Blind Spots

The Warmonger still hovered above what remained of the shoreline defense. Spartan, for the umpteenth time, cursed their lack of proper defenses. He would have some strong words with a few bureaucrats back in Resturia for all this. How long where the Khardis going to wait? That was the only question plaguing him then. Commandant Cahill stood next to him in the tower, his face still painted in frustration.

“Spartan, sir.” They both turned toward the grunt in the doorway. He was a weedy lad, with a folder tucked under his arm. “I found the file you wanted.”

Spartan held out his hand. “Thank you.”

The soldier handed him the folder, saluted, then left.

The Commandant nodded at the file. “What would that be?”

“This is a little dossier on one General Abdul Salim. I asked the boys in the records to take a look and see if we had it here.”

Spartan opened the folder, counted the pages within, and handed half to the Commandant.

“As long as the enemy wants to wait, we should take the opportunity. We might be able to illuminate our situation.”

“Do you think the Butcher was in the other ship?”

Spartan glanced up from his pages. He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer. If the Butcher was as smart as he suspected, he might have opted not to travel to Drügeldorf in the ship. Viking did say the Butcher was on to them back in Älgenhul. Why wouldn’t he play it cautiously? Both sites had other transport according to the reports.

He put his attention back on the papers. “I think this might give us an insight.”

“Spartan.”

“What?”

“The Warmonger.”

Spartan looked out the window. The airship was moving.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “Read.”

“Is there much point now? It’ll be on the Castle soon.”

“We need to get what we can about Salim. Need to build a profile.”

“Then do it.” The Commandant handed back his half of the dossier. “I need to be able to command my soldiers.”

Spartan said nothing more, setting himself to his reading. Well, it was more skimming. Knowing the Warmonger was making its move put him on as much of an edge as the Commandant. The first page held a list of war crimes, all of which the Butcher was guilty of committing. A glorified wanted poster. It even had an image of his face stapled to it. Inhumane treatment of war prisoners. Killing civilians. Torture of non-combatants such as freelance medics. Further details were found in the other pages, along with more images.

The more he looked at it, the more he was convinced the Butcher wasn’t on the airship when it went down. No vehicles were spotted by him or anyone else, though. That didn’t mean there were none; the pyros were mildly distracting. It could also have been a flight vehicle. If the focus was down the mountainside, he could have easily slipped over the mountain. Spartan walked over to the window. Analyzing the Warmonger, it didn’t appear to have a plane attached. Touch down on the other mountains, maybe?

Spartan grabbed the radio they had with them. “This is Spartan. Does anyone have a good visual of either mountain to either side of the castle?”

A flurry of negative responses followed. The Commandant just stared at him.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

Still speaking into the radio, Spartan said, “I need eyes on the other mountains. Someone call in once they have that.” The radio buzzed with the coordination of various units. Spartan let them hash it out. “We were so focused on the front and the back, we never stopped to look at the sides.”

The Commandant’s eyes widened.

“Exactly,” Spartan said. He kept listening to the radio chatter. Men were mobilizing. The blind spots would be covered in no time.

“So? You thinking the same as me?”

“Yes. The Khardis are going to come at us from the sides and the front. Damn it.”

“Is that really a guarantee, though? The castle is surrounded by cliffs. Be a bit of effort to climb down.”

Spartan remembered all he could from the countless times he’d seen those cliffs. Climbing or grappling gear could absolutely be used to rappel down. It was still a less than optimal idea, though. That’s what made it so perfect. “The more I think about it, the more I think it’s exactly something I might do. Historically, Castle Drügeldorf’s surrounding cliffs were part of its defense, forcing enemies into certain places to gain entry. But times have changed since the Drügeldorfs. New residents, new attackers.”

A voice from the radio buzzed in. “Sir, we’ve got some men in position to look up the cliffs.”

“And? Anything?”

“Can’t tell yet, sir. We don’t have the best angles.”

Spartan rubbed his thumb on the talk button.

“You’re wondering if you should send Crusader on to one of those teams,” the Commandant observed.

Spartan closed his eyes. He knew it was his recommendation to keep Crusader out of the way, but now he wasn’t so sure. Really, he was thinking more about actual combat when he said it. Observation of the enemy or the environment didn’t count as combat. Besides, what if he had a good eye?

He pressed down on the button. “Someone send Crusader up to one of the teams looking at the cliffs.”

The Commandant smiled. “Very good. Keeping him involved will make a soldier of him yet.”

“If he doesn’t get killed first.” It may not be a direct combat situation, but there was no telling what would happen. If he went to a tower, the Warmonger could blow it out of the sky. If he was on the wall, a sniper atop the cliffs could take him out. Still, he had to figure out why he was sent there. Every other displacement had a reason, so this kid couldn’t be an exception. He just hoped the kid would stay alive.