The Faith Eaters, Chapter 7: Night Watch on the Pickets

The instant Brent Hallow crushed the Glare beneath his bootheal, his mind cleared. He had never, in fact, understood more clearly what was going on around him and what he needed to do next.

But the poisons in his body remained. Excrement from the night's Glare feeding pumped through his system. Without the Glare to monitor chemical levels and override pathological reactions to the pollutants, his body began to die.

He continued to shamble towards the picket lines of Kinsborough, his body wracked with fever, feet moving forward in jerky, erratic movements. "I am," he thought dryly, "doing one hell of a Legionnaire impression."

**********

Private Ernie Oaks squinted into the shadows just beyond the glow of picket lights. Something was moving out there. He glanced at his watch partner who lay asleep on the guard bunker's only cot, then peered back through the observation slit and licked his lips nervously.

Maybe it was nothing.

He glanced at his watch partner again. The two had rotated watch duty not 15 minutes before and Corporal Dent had just gotten to sleep, but not before making it explicitly clear to the young private that he didn't want to be disturbed for anything short of war before their next rotation.

The next rotation wasn't schedule for two hours and forty - Oaks glanced at his wristwatch - seven minutes and twenty-three seconds. He swallowed nervously, turned back to the observation slit and began reciting the Capitol Infantry General Orders of the Watch in his mind.

This private's first general order is to take charge of this post and all corporate property within sight or hearing, he thought to himself. The mantra soothed him. It was familiar. It was simple. This private's second general order is to walk his post in a military manner, keeping always on the alert and...

There it was again! He was certain of it this time. Something was moving in the shadows along the road.

"This private's third general order is to report any unusual or unauthorized activity within his area of responsibility!" he screamed, then slammed his hand down on the security alarm button, yanked back on the charging handle of his rifle, thrust the muzzle through the observation slit and jerked the trigger.

***********

Brent's stomach convulsed as he forced himself to step onto the middle of the road and into view beneath the picket lights. Then his body gave up on life and he fell to his knees. As he fell, his mind registered the kerr-ACK! KRACK! KRACK! of rifle rounds zipping over his head and for the briefest of moments he pondered the irony of being saved from the sentry's shots by the poisons which drove him to the ground.

***********

The scene all along the picket line was one of carefully orchestrated, monotonously rehearsed, militarily structured chaos. Searchlights powered on and bathed the kill zone in blinding white light. Troops grabbed rifles, scrambled from their squad-bays, and bolted for their assigned bunkers and trenches. Many of them were only partially dressed. Most wore their boots, a piece of gear most grunts quickly learn to sleep in.

The scene inside the guard bunker containing Private Oaks and Corporal Dent was decidedly less organized and would in fact be described as "comedic" by Oaks when looking back on the incident several years later as a senior sergeant.

As the sound of the alarm klaxon pierced the quiet night air, Corporal Dent attempted to sit bolt upright on his cot. Two things hindered this movement. First, he had wrapped the sling of his rifle around his left arm to ensure that it was readily accessible in times of need. Second, while sleeping he had rolled onto his left side, pinning his rifle beneath him. Consequently, when he attempted to sit up he instead fell off the edge of the cot and onto the floor, his rifle pinned painfully under his arm. The cot tipped over on top of him, which added to his confusion as he attempted to gain his feet.

Meanwhile, at the observation slit not four feet away, young Private Oaks was jerking repeatedly on the trigger of his assault rifle and took several seconds to realize that nothing was happening. In the heat of the moment he had - as young troops will when first exposed to the pressures of combat - failed to take his weapon off "safe." Upon recognizing his mistake he quickly flipped the catch and once again jerked the trigger, which sent a three-shot burst wildly into the night. His eyes widened as he saw the twitching form of the necro-beast on the road before him collapse to its hands and knees, black bile poring from its mouth.

Oaks turned towards his watch partner and yelled, "I got it! I got it! I killed the goddam thing!"

Corporal Dent had little appreciation for the private's exuberance, nor time to be civil. "Shut UP!" he barked as he untangled himself from his rifle sling and the cot.

Oaks shut up.

Dent moved to the observation slit and saw what every roused, alerted and scrambled trooper along a three mile stretch of defensive line was seeing -- night turned to day by hundreds of klieg lights to reveal a cleared kill zone being assaulted by hoards of... absolutely nothing.

Dent reached across to Oaks, flipped the safety back on the private's rifle and pulled it from his hands. He pushed the magazine release, removed the magazine, pulled the charging handle to clear the weapon and deftly caught the chambered round as it ejected.

"I...," Oaks began.

"Aht!," Dent hissed.

Oaks tried again. "But it was..."

"AaaahhhTT!" Dent said again. It was a non-word, full of meaning and accentuated by an extended hand, palm outward, index finger extended, as if to dare Oaks to utter another word. The corporal glared at the private until he was certain the message had been received, then turned, flipped the cot back upright, sat down with both rifles across his knees and began thinking about how to word his report.

***********

Brent fell to all fours in the middle of the road, head hanging low, and began to vomit. He watched as strings of black bile streaked with blood dripped slowly from his mouth to form a pool between his hands. It made a sickening sss-plotch sound and splattered over his fingers as it hit the ground. I need, he thought dryly, some serious medical attention.

He heard the sound of boots on gravel and the clatter of rifles on body armor as a squad of troops advanced from the picket line to encircle him. A shadow passed over him, blocking the light from the line. Using his last vestiges of strength and self-control, Brent forced his head up. The first thing he saw was pair of black boots. His gaze continued to move upward, taking in an elaborate pair of shin guards, crimson robes, a helmet dangling from a brass studded belt. Then he locked eyes with the man.

"Inquisitor Guerin, shall we kill him, sir?" asked the squad leader.

Brent, his mind surprisingly clear as his body shook and
twitched, heard this question and continued to look the Inquisitor in the eye. Great, he thought sardonically. Just the man I'm looking for. Finally start to get my life back on track, and I run into an Inquisitor while I'm going through the Dee-Tees from hell. Brent knew he reeked of evil. That until scant hours before he had been doomed to burn with the Legions. He also knew that he had freed himself from their dark chains and that something evil was moving on Kinsborough.

But he couldn't utter a word.

So it was that there, on his hands and knees, his face and hands spattered with the remnants of dark poisons purged from his body, Brent Hallow looked deeply into the eyes of a Brotherhood Inquisitor and waited to find out if he would live or die.

"Sir? Your orders, sir?" the squad leader asked again.

Inquisitor Guerin seemed to ignore the question as he returned Brent's stare for a long, quiet moment.

"Bring him," he said, then turned on his heal and walked back toward the picket line.

In that instant, Brent's strength left him and he collapsed to the dirt. The squad leader gestured and two of his troops slung rifles and stepped towards Brent. Each grabbed an arm and with the rest of the squad formed up around them, began dragging him towards the gate.

All along the line lights began to shut down and tensions began to ease as the alerted troopers withdrew from the line, conducted final personnel counts and returned to their squad bays to grab a few more hours of sleep before morning.