Falcon Darkflight
06-13-06, 06:03 AM
Each and every time he had to work guard duty on a night like this, Sutton's respect for the supply convoys in their hide covered horse drawn wagons rose right up: the bone chilling Salvar winter wind could cut through any living creature like a razor. How they could travel across the frozen continent on nothing but makeshift frosty dirt roads, with hardly any water supplies and no heating whatsoever, frankly amazed him. Sutton, Sergeant Christian B, caught all kinds of crap about his guard kiosk being his homestead each and every night, having been assigned guard duty by his top brass for the unforgivable stunt he pulled on a senior officer involving "the double end, double spew" combo of diarrhea dumplings and bad ale. He wasn't going to be stepping out of his nice warm kiosk into the chilling gale without a damned good reason.
"The 17:30hrs convoy approaching from Alerar, Sarge," Raikea said "Coming in pretty fast for a horse drawn...probably because they're already late..."
"I'm not blind, Raikea."
The guard shrugged.
"But since your keen eye picked it up, you can step out and check his ID, yeah?"
The screech of the solid iron wheels under a full sized wooden cart cut off the rest of what he was going to say, the covered horses coming to a standstill a couple of metres away from the fortress gates, the wheels creating two thick lines in the heavy snow.
"Hell!" Raikea said, coming to his feet.
"Ready arms!" Sutton said as he readied his short sword and phalanx shield. Raikea also drew his weapon, but like Sutton kept it low and out of the way of sight, pointed at the floor. A soldier in black artic clothing leapt out from underneath the covered cart and waved his hands. "We have a wounded man in here! Open the gate!"
The voice came through loud and clear, even through the howling Salvar wind. Great... Sutton thought, cautiously approaching the cart, leaving Raikea to man the guard kiosk in his absence. The external evening light was only just adequate enough to show a man in the back of the cart, somewhat looking like a soldier, with blood running in steady torrents down his face to soak into his uniform. This is all I need...some shiny brass hat got himself punched in a local bar while rutting with one of the locals.... He figured he would have to get thicker into the cold after all. Turning back to the kiosk, he faced Raikea and barked a cloudy white breathed order, holstering his sword. "Call Medical staff. We have a bleeder."
The fortress in Salvar, a heavily fortified installation and the newest jewel in the Grand Commodore's crown, wasn't fully manned yet. It had been the focus of Commodore Canen for a while now, each brick placed in the snowy foundations having been personally reported to him on a daily basis by the base commander, and had only been completed couple of weeks ago. There was a working infirmary seeing as the place was half staffed with a couple of hundred men, but nothing that could provide intensive care. They had been dependant on supply convoys from their fortress in Erebus, Alerar to get the first men settled in and the meals cooked, and because of this the men working the wonderful security shift had often missed out on food. Another kick in the face.
The icy, take-your-breath-away wind slapped Sutton in the face as he began winding up the steel cable of the fortress's heavy steel doors. The chunks of rebarred concrete placed in front of the gatehouse were almost as big as bridge supports and could stop a cavalry charge and even cannon fire, but offered no protection against the biting cold. He went around the wooden framework of the cart and as he got closer he could see the injured man bore the crest of the Order. A generals crest. Shit...don't you dare die on my shift, i'll be dropped down to toilet inspection...Sutton whispered under his breath. He pulled the tail of the cart down from its hinges. "Sir?"
Before he could figure out what was going on, he found himself staring into the bore of a large musket pistol, a muzzle big enough to stick two fingers in. What the hell was going on?
"Stay silent," the 'general' said, upping the barrel of the firearm towards Sutton's face.
If you think you're getting into the Commodore's fortress on MY shift, you are badly mistaken, my fat friend...Sutton determined.
"You can't open the reinforced barrier from out here. Especially on a 'blue alert' like this." He smiled. He had hoped that Raikea would pick up on the 'blue alert' part of the conversation and realise something was up, provided he wasn't in a stupid mood. And if he did figure, all he would need is a good forty five seconds before the latest part of the Commodore's Guard, the 25th Division who were now based here on direct orders, would come running up the driveway armed to the teeth and light up this cart and the two losers inside. 'Blue alert' was roughly translated as 'come and kill'. It was soon going to be a most active war zone in the surrounding area, and somebody was going to get hurt.
The man, still waving his deadly weapon in Sutton's face, smiled, motioning towards the kiosk with the tip of his pistol. "Why don't you take a look inside, sarge?"
Sutton frowned, and glanced back at the shack.
Raikea was thumping the heavy butt of his sword against the control panel for the manual alarm, where a cable extended to a bell inside the compound's barracks. There was no sound, no shouting, no alarm tone whatsoever. "I do believe your little butler's bell is...out of order..."
As Sutton watched, the man who had alerted them to the 'injury' leapt over the front of the wagon and took a couple of quick easy steps to the kiosk, Raikea still inside. He had a hold of what appeared to be some sort of glass object, and threw it into the shack. With a muffled whump!, the shack filled with a vermillion smoke. Sutton went for his sidearm without thinking, before once again peering into the broad barrel of the 'general's' pistol.
"Your friend will be fine, it's vomit gas. Behave nicely and you can tell your friends about this over dinner tonight. Otherwise, i'll splatter your brains over the snow. Your choice?"
Sutton knew he had none.
"You know, the Order really don't pay you enough for this..."
Sutton nodded slowly. "Yeah, tell me about it..." He moved his hand away from the sword's hilt.
Twenty seconds later, the kiosk door opened and Raikea crawled out on all fours, heaving the half digested contents of his last meal into the snow. He hated emetic chemicals. It was worse than pepper in the eyes. Although, not quite as bad as Sutton's special diarrhea dumplings. Put that together with the usual standard of the food rations and oh, it got messy. The driver of the cart ran into the shack and used a cuff strap and manacle on the still vomiting guard.
"Turn around, put your hands behind you."
Sutton did as he was told, persuaded by the cold glimmering pistol barrel methodically pressed against his temple. He felt the cool touch of a manacle clamped around his own wrists. His mother had not raised foolish children. These people obviously knew what they were doing, and he hadn't been paid enough to die on a lowley Salvar plain, condemned to an icy tomb in the middle of nowhere. No sir. Suddenly, the massive gate swung open, and he could only watch as the small convoy rolled up the driveway, completely unopposed in the harsh blizzards, before disappearing completely from sight.
The Commodore would soon find out what had happened here, and the Grander himself. Somebody's head was going to roll for this and Sutton sure hoped it wasn't going to be his.
"The 17:30hrs convoy approaching from Alerar, Sarge," Raikea said "Coming in pretty fast for a horse drawn...probably because they're already late..."
"I'm not blind, Raikea."
The guard shrugged.
"But since your keen eye picked it up, you can step out and check his ID, yeah?"
The screech of the solid iron wheels under a full sized wooden cart cut off the rest of what he was going to say, the covered horses coming to a standstill a couple of metres away from the fortress gates, the wheels creating two thick lines in the heavy snow.
"Hell!" Raikea said, coming to his feet.
"Ready arms!" Sutton said as he readied his short sword and phalanx shield. Raikea also drew his weapon, but like Sutton kept it low and out of the way of sight, pointed at the floor. A soldier in black artic clothing leapt out from underneath the covered cart and waved his hands. "We have a wounded man in here! Open the gate!"
The voice came through loud and clear, even through the howling Salvar wind. Great... Sutton thought, cautiously approaching the cart, leaving Raikea to man the guard kiosk in his absence. The external evening light was only just adequate enough to show a man in the back of the cart, somewhat looking like a soldier, with blood running in steady torrents down his face to soak into his uniform. This is all I need...some shiny brass hat got himself punched in a local bar while rutting with one of the locals.... He figured he would have to get thicker into the cold after all. Turning back to the kiosk, he faced Raikea and barked a cloudy white breathed order, holstering his sword. "Call Medical staff. We have a bleeder."
The fortress in Salvar, a heavily fortified installation and the newest jewel in the Grand Commodore's crown, wasn't fully manned yet. It had been the focus of Commodore Canen for a while now, each brick placed in the snowy foundations having been personally reported to him on a daily basis by the base commander, and had only been completed couple of weeks ago. There was a working infirmary seeing as the place was half staffed with a couple of hundred men, but nothing that could provide intensive care. They had been dependant on supply convoys from their fortress in Erebus, Alerar to get the first men settled in and the meals cooked, and because of this the men working the wonderful security shift had often missed out on food. Another kick in the face.
The icy, take-your-breath-away wind slapped Sutton in the face as he began winding up the steel cable of the fortress's heavy steel doors. The chunks of rebarred concrete placed in front of the gatehouse were almost as big as bridge supports and could stop a cavalry charge and even cannon fire, but offered no protection against the biting cold. He went around the wooden framework of the cart and as he got closer he could see the injured man bore the crest of the Order. A generals crest. Shit...don't you dare die on my shift, i'll be dropped down to toilet inspection...Sutton whispered under his breath. He pulled the tail of the cart down from its hinges. "Sir?"
Before he could figure out what was going on, he found himself staring into the bore of a large musket pistol, a muzzle big enough to stick two fingers in. What the hell was going on?
"Stay silent," the 'general' said, upping the barrel of the firearm towards Sutton's face.
If you think you're getting into the Commodore's fortress on MY shift, you are badly mistaken, my fat friend...Sutton determined.
"You can't open the reinforced barrier from out here. Especially on a 'blue alert' like this." He smiled. He had hoped that Raikea would pick up on the 'blue alert' part of the conversation and realise something was up, provided he wasn't in a stupid mood. And if he did figure, all he would need is a good forty five seconds before the latest part of the Commodore's Guard, the 25th Division who were now based here on direct orders, would come running up the driveway armed to the teeth and light up this cart and the two losers inside. 'Blue alert' was roughly translated as 'come and kill'. It was soon going to be a most active war zone in the surrounding area, and somebody was going to get hurt.
The man, still waving his deadly weapon in Sutton's face, smiled, motioning towards the kiosk with the tip of his pistol. "Why don't you take a look inside, sarge?"
Sutton frowned, and glanced back at the shack.
Raikea was thumping the heavy butt of his sword against the control panel for the manual alarm, where a cable extended to a bell inside the compound's barracks. There was no sound, no shouting, no alarm tone whatsoever. "I do believe your little butler's bell is...out of order..."
As Sutton watched, the man who had alerted them to the 'injury' leapt over the front of the wagon and took a couple of quick easy steps to the kiosk, Raikea still inside. He had a hold of what appeared to be some sort of glass object, and threw it into the shack. With a muffled whump!, the shack filled with a vermillion smoke. Sutton went for his sidearm without thinking, before once again peering into the broad barrel of the 'general's' pistol.
"Your friend will be fine, it's vomit gas. Behave nicely and you can tell your friends about this over dinner tonight. Otherwise, i'll splatter your brains over the snow. Your choice?"
Sutton knew he had none.
"You know, the Order really don't pay you enough for this..."
Sutton nodded slowly. "Yeah, tell me about it..." He moved his hand away from the sword's hilt.
Twenty seconds later, the kiosk door opened and Raikea crawled out on all fours, heaving the half digested contents of his last meal into the snow. He hated emetic chemicals. It was worse than pepper in the eyes. Although, not quite as bad as Sutton's special diarrhea dumplings. Put that together with the usual standard of the food rations and oh, it got messy. The driver of the cart ran into the shack and used a cuff strap and manacle on the still vomiting guard.
"Turn around, put your hands behind you."
Sutton did as he was told, persuaded by the cold glimmering pistol barrel methodically pressed against his temple. He felt the cool touch of a manacle clamped around his own wrists. His mother had not raised foolish children. These people obviously knew what they were doing, and he hadn't been paid enough to die on a lowley Salvar plain, condemned to an icy tomb in the middle of nowhere. No sir. Suddenly, the massive gate swung open, and he could only watch as the small convoy rolled up the driveway, completely unopposed in the harsh blizzards, before disappearing completely from sight.
The Commodore would soon find out what had happened here, and the Grander himself. Somebody's head was going to roll for this and Sutton sure hoped it wasn't going to be his.