![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.briarhenge.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/07\/03-FF-small.jpg\")
<\/a><\/center><\/p>\nAzarola awoke to a face full of sand. He pushed himself up and sharp stabs of pain jabbed his shoulders and back, forcing a gasp past his cut lip. Grit stuck to his flesh in exchange for the dark red stain pressed onto the ground. Blood dripped into his right eye, obscuring half of his vision. Past the ringing in his ears, he heard eerie whistles cut through the air and the yells and screams of men, all punctuated by a relentless barrage of explosions. The wind howled around him, driving scourging sand into his wounds and stinging his eyes.<\/p>\n
His blurred vision cleared just enough for him to make out the dust-covered rifle lying in front of him and he instinctively wrapped his hands around it. Where was he? What was happening? Why did he hurt so much? In the hellish orange twilight surrounding him, Azarola looked to one side and spotted mangled corpses of tan uniformed young men scattered amongst twisted metal remains of trucks and tanks. Burnt craters nearby gave a strong clue as to why there were so many dead. He coughed against the choking dust and acrid smoke as he stood on unsteady legs and gagged against the nauseating metallic stench of gore.<\/p>\n
Pushing past the needling pain peppering his legs and a tilting dizziness, he scrambled for cover around the crumbling corner of a ruined house. He reached for his concealed pistol and his fingers slid against the grime-caked drab tan fabric of an Inexan army uniform. Why was he wearing this? He was a busker and garage mechanic! Over his bloodied uniform, he wore a harness and belt laden with pouches. He wiped the blood and grime away from his eyes and tried to get his bearings, but he had no idea which direction he was facing. With no sign of the barrage abetting, he left his cover and hoped he was going the right way. The concussive explosions kept pace with him as he scrambled and ducked through the dust-choked streets. Running from building to building, he discovered bloody and broken bodies strewn in every direction. What sort of nightmare was this? What sort of dream hurt this much?<\/p>\n
Gravel and shrapnel sprayed against him from a nearby blast and he careened into a rammed earth wall. A scarlet smear streaked against the beige barrier, pointing to a gasping Azarola struggling to get his legs under him. He gripped the rifle tighter and used it to lever his battered body upright. His vision pulsed with his heartbeat, dimming and blurring in a frantic rhythm. Half-blind, he kept running, seeking some sort of shelter, any sort of reprieve.<\/p>\n
The air suddenly became unnaturally still and the dust settled over the blasted town in a suffocating blanket. Crouching inside a faceless shop, Azarola caught his breath and waited for his vision to clear. The grime-thickened crimson crust over half of his face cracked as he squinted into the clearing sky. Instead of twilight above him, it was a jewel blue afternoon. \u201cNow what?\u201d he asked it. He spoke a response for the sky, \u201cKeep moving.\u201d<\/p>\n
The thunder of hundreds of boots running over the broken ground and the crack of gunfire reached his ringing ears, growing louder with each beat. Azarola focused for a moment, getting a read on the direction. They were coming from the direction he ran from, the same direction the explosions came from. He listened to their progress and forced his rattled brain to make a judgment upon them. Were they friend or foe? An opposing chorus of rifles answered them. Gritting his teeth, he stood and ran from both. He did not intend to be caught in the crossfire.<\/p>\n
As he ran, he spotted another man in a tan uniform and brimmed steel helmet crouched behind a broken wall in a row of squat, square buildings. The soldier fumbled with fitting the bayonet to his bolt-action rifle. Three men in gray uniforms approached with raised rifles, waiting for the tan uniformed man to poke his head above the ruined wall.<\/p>\n
Azarola last used a rifle many years ago and his memory was hazy, but he put the wood buttstock against his shoulder and sighted along the barrel at one of the gray-garbed men. From the cover of the dusty alley, he fired a thunderous shot and gasped at the recoil kick aggravating his injuries. His shot flew low and to the left, grazing his target. Clenching grit between his teeth in a choked snarl, Azarola adjusted the rifle against his shoulder and fired again. The now familiar whistle of a bullet\u2019s near miss broke through the persistent hum in his ears. Three more shots thundered from his weapon in rapid succession, flinging brass shells far into the rubble. The empty en-bloc clip loudly ejected and flew off into the debris.<\/p>\n
Gunsmoke drifted through the dusty alley and three men in gray lay on the ground. Rubbing at his bruised shoulder, Azarola took a moment to look over the gun, grateful that it didn\u2019t kick as hard as the old bolt-action rifle that he learned to shoot with. He searched his pockets and pouches for more ammunition, but found nothing useful. \u201cYou alright, pal?\u201d he called out to the soldier.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m fine!\u201d The soldier darted to the alley to join Azarola. \u201cMaedra\u2019s fire, you\u2019re a mess. You need to get to the medics.\u201d<\/p>\n
Azarola struggled to hear the man speak over the ringing in his ears. \u201cWhere are they? Where are we? What\u2019s going on? Who did I just shoot?\u201d<\/p>\n
The soldier\u2019s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. \u201cGot knocked stupid, huh? We\u2019re on the south side of Bosirid. Headquarters are on the north end. And we\u2019re getting our asses kicked by the Avernans. That\u2019s who you just shot. Thanks, by the way.\u201d<\/p>\n
Azarola pulled a small metal shard from the back of his hand before offering his palm in greeting. \u201cI\u2019m Azarola.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLarent Morain.\u201d The young man declined to accept the bloody hand, instead keeping both hands firm on his rifle.<\/p>\n
Azarola had plenty of other questions to ask, but this didn\u2019t seem like the time to stop and chat. He pointed in the direction opposite of where he came from. \u201cNorth is that way?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s go, Larent.\u201d As his panic subsided, the demands of his injuries grew louder. He needed to get away from this place as quickly as possible.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank the gods that the wind\u2019s dying down,\u201d Larent remarked as they ran nearly blind through the alleys and streets. \u201cCouldn\u2019t see a damn thing in the sandstorm. Next thing we know, we\u2019re pelted with artillery. It\u2019s all a mess. I don\u2019t know what happened to the rest of my squad. I don\u2019t even know where the rest of my platoon is!\u201d<\/p>\n
They paused at a bloody cluster of fallen soldiers all wearing the tan uniforms. Azarola knelt next to a couple of corpses. \u201cAre they it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUh, part of it. Maedra have mercy.\u201d Larent frowned as he watched Azarola rummage through bloodied pockets and pouches. \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLooking for more bullets.\u201d His voice strained under pain, betraying his stoic facade as he grabbed every clip for his rifle he could find. \u201cYou\u2019re down to your bayonet. Even I know what that means.\u201d<\/p>\n
Larent kept watch for anyone approaching while Azarola worked. \u201cDo you still have your kit?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKit?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWith the bandages and powder?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know. We\u2019re stopping here longer than I want to, anyways. I\u2019m still walking, so I think I\u2019ll hold for a little while longer.\u201d Azarola handed some ammunition to Larent. \u201cThat\u2019ll do?\u201d<\/p>\n
The other soldier examined the bullets and then quickly reloaded his weapon. \u201cThat\u2019ll do.\u201d Without looking up from his gun, Larent asked, \u201cWhere\u2019s your helmet?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat helmet?\u201d His hand ran through his grimy black hair and his heart skipped a beat. \u201cWhere\u2019s my hair?!\u201d It was now cropped short to befit a soldier. What happened to his waist-length ponytail? \u201cWhen did I get it cut? Why?\u201d It was his marker of belonging to the traditionally nomadic Senviran people. Without it, he could only pass as the Inexan half of his bloodline.<\/p>\n
Larent\u2019s pale eyes darted towards Azarola and he swore under his breath. \u201cYeah, I think you need to see the medics.\u201d He stepped in front of the confused man, showing him the red soaking through the back of his shirt.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think you\u2019re joining me there,\u201d Azarola remarked. His eyes caught the glint of a pistol and he added its belt to his own load.<\/p>\n
They staggered onward, moving as quickly as their injuries would permit. Gunfire echoed from skirmishes all around them. Turning down a side street to avoid the thickest concentration of noise, they jerked to a stop just before reaching the next main thoroughfare. A pair of Inexan soldiers ducked within a thick doorway on the other side of the street. From farther down the road, a few gray uniformed men pinned them down with shots from bolt-action rifles.<\/p>\n
Azarola knelt down at the corner of a building. \u201cI\u2019ll get them to flinch, you pick them off.\u201d He raised his rifle and fired several rapid shots. Above him, Larent took a more deliberate aim. Hot brass casings ricocheted off the stone wall and stung Azarola\u2019s face. From across the street, the other two soldiers grabbed the opportunity and fired at their attackers. The clip from Azarola\u2019s rifle ejected and clanged against the wall.<\/p>\n
With the gunfire silenced when the Avernans felled, the Inexan soldiers congregated at Azarola. One man sported sweat-soaked copper hair and a crooked, bloody nose under his brimmed helmet. The other was squat and earthy with a dark scarlet stain streaking down his right arm. \u201cThank the gods you showed up!\u201d the red-haired man grinned. \u201cI\u2019m Rufino and this is Weldon.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m Azarola and this is Larent.\u201d He slung his empty rifle over his shoulder. \u201cWe\u2019re getting out of here.\u201d Pulling his focus away from the insistent complaints of his injuries, Azarola tried to listen past the incessant hum in his ears for the movements of soldiers.<\/p>\n
Rufino glanced over Azarola, \u201cI think he needs to get to the medics. He looks bad.\u201d<\/p>\n
Weldon snapped back, \u201cHe\u2019s walking and talking, ain\u2019t he? He\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
Azarola butted in, \u201cNo, I think he\u2019s right. I need to get to the medics. I\u2019m walking and talking and bleeding and…\u201d He pinched a small metal shard out of his forearm. \u201cI think I\u2019m full of this.\u201d He examined the unyielding agony in his upper left arm and pulled back the torn scrap of blood-soaked fabric to get a better view. \u201cAnd there\u2019s that.\u201d A large gash tore out a quarter of the ink near the bottom of his black tattoo, exposing the meat below. He sucked in a breath and cringed at the gruesome sight. \u201cThat\u2019s one way to get rid of the damned thing.\u201d He spotted a tan uniformed young man slumped alongside the wheel of a heavy truck and darted over to him. A quick check confirmed that he was dead. He picked up the submachine laying on the ground and collected as much ammunition as he could. \u201cHope you don\u2019t mind if I borrow your stuff.\u201d He had seen a submachine gun before, when he ran with a gang on the nighttime streets of Ixpoli. He found that familiarity comforting. While he hated the gang raids at the time, he now wished that he could go back to them. No amount of self-deception could get him to believe that this dusty, windy hell was nothing more than a glorified raid.<\/p>\n
Just ahead of them, they heard another exchange of gunfire. At the next intersection, they saw several gray uniformed men firing at a cluster of Inexan soldiers manning the rammed earth walls surrounding a domestic courtyard. Tan uniformed bodies lay strewn about the street with a few gray uniforms scattered amongst them. The closed villa gates denied the Avernan soldiers entry only momentarily. A pair of grenades splintered the wooden barrier.<\/p>\n
Azarola remembered the hit and run tactics used by the gangs of Ixpoli. \u201cShoot and keep moving!\u201d he ordered to himself as much as to Larent. Bullets popped puffs of dust from the ground and walls around him as the Avernans divided their attention. Azarola paused behind an abandoned automobile and laid down suppressive fire before moving on towards a heavy, open gateway into a courtyard. Larent kept pace, ducking behind whatever cover he could find. Rufino and Weldon hunkered down behind a truck and waited for their opening.<\/p>\n
Just before Azarola reached the shelter of the gateway, his magazine emptied. Azarola spat a string of obscenities and drew his salvaged sidearm from its holster. It was larger than his trusty old pistol, but fit his hand well. He checked for the safeties and found that it bore the switch and grip mechanisms he was used to. Flicking off the switch, he aimed and squeezed the trigger. The recoil immediately reminded him that this was not the easily concealed weapon he used to carry. Larent moved past him into the courtyard and climbed up a ladder to the top of the wall. Pinched between the two clusters of Inexans, the Avernans soon fell.<\/p>\n
Azarola and Larent joined the other Inexan soldiers inside the compound. Near the flat roofed house at the far end of the courtyard, injured and dead men lay under the shade of palm fronds.<\/p>\n
Larent wiped his brow with the back of his hand. \u201cMore for the medics. No way we can move all of them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot without a little help.\u201d Azarola spotted the strafed cargo truck that sheltered Rufino and Weldon and his green eyes sparked with his grin. \u201cThat\u2019ll do!\u201d He wondered which god he should pray to for a functioning vehicle. To his erstwhile squad, he asked, \u201cAnyone else know how to drive?\u201d<\/p>\n
Two of the injured men raised their hands, but Azarola shook his head. \u201cYou two can barely walk. I\u2019ll drive. That is, if it works. Keep an eye out for anyone wanting to fill us full of holes and I\u2019ll see if I can get that engine started.\u201d He scrambled to the canvas canopied truck and clambered into the driver\u2019s seat. Orange dust coated the cracked windshield and the dashboard gauges. Another mortar crashed nearby, blasting debris at the truck and cracking the passenger window. Gravel rained on the metal roof with an almost musical rhythm. Recovering from his flinch, he found the switch key still in the ignition lock. \u201cThank you every shining god, now please let this start!\u201d The rumble of the engine gave the tired and battered soldiers hope and Azarola laughed. \u201cWe\u2019re getting outta here! Load up the injured!\u201d He spotted one of the seriously wounded gripping a rifle like the one Azarola carried over his shoulder. \u201cGot more bullets?\u201d<\/p>\n
The bloodied man nodded and Azarola helped himself to a couple more clips. Slamming one into his rifle with a satisfying clack, he took up a position where he could see the approaching Avernans and their mortar. \u201cLarent? Help me keep our Avernan friends out there busy.\u201d<\/p>\n
Larent knelt down and aimed for the men manning the mortar. \u201cDon\u2019t bother with your gun. Mine has a longer reach.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can still give them something to think about.\u201d Taking a clue from Larent\u2019s dismissive remark, he aimed higher than usual.<\/p>\n
Those who could climb onto the truck bed on their own helped Rufino and Weldon load the gravely wounded. As soon as the last injured man lay under the canvas canopy, Rufino shouted to Azarola and Larent.<\/p>\n
Azarola spoke to his makeshift squad. \u201cRufino and Weldon in the back. Be ready to jump out and load another wounded if I stop. Larent, you\u2019re up front with me. Let me know if you see someone to pick up. If we see anyone trying to shoot at us, we shoot back on the run.\u201d<\/p>\n
Azarola was the last man in the tan-painted truck, taking the wheel. At his command, it roared away from the battle. Larent winced as the vehicle bounced over pits in the road and his back landed against the seat. \u201cI wish we didn\u2019t have to go this fast.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSame here, but our pals back there need help.\u201d<\/p>\n
Shots rang out from the end of one of the narrow streets and Azarola heard a ping against metal sheeting. One hand firmly gripped the steering wheel to guide the truck away from the gunshots. Azarola drew his sidearm with the other hand and leveled the barrel out of the broken window. Clenching his teeth against the bloody protest of his wounded arm, he fired off a few shots at the source of the gunfire. He didn\u2019t know if he scored any hits and he didn\u2019t much care. All he wanted to do was make the enemy gunner duck until he steered the truck behind the cover of a building.<\/p>\n
He tossed the pistol onto Larent\u2019s lap. \u201cI need a reload or another gun. No way I can use my rifle one handed.\u201d<\/p>\n
Larent pulled his window down in anticipation of another firefight. \u201cJust focus on getting us out of here. I\u2019ll take care of the cover fire.\u201d<\/p>\n
The dust slowly cleared away and the earsplitting noise of combat faded behind them as they left the city. Past the smoky haze, a clear blue sky greeted Azarola. \u201cNot done yet,\u201d he remarked to himself.<\/p>\n
Larent kept a wary watch on the landscape. \u201cWhat was that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe still need to get these fellas to help.\u201d He squinted past the dirty windshield at the billowing cloud of dust rising from the road ahead. His pounding headache and growing fatigue made focusing difficult. \u201cI guess we follow that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t have any better ideas.\u201d The soldier regarded the driver with concern for a moment. \u201cDo you need me to drive?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought you didn\u2019t know how to drive.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt doesn\u2019t look that hard.\u201d<\/p>\n
Azarola shook his head and doubled down on his focus. \u201cWe\u2019ll have to stop for that. Some of our passengers might not have the time. I\u2019ll be fine.\u201d Truthfully, warding off double vision was a fight that he was starting to lose. \u201cOur stop should be up ahead. I\u2019ll be fine.\u201d Letting Larent take the wheel sounded like a better idea the longer he drove.<\/p>\n
Just as Azarola found his limit, the plume of dust kicked up by the other Inexan trucks stopped at a cluster of tents nestled at the base of a mesa. There, they divested their load of wounded soldiers. Azarola swallowed against another wave of nausea and climbed out of the truck. As soon as his boots touched earth, the world tilted and he held onto the door handle for dear life. \u201cI didn\u2019t drink anything!\u201d he bemoaned into the warm metal.<\/p>\n
Larent peered around the back of the truck to check on Azarola. He waved at the medics tending to the cargo of injured men. \u201cThe driver\u2019s wounded, too!\u201d<\/p>\n
Azarola felt Larent support some of his weight. \u201cI just need to lie down, that\u2019s all. Water\u2019d be nice, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure thing,\u201d Larent told him as they shuffled to one of the tents. \u201cWater and sleep. I\u2019m going to get this junk out of my back while you do that.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Continue to Chapter Two<\/a> Azarola awoke to a face full of sand. He pushed himself up and sharp stabs of pain jabbed his shoulders and back, forcing a gasp past his cut lip. Grit stuck to his flesh in exchange for the dark red stain pressed onto the ground. Blood dripped into his right eye, obscuring half of his […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":206,"menu_order":31,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-208","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/P42Nti-3m","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.briarhenge.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/208","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.briarhenge.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.briarhenge.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.briarhenge.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.briarhenge.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=208"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.briarhenge.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/208\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":622,"href":"https:\/\/www.briarhenge.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/208\/revisions\/622"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.briarhenge.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/206"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.briarhenge.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=208"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nor
\nPurchase “Fire and Foxholes” for Kindle<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"