[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

sugar-coating this, lads; we've had our arses k icked
. Most of the platoon's been wiped out. Unless anyone else comes in within
three minutes, I have to assume that we are the only survivors out of this
unit. Anyone still out there will have to fend for themselves, Gods help 'em.
I know you've all been through Hell here, but you know what the slurps are
like. If we stop for a rest now, they'll swarm all
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
by Janrae Frank, Phil Smith
230
over us. We're going up on the wall once the gates are shut;
the quartermasters will re-equip you once you're up there."
Three more arrivals shambled in. Despite the mud that caked their faces,
Sergeant Ramsden recognized Privates
Proctor and Rickett. None of them would have been able to identify the third.
His fatigues may once have identified him as a soldier in the Louistranan army
but now they hung in tatters and his name-tape had come away completely. He
towered head and shoulders over the others, and he looked and smelled like he
had gone without a bath, shave, or haircut in weeks. Coarse hair had sprouted
along his bare forearms, his fingers were stained with gore, and he gave the
impression of being more animal than man: an upright hyena.
He wore an assault rifle in a sling over his right shoulder, and clutched
tightly to a bunch of severed heads by their hair.
"There's another one with the medics," he growled. "Gas got him. Name of
Howard. Corporal. One of yours?"
The other soldiers gawped at the scavenger and aimed their firearms at him.
The scavenger rolled his eyes.
"What the Hell are you staring at?"
* * * *
Tirtuu sniveled as he examined his confines. He felt certain that Zälek was
testing him in some way. Why else would his master crate him up and hand him
over to Captain Sinclair?
He had served Zälek as loyally as he could and the thought that his god could
be at least as treacherous as himself simply did not cross his mind.
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
by Janrae Frank, Phil Smith
231
Reassuring himself that this was simply a further test of his ability, Tirtuu
sat down and tried to think. He prided himself on his intelligence, after all,
and he had lost count of the amount of times he had avoided a night in the
cells. He could not count on Mutaruu or Qutu to spring him: he was deep inside
Fort Laurie, which neither of them knew particularly well, and indeed neither
had any reason to suspect he was there. Furthermore, once news of his
disappearance broke, he expected them to do as he would and start arguing over
possession of his goods, chattels, and wives.
Tirtuu stood up and shoved hard on the door. It was locked. He saw no keyhole
on his side, so he had no hope of picking the lock. Scowling, he charged the
door, trying to knock it down with his shoulder. The noise reverberated around
Page 111
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the cell block, but the door showed no signs of budging. He heard no footsteps
approach either: everyone else was preoccupied with the firefight. Tirtuu
could make as much noise as he liked and no-one would come to answer him. On
the one hand that meant that he could not call for a guard and overpower him
once he opened the door, but on the other Tirtuu could try anything he liked
and not be stopped and beaten for his trouble.
Short of ideas, he rammed into the door again and again, each time bouncing
off and achieving nothing but another bruise for his shoulder. He let out a
yelp of frustration and kicked the door, but this served only to stub his toes
and remind him that he could not breach the door by brute force alone.
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
by Janrae Frank, Phil Smith
232
Tirtuu sat down, rubbing at his bruised toes. Taking stock of his situation,
he realized he could do little at present. There were no windows, no guards
nearby, no lock to pick; just a heavy door. Presumably at some point someone
would come for him. That gave him the narrowest window of opportunity in which
to act. He would need to be alert and ready for the moment. It would also help
if he had a weapon.
Drumming his claws on the brick floor, Tirtuu looked around the dark cell for
anything he could use. His gaze eventually came to rest upon his bed. He began
to dismantle it in a hurried, businesslike manner and came up with a meager
inventory. A mattress, a blanket, and a wooden bed frame. Frowning, Tirtuu
picked the latter up and swung it against the door with all his might,
alternating blows with attempts to rip the frame apart with his bare hands.
Eventually he managed to break the frame, leaving him with four usable lengths
of wood, any one of which he decided might make a serviceable club. He chose
the longest and gave it a practice swing before setting it down, satisfied. If
the force of the blow didn't fell any guard that approached him, the nails at
least would do some harm.
* * * *
The ground was littered with corpses: humans that had choked to death on the
gas, bodies blistered and discolored like pustules lay scattered among the
tattered remains of
Ylesgaires that had been torn apart by machine-gun fire.
Covered with the filth of battle, only their bearing and posture gave any hint
to the station they held.
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
by Janrae Frank, Phil Smith
233
"The shelling's stopped early." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]