Take the Shot

Above them, Viking could see the sky beginning to change color. In the west, the sun was rising in another reverse-dawn while he kept his focus on the Warmonger coming at them from the east. He wanted to continue looking from this still-standing section of wall, but he knew he couldn’t. Once the Alliance men began firing, there was a good chance the Warmonger would retaliate. He descended into a room with two soldiers. They both had long range rifles with scopes, and one was aiming out of the window toward the airship. Viking crouched beside him.

The soldier made a sideways glance at him. “Not yet, sir. Can’t quite make out the people yet... just another few seconds....”

A gunshot deafened the room. The soldier slid his rifle’s bolt back. More gunfire started from further along the wall.

“Not quite,” he murmured. “But if we all focus on those windows, we should break through.”

He fired again. The process repeated until his rifle was empty, at which point he moved out of the way so the other soldier could continue the work. After the second one emptied his rifle, he ducked out of the window.

“I just made it through!” he exclaimed. “That last shot, I broke through! I broke through on the piloting—”

The castle shook and an explosion came from somewhere else. Viking looked out the window. The Warmonger was still in the air, the barrel of its front 50mm gun smoking.Thankfully, the piloting compartment was now devoid of a window, just as the second man bragged about. The gun was moving, aiming.

“We need to leave,” Viking said. “Now.”

“But sir, if the pilots are exposed now, then—”

“Then the Warmonger will continue to fire on us!” Viking shouted.

Another explosion from somewhere.

“Sir!” came both soldiers’ voices in unison.

Viking led the men from the room right when one more — and much closer — explosion reverberated. Viking looked back to see the room they were in was now partially collapsed. More men were out there with them in the corridor. Dust was drifting out of another room. A man stood in front of it, coughing and trying to wave the dust away from his face. He made eye contact with Viking.

“They’re firing on us again, sir.”

“I felt that. Keep firing on it.”

“Sir, I think we may want to consider posting up further inside, with the others.”

“You can do that.” Viking walked over to him and held out his hand. “Give me your gun and I’ll take the shot.”

The soldier froze. He had the same scoped rifle as the other two. Viking didn’t have one on him, but he knew how to use them. He’d may not be an expert, but he reckoned he could get the job done.

“Answer.” Viking didn’t have the patience to wait on this man. Spartan told him to wait further in the castle, but he couldn’t. Not after Johan.

The soldier tightened his grip on his gun. “Sir, it’s ill-advised. Spartan himself said our best bet is waiting for them to come in.”

Viking took one more step, leaving himself only a few centimeters from the soldier. “Either come up with me,” he laid a hand on the rifle, “or hand me the gun.”

The soldier stared at him. They were the same height, but the soldier seemed a man looking up at someone twice his size: eyes wide, body shaking. “I’ll go with,” he choked out.

“Good.”

The two men from the room went with them to another set of stairs going up. Viking knew of a spot a little bit out of the way; a nice little nook where he could be alone to think. No one ever went there, and he suspected it wasn’t too visible from the Warmonger’s perspective. The only problem was they needed a distraction. The only way to this spot was on the wall. Before they went up, Viking turned to the first shooter from the room.

“Head that way, get its attention.”

The man saluted, then got up on the wall and ran. Viking waited until he heard gunshots before leading the other two up. Going the opposite way, he slipped into a small passage between two other walls, easy to miss if one was in a hurry or didn’t know about it. This path went down in a slope, turning sharply in odd ways before letting them out onto a small ledge jutting from the cliff beneath the castle. Viking was right: the ledge did give them a good view of the piloting compartment, and with the way the cliff face was formed, there was an obstruction they could use as visual cover. The only problem was when the Warmonger fired at their bait and shook the castle, one of the soldiers nearly slipped off the edge. Viking caught him, and pulled him back up.

The soldier who protested Viking’s idea crouched. Viking suspected he may have wanted to be prone, but that was difficult even if one were alone up there.

“Before you fire,” Viking said, “what’s your name, soldier?”

“Weston, sir.”

Viking lightly patted him on the back. “Take the shot.”

Weston took several deep breaths. The other soldier barely stayed in the path leading back up, a little shaken from his near plummet. If Viking was a different person, he might have wished Weston luck, or even tried to talk the other guy into calmness. As it stood, Viking didn’t believe in luck, only one’s skill, and the other guy had to settle himself down. Viking wasn’t his mom. Weston had a good grip on his rifle when Viking threatened to take it, so Viking hoped he was talented with it. Finally, Weston took one last inhale, then squeezed the trigger.

Bang.

Viking leaned forward so he could see around their cover. Warmongers were designed for two men to pilot them, and one of those men was slumped over his controls. The other stared at the heap, his eyes wide. Viking heard the sound of a bolt racking, followed by another shot. The surviving pilot’s head snapped back, then lulled forward. A line of red appeared beneath a brand new red dot. The Warmonger began drifting off course while other Khardis tried to move their comrades. The bolt slid back again.

“That’s enough,” Viking said. “We go back up before they figure out where we are.” They were close enough to the mountains, Viking knew they would go down before the pilot seats were occupied again.