Chapter 2 - Into the Meatgrinder

The air always stands still when the army moves out. I don't think much of it, but some say that it's the way of the gods of showing us their displeasure with our violent ways. I disagree. If the gods wanted us to be peaceful beings, they wouldn't have given us the devastating power of magic, as it was written in the ancient legends. I believe we are born to be killers, conquerors, pioneers of war. As a mercenary, I've grown to understand that we live in a grim, anarchic world in which violence is the only universal language and war is the only true equalizer. Those who refuse to accept that reality, are doomed to be conquered by their enemies. This is exactly what happened with the Elven and Dwarven nations, which are now crushed under either Stracian or Sulostan boots.

The mercenary forces gather just outside the main camp. It's already noon but the air still smells like shit and the visibility hasn't improved at all, there is a thick haze of ashes and smoke that has been likely swept here by the wind from the frontlines further to the east. The ever-present mud doesńt help either. This region is known for having this gross, dense and clay-like dirt that gets turned into unbearable mud when the rainy season arrives.

The company has built many fortifications such as trench systems and wooden walls surrounding the besieged town. These allow us to enforce the siege and help launch assaults on the enemy walls, but they have taken so much of a beating over the years that our engineers struggle to keep them from collapsing.

And so, the mercenary army drags its feet across the mud and positions itself on one of the trenches. Everything is a complete fucking chaos; the foot soldiers are uncoordinated and constantly get in the way of each other, the engineers struggle to get the trebuchets out and the officers simply have no idea what they're doing at all. At times like this, I miss the professionalism, discipline, and order that other mercenary companies I worked for in the past had. This is by far the sloppiest merc army I've ever been a part of.

It's also one of the least capable. Our forces mainly consist of light infantry; low-skilled and low paid mercs armed with halberds, poleaxes and crossbows; a couple specialists such as combat engineers and archers that are paid better; and mages of different classes. There is no heavy infantry or cavalry, which puts a significant damper on our offensive capability. 

In the midst of it all, my unit sits around in one of the trenches while we wait for orders. It consists of around ten tired individuals wearing robes and pointy hats just like me; a squadron of artillery mages. I know most of them, I've been stuck in this camp for years after all, but I notice some new faces this time.

"We've got some rookies, huh?" I ask. Their lack of experience is evident in their uniforms and staffs, which are squeaky clean compared to the usual dirty and punished equipment a seasoned mage usually carries around.

"Yup. They were transferred from another sector of the frontlines." A mage named Jason replies.

Jason is an older veteran which I've grown to respect due to his skills, which rival my own. He is one of the few people in this entire camp whom I can call a friend. We chat sometimes to distract ourselves from the constant stress of our profession. He also helps me out by sometimes keeping the other mercs in line when they get too flirty with me because 'I remind him of his sister'. Not that I need him to do that though, as I can and will blow the brains out of anyone who disrespects me using my staff.

Jason reaches out and talks to the newcomers in our unit. It seems some of them are nervous, gripping their staffs in fear and praying to the gods. These kinds of people usually fuck up because they can't keep up with the stress like proper professionals do, potentially putting the entire operation in danger. Thankfully or regretfully, depending on how one sees it, they usually don't last long.

"Oh, come on! Don't be so harsh on them, Thorne. We were all rookies once." Jason says to me, probably having noticed by my stare that I'm already internally scrutinizing the newcomers.

What he doesn't seem to comprehend, is that having inexperienced people in our unit decreases our chances of survival. I can't count the times where people have died horrible deaths or that we have failed to complete a mission because some dipshit fucks up at the worst moment. In war, where the stakes are the highest, only professionals are up to the task.

However, I just let such thoughts dwell on my mind without speaking out. I know very well that Jason wouldn't take such reasoning very well. People tend to be irrational, even when their lives are at risk, I guess

Another veteran named Heather taps me on my shoulder. She is also a friend of mine and unlike Jason and I, who have more general-purpose skills, she is the type of artillery mage that specializes in hunting and killing heavily armored targets such as knights, paladins and heavy infantry. I have no idea how someone with her skillset ended up in this shithole, but we have drinks together all the time.

She looks troubled.

"You dislike rookies, everyone gets it, whatever. But the odds aren't in our favor this time, so I'm not surprised they're scared ." She says.

"...What do you mean?"

Heather then makes a sarcastic remark and signals me to peek over the trench. I do. The walls of the town are about one hundred meters from our position. There's nothing in between except for a muddy, punished and scorched land that no one is eager to cross at all. It's also difficult to see due to the haze, but I manage to notice that there is a lot of activity in the walls of the town. The Sulostan garrison noticed us a long time ago and they are fully prepared for the attack. We are doomed to fail.

"Fuck."

"See? It's helpless." Heather speaks.

"Hey, let's not be that pessimistic. Maybe the new siege weapons that arrived earlier will give us the edge." Jason says.

At that moment, a commanding officer passes by and crushes whatever's left of our morale.

"Listen everyone! We won't be using the new equipment due to logistical problems, so stay sharp! The plan stays the same as the last time. First, the artillery mages do their thing and then we move out, you know the drill!"

All the veteran artillery mages, including me, groan loudly. Heather even throws a little pebble at the officer, which he ignores. The infantrymen around us just sigh in resignation, knowing they're about to be pointlessly thrown into the meat grinder yet again. I hope they at least get a pay raise.

"You've got to be kidding me! The same strategy? AGAIN?! We do the exact same thing every fucking time!!" A mage yells, frustrated.

I want to complain too, but we are interrupted when our unit commander arrives and signals us to get in position. The assault is about to begin.

"EVERYONE! BE PREPARED!"

We form into a line, kneel on the ground and point our staffs upwards, in the general direction of the town. Then, two soldiers bring us a barrel of water to cool our staffs when they overheat and a bunch of aether batteries to replenish magic power when we run out. The commander then makes the calculations for the trajectory of our spells on a hand book. He looks as tired, dejected, bored and unmotivated as pretty much everyone else around us.

"Alright… You already know how this goes… Use high-explosive type spells. Thirty-two degrees inclination. Around one hundred meters..." He orders.

Screams and yells from the officers are heard all around the trenches. The entire army is preparing to move out. I peek over my shoulder. The rookie mages are trembling on their boots and a lot of people are praying. The infantry around us unsheathes their weapons and positions themselves on the edge of the trench, ready to climb out.

"ARTILLERY MAGES! ON MY SIGNAL!"

The soldiers cover their ears. It seems everyone is holding their breath as they nervously await the order. I transfer magic energy into my staff and it's manatite core begins emitting a bright white light. So do the other's.

Artillery mages are the most feared and most specialized among the mage classes. Usually having really high magic proficiency across the three main magic parameters, they are able to cast spells so energetic that they can bring down buildings and melt steel. A single artillery mage can collapse a house. A coordinated squadron of them can turn armies into minced meat and fortresses into dust.

"ARTILLERY MAGES! FIRE!"

I release the magic power transferred into the staff and it launches a beam of concentrated energy upwards. It makes a deafening bang, emits a blinding white light, and it kicks the recoil mechanism back. The commander orders us to keep firing to deal as much damage as possible in the shortest amount of time, so I strengthen my grip to fight back against the recoil and fire again.

This is, what, the millionth time we've done this?

When I was younger, magic bombardments and usual artillery operations were very exciting and thrilling . I experienced some form of catharsis when casting such powerful spells, it was addicting and it got my blood pumping. Now, this type of thing is more like a chore to me.

The continuous roar of our spell castings seems to boost the morale of the infantrymen around us, they start cheering and shouting. However, it's not going well at all. Our spells follow a parabolic trajectory and smash on the walls of the town, creating large and powerful explosions that reverberate inside my rib cage even from that far away. They do no damage at all. Even from my position, I can see that the Sulostan garrison has deployed magic barriers above the walls to protect themselves. They have support mages within their ranks, a mage class entirely specialized in countering the long range, highly destructive ordinances of artillery mages like us. It's pointless as always. 

"Actually, I reckon the odds were never in our favor at all." Heather speaks, Im only able to hear her over the deafening bangs of the spell castings because she is crouching beside me.

I figured. This is not the first, and I fucking bet It wont be the last time the Sulostan support mages completely nullify our artillery magic with their stupid magic barriers. Trebuchets and catapults would be able to do some damage since the barriers only work against spells. Too fucking bad we don't have those right now. This entire thing feels nothing more than a waste of resources; a pointless endeavor.

The commander orders us to increase the intensity to punch through the magic barriers with raw firepower, but firing continuously is exhausting and drains our aether reserves quickly. I comply with the order even though my palms are sweating and my heart rate is increasing due to magic fatigue, and so do the other veterans. The problem is that the rookies can't keep up and have to slow down, or even worse, stop firing altogether to rest. Some of the veterans have to stop firing for a moment too because their staffs are overheating, I have to do so too after realizing that my staff's core is glowing red. The intensity of the attack decreases.

Five minutes have passed since the bombardment began and the commander notices that we aren't punching through the enemy magic barriers any time soon, so he gives the order and the rest of the army moves out to attack.

The infantry climbs out of the trenches and advances quickly while using shield formations and wooden barricades to protect themselves, rushing to the walls with ladders and ropes. We keep firing for a brief moment until the commander gives us the worst order possible. He wants us to leave the trench too, to get closer to the walls to deal more damage. I scoff, Jason sighs, Heather groans, and the rookie mages probably shit their pants. I hoped I could just sit around in the safety of the trench, but its time for some action…

I hastily climb out of the trench and realize that bodies are already mounting. The infantry approaching the enemy walls is getting shredded to pieces by the archers and spellcasters above. The ladders and ropes are of no use at all; those stupid or brave enough to try to climb the ten plus meter tall wall are instantly killed by the defenders.

I sprint a couple dozen meters to join up with the infantry. I know for a fact that artillery mages like me stick out like a sore thumb among the rest of the foot soldiers and that I am a prime target for the Sulostan archers and spellcasters, so I quickly order a couple soldiers to get into a small defensive formation around me to protect us using their shields. They comply without hesitation and loudly encourage me to keep firing at the enemy atop the walls. I fire again from a crouched position, but my spell is stopped by a magic barrier and does no damage.

"Fucking shit…"

Then, the defenders retaliate by having their own artillery mages open fire and launching debris with catapults. Chills crawl down my spine as I see bright flashes of light atop the walls, indicating powerful spell castings from the enemy. Our own support mages are nowhere to be seen, so our army takes the brunt of the attack. The wasteland between the trenches and the walls of the town is then set alight by the incoming fire. Dozens, hundreds, even, are instantly vaporized and turned to bloody meshes of gore by the incoming artillery spells. There is an explosion near us, and we are launched into the air after the shockwave hits us.

I land a couple meters back, face-up. I'm disoriented and probably bleeding somewhere. The world seems to spin around my head, and I have no idea what's going on anymore. All I hear is screams and my ears are ringing. I try to pull myself together, but I feel like someone's hammering a nail inside my skull.

"Thorne!" Someone yells.

Everything keeps spinning around me, I have no clue what's going on. I cant think, even if I try really hard. It feels like I have fallen off a cliff.

Someone slaps really strongly in the face and everything suddenly stops spinning.

"Thorne, wake up! React, dammnit!"

Its Jason, apparently.

"Ughhh…" I reply.

"We gotta get out of here!"

He then manhandles me and drags me back to the trench. Once there, he dumps the bucket of water originally meant for cooling overheating staffs on my face to force me to react.

"Ughh! Aghh, fucking shit!" 

"You good now?"

"Yeah, thanks… I got a really strong concussion there."

"Good, because thing's are about to get real ugly."

I turn around and look further ahead.. Its a bloody massacre. The attacking force collapses and the mercs begin a panicked retreat too. The infantrymen are harassed on their way back by arrows and spells of the defenders. Some are crushed by debris or set on fire by incendiary spells. It's not a pretty sight. Most officers just stand and watch idly, while others panic and helplessly try to prevent the army from falling into disarray. 

I'm still somewhat disoriented but I see that the surviving mercs are throwing themselves onto the trenches on arrival out of desperation. Many are injured and others die crushed. Some of them have returned with limbs missing, arrows piercing their backs, and even with their guts out. I'm lucky I'm not an infantryman - I think to myself. The few rookie mages that managed to return throw up at the disgusting and brutal sight of the gore.

Then, Heather jumps into the trench too and breaks her leg on impact. Jason and I rush to move her out of the way and help her.

"Ahgh! Fucking hell!" She groans

"Alright, calm down, everything will be fine!" Jason tries to assure her.

"Ahhg! No, it will not! Shut up!"

The Sulostans continue harassing us with artillery spells, forcing everyone to duck. Mud, dust and corpses alike are sent flying to the air.

"By the gods, where the fuck are our support mages?!" I scream out loud out of desperation, but no one can hear me due to all the explosions around us.

Only then, after a couple minutes of pure despair and panic, our support mages arrive. They had distinct hats, which were smaller and more compact than ours, and short-staffs for casting support magic.

"What took you so long?! We're dying out here!"

The support mage that had come near us looked completely panicked.

"I'm so sorry! We were ordered to guard a defensive position on the other side of the town! We had to rush all the way back here!"

By now, I am completely certain that what the Overseer said about internal sabotage is true.

"Well then, what are you waiting for, you dumb fuck?! CAST DEFENSIVE MAGIC!"

The support mages immediately created barriers above us to deliver us from the Sulostan's long range artillery magic. Their arrival allowed what remained of the army to partially recover, but it was too late. The attack had failed. Utterly.

"Everyone, prepare to move the wounded out! We're retreating to the camp!" A commander ordered. Heather is taken back to the camp by auxiliary soldiers. She has priority, being a mage and all.

Then, a general panicked commotion is heard around the trenches. Screams, yells, cries. The mercs brace themselves again.

"Look!

"The Sulostans are coming!"

"Incoming!"

 I dare to peek over the trench again, only to see that one of the town's gates has opened. A small army of enraged and emboldened Sulostans has abandoned it's defensive position, and it's heading directly our way. They've launched a sortie, we're fucked.

"EVERYONE, PREPARE FOR THE ATTACK!" An officer yells.

The infantry barely manages to put up a cohesive line to defend the trenches. I grab my mud-drenched staff and prepare myself for what's about to come. I can feel my heart beating faster and faster, but I must remain calm if I want to have any chance of surviving this at all.

"Hey, Thorne." Jason says

"What?!"

"If we survive, you owe me five bucks."

I might not be able to write the document the Overseer asked, nor pay that money Jason just bet.