Lt. Arthur Harker
Wallmaker's Brigade

[url=http://pre07.deviantart.net/d884/th/pre/f/2012/113/6/0/church_ruins_by_newcastlemale-d4xao1z.jpg]Ruins of Westkirk[/url], Outside New Stratton
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The sound of a long-gun was distinctive compared to the peppering shot of the old Rune Patterns, a sharp crack and a whine of energy that died down quick as the light off the barrel. Arthur Harker had woken up to it enough times to know better than to rush or panic. If there had been an emergency there would be screaming, scrambling, and at least in these parts the dull and seemingly omnipresent moan of the dead. There were plenty of theories on what caused shamblers to sound off by the mages back home or the field surgeons back in New Stratton, but as far as most soldiers were concerned it was just the way of things. Hell on morale, but at least it stopped them from sneaking up on you.

Ruined bits of mortar crunched beneath his boots as he stood, the hob-nailed heels rasping against ground bits of brickwork. Thank Dorsen for His churches, sturdy enough to survive a decade without maintenance or repair. With walls thick enough to keep shamblers from clawing their way through and windows set a man's height off the ground, heavy foundations and tall spires, they were some of the best places to hold ground short of true military installations. The blocky structures were mostly open inside and that was where Harker and his men had holed up, shoving moldering pews back to barricade the door and setting up a quick field position amidst the split flagstones and debris cleared into a corner. As he rolled his neck and took a quick appraisal of the men--five still asleep, three awake around the coals of the fire in the corner, two by the window, three tending the injured--Arthur tried to drum up pride and could only manage weariness. Three days of being holed up into this place was starting to wear on both patience and supplies, and everyone knew a war of attrition with the shamblers was a losing game.

Time was not on their side. He would need to come up with something, soon.

Another crack brought his attention back up to the spire, the familiar pop-and-snap of a reloading rifle coming mechanically from above. That would be Pierce, who as far as Harker was concerned was one of the best on the continent. He wasn't showy enough to get much credit for it but the man was positively lethal at 200 yards. Perhaps more importantly he was dependable--having spent the longest in Harker's unit of any other soldier he could think of, the mage was a dependable second-in-command and a perfect watchman for moments like this. Hand by hand and foot by foot, Harker made his way up the rickety makeshift ladder they'd assembled and out through the section of caved in roof to see the world from his point of view.

Harker's sharpshooter looked almost comfortable in his position on top of the spire, his coat tugged down against the breeze that tugged the smoke from the cigarette at his lips. The lieutenant should have berated him for the breach--no need for an extra scent in the wind--but everyone knew that shamblers didn't track by smell. They followed sound more than anything, stumbling along after it with blindly groping hands, which was why it was important to take them down before they drew close and brought friends.

"They're coming faster." Pierce noted by way of hello, offering a two-fingered wave to his commanding officer before returning his expression to the fields surrounding. Fortunate the place had been a graveyard before everything went to Hell--it kept the lines of sight clear. "You heard the shots? Second one in fifteen minutes, coming out the break in the town ruins." He breathed out, a plume of smoke carrying itself away in the wind as he danced around the elephant in the belfry. Harker was having none of it.

"Have they circled back around?"

"Not today. Night watch said he caught eyes in the dark, but he's green. Can't be sure." Pierce didn't need to be reminded what the lieutenant was talking about. He'd seen the shapes, lurking at the edges of the forest surrounding the town. He'd seen the men inside, torn to ribbons and barely breathing. Shamblers didn't do that, not that quick and not that fast. There was something else, here, and if Harker was right there were two of them. Cutting eyes to his captain, he swallowed and showed a bit of uncharacteristic uncertainty, not quite fear but not far enough from it to play as casually as he tried. "It's balls and bayonets if they push the church, sir. Even if they don't bring shamblers, we won't put them down before they--"

"I know. We're running low." On everything. Ammunition, medicine, rations...this was meant to be a relief mission, not hunker-and-pray. How long had it been since they'd seen a pair of Horrors this close to New Stratton? He'd hoped to buy them some time, give O'Reik's squad a chance to get back on their feet, but the third day had been pushing it. A fourth would be disastrous, and there was a difference between patience and foolishness.

Pierce's eyes never left Harker's, even if his attempt at a cock-sure smile turned a bit sad. "We're not going to make it back with injured weighing us down." He ventured almost hesitantly, as if he'd made a joke, but if he was looking for hope in Arthur's gaze he found none.

"Everyone dies someday, Pierce." The lieutenant stifled a sigh, pushed himself to his feet with a slight grunt. Same as ever. Church walls had more give in them. "But don't write us off yet. I'm giving the men a few more hours before we make our play--you need a rest?"

"I'll play this one out, sir." The marksman sighed, closed his eyes for a moment, and turned back out to the field. He could already see a figure moving out by the break of the forest, half stumbling and half plodding its way along. There was no talking to the Lieutenant, he knew--he would run his play and they would live or die by it, as they always had. The familiar urge to run was still there--had never left, really--but he hadn't before and wouldn't now. After all, everyone died someday. He raised his rifle. "Besides, you couldn't ask for better target practice."

Arthur Harker climbed back down to the church below, the crack of a long-gun in his ears.