Story #80 - Hammered Down

Hammered Down

“Warghol!” The shout rang out along the line, and Percy lifted his gun. A single shot from the pistol took the charging beast in the head as it vaulted over the palisade, but it only stumbled a half-step and then reared back, screaming in defiance.

Three other blasts rang out and the thing went down, clutching at its misshapen face and howling into the dirt.

“Thanks,” he said, and Rusty nodded.

“You’d have done the same for me, Perc.”

He nodded. “Sure, long as I’ve got bullets.” Checking his clip, he saw that he was down to five, with only a single spare in his pocket. Ammo and morale were both running low, and a lack of either meant death – it was just that one would be faster.

A siren from the watchtower signaled an end to the attack. The ‘ghols were punctual creatures, owing to nature of their leader, and they only attacked twice a day – at sunrise and sundown. There was no set number to their charge, no guarantee when the battle would end, but at a certain point they just stopped coming.

This time, they’d been lucky more than skilled – none of the creatures should have come close to the fortifications, let alone jump over them, and Percy meant to have a word with Hammer back at camp.

“Move out,” he called, and motioned for Rusty to fall in beside him.

“How are you set for ammo, Rust?” He asked, feet finding the way to the camp easily and eyes searching out the battlefield for familiar faces. A twisted corpse caught his eye, head spun around on its neck until it was almost severed.

Berger.

Shit.

He’d been one of their best marksmen, one of the best under pressure, but no good in close combat. More than one ‘ghol must have broken the line, and Berger would have been ill-equipped to deal with it.

“Ammo? I’m doin’ OK, Perc,” Rusty checked both of his front pockets, coming up with two full clips, “I’ve got these, plus three more back at camp.”

Percy grunted. Good enough. If the others were in as good a shape, they might be able to hold out a few days more. God, he hoped Hammer had a plan for this.

They bottlenecked at the exit as usual, Percy straggling behind to catalog the dead. Three more in addition to Berger, bringing the total up to forty-nine since the battle had first begun. Almost a third of their men, most with no training beyond the bare minimum he and Hammer had been able to give them before the battle began. Six days was precious little to turn boys into men and civilians into fighters, but most learned quickly once their life was on the line. Those that didn’t quickly paid the price.

He didn’t recognize the other three that had fallen, at least not well enough to put names to faces. In truth, two of the three had a face left to recognize at all, and he had only seen them in passing during his tours of the camp.

There was a groaning at the front of the pack as the men became restless, but Percy could see that the hold-light was still red.

“Wait, you lack-brained fools! You know the drill!” He called out over the crowd, and they settled down. The noise quieted and the men instead craned their necks to look at the light. In the first few days some had tried to breach the surrounding walls before the gate was open and the light turned green, but two charred bodies made it apparent waiting was the only choice.

After a moment a flashing lime beacon replaced the steady crimson and the thick metal gate slowly ground open. As soon as more than a man-width was clear the quickest of men were through, desperate to be the first in the showers or get the best choice of meals.

It was an odd thing in a sea of complete nonsense that their captors provided for every single one of their material needs, and then herded them onto the battlefield like cattle to the slaughter. Only Hammer had spoken to one of the beings that held them directly, and the flat-crushed shoulder he received as a result had earned him his nickname.

Hammer had become the de facto commander of their forces and was given special exemption to stay behind the lines when the fighting started. He displayed a gift for strategy, one lacking in most of the other men, and he had seen the same in both Percy and Rusty, making them lieutenants.

The promotion hadn’t meant anything but more responsibility and an obligation to eat with Hammer at every meal. The man was interesting enough, but wouldn’t give either of them a chance to get a word in edgewise unless they refused to give ground until he listened. Privately, Percy suspected he enjoyed it. Captivity bred strange traits.

Checking his pistol in its holster, Percy made for the mess. His shower could wait until the men had finished, and Hammer would be waiting for them.

They found him starting into a bowl of soup, shoulder braced and arm draped across his chest. He didn’t moan or grumble about it, but he made sure the men could always see the price he’d paid – the “sacrifice” he’d made for them.

“Report,” Hammer said as he and Rusty sat down, not bothering to look up from his meal.

“Four more, Hammer – Berger was one of them.”

“Shit,” the larger man said, stirring his soup, “that’s going to be a problem.”

“A problem?” Percy asked quietly. He needed to get this out before Hammer started up. “Just a bit. We’re running out of ammo, Hammer, and we’re running out of men. At least two of the ‘ghol broke the line today – how many will it be tomorrow? You keep telling us you’ve got a way out of here in mind, but it never seems to materialize.”

Hammer brought his eyes up, brows drawn and expression dark. “Fine. You want to know – I guess you’ve earned it. I’ve been preparing, while you and the boys have been out there fighting. We’re going to take the battle to them,” he pointed upwards, “and soon.”

Percy felt a thrill of excitement, chased quickly by a sense of dread. “How?”

- D