, and his mind went back to Johan’s charred corpse on the other side of the mountain.