The Devil's Pay (Dogs of War) by Gross Dave

Author:Gross, Dave [Gross, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Adventure, RPG
ISBN: 9781939480040
Publisher: Skull Island Expeditions
Published: 2013-04-02T22:00:00+00:00

In the end it took a little less than an hour to position the wagon, erect the tripod for the block and tackle, and lift Foyle out of the mire. Crawley inspected the warjack’s muck-encrusted foot and declared it serviceable. When Sam directed the Talon to walk, the ’jack did so with a slight limp at the ankle joint.

Dawson helped Morris disassemble and stow the tripod. They finished just as Harrow returned from ranging to the rear. Setting his pack and gun on the wagon tailgate beside Smooth’s bandaged leg, he reported no sign of pursuit: Cryx, Steelhead, or otherwise.

Moments later, McBride and Crowborough returned to report the all clear to either flank. Lieutenant Lister checked his pocket watch and scanned the mists ahead. “Where the hell is Robinson?”

Dawson’s eyes followed the second hand as it tick-tick-ticked its way around the watch dial. As it completed a circuit, Lister’s eyes met Harrow’s. The scout picked up his gun, leaving his pack behind, and slid silently through the mire.

Sam approached, her eyes on Harrow’s retreating figure. “Who’s missing?”

“Robinson. Forward scout.”

“Let’s get the company moving. Same configuration as before, but keep the pickets closer.”

The last of the chatter faded as the Dogs trudged forward. The creak of wagon wheels and the chug-and-hiss of steamjack engines seemed all the louder for the men’s silence.

When they first saw the flare, a few of the men hastened their pace.

“Stay with the company,” Lister cautioned them. “Keep formation.”

Crawley repeated the lieutenant’s order for emphasis, and the men passed it down the line as they came near Harrow’s flare and saw what he had found.

On a glistening mound of mossy earth, Robinson lay in pieces.

One of the strikes had bisected him from shoulder to hip. The other was a shallower wound, but still mortal. Together the injuries had spilled what appeared to be every drop of the man’s blood. Beneath a lacy red mask, Robinson’s face had blanched pale as a grub.

Silent, Crawley signaled two units to take up guard positions on either side of the corpse. The third he signaled to follow him. Dawson was the nearest as Crawley and the officers joined Harrow beside his gruesome discovery.

“Doesn’t look like another blade.” Sam said. Even her whisper seemed too loud.

Harrow pointed along the scorched wounds. “Some type of energy impact, maybe lightning. Two strokes.”

Lister retrieved Robinson’s slug gun. Its squat barrel had been sliced at an angle, the cut as clean and sharp as that of a dropped teacup. The metal at the edges of the cut were discolored as if from intense heat.

Crawley took Dawson by the shoulder and quietly relayed his instructions for dealing with the body. With measured haste, Dawson and Morris fetched a length of heavy canvas from the supply wagon and laid it beside Robinson. Burns and Craig helped them transfer the remains to the cloth.

As the Dogs worked, Lister reached inside his collar to hold an ascendant medallion between his fingers. He murmured a prayer in Caspian.

The men folded the ends of the body bag.

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