Redoubt

CHAPTER SEVEN

  Holis Lode was really starting to feel out of his depth. Things had taken a new turn and he didn’t like the way they were going. As best as they could figure it he and his companions were about three days away from the Rooke. That mean they were moving in a roughly south-western direction. Not that it made any sense to Lode. There was nothing to attack in that direction. As they had continued to shadow the force of northerners, what Lode found was interesting was that this force was clearly made up of a number of different war bands. No one Harradan chief could field as many men as this, a force that Juggs had estimated at around two thousand men.

  He had only been able to do this calculation because the Harradan had decided to stop. The reason for this was certainly not attributable to the trappers’ efforts at giving them a bloody nose. What had upset the apple cart was that, yesterday, the six of them had been so busy watching what was going on behind them, that they almost ended up walking into an entire wagon train of armed men. They had quickly moved round them and pushed onto a safer position to the south-west. The Harradan had made contact with this wagon train and had bivouacked there.

  Lode and the others had then scouted back to see what was going on. The armed men, who had met the northerners, were garbed in the colours of Shifter. There were three score of them. They had come up what appeared to be an ages-old trail, one that had no doubt taken a fair bit of clearing to make it passable again. The wagon train had then stopped in a sizeable clearing. Juggs and Sleeps had doubled back on themselves to take a closer look at the size of the force camped by the old trail. They also reported that it was indeed a resupply operation. There was a mass of food and drink held on the back of the wagons as well as extra weapons.

  “A shed load of shitting arrows,” Juggs had remarked.

  “That’s what it looks like, Holis,” agreed Sleeps. “Looks like these guys are getting ready to go to war.”

  “And it aint with us,” pointed out Fuzz.

  “Well, it’s obvious what’s happenin’,” said Old Hoarty. “They’re gonna invade Graves.”

  “But that war is almost over,” said Lode.

  “And how’re they gonna invade from here?” asked Arald. “It is not like they can cross the river without a bridge can they?”

  “But they can swim across,” suggested Fuzz. “Get some ropeways set up.”

  “No, not here they can’t,” said Lode. “The river is running through a gorge and is impassable this far north. They’d have to go further south. But Arald is right. They still need a bridge.”

  “Bloody right. Don’t reckon they need to be buggering around building one,” said Sleeps.

  “You know, there used to be one,” said Old Hoarty, scratching his chin. ”‘Bout three days from here. Not that you’d know about it. Long gone. But that trail back there? That used to lead right to it. And you could get across the river. All nice and flat country.”

  “Hoarty, is there nowhere you ain’t been?” asked Lode. Old Hoarty grinned his best one-tooth grin.

  “What do we do now?” asked Arald.

  “Not as if we can fight this whole bloody army,” said Fuzz.

  “We can’t,” said Lode. He agreed that there was little else they could reasonably achieve. They could only keep scratching at the Harradan until one night they made a mistake and one or more of them wound up getting caught. As it was they were all dog tired. So maybe they could try a different way of snaring their prey. “But if they are figuring on getting across the river, like it as not they plan to do some killing. Now I don’t know much about the politics of it all, but Ashkent has an army over there and they have been doing some major butt kicking. And you got to be thinking that these guys will be fixing to go up against Ashkent at some point. So...”

  “So we go and tell the foreigners that the Harradan boys are coming and then they go and kill all the bastards,” said Sleeps.

  “That’s about the size of it,” said Lode.

  “Well where do we find them?” asked Sleeps.

  “We head down to this old bridge crossing. Get across it and head south. We are bound to find somebody eventually,” said Lode.

  “And I bet there might be a nice reward or something,” said Juggs.

  “You have all the best ideas, Juggs lass,” cackled Old Hoarty.

  Lode felt pleased with the plan. The wagons would slow the Harradans down some, which meant they could get well away from them quickly and find the nearest Ashkent forces. Nice and easy and with the minimum amount of risk for them. He certainly hadn’t expected to find himself being in the path of an invading army or indeed be in a position to stop them. Actually he didn’t really care about who was fighting who. But it was the best chance to see the murderers of Noel’s Gap punished. That was the important thing. That and to settle an old score. He hadn’t paid it much thought beforehand but during the last ambush they had sprung, Lode recognised the tartan of their targets. It was that of the Stone clan, his own blood kin. It had roused a multitude of feelings within him, old anger long buried and laid to rest. Or so he had thought. The chances were that the clan was still led by the same chief who had banished him. He was too tough a bastard to be gotten rid of. So if his clan were part of this army, then it followed that Vorgat Stoneson would be with them. And for the first time in many years, Lode could allow himself to think of a way to exact some measure of vengeance for what Vorgat had done. It was not the banishment that drove him. It was the girl, she had not deserved the attentions that old bastard would have given her. Lode had an opportunity to make up for hurts inflicted long ago. He wasn’t going to let it pass him by.

  The six companions gathered their meagre belongings and moved off west in the direction of the River Rooke. They could then follow it south until they reached the crossing point. They still had a couple of hours before sundown and there was no harm in putting some distance between themselves and the Harradan forces, who would be moving again soon enough.

  Vorgat Stoneson spat into the fire. He gazed into the flames and watched where his missile had landed onto a log in the centre of the burning pile. The spit was beginning to boil and bubble. He continued to stare well past the time that all the fluid had evaporated. He was lost in his own thoughts. Brutal and hard spoken as he was, he had the capacity for a degree of self-regard. This had given him an edge in his rise to his position as clan chief. Of course, it helped that he was a big man with an aggressive character. In his early forties, a good age for a Harradan, he possessed heavily muscled arms, covered in an over generous amount of body hair. Corded muscles bulged from his neck, shoulders and legs. A brute of a man, he presented himself as an individual not to be messed with. His followers had learned the hard way not to disturb him when he was in this quiet sort of mood. Many of those followers had been challengers to his position and they were no longer around to reap the benefit of the lesson he had taught them.

  Dressed in animal furs he looked no different to a man before civilisation had crept into the world. Whilst most of his men wore armour of various sorts and styles, he had always refused to wear such metal. He felt restricted by it and took the view that if a man couldn’t take the pain of a few cuts then he was no man.

  Around him his men were relaxed, they told crude jokes and laughed at the suffering of others. Every now and then an argument would break out and the antagonists would come to blows. That was normal. These disagreements would always be settled by fists alone. Vorgat had forbidden the use of weapons. This ban had also extended to his clan’s relations with the other clans that formed his loose alliance. This was no easy matter. The Gods knew that to not fight against your neighbour was as unnatural as not eating meat. He had threatened to kill any man who drew his sword against another Harradan, and made good on his promise already. Some of the other clan leaders had had to do the same at the start.

  He cradled his sword in front of him. It paid to keep it close. He wa
s in a foreign country surrounded by the loosest of alliances. There were men from six clans gathered here, of which his clan had the largest numbers. It had been a huge feat for him to have persuaded so many of his countrymen to accompany his planned expedition to the south. The Shifter emissary had been wise to come to his clan first. By choosing the Stone he had picked one of the most respected and feared clans in all of western Harradan. The words of Vorgat carried weight and others would listen. Once he had been bought by the offer of the riches to be had, he then undertook the task of persuading others to join him. Many clan chiefs were not interested in heading so far from their lands to engage in a war that did not concern them. Some felt, not wrongly, that by depleting their man power, others might usurp their lands. Such was the level of distrust amongst the clans of the Harradan. But Vorgat had relied upon their greed, a fundamental to all their natures. He had told them how the Shifter emissary had promised that all loot was theirs to keep and that a wagon of gold would be provided for each clan leader that brought his men south. He neglected to tell them that he himself had already taken ownership of a wagon of treasure as part payment and another two on completion of his tasks.

  Six of the eight clan leaders of the western Harradan people had agreed to become mercenaries for the soft, southern state of Shifter. Each of the six clans had left fifty men to ensure their own security against any human or non human force that might enter their territory. He had also arranged for word to be sent out that any clan leader who moved in on his territory would have to face him on his return. Their success at the small town to the north had been a good start. The Harradan had done what they did best and enjoyed a virtually uncontested rape of the settlement. Their moods had soon soured when they had started taking loses after commencing the journey south. The other clan leaders had voiced their anger at losing men to an unseen enemy and one or two had begun to question the whole expedition. Vorgat had swiftly reminded them of the riches to be gained and had then questioned their manhood. Kron Battlebane had taken offence and had begun to draw his sword. Vorgat had grinned at him and had positively encouraged him to continue. This had given Kron pause for thought. It helped Vorgat that he understood the nature of his own countrymen. Whilst he had the largest single body of men under his command, they could still be bested if the others chose to join against him. Vorgat did not believe this would happen as they would never agree to work together. Only Vorgat and the riches that were on offer had the power to keep them together. Hah, the fools! If only they knew the truth.

  Vorgat was seriously considering a way of double crossing them completely. If he played this right, he might be able to return with his main force still intact, whilst the others were seriously weakened through conflict. He could make his clan the most powerful in all of Harradan, perhaps the only clan. But that was a thought for another day. As it stood he had other problems. Someone had obviously survived the assault on the town and had taken it personally. They were good, skilled in woodcraft, able to pick off small groups of them and disappear back into the forest. His main concern was that, whilst they did not present a serious problem at the moment, they were a constant thorn in his side. One that could fester and cause his loose alliance of warbands to split.

  On the other side of the fire sat his witch. At his command she searched for the trappers - her spirit free from her body, she travelled through the forests looking for signs. The body itself sat cross-legged, the back slumped forward and the head resting on its chin. As always her cloak was held closely around her, almost like a shield, a means of hiding from the world. He had been waiting for her return for some time now and was becoming impatient. At that moment her bodied shuddered and he heard her take in a gasp of breath. Vorgat remained silent for a few moments longer. He knew that the witch would need to become used to her body again.

  “You found them?” he asked.

  The witch shook her head but did not look up.

  “No, lord. I could not.”

  Ignoring the heat of the fire he leaned closer. “You failed me?” he asked. His voice gained a dangerous growl.

  This time she did raise her head and gazed calmly into his eyes.

  “I have not lord. I have searched and found nothing. They are no longer near.”

  “Then they have fled? Are you certain?”

  “I am certain they are no longer within my sight. That is all I can tell you.” She moved her eyes away from Vorgat. It would not do to look at him directly too much. It irked him and he would often lash out. Lissa had learned through many hard years how long she could risk. A more subtle man may have mistaken her actions for lies. But not Vorgat, his arrogance and her genuine fear of him worked in her favour.

  Vorgat rocked back on his haunches. His witch was often short with her answers but she was never wrong. This was good news. It was an itch he might not have to scratch anymore.

  The captain of the Shifter archers, Joran Lordswood, approached the fire. To Vorgat, he seemed a dandified fop of a man; very well spoken and arrogant with it.

  “Well, how many of them are there?” Lordswood asked.

  “No more than a half dozen,” replied Stoneson.

  “So can you not just deal with them?”

  “If we stop...but you want us to move fast.”

  “Well, we have a time schedule to keep. Have they engaged you recently?”

  “No, they have faded and not returned. Perhaps they have moved on.”

  “I expect they have. We cannot afford to let them slow us down. We must push on to the river.“

  “And what if I start losing men again?”

  “Then you live with it, War chief. This was a problem of your own making. If you had been more thorough with the investing of Noel’s Gap, none of your men would have been lost.”

  “As you say,” responded Vorgat quietly, tilting his head in acknowledgment, his eyes appraising the Shifter captain.

  Lordswood held his stare for a moment then turned quickly and walked away.

  “Leave me,” he ordered.

  The witch stood silently and disappeared into the night.

  It had taken every ounce of Vorgat’s self control not to gut the man there and then. But he was the means to the money. Vorgat could wait long enough to get the job done. After that, this fool would no longer have a reason to be alive. Aye, it would be a slow death. He would learn that he was no equal to the leader of the Stone clan. So Vorgat cast his mind to what lay ahead. A bridge to cross, then into Graves and the slaughter could begin.

  Lissa gathered her cloak about her and stared into the night. It was a quiet, pleasant night, though she shivered anyway. She knew she was walking a dangerous path. She had never in her life with Vorgat attempted such defiant actions. He was everything to her - past present and future. She could only dimly remember a time when he wasn’t present in some way. And it was the memory of that time, of a boy she had once cared for, which drove her now. If her lord and master ever found out she was keeping knowledge from him, oh how he would hurt her. Vorgat could do that - he knew how to frighten her, he would tell her how if it wasn’t for his continued favour she would have been given to his followers long ago. Even now, he told her, they waited to take her body and break it. And she believed him. She knew the animals that claimed to be men that circled him. Vorgat kept her safe as long as she did his bidding. What else could she do?

  In the Shifter camp Joran Lordswood was starting to have his own doubts about the sense of employing the Harradan. A career soldier within the Shifter military, he did not agree with the use of mercenary troops. He was finding it hard to disguise his contempt and he also realised that Vorgat was well aware of it. That the clan chief did not seem to care was proof of the man’s arrogance and ignorance. He did not realise how important this mission was to Shifter. If it failed then the war was over and a great many of the Shifter military hierarchy would find themselves out of a jo
b or worse. That was why he and his archers had been attached to the raiding force. His task was to ensure that the Harradan followed the plan that Shifter was implementing. To be honest, he would feel better once they had linked up with the infantry company and cavalry troop that were already in place in the northern borders of Graves. Then at least they could start conducting proper military operations and not the chaotic approach that the Harradan employed in warfare. Until then he would have to watch Vorgat. The man was devious and unpredictable and that, to Lordswood’s thinking, was a very dangerous thing.

  The 1st of the 7th surveyed the scene as one man. They had been following the river and what appeared to the faintest of trails, now little more than a natural animal run. The trail had suddenly widened and had opened up into a large clearing some three hundred yards north to south and two hundred yards east and west. At the northern end stood the skeleton of what appeared to be an old stone structure. There was a fair amount of vegetation in the clearing but nothing like the surrounding woodland. Dotted here and there could be seen more piles of stones. Sometimes what looked like the remains of a wall, covered with moss and lichen, could be picked out.

  Forge kept his men back from entering the clearing proper. He waited for the two scouts to come back in from their cursory inspection of the area. Corporals Jonas and Kyle took their time. Occasionally they would stop to inspect something on the ground before moving on. After a few minutes they trotted back.

  “All clear, boss,” said Corporal Jonas. “What we have here is an old, old settlement. Not more than a few families. Probably servicing that place,” He indicated the fort.

  “Any signs of life?” asked Forge.

  “Not recently,” replied Corporal Kyle. “There is some spore. Hard to tell how old though. Old enough to say that there hasn’t been anyone here for a long time.”

  “We’ll move in. You guys go and do your thing.”

  Both scouts nodded and rode off to conduct a more thorough search of the area. Forge looked at his First Sergeant.

  “Get the company in and get them building. I want the palisade up as quick as you can. Put it right here. That way we can use the extra vision afforded by the clearing. Don’t incorporate the river though. I want a wall all the way round. Then get the boys to try and clear some of the easier foliage. Locke?”

  “Sir?”

  “You, me, the wizard and Juma will get our heads together. That all right with you?” he asked abruptly, staring at Portal who had silently joined them. It was starting to really bug the shit out of Forge.

  “Why do we need the slave leader at our meeting, Captain? Surely you and I can deal with the construction,” Portal waved his hand dismissively. “The slave can be told of his work by your sergeant.”

  Forge sighed theatrically. “You are obviously the product of a well-bred family aren’t you Portal. Well, what with me spending my formative years killing people and you no doubt buried in books about frog surgery, I didn’t have much time to study the finer points of engineering. The Bantusai stays,” Forge hoped Portal would argue.

  “Very well, Captain. Just remember that as the Duke’s representative, it is I that have overall control of this mission.” Portal’s eyes were blazing. Forge kept himself cool and stared right back for a few moments before nodding his head.

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  As the camp began to take shape Forge decided to take a wander over to the old fortifications. As he crossed the short distance to the first walls he spied the two scouts, now dismounted, kicking about in the undergrowth to his left. They were intent on their work, but had not appeared to have discovered anything too startling.

  He approached the ruins of the old fort and stood before its weathered stone walls. They were some ten feet in height at their highest point though much of the perimeter had crumbled in upon itself. The old gateway, which faced south, was now just a larger gap within the wall. He measured the gap at about seven feet. The lack of stone or debris around it suggested that the gateway was made out of thick wooden doors that had rotted away through time. There had been no continuation of the wall and therefore no parapet above it.

  He then made a clockwise circuit of the outside of the walls. There was no suggestion of a ditch surrounding the outside and he wondered why they had never considered using a moat, especially being so close to the river. As far as he could tell, the stonework had suffered no serious assault. It was usually pretty easy to tell. There would have been smashed blocks, gouged walls, possibly fire-blackened. It appeared as if the fort had just died of old age. He paced out the distance and found that the structure had been rectangular. The northern and southern ends were the longer fronts of some forty yards whilst the east and west walls were thirty yards in length. At one time the northern wall would have faced a distance of perhaps fifty yards before hitting the tree line. Now of course, that distance was a hell of a lot closer. The eastern wall was roughly fifteen yards from the river. It meant that the occupants would have had to travel to the water’s edge to have a crap. Not exactly ideal, but then the river might have been closer in years past.

  Forge returned to the gateway and entered the fort proper. Standing inside the courtyard he saw that there was in fact a parapet running around the walls. At least it used to. It was actually made out of wood and had collapsed around most of the circuit although he could still see where the supporting beams had been fitted into recesses in the stone. On the north, east and west sides, stone outhouses had been constructed against the walls with the wooden walkway acting as a roof for them. Forge guessed they would have been stables, storehouses and barrack blocks. Enough to house a cavalry troop of about thirty men.

  Directly in front of Forge was a low mound rising to about four foot, and upon it was a square tower, about twelve feet in breadth on each side of its walls. It was also in very poor condition, lacking a top and much of the higher walls. The perimeter walls had been incorporated into the north face of the tower and he could see an opening leading into the tower from the western side some three feet higher than the parapet level. Originally it looked to have had three floors and probably a walled, flat top for sentry and defensive purposes. Staring inside he saw the stairs leading up to the second floor. They were made of stone and reasonably solid. Gingerly he climbed up. He kept his helmet on just in case these walls decided to give up the ghost and come crashing down on him. The second level had lost its floor and much of the east facing wall. The stairs continued to lead up to where the final level would have been. It looked like an open parapet, with evenly spaced embrasures much like the walls below, where one could have looked out over the surrounding land. It might even have had a wooden roof. At this height he was slightly above the outside walls but could not see much due to the surrounding forest. He pushed his luck and continued up the stairs, mindful of the fact that he was being bloody stupid for his age.

  Stopping at the second-from-highest step he gently balanced his hands on the supporting side wall. The view was better now and he estimated that he was approximately twenty five feet up. Looking eastwards he could see across the river. At this point it was some thirty yards wide and quite fast flowing. From what he had been led to believe, only a few miles north of here the ground became mountainous and that this river was pretty much impassable for at least two days travel, even during the drier summer months. That would make sense regarding the trade routes and placing of the bridge here. On the far side there was a much smaller clearing a little lower than the level of the fort. He could see that the treeline altered at one point, a place where the trees were less and of a younger age, suggesting at a path that would have led down to the old bridge.

  Whilst the place would have been solid enough in its prime, it had clearly grown up in a haphazard fashion. No doubt the bridge had come first. The tower was odd though. Maybe it had been the original protection for the bridge or a watchtower to signal
against impending invasion. Normally a frontier fort would not have incorporated such a thing. Also, the walls were made of stone. That required money and effort. A troop of soldiers would usually make do with a wooden palisade, not much more sophisticated than the one his men were building now if perhaps more permanent. Then, of course, there was the evidence of dwellings outside. It was likely that a small village had grown around the fort and the thoroughfare of trade that the bridge had created. If that were so, then those inside would have been used to keep thieves and brigands from mounting raids on the civilians and the merchant traffic. If this bridge had become so important, may be the tower was in fact the home of a local baron. That would explain the money that had been expended on building up the defences. Maybe there was a genuine military threat that they may have had to face. Forge, whilst being by necessity a practical man, enjoyed thinking on the hows, whys and wherefores of such mysteries as this fort presented. It helped pass the time and stimulated his mind. No doubt he, Sergeant Mac and the others would spend time arguing out the finer details of the defensive specs of the fort. No doubt over a flagon of ale or two. They would have the time over the next few days.

  He descended carefully and walked back to his own encampment. On the way Corporal Jonas joined him briefly to confirm that an initial look at the surrounding area had produced no surprises. It looked like no humans or otherwise had been here in any numbers for a long time. It had occurred to Forge that maybe a Goblin warband or two might have been pushed this far south but that was only wild speculation. There had been no major conflicts with the races of the northern wastes for many years. Man had contented himself with picking fights with his neighbours instead. Indeed, many had forgotten that not so long ago, much of the north had been at war. Although granted, even Forge had been nothing more than a gleam in his father’s eye at that time. People often had short memories about stuff that hadn’t affected them. Ashkent had been too far south to get directly involved. It had sent troops to help but the civilian population had only whispered at the possibility of the war spreading. Thankfully it had never reached the southern shores of the gulf. From what Forge had learned of those times, it was a terrible and bloody age.

  Later that night Forge, Lieutenant Locke, Sergeant Mac, Portal and Juma with Private Smitty in tow, gathered to thrash out the plan for the construction of the bridge. Portal started what was to be a very brief discussion with the announcement that he expected the bridge to be ready in no more than three days. Forge stared hard at Portal and then at Juma who smiled back and nodded his head.

  “It can be done. By the third day, the bridge will be ready. By the second day you may cross over safely, Captain,” said Juma.

  “I believe you. Don’t know why,” replied Forge.

  “You will, I’m sure, be pleased to hear that this time frame is entirely achievable,” said the wizard. “And that these…men, will not have to be worked overhard. I am more than confident in their abilities.”

  “Well, that is a relief. I don’t suppose that you would care to enlighten me as to why we have been in such a rush?” asked Forge.

  “No, Captain I would not care to,” replied Portal irritably. “We both have our orders. That should be good enough for you.”

  Forge sighed. “I have never really understood the profit motive. It all seems a bit too mercenary.”

  “Then perhaps you should look to your own masters, Captain. For are you nought but a mercenary in this war as in many others your country has involved itself in? Unbidden and unwanted?” asked Portal with an evil gleam in his eye.

  The last thing Forge wanted was a political discussion at this time of night. He changed the subject quickly onto something he knew more about.

  “As of tomorrow morning my men will provide the guard and protection of the workforce. The bulk of my troops will be employed moving the camp into the old fort and seeing if we can’t fix it up a bit. Locke?”

  The younger man straightened his shoulders. “Yes, Sir?”

  “I’m putting you in charge of the camp itself; administration and routine. I’ll be nabbing some guys for the fort but you’ll ensure the infrastructure gets squared away.”

  “Perhaps I could organise some fighting patrols?” ventured Locke.

  “I think we’ll leave that for the First Sergeant,” replied Forge. “For the time being at least.”

  “I hardly think that all this is necessary, Captain,” said Portal quickly. Sergeant Mac, who had been playing idly with a stick looked up. That famous snout had obviously picked up on something. “Your camp here is perfectly adequate. Your scouts have confirmed there are no enemy forces in the area.”

  “Absolutely,” replied Forge evenly. “But it would be wrong of me to not provide the best protection for those under my care as I can. We are days away from any help in a land we do not know.”

  “Surely your men would be better employed…”

  “No, no,” Forge cut in. “It will be good for them. They get too sloppy riding horses all day long. I am sure that a bit of labour will be good for them. Unless, of course, there is any other reason?”

  He left the question hanging. Portal was silent a moment before nodding sharply.

  “Very well, Captain. If that is your wish. I am sure you will make us very comfortable.” The wizard stood and walked swiftly away.

  “Tight arse,” muttered Sergeant Mac.

  “Loose mouth,” added Juma as he, too, stood and followed Private Smitty back to the Bantusai fires. Locke also made his excuses and also left the circle.

  Forge and Sergeant Mac exchanged a look and laughed. “Can’t help but like that guy, can you?” commented Sergeant Mac.

  “Smart bloke all right. Look, Sarge, we need to watch this. I only wanted to bait Portal a little.”

  “You did that,” observed Sergeant Mac.

  “But it got me thinking again,” continued Forge. “Let’s just stay extra special sharp for our time here. There’s no reason to worry but….”

  “Don’t worry, boss. I’ll keep the lads frosty. Already got guard shifts organised; a bunch of our guys watching the Bantusai as well. Work starts bright and early tomorrow”

  Sergeant Mac rose and walked into the night. Forge sat and stared into the fire wandering what tomorrow would bring.

  Returning to his tent, Locke fumed. He felt that he was being deliberately ignored in the discussion. Perhaps he didn’t have much to contribute but he knew little about construction, and he was an officer and ought to have an input. He still did not understand what on earth they were doing out here. They ought to be engaging in military operations not civil tasks. It just went to show how low in favour Forge must be to have been given this mission. Locke put his hand to his head as a dull wave of pain passed over him. His injury still ached from time to time. Damn, but I have to get out of this unit. He’d never get anywhere in the army if he stayed here.