Joshua Simon - Forgotten Soldiers

At the last minute, I kicked over the crates. The three men in the lead stumbled over the debris and themselves while crashing in a heap. Most of the men behind them got tangled up in the mess, slowing their attack further. I killed the two closest to me as they struggled to right themselves.

A young man, probably twenty at best, broke free first with the bright idea of leaping over the others in order to reach me. It was a dumb move. I rammed my sword into his chest before he landed. Wide eyes hinted that in his last moments he likely agreed with my assessment of his decision.

The next two attacked together, immediately putting me on the defensive. I blocked the first wild cut, and then ducked under the next, sword clanging against brick to my left. After a few more quick sweeps of their blades, I managed to slip my sword into the armpit of one. Someone took his place before I could take advantage and dispose of my other opponent. The newcomer carried a pitchfork.

Given the weapon’s reach, I found myself giving ground, swearing the whole way.

I deflected a stab of the pitchfork and tried to move in close where the weapon would be useless. It worked, for a moment anyway. I sliced the man’s unprotected arm. He staggered. However, the man beside him used the opening I gave him to drive his sword through a weak spot in my boiled leather, piercing the flesh below my collarbone. I pulled away before it went deep, but that didn’t stop the thing from hurting.

“Back up, Tyrus!”

I jumped backward without thinking, reacting to the sound of Dekar’s voice.

Stone rained down on the men in the alley, felling many as heads and limbs were struck. Dust took to the air, blinding most others. I waved the cloud from my face and seized on the moment. I pounced at the closest swordsman with a stab through the gut, then finished off the man with the pitchfork.

“C’mon, Ty. Hurry up.”

I looked up. Ira and Dekar waited for me next to a hole in the wall. I wondered how they managed to knock so much stone loose, but that would be a question for another day. I sheathed my weapon, took two quick steps, and jumped, grabbing onto the ledge. Ira reached down and helped me up while holding onto Dekar with his other hand. I managed to get up just before those in the alley recovered.

“The balcony,” I gestured.

We climbed up to the balcony and eventually to the roof as the men below pelted us with the rock Dekar had toppled on them. We took a few welts and earned several bruises, but made it up alive.

Taking the high ground we continued our trek through the city, jumping from roof to roof, no easy task in any circumstance.

We lost our pursuers after a couple of blocks.

Eventually, we made it to Damanhur’s outer walls.

* * *

Many of our group had lucked out.

Unfortunately, some others had not.

Our attackers had overlooked the captain and our wagons. Hamath made it back in time to warn Nehab. By the time they rode out of the city, the first few returning soldiers left with them.

The captain pulled the wagons off the road into an apple orchard near the lake a few miles outside of the city. Hamath stayed by the road to direct survivors.

Men had escaped Damanhur any way they could. Most jumped over the city’s obscenely low wall as we had.

Dekar, Ira, and I were among the last group to arrive-bruised, tired, and exhausted.

When all was said and done, we lost twelve men. Ten more were seriously injured. I tried to take solace in the fact that Dekar, Ira, Hamath, and I had killed well over a dozen citizens of Damanhur alone. Based on the reports of others, we gave a lot worse than we got.

The unevenness in casualties was a small consolation though.

The night was supposed to be one of fun and merriment, a chance to relax after years in service and over a week of monotonous travel. I had even expected to receive some appreciation for our service in the war. It ended up being more of what many of us had hoped to never see again. We wanted a celebration and got a massacre.

Some in our meager group, now roughly forty men, wanted to reform and go on the offensive.

“How dare they do this to us!” someone shouted. “Don’t they realize what we did for them?”

Others expressed similar sentiments. With blood racing, I even found myself siding with the mob of angry veterans, but thankfully, cooler heads prevailed.

Nehab attempted to calm us all down before we did something stupid. “Everyone shut up! I know you’re mad. By the gods, I’m mad too. We lost good men tonight, and I don’t want to lose anymore. I’ve got a wife waiting for me. Some of you have that and more. Do you want to die here and now on Turine soil by your own countrymen when home is closer than it has been in years? I sure don’t.”

“So they’re going to get away with what they did to us?” someone asked.

“Considering how many everyone said they killed, I’d hardly say we’re letting them get away with anything,” said Nehab. “But no, I’m not just dropping what happened tonight if that’s what you mean. I’ll get word to Balak and let him know what’s going on. He’ll pass it on to the king. Let him take care of it. We need to worry about getting home. Ain’t that right, Sergeant?”

I blinked from my angry daze as I realized Nehab was addressing me. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Hamath set up a perimeter and watch. Everyone else get to sleep. We’re leaving at first light tomorrow.”

People started to shuffle off. I was ready to do the same until Nehab called out. “Sergeant, a moment.”

I walked to him. “Yes, sir.”

“You all right?”

I rubbed the shallow wound at my collarbone. “I will be. Pretty ugly back there. But I’m fine now.”

“I understand.” He walked me toward the injured. “I need you to take a look at someone. It’s Lieutenant Teyman.”

“I’m not any sort of a healer.”

“I know. But he had a run-in with a minor mage and we can’t get his wound cleaned out.”

“I see.”

A benefit of my resistance to sorcery was that it not only protected me from spells cast by mages, but it also allowed me to draw away sorcery as well.

Lieutenant Teyman lay on his back with hands around a black wound on his side that oozed a green pus that stank like a dead possum rotting in a ditch. The private trying to clean the wound kept gagging into his arm as he wiped away the infection. Teyman didn’t cry out, but the pain was evident on his wrinkled face each time the private touched his skin.

Nehab cleared his throat. “Private, step back a moment and let Tyrus take a look.”

I kneeled at Teyman’s side. Too busy trying to manage the pain, he didn’t even notice.

I placed my hand over the wound. As I made contact, I felt a slight vibration. I never had to do much for my resistance to work.

Teyman began to relax as the green ooze disappeared and the wound went from black to red. Thankfully, the smell dissipated as well.

I moved away quickly so the private could dress the wound.

Teyman opened his eyes and whispered. “Thanks.”

I went to sleep that night imagining I heard the Damanhur citizens cheering our departure in the way everyone thought they would cheer our arrival. Returning heroes? Not to them. I recalled the words of the idiot I fought in the bar. They probably blamed us for what happened even though they were the ones responsible.

Attacked by our own countrymen.

I never expected to deal with that.

We hit the road early the next morning. Nehab wanted to put as much distance between us and Damanhur as possible, worried the mob might experience another burst of motivation in the light of day. Thankfully, the worst battles we fought were against our own bewilderment, exhaustion, and moroseness.