Chapter 9: Grain Fields

Knowing that the exit from the forest was only a few meters away, with the promise of open air, was a relief.

​Still, we couldn't just stroll out of the forest's embrace and casually wander across the fresh grass. We were forced to stick to the treeline, just a few meters to my left, which was likely the same clearing where the mortar team had made their landing.

​The reason for all of this was to keep our squad from being detected. Regardless of how uncomfortable the forest always made me feel, in the end, the trees were our best allies in concealing our presence.

​Lieutenant Bulgers had previously given us a brief briefing, stating that for the remainder of this trek, we would likely follow wherever the edge of the forest led us until he deemed it sufficient.

​It seemed we had reached that point. Caspian, walking right in front of me, halted his steps. I followed suit, and Ashton did the same behind me.

​Caspian turned his body to the left and looked back at me. "Ginger, the Lieutenant says it’s time to leave the protection of the woods. Spread the news behind you," Caspian added, giving the hand signal for a tactical formation change.

​Responding to the message, I nodded and passed the relay back, keeping the instructions as original as possible. Just like me, Ashton nodded and passed the word to the mortar team behind him, where Scarface held the rear as usual.

​As ordered, we all faced our nine o'clock, placing Ashton, who was previously behind me, directly to my left. We all stared toward the point where we would finally exit the forest for good.

​"I'll take the front," Ashton said as he took his position.

​Unlike before, where we moved in a single-file tactical column, we were now moving in a two-rank column formation. We advanced horizontally, spreading from right to left with all twelve squad members, including myself.

​Naturally, as a non-combatant, I was placed in the second rank, shifted slightly toward the left wing. A center position would have made me too vulnerable if we took fire in enemy ambush from the front. To my right and left now were Pisger and Horgan from the mortar team. They were forced to make do with Varexil bolt-action rifles, considering their primary weapons had been lost during the jump.

We marched at almost on slowmotion, praying that as we stepped through the forest gate, we wouldn't be greeted by a hail of bullets. I couldn't hear my squadmates' heartbeats, but I could sense the psychological weight in the air. Perhaps we were overthinking it, since If there were any immediate threats, Pat or Raylan up ahead surely would have signaled us to be on guard.

​I could feel the distance between our ranks and the forest edge shrinking. The ground beneath our boots grew increasingly bare of fallen leaves and twigs. It was a sign that even the outside winds could reach in, blowing through the remnants of the trees as if the gales refused to let them escape.

​"Here we go, boys," Scarface warned us in his heavy voice. "Keep steady, keep your guns cocked."

​With our makeshift unit growing, a temporary structure had to be formed. Scarface, holding the second-highest rank after Lieutenant Bulgers in this situation, was given second-in-command responsibility over half the unit. Specifically, he served as the Staff Sergeant for this platoon.

​To be honest, I was still curious how a man who looked to be in his middle age, with such a thick beard, was still stuck as a junior NCO. Judging by his combat experience alone, he seemed to have survived several previous campaigns. Then again, it was likely due to his personality, which was notoriously difficult to like.

​"You won't find any Vrets on my face. So stop staring at me and look forward, Witch," Scarface snapped from Ashton’s left. He didn't even look at me, relying entirely on instinct to catch my gaze.

​"...Yes, sir."

I quickly snapped my gaze forward, the momentary sting of being rebuked by a superior washing over me. Scarface was right; this wasn't the time to be sizing each other up, especially not after we had made it this far.

​After I gained my focus back, the transition in our surroundings felt as sudden as a heartbeat, as if we had just stepped out of a time capsule. One moment, my boot was still crushing a rotting pine branch; the next, it met the soft, yielding soil at the forest’s edge.

​The suffocating canopy of interlocking branches that had defined the sky above us was suddenly gone, replaced by a vastness that defied explanation, with only the moon and its pale light to temper the void.

​We didn't stop. Our two-rank column kept moving, each of us maintaining our link to one another. I struggled to adjust my vision to the change in scale. After nearly two hours of staring at the monotonous blur of crowded trees, it felt as if the world had suddenly grown immense, deliberately laying itself open before us for a brief moment.

When we finally pushed through the brush that served as a natural barrier, the wind brushed against my cheeks like a welcoming greeting. That wasn't all. Standing there on the rising ground, we looked down upon an expanse that stood in stark contrast to the sea of green behind us. Instead, what we saw was a sea of gold with a vast, orderly pattern.

​"This really brings back memories of home," Caspian muttered, seemingly nostalgic for his hometown in the south.

It was a sprawling wheat field that lay ahead us.

​Refusing to let us pause for even a second, Lieutenant Bulgers, at the front of the line, gave us the hand signal to keep moving. He designated the wheat field below as our immediate target.

​There was no denying that the officers had calculated this during our rest. If we simply followed the treeline, it would likely cause our route to swell in distance and result in a massive waste of energy.

​Of course, we couldn't just cut across the open terrain either. That was likely why our tops decided to use this farmland as our crossing point.

​Essentially, we were in a race against time. We had to reach our objective quickly because in a few hours, our marines would be making their beach landings. We had to provide the support needed for that effort. At least, that is what I’ve managed to analyze so far.

​After marching down the slope, we could see the wheat in the field swaying in the wind. It moved as if it were dancing, an invitation for us to enter its depths. We accepted the invitation of the ladies of the wheat and entered the field. We pulled our formation slightly tighter, ensuring we wouldn't be foolishly separated by nothing more than stalks of grain.

Our march once again entered a stifling field of vegetation, allowing the mischievous arms of the ladies of the wheat to play with our uniforms with every step we took. I struggled to match my pace with Ashton in front of me, making sure we wouldn't be separated in this field and simply vanish.

​"Someone forgot to check their fields," Caspian muttered, commenting on the stunted growth of the field.

​The point of his jab was that once we were actually inside the field, the state of the crop was quite pitiful compared to how it looked from a distance. The height of the plants was inconsistent. Sometimes the stalks were short enough that everyone had to crouch. Well, not everyone, with the exception of myself, and don't ask why.

But what else could be expected? Everything must be done with an emphasis on quantity and speed, sacrificing quality in the midst of a war. We couldn't really blame these farmers, as they were likely forced to till the land to provide for the food requirements of the conquering Empire.

​Truthfully, the further we pushed into the center of the field, the worse the quality of the crops became. Weeds thrived here, undisturbed as they sucked the life out of the main plants.

We eventually reached a section of the field so short that even I had to crouch. Perhaps it was because—

​Suddenly, the crack of a single shot echoed through the area. Every one of us was jolted by the sound. By reflex, we scrambled for cover, hitting the dirt. I followed suit, tightly gripping my slightly oversized helmet.

​"Anyone hit?" Lieutenant Bulgers called out, hoping for a report.

​Initially, we were certain the shot came from an unknown sniper. However, the sound had occurred only once. I turned my head while lying prone, checking on my squadmates within my line of sight. Still, I couldn't find anything unusual about them. Most importantly, no one was shouting for a medic. While I should have been grateful, it was strange that there were no reports of anyone being hit or wounded if the shot before was a sniper.

"Left flank clean. No shots taken," Staff Sergeant Scarface reported, confirming our status was normal.

The silence of the night following that single shot felt more suffocating than the blast itself. We were all face down, chests pressed against the cold, damp earth. We tried to analyze what was actually happening and Lieutenant Bulgers signaled for us to keep our heads down until the situation is recognized.

​Even Raylan and Pat, who had been leading the way, crouched low and retreated to check on our status. The gunshot had been real. We weren't hallucinating.

​"Hey, you guys okay—"

​A voice echoed, cutting off Pat's question. It wasn't a follow-up shot. Instead, my ears caught something that made the hair on my neck stand up. It was a high-pitched scream from a woman.

​A few meters toward our nine o'clock, the orderly rows of wheat were suddenly broken by a wide patch of bare earth. There, everything became clear. Through the thick darkness, I could only see the silhouette of a man slumped motionless on the ground. He looked stiff, not moving an inch. It was hard to confirm his condition from this distance.

​Beside the still body, a young girl was kneeling. I could hear her sobbing, a sound of pure despair that tore through the silence of the night. She kept shaking the old man's shoulder.

​"ᚦᚢᛚᚴᛅᚱ, ᚠᛁᚴᛅ! ᚼᛅᚾᚾ ᚼᛖᛦᚱᛁᚱ ᚦᛁᚴ ᛁᚴᚴᛁ!"
​A raspy laugh followed that foreign sentence. From the shadows on the other side of the field, three familiar uniformed figures emerged. Once again, it was those Dretonian infantry dogs from the Varexil Empire.

​The lenses on their helmets glinted coldly, catching the faint remnants of moonlight as they strolled casually. Their rifles were slung over their shoulders as if they had just finished a rabbit hunt.

​Maybe it was just my imagination, but it felt like most of the enemies we had encountered so far were units from that barbaric nation.

​"ᛋᛅᚦ ᚼᛅᚱ, ᚼᛅᚾᛋ. ᛋᚴᛅᛏᛏᛅ ᛁ ᚼᚱᛦᚴᚴᛁᚾᚾ," one of them mocked. His wicked laughter erupted as he kicked the old man's body with his boot to force the girl away. "ᚾᚢ... ᛋᚴᛅᛚᚢᛗ ᚠᛁᚱᛏᛖᛏᛦᛅ ᚼᚢᛅᚱ ᚢᛁᚦ ᚼᛖᚠᛏᚢᛗ."

​The three of them laughed hoarsely, sounding like predators that had cornered easy prey. They began to encircle the girl, who was now trembling violently, crawling backward on the ground while sobbing helplessly against three soldiers who clearly harbored no good intentions.

​I could feel Ashton tensing up in front of me. His hands gripped his K1 Hesley rifle so tightly that his knuckles turned white, looking ready to snap at any moment. Ahead of us, Lieutenant Bulgers remained frozen, staring at the horrific scene with his jaw clamped shut.

Lieutenant Bulgers finally glanced toward Raylan, who had just arrived and remained in a low crouch. "Ray, do you think you can handle that?"

​Asked about his capability, Raylan looked toward the group of Dretonian units. His eyes moved like a progamed computer, estimating the distance between the hostiles and our position.

After he finished assessing the range, Raylan looked back at Lieutenant Bulgers. "They're standing too close to one another, sir. It's a simple enough target, even for someone like me. If you give the order, I'll make sure they never lay a hand on that girl again."

​"Do it."

​'Even for someone like me'? He really is an incredibly humble person, especially since Lieutenant Bulgers didn't even have to think twice before giving him the order to do what he said he could.

​For those of us like Pat, the Lieutenant, Scarface, and the entire mortar team who had been in the same company as him for a long time, we didn't bother questioning the Lieutenant's decision.

​"Is he crazy? In this kind of darkness?" muttered one of the soldiers from another unit mixed in with us.

​But for others like Ashton, who joined the company late in bootcamp, or Caspian and the rest from different elements, they naturally wore expressions full of doubt as they watched Raylan now.

​Having received permission, Raylan immediately positioned his K1 Hesley rifle, careful not to make a single scraping sound as he aimed toward the trio of Dretonians still trying to harm the innocent girl.

​He pressed his cheek firmly against the wooden stock of his rifle. With his mouth slightly open, he carefully aligned the iron sights with his eye, regulating his breathing to stay calm and ensure a precise shot. Amidst the darkness of the night, his sights began to lock onto the head of one of the laughing Dretonian soldiers.

​His lips began to move, uttering a thin whisper, a prayer meant only for the Goddess he worshiped.

​"Zildria, our Goddess, savior from the destruction of The Great Cataclysm. It is You who should act upon this world. You who always shine upon us with the light from Your garden of truth."

​Raylan took a slow breath, holding it in his lungs to make his body as steady as a rock. His finger touched the trigger with the gentleness of a lover.

​"Forgive me for acting as this judgment. Grant me Your will and Your revelation for this deed. We understand if You condemn this violence, but we have our own reasons."

​The moonlight, which had been dim before, began to illuminate the Dretonian soldiers as if even the moon had grown weary of them. In his eyes, reflecting the lunar glow, there was no hesitation at all, only the resignation of a servant forced to become an executioner.

​"Forgive me, Oh Goddess Zildria."

​Click.

​The sound of the trigger mechanism releasing rang loud in my ears just before the rifle's report split the silence of the wheat field.