Chapter 416 — The Men Behind the Uniforms II

Chapter 416: Chapter 416 — The Men Behind the Uniforms II

The medical section was the far end of the warehouse, behind a row of plastic curtains on frames. There were folding beds and equipment trolleys, and a smell of antiseptic so strong that it took over the diesel. Medics moved between the beds.

At the nearest one a woman was bent over a soldier’s arm, winding a bandage round it.

She was in her late twenties, with dark red hair pulled back and pinned, and freckles across her nose. She wore the plain scrubs of the medical staff. She looked up when they came through the curtain and did not look pleased to see them.

"Kelleher. That was meant to be here at seven."

"I know, Ruth, I got held up at the—"

"I don’t care." She did not look away from the arm. "On the table at the back. The steel one. Not the one with the instruments on it, the other one."

"Right you are," said Eamon, as if that was what he had been about to say.

James and Finn put the box on the steel table.

The woman finished the bandage, tied it off and tapped the soldier’s shoulder. "Keep it up. Don’t take that off." Then she straightened up and looked at James properly. Her eyes went over his face, recognised it, and moved on.

"Ganner," she said. "Right." She nodded at Finn. "And you’re another one."

"Finn."

"Ruth Fitzgerald." She was already pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. "You’re welcome. Thanks for the box."

"She’s been up all night," said Eamon, coming over. "They brought in about forty from the—"

"*We’ve* been up all night," said Ruth. "All of us. There are eleven medics in here. Stop making it sound like I’m doing it on my own. It’s embarrassing."

"I’m complimenting you."

"Well, don’t."

James watched her go to the next bed.

The injuries were not like the Tower.

In the Tower he knew what injuries looked like. There were claw wounds and bite wounds, burns from something that breathed fire, and a body opened by a blade the size of a door. There was always a monster on the other end of it. And at the end of the floor the light came and closed everything up, and you walked out whole.

These were different. One man had a shrapnel wound down one side of his face, a scatter of dark holes. Another had a bullet wound in the thigh, neat going in. A third had a bandage across his whole chest, and the skin at the edge of it had gone a strange glassy colour that was not quite a burn. Some Challenger had done that to him, with something that came out of their hands.

None of this would close up at the end. There was no end.

The soldier with the bandaged arm sat up on his bed.

"When can I go back?"

"You can’t," said Ruth, from the next bed.

"It’s only the arm. I can still—"

"You’re not going anywhere until I say so. You’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re going to fall over." She did not even look round. "Lie down."

"I’m grand."

"Lie down, Private."

He lay down.

"Have there been many?" said James. "Brought in?"

Ruth glanced over.

"Since the start," she said. "Yes. Some units more than others. They come in waves when a position gets hit." She went back to the man she was treating. "I’m not going to stand here guessing how bad it’s going to get. It’s bad enough."

She finished, stripped off her gloves and dropped them into a bin.

"Have you two done your medical and operational checks?"

"This morning," said Finn. "In Dublin."

"Right. Good. Now listen." She looked at both of them. "I don’t care what rank you are or how many floors you’ve cleared. If you get hurt, you come here. You don’t walk it off. You don’t decide you’re grand. There’s no Waiting Room out there. If you get hurt, it stays."

"She treats everybody like that," said Eamon. "Like none of us can look after ourselves."

"That’s because in my experience," said Ruth, "most of you can’t."

Finn laughed out loud.

James found he was smiling too. He felt something in his shoulders loosen that had been tight since the motorway.

---

At half nine they were sent across the yard to the warehouse office, where the volunteer Challengers were gathering.

Marcus was already there.

He stood at a table with two officers and a map, his new hand flat on the paper, his other hand pointing at something north of Dundalk. Saoirse Doyle leaned on the wall beside the window with her arms folded, reading something on her phone. There were maybe a dozen others. Some James knew by sight from guild events, and some he did not know at all.

It was a mixed group. A woman in her fifties sat on a crate, with grey hair cropped short and plain dark gear that would have looked at home on any soldier in the yard. A man in his twenties stood near her in kit that must have cost more than James’s first car, all polished plate and enchanted trim. Some of them had clearly dressed for the Tower. Some had clearly dressed for this.

Marcus looked up when they came in.

His face changed when he saw Finn. It was not a big change. Something in it simply let go a little.

"You made it," he said. "Roads all right?"

"Took three hours."

"I heard. They’ve closed half the M1." He came round the table. "Papers in order? Assignment’s come through?"

"All in order. We’re with Farrell."

"Good. She’s good." Marcus looked Finn over, quickly, the way he would have looked over anyone he was going into a fight beside. He checked the straps on his axe harness and the fit of his vambraces, and then he did the same to James. "Kit’s fine." He let his hand rest on Finn’s shoulder a second longer than he needed to. Then he took it away.

"Fill us in," said James.

Marcus did.

He had been in the ops room since the first reports. British forces had crossed in at least three places, and the main push was down the N1 corridor. The Irish were trying to hold them at a line of junctions and river crossings and were mostly managing. They were losing ground slowly, but in order.

"And there’s Challengers on their side," said Marcus. "Not just regulars. We’ve had reports of engagements involving British Challengers since about midnight. Not a lot of detail. You know what the first night’s like. Everybody saw something and nobody saw it properly."

"Course they’re using Challengers," said Saoirse. She had come off the wall. "They were never going to come over the water without them. Not against us." She held up her phone. "I’ve been going through the reports from last night. I want to know who they’ve sent."

"Any names?" said James.

"Some." Saoirse frowned at the screen. "Not confirmed. There’s a few sightings of people from their national programmes. Some of their state-attached Challengers. Some of the names are solid and some of them are just somebody saying they saw something with wings." She put the phone away. "The army hasn’t got a full list. I don’t think anyone has."

"They’re splitting us up," said Marcus. "I want you both to know that before Farrell does her brief. There’s no Irish superteam here. The army’s putting each of us where we’re needed. We’ve already got some of the big names gone down to Monaghan and over to the Cavan side. More of ours are on the way in."

James looked round the room.

He had expected more people. He could think of four or five names he had expected to see and didn’t.

"Where’s Ironwall?" he said. "And the Cork lot?"

"Some of them are with other units," said Marcus. "Some of them haven’t finished their paperwork. One of them’s sitting on the side of the M7 with a flat tyre." The corner of his mouth moved. "It’s a war. It isn’t waiting for anybody."

---

Captain Farrell came in at ten.

She did not ask for quiet. She stood at the front of the office with the map behind her, and the room went quiet on its own.

There were maybe twenty-five people. Most of them were soldiers from her own unit, some of them still eating. Eamon stood at the back. James and Finn stood among the soldiers. Nobody gave them a separate spot.

"Right," said Farrell. "Short version."

She put her finger on the map, north of where they stood.

"We’ve got a defensive position here. Infantry, holding a crossing on the road out of Dundalk. They’ve been under pressure since the British came over last night. They’ve taken casualties. They’re holding, but they’re thin and they’re tired. If that position goes, the British have a clean run at the town."

She moved her finger.

"At the same time, we’ve still got civilians coming out of the villages north of the line. And we’ve got wounded at that position who need to come out. So we’re going up. Our job is to reinforce the crossing, help bring the wounded back, and keep the road open for the last of the civilians. That’s it. We’re not taking any ground. We’re stopping them taking ours."

She paused.

"And there’s British Challengers with the force pushing that crossing. Confirmed. At least one, possibly more."

Several of the soldiers looked at each other.

A lad near the front, no more than twenty, put his hand half up.

"Ma’am. Are ours—" He glanced at James and Finn and Eamon, and then back. "Are ours going to be enough? To deal with theirs?"

"Our Challengers," said Farrell, "are attached to this unit to support this mission. They are not there to go off and have a fight with the British ones because they fancy it. Nobody in this room goes looking for anybody." She looked round the room. "Soldiers and Challengers work together out there. You talk to each other. You tell each other what you’re doing. If I find anyone, either kind, doing their own thing, they’ll be on the next truck back here. Understood?"

"Ma’am."

Eamon put his hand up at the back.

"Captain. Practical question. I need to know what these two can do. And they need to know what I can do. If we’re going to be stood beside your lads, they need to know too. Otherwise somebody’s going to shoot one of us by mistake."

"Go on, then," said Farrell. "Quickly."

"Me first." Eamon turned. "I’m a ward-builder. Barriers, mostly. Static, short-lived. I can put a wall up in front of four or five people and hold it for maybe twenty seconds against small arms. Less against something heavy. Then I need to rest." He looked at James. "You?"

"Necromancer," said James. "I fight up close with a sword, mostly. I can take a lot of punishment. I’ve got summoned undead, but I need bodies to raise them from, so I won’t have them at the start of anything." He thought for a second about how much to give a room full of strangers, and decided on very little more. "I can blink short distances to my own undead. That’s about it, for here."

It was not about it. But it was enough for the job.

"Finn?"

"Axes," said Finn. "Thrown and in the hand. Fast. I go in and come out. If you see me running at something, don’t stand in front of it."

A couple of the soldiers laughed.

"Good." Farrell nodded. "That’ll do."

The door opened and a signaller came in at a half-run with a sheet of paper. He went straight to Farrell.

She read it, and her face did not change.

"The crossing’s under increased pressure," she said. "They’ve lost a section. They’re asking for us now." She folded the paper. "We move in ten minutes. Get your kit."

---

The room changed all at once.

It was not panic. It was the opposite. Plates went into bins, men stood up, and rifles came off the backs of chairs. Somebody finished his tea in one go and dropped the cup. Two of the soldiers stopped at the door to say something to each other, quickly, quietly, and one of them put his hand on the other’s arm for a second before they went out.

Eamon came over to James and Finn.

"You know where you’re meant to be?"

"Third truck," said Finn. "With you."

"Good."

"We’ve done a bit of this," said Finn. "We’ve killed things you wouldn’t believe. We can follow instructions."

"I know you can." Eamon grinned at him. "Surviving the Tower’s very good experience. I just hope today doesn’t teach us too many new ways of dying, that’s all."

Then he turned to his own kit bag.

James watched his face as he did it. It was as if a light had gone out behind it. One second Eamon was grinning, and the next he was checking his straps with no expression at all, quick and careful and silent.