Old Bolts: An Ironshield Novel (The Ironshield Saga) by Edward Nile

Author:Edward Nile [Nile, Edward]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2020-12-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

The snowstorm continued, burying the dead.

Viktor and Iggor picked their way around the corpses while the now one-eyed man wrapped a torn piece of shirt about his head as a temporary bandage.

“Reim, Iria?”

“We’re fine,” she called back, still scanning the area, her pistol half-raised. Viktor could tell the mother had done some shooting before.

“My leg hurts like a whore and my ears feel even worse,” Reimer complained, spitting onto the nearest enemy body. “But I’ll live.”

“Remind me to keep my son away from you until you learn some manners.”

“Sarge!”

Viktor moved past the two and fell to his knees by Wodjak. The bear’s back rose and fell with each snorting breaths. His eyes looked forlorn. Blood soaked into the snow beneath his bulk.

“I, I don’t know what to do.” Yasily shook his head, hands clutching Wodjak’s fur. “I don’t know what to do.”

Viktor put his hand to the bear’s warmth. He wanted to weep, thinking what this animal had done for them, what it had sacrificed. “He’s still breathing, Yas. We can’t give up.” Viktor pushed his sense of foreboding aside, mind racing for a solution. Now was the time to act.

“We have to turn him over and get a look at the wound.”

“Hear that, Jak?” Yasily said into the bear’s ear, stroking his side. “We need you to turn over, okay?”

Wodjak tried to move, tried lifting one of his paws enough to roll onto his side. Instead he fell back down with a pained moan.

“Damn it.” Reimer knelt and pushed. Iria and Iggor joined in. What a sight their strange group made. Three emaciated, scraggy-bearded men in rags, two pushing and one pulling a massive, wounded bear with a blood-covered young woman straining along with them. Viktor dropped to his knees next to Yasily and joined in the effort.

It was no use.

Four more powerfully built men could do it, probably, but given the diet of occasional game and limited canned rations Oby’s crew had subsisted on for a year, Iria was probably the strongest among them. Wodjak was massive, easily five, maybe six hundred pounds of muscle and fur. They needed some leverage or…

“The truck!” Viktor exclaimed.

Iggor managed to get it started, though smoke seeped from bullet holes in the hood. They found some rope and a strap in the truck bed behind the turret. Reimer tied one end of the rope to the winch while Viktor, Iria, and Yasily wove the strap under Wodjak.

“Creator.” Yasily’s voice was choked. “He’s losing so much blood.”

“Just concentrate,” Viktor urged. “He’s not done for yet.” Once the strap, now slick with bear blood, was around Wodjak, Viktor tightened the buckle and whistled to Iggor.

The truck revved backward, kicking up white clouds of snow in its effort to pull the weight tethered to its winch. Tires sawed at the ground without moving the vehicle. The engine’s growl became a sputtering whine.

Viktor ran to the truck and pushed at the hood alongside Reimer. “Come on, come on.”

It only budged an inch at first. With a sense of dread, Viktor felt sure it was all they were going to manage.

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