Otherworld Squad

Throughout his life Alter had occasionally given thought to how he would act in a life or death situation such as a firefight. Would he be able to keep it together? Would he simply break and run? Would some bizarre battle-haze descend on him as the song of violence took over? It was a fun little mental exercise that he could use to whittle away five or so minutes of a dull wait. Now though, as he watched the vibrations of the arrow’s wooden shaft dissipate into the bark of the tree, his first subconscious act was to laugh. A strange, jittering, adrenaline-laced chuckle bubbled from his throat. His mind regarded the situation with mirth. Detached bemusement. It all seemed so impossible, like a dream. Like a game. He leaned back against the log, trying to imagine the feeling of the impact had the arrow hit him, mentally tracking the way pain would bloom through his body. But he couldn’t. He found himself unable to comprehend the sensation of being hit, it was just too alien. This realisation served to crack this sudden spell he was under. His lack of understanding scared him, and laughter was the only way he could think to show it.

Strangely enough, it was curiosity that threw Alter back into the reality of things. His head turned to the side, brain fully intending to chat to Boozehound about what had just happened with the intent to make some sort of joke and maybe see if he was experiencing anything similar. But Boozehound was well and truly in the moment, eye in scope as he edged slowly out from his tree of choice. With his face set into a grim mask of concentration he pulled the trigger, letting loose a short burst that was met by a pained grunt somewhere beyond him. Hit scored he snapped back into cover, attention switching to the opposite direction as he began his slow, creeping progress once more. Alter blinked once, twice, and the bubble burst. He swore at himself and struggled into a better position, checking his surroundings for signs of his team members. Whim was crouched snugly behind the same ash, his attention divided between suppressing the soldiers on their side of the road and making sure the other team’s flank was secure. Beyond his medic, Vangroover had managed to secure a prime firing position amidst the exposed roots at the end of the log. Satisfied that his friends were unharmed, Alter swung his weapon up and into place before poking his torso up and out of cover.

From the number of arrows that had been launched at him he knew that there was a minimum of three targets in his line of fire. Minus one to that number as he saw an outstretched arm poking out from a bullet marked tree and partially submerged in the leaf litter of the forest floor. More barks of fire from his left caused splinters to fly from another tree trunk beyond the arm, indicating the position of another man. Returning his rifle to its resting place on top of the log, Alter trained his sights to the right side of the under fire trunk in order to catch anyone popping out before continuing to scan his environment. His vigilance quickly bore fruit as a twang, a thud and a fizz saw an arrow streak out from another tree further to his right. The shot sent Vangroover scrambling for better cover as it clattered and ricocheted among the roots he was nestled in. Alter let out a snarl as he glared at the offending cover, the unknown man had chosen his position well. The thickness of the wood meant that neither he, Whim or Boozehound could engage or even suppress him from their angles. To make matters worse, the arrangement and tangle of the roots meant that Vangroover could not easily bring his weapon to bear without dangerously exposing himself. They would have to move up in order to ferret the bowman out, it was that or break into their explosives supply. It was close range for a grenade though, fragmentation doesn’t discriminate. Suddenly, the firefight on the other side of the road intensified.

“Two, report.” He asked quickly.

“Situation stable.” Riptide responded once the sound had returned to a steadier beat. “We just took care of a five man charge, they won’t be trying that again. We’ve got the firepower to force them to keep their heads down now, don’t worry about us.”

Alter nodded, it was indeed about time they uprooted this particular obstacle.

“Seven.” He called to Whim and waited for the man to pull back into cover and look at him before miming pulling the pin from a grenade and pointing at the right-hand target. Once Whim had signalled his understanding he swapped his attention back, adding his own fire to the consistent thud of bullet impacts keeping their foes in place. With a controlled, underhand toss Whim sent the familiar silhouette of a fragmentation grenade sailing through the air to land with a dull thump just beyond the tree. Perfectly placed. The two men shared an almost sadistic grin as they took shelter from the oncoming explosion, there would be no getting away from this even if the man knew what had just landed behind him. The grenade went off with more of an aggressive pop than a bang, like a car tire bursting at high speed accompanied by the crackle of metal shards carpeting the surroundings. As for the man himself, a short shriek signalled a successful deployment. A moment later a voice called out from the other marked position.

“Meryk? Shay?” The voice was horse and fearful, hoping beyond hope to hear a response but knowing that there would be none.

Once more the savage smile tugged at the corners of Alter’s face, the enemy was distracted and alone, mopping up would not prove difficult. He waved his friends forward and vaulted the log. Slowly, measuredly the four men closed on their target with predatory precision. One by one they fired shots into the tree, allowing no breathing room, no window to retaliate. In a panicked blur of motion the last man broke cover, attempting to flee deeper into the woods. His metres covered didn’t hit double digits as fire from two different angles sent him crumpling to the floor.

Alter slowed to a halt and cocked his head to one side, listening as his eyes scanned the trees. The gunfire from the other team had slowed to a near crawl, instead it was the short, sharp intakes of breath that caught his attention. Realising he was standing next to the grenade’s splash zone he turned and examined its lethal accomplishments, allowing his more cold and unemotional side take over. The man was still alive, for now, but the damage had been done a dozen times over. Shrapnel does not seek to flatter, merely make its mark. He lay slumped against the splintered bark of the tree, leaning heavily to one side. His left thigh was a bloody mess, the leg twitching limply in rhythm with his ragged breathing. The metal breastplate had managed to hold firm but for a sizable ripped gouge on its upper right quadrant. One of the larger pieces of shrapnel must’ve carried enough force to pierce through, tearing past the ribcage and scrambling the lung. His left arm had gone the same way as his leg and hung limply at his side, the other was working overtime to stop him from toppling over. His face was a red mess, one eye was gone, the other darted frantically from side to side, glassy and unfocussed. Alter considered apologising as he raised his rifle, but his fingers disagreed and the unknown bandit was subsequently released from his pain.

Left side secured, Alter positioned Vangroover to watch their rears before joining Boozehound and Whim in swapping their attention to what was happening across the road. The lightning assessment was ‘not much’. He could see a number of bodies strewn across the floor, and amongst the trees further in he caught glimpses of Riptide and Walross making their own steady progress forwards. The three men began to move up as well, bounding from cover to cover as they sought to compromise the hiding places of any remaining contacts. For a moment Alter thought that there were none left, but soon afterwards he spotted movement. Two bandits were sheltered behind a large oak, heads together in quiet and urgent conversation. Their weapons were still in hand but lowered, their body language was that of defeat. Were they about to cut and run? Were they planning to surrender? Alter pondered the idea of taking prisoners as he watched their discussion.

There was a heart in mouth moment as Boats prowled into view, his attention focussed on a fern patch in the opposite direction of the two surviving bandits. Alter’s finger tightened on the trigger as the two men moved, but instead of attempting to subdue the marksman they threw their weapons to the ground and raised their empty hands out to their sides. Somewhat taken aback by the sudden noise and movement, Boats very nearly turned his rifle on them but was able to catch himself before opening fire. A pair of awkward seconds later the rest of the second team appeared and shepherded the surrendered men out into the middle of the road.

“Three, get back to the carriages and bring them up here, quick as you can. I suspect Oliver will want a little chat with these highwaymen.” Alter ordered as he stepped into the road, sending Boozehound scuttling back the way they had come.

The bandits seemed to know the situation well, unprompted they had dropped their remaining gear into a rough pile and sat cross-legged in the road with hand planted to the backs of their heads. They kept silent with their eyes glued to the ground as the carriages began to slowly approach with Boozehound jogging alongside. Once the horses had been brought to a halt Oliver threw open one of the doors and leapt to the ground, hurrying up to them.

“Are you alright?” He asked, regarding each of the squad in turn.

“There are no injuries to report.” Alter reported smartly having already inspected the gathered men. “We engaged a unit of eighteen men, sixteen have been eliminated with the remaining two surrendered over there. I figured you might have questions for them.”

“Damn right I do.” Oliver muttered as he regarded the bandits darkly. “But I doubt I’ll get much out of them. Did you see anyone that could’ve been their leader?”

“Not on our side.” Alter frowned “Two?”

“The man that led the attempted charge was wearing more armour than the rest, it looked like it was higher quality too. I’ll check the body, see if he has any clues.” Riptide hurried back into the trees.

“Now then.” Oliver stalked forward, spitting the syllables like venom as blue sparks began to dance in his eyes. “Let's have a nice chat, shall we?”.