Making a Stand

The other way into the dungeon’s main chamber was now active. Everyone stayed at their assigned posts, ready if the Khardis managed to find more ways through the dungeon to them. There were a couple who wanted to help their comrades, but Viking made it abundantly clear they were to be on guard just in case. Chances could not be afforded. Through the noise emanating from the two corridors, Viking heard a soldier call out to him. He ducked behind the wall to meet with him.

“Sir, I’ve just got an order from the Commandant. He wants us to fall back to the ground floor, in the great hall area.”

Viking paused for a moment. The soldier said the Commandant, but he knew Spartan had to still be with him. What were the two thinking? “How far back exactly does he want us to go? Because this,” he gestured at the stairs, “goes up into the main hall.”

The soldier shrugged. “I’m just relaying the order, sir.”

Viking grunted. “Spread the order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Before long, all their men knew what was happening. The ones watching the empty hallways went first. The men engaged with the enemy carefully followed, maintaining their engagements as needed to protect their allies. Thankfully, not much was required; the Khardis were not chasing after them. Most likely a bit of caution on their part, Viking figured. At the top of the stairs, Viking was met with the few troops still not occupied with defensive points around the castle’s perimeter. They were setting up barricades and cover very similar to what was set up below. Stevens was there, and he began motioning once he saw Viking.

“Where’s Gallager?” Viking asked.

“Went to the library. North side defense was having some trouble with snipers up on the cliffs.”

A nearby soldier fired down the hall. Viking snapped his head around. There was one lone Khardi at the top of the stairs. Viking reached for his gun, but stopped when other allies joined the engagement. One man against a handful of others wasn’t exactly an even match.

“Were you organizing the men here?”

“Yes, sir.”

Viking nodded. “Good.” He could see men shuffling into halls sprouting off the main corridor, and more down the hall at the main entrance. The entrance faced southeast toward the road going through the mountains, away from the shelf the mortars were stationed. Great wooden barricades were being secured on the door. “So we just wait for people to show up?”

“I believe that’s the idea.”

Not necessarily bad, Viking thought. This is a good spot to defend. “Any word if there are Khardis up here?”

“None yet.”

“Where’s Sanders?”

“He’s been here a while, been telling people the quickest routes to take through the castle to get places. He also told us to focus on those two halls over there. Said there were some other ways up from the dungeons.”

“Any ETAs from anyone?”

“Everyone should be getting here soon. I’m guessing fifteen, twenty minutes? Anyone who doesn’t make it will be on their own.”

The gunfire picked up a bit. More Khardis were at the top of the stairs.

“You know where Crusader ended up?”

Stevens shook his head. “No, sir. He just left sickbay.”

Viking didn’t like that, even more so than Crusader being sent with Calhoun’s men last night. He saw something in the boy he’d lost a long time ago: innocence. That boy was not ready for a place or time like this. When he arrived on that island, Viking had an arsenal of skill and mental fortitude to work with. Spartan, while also being a bit innocent in Viking’s eyes, also had that fortitude, mixed with a mind built for a place like this. What exactly was Crusader built for? He was just some random metalhead from Wyoming. Likely no criminal record. No military history. Not much of anything.

“Is Calhoun awake?” he asked.

“No, sir. Coulson and Polski are, though.”

Viking sighed. He wanted to go look for Crusader, but he couldn’t leave when one of their best was still out cold. Calhoun and his boys were some of the best they had stationed there, and Viking couldn’t bring himself to leave when he was unconscious and two of his squad were injured. He had to wait there for Spartan to arrive. Besides, the order was to make their stand there. Settling behind a crate, Viking joined the firefight for the dungeon’s stairs. Every so often, he glanced back to see more men had found their way back and were helping however they could. One of the halls was becoming lively with soldiers posting up and firing down it.

“Grenade!”

Viking heard the word, but didn’t quite process it fast enough. The men to either side of him got down before the blast went off. His body was in the process of turning when he felt the force hit him on his arm and side. He felt the push, along with bits of wood flying into his face. The little splintered chips cut him, prompting him to close his eyes for some protection. They cut into his arm as well. Some of that wood was really shrapnel, but he didn’t really care too much what cut him. Going limp, and trying to ignore the sting of several cuts, Viking allowed the force of the blast to dictate his direction as he fell. His shoulder took most of the pain on impact, sparking an immediate reaction. He clutched feebly and helplessly at the throbbing with a bloodied hand.

“Viking!” Stevens came running to him. “You okay, sir? Get me a medic! Sir, are you okay?”

Viking vigorously nodded and started to get up. His eyes remained closed.

Stevens placed a hand on his chest. “You should let the medic take a look at you before you go back in.”

Viking shoved his hand off. He wasn’t about to let a little grenade blast stop him.

“Listen to him, sir.” That wasn’t Stevens’s voice. “You don’t look the best right now. Help me.”

Arms hooked under his shoulders and he began sliding over the floor. Once he stopped, he was gently set down. This is just what I need, he complained silently. However, he didn’t put up a fight or resist in any way. Let the medic have his look. Besides the annoyance, there wasn’t any harm in it. He just hoped it wouldn’t take long.

His ears burned with the sound of war happening around him.