Otherworld Squad

Abseiling was not Alter’s favourite activity. It wasn’t that he was afraid of heights, he could stand on cliff edges and stare downward all day. It was the feeling of being suspended that didn’t sit well with him, he craved the sensation of solidity. The blessed seconds where his feet touched the cliff and his legs flexed gave him small spikes of relief as he made his steady progress towards the valley floor.

The plan was simple enough, they had found a suitable crevice around the rear of the fort with enough room to abseil down while still providing enough shelter from any curious eyes. Alter and the majority of the squad would make their way down and cross the open ground to the base of the wall. He would’ve again preferred to keep Oliver away from any danger but the man had again insisted and there was sound logic in having a recognisable face should they encounter this Chloe person. Boats would remain up top in order to keep watch on the main entrance, provide supporting fire if needed, and ensure the safety of Lady Lucille who would not be accompanying the main force. The horse would also be staying, there was no point in trying to winch the poor animal down. That plus a couple of quick, searching questions was all it took to establish the fact that it had very little knowledge of rope safety procedures. Once they had all made it they would work their way around the exterior looking for any exploitable gaps. Should nothing present itself then it was a case of shock, awe and the front door.

The first step of the plan was now appropriately in full swing. As the third man, Alter was keen not to hold things up and with great relief his boots struck the grit of the floor. There was only enough room for two people to remain hidden at a time by the cliff’s bottom, Alter turned as he unclipped himself to see Whim pressed against the rock with his rifle raised as Vangroover scuttled across to the fort’s foundations.

“Enjoy the trip?” Whim asked breezily as his eyes scanned the wall.

“I don’t think I’ve broken anything. I was worried your weight might have weakened the rope.” Alter teased as he signalled the clifftop to send the next man down.

“Ha. Did I ever tell you that you have a wonderful sense of humour?”

“Nah, I figured it out myself.”

“Well that certainly shows. There’s been no visible movement from down here, I can’t help but worry though, did Boats have to pick neon green rope? It's not exactly subtle.”

“Well the colour was a non-factor in the game, you can’t exactly blame him for not foreseeing this.”

Alter looked up again as the rope began to quiver anew, he couldn’t see the face of who was descending but the machine gun strapped across the figure’s back was enough to identify them as Pavejack. The extra weight of the firearm combined with the boundless energy of youth was causing him to travel at considerable speed.

“Pavejack’s rocketing down. You ready to move?” Alter asked.

“Good to go.”

He waited until Pavejack was three jumps from the bottom before readying his weapon and tapping Whim on the shoulder. With fluid movements he assumed the second man’s position as they burst from cover to run to the wall. The fort was again indifferent to their movements and a breath later there was a thud as Pavejack landed behind him.

“Oh my ankles didn’t like that.” He muttered to himself as he fiddled with the rope.

“You need to watch your speed.” Alter answered dryly.

“Yeah well you’re not the one carrying the LMG. Oliver is supposed to be coming down next.”

“Oh? Riptide finished his little training lecture?”

“He was just launching into the differences between rope materials and the pros and cons of their weave patterns as I left.” Pavejack chuckled.

Alter groaned. Riptide was a great person and a brilliant friend but he could be frustratingly clumsy in social situations, particularly when it came to meeting new people. He would go through multiple phases of oversharing and awkward silence that interchanged like the tide before finally settling into a comfortable medium.

“Swap with me.” He ordered and the two changed places.

Alter looked up and spotted the blue of Oliver’s clothes making unsteady progress over the lip of the cliff. Step by extremely nervy step he began to scramble his way towards them, legs thrashing and arms instinctively flashing out to catch the warm stone. Alter had never seen a drunk spider but he imagined this is what they would look like, minus a couple of limbs. However by the halfway point he seemed to have gained some confidence and the rest of the journey was much smoother. With another pat on the back he dispatched Pavejack to the wall and cleared as much room as he could for Oliver’s landing, the thud he made upon his arrival was certainly wince-worthy.

“That didn’t sound great, are you alright?” Alter asked.

“I’m fine.” Oliver responded through gritted teeth and teenage obstinance.

Alter shook his head before signalling up to Boozehound’s head poking over the cliff to wait a minute before coming down.

“Take a moment to recover, we’re not racing here.” He continued as he helped uncouple his new boss from the rope.

“Urgh, you sound like Sir Dannolin.” Oliver grumbled as he shook off the impact.

“Who?”

“One of my escorts. He taught me swordsmanship for many years, he …” He tailed off as his face darkened.

“This man must’ve been one of the bodies in the burning carriage.” Alter thought.

“He was always so bloody patient. Even though I was so determined to learn, to improve. I always wanted to best him one day. Now ...” Again his voice petered out.

“I’m sorry to hear, we’ll avenge him soon eh?”

“That we will.” Oliver’s voice darkened at the thought.

“Right then, now that you're all fired up, ready to do some running?” Alter asked as Boozehound began his much steadier descent.

Oliver nodded and drew his sword with a bright scraping sound. Alter’s eyebrows raised and he considered the possibility that he may be a touch too fired up. The pair watched the fort in silence for a moment as they waited for the Frenchman to close the distance.

“Ready? Remember to keep low and mind your footsteps. Go now.”

Oliver sped out of the gap, his gait was a little laboured but he was moving well despite the circumstances. Nevertheless it was a relief that he was so willing to follow orders despite his proverbial rank being higher than Alter’s. Another much softer thud came from behind him.

“Ahh, it’s like being back in Le Massif Central.” Boozehound spoke wistfully as he unclipped himself.

“Oh yeah? Which part?” Alter asked.

“Marcenat. I have family there.”

“The name means nothing to me I’m afraid.”

“Ehh, not surprising.

“Is this a ‘dumb foreigner’ moment?”

“Who knows? Wol’ is on his way down, ready?” Boozehound asked as he moved in behind him.

“Set.” Alter answered firmly and readied himself to move.

He felt the contact on his shoulder and was moving before the hand was removed. It took roughly twenty seconds to cross the open ground, every step was punctuated by a unique feeling of exposure despite the miniscule chance of being spotted. Never had the sensation of being shadowed felt so welcome. He slotted in behind Whim and raised his rifle to the top of the wall, listening intently. Silence.

The seconds turned to minutes as the remaining members of the squad worked their way into the stack. Alter went from man to man making sure all their radios were set to their earpieces only, satisfied that no noise would be made he pressed a button on his own radio to send a signal blip back to Boats.

“No movement from the fort and the sentry still has his eyes away from your position. Move up.” Boats responded.

Single file the unit moved along back towards their original position, stopping every handful of paces to scan the palisade for structural weaknesses and to listen for unknown movement. No sounds reached their ears and no reasonable entry points were found as they rounded the corner. The south side proved equally barren of opportunity but they did begin to register signs of life within. The quiet knickering of horses and the rhythmic thud of wood being cut muffled their movements as they approached the southeast corner. Once again Alter sent out a blip.

“Still clear, no reaction.” The Marksman reported.

There was no point trying to force an entrance when they were so close to the entryway, and the palisade had proven well constructed enough to require the use of an explosive charge. Alter was not willing to use such a valuable resource in this way. He gave an exaggerated nod to Walross who in turn tapped Vangroover, the point man, on the shoulder twice. His Eight hurriedly stepped around the corner and took a few careful steps away from the cover of the wall. Reconnaissance complete he returned and gave Alter a thumbs up followed by a shake of the head. The fort’s gateway was open, but the sentry in the tower couldn’t be engaged from their position. Alter sent out two blips and waved his hand to order the unit to keep moving.

“Ready to engage. On your signal.”

Alter had to focus on his breathing as they crept along the west wall towards the gate, long steady breaths to match the pace, eyes open and focused on the way ahead. They would use a standard entry method; there was no need for anything too fancy. When Boats knocked the sentry out they would move through the door and immediately split into two teams lead by Riptide and himself. One team moves across the doorway and covers the right side to the centre, the other wraps around to the left and covers the rest of the interior. Once they were all inside they would take a knee and engage any targets that came to investigate, nice and simple. They were one gun short but you never knew, a sword might come in useful.

Finally they made it to within a couple of paces of the gate. Alter crept up to the head of the column and began to gently poke his head around the corner. The immediate area behind the entrance was clear, that was all he needed to risk knowing and he ducked back. He raised an arm and twisted his wrist as if turning an invisible key, a series of clicks came from behind him as safety switches were disengaged in response. One by one his teammates sent a single blip across the radio to signal their final readiness. Alter flicked his safety off and sent another pair of blips. The distant crack of Boat’s rifle cut the air and there was a surprised gasp from somewhere above and behind him. A shout was raised from around the corner as he burst forward, finger already squeezing the trigger. The sudden noise of gunfire split the peaceful afternoon like thunder, and the bullet casings fell like rain.