“Nguyen, Hernandez, I want you two to run point on casualty reports. Gather up dogtags from the dead, and get our bodies someplace safe,” Fletcher ordered, swinging his rifle so it hung across one shoulder along his back.

  “What about the other bodies?” Nguyen, a woman with no visible Hexing, pointed at the fallen [Werewolves]. They were no longer in [Wolf Form], just humanoid bodies laying amongst the gore.

  “Find a place for them where we don’t have to worry about them attracting anything nasty,” he said, his eyes lingering on the nearest [Werewolf]. The image of Fieva crossed through his mind, but Fletcher pushed it to the side. He couldn’t afford to remember that kind of thing now. There was too much to do.

  “Kenzo,” he shouted, glancing across the runway.

  The woman came running, blood smeared across her forehead. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “Where are those lights I ordered? We need to light up the whole area to keep them from using [Invisibility].”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll get on that.” The sergeant nodded.

  “No. Find someone capable of handling it. I want you to repair the [Skill]-shield,” he told her.

  Kenzo hesitated. “Sir…”

  “You have to at least try. Ankwah can’t cover us with [Nullify] forever,” Fletcher said.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

  Fletcher took a breath, mentally checking through his ever growing list of tasks that needed to be handled immediately. “Norton, how’s your team?”

  “Fine, sir. We came out alright,” she replied.

  “Good. You guys are getting moved to be the catacombs guards.” Fletcher worried about George down there alone, and he couldn’t risk leaving the timid [Insectoid] as their only defense for much longer.

  “Catacombs guards?” Norton echoed.

  “Yeah. A squad of Unhumans already made it in the station once that way. George is down there now, but we’re going to rotate out,” Fletcher explained. “Hit the armory to restock on ammo and grab a radio, and then meet me down on the bottom floor.” Vesi Station was equipped with very few radios which meant he would have to be careful divvying them out, which was why he hadn’t worried about it during the first attack. Now that they had time to prepare, it would be an important tool in their arsenal.

  “Yes, Lieutenant.” Norton led her team of three other soldiers towards the base entrance.

  “Hugo, go pillage the store rooms and set up some real defenses for us. When the Unhumans strike again, I don’t want to be hiding between something as flimsy as tires.” Fletcher took notice of the abandoned guard tower. “And get someone on watch so we have warning next time they strike. I want us to be ready.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hugo turned and shouted at some other people, assigning them various tasks to fulfill Fletcher’s requests.

  Satisfied that there was everything which needed his immediate attention, Fletcher headed to the bunker entrance as well, thinking of everything in there he needed to address. First, he went down to the bottom floor where Norton and her team already waited.

  “Who has the radio?” he asked.

  Norton held up the device. “I have it, sir.”

  “Good. Channel two. I want you to let me know if there is any movement down here. Even a hint of movement. Got it?” He pushed past them, walking to the final door at the end of the hallway.

  “Yes, sir. We’ll keep them out,” Norton promised.

  Fletcher opened the door and then put his hands up. “George, it’s me. Lower your weapon.”

  The [Insectoid] stared at him with all five of his wide, red eyes. “Sorry, Lieutenant. I just—”

  “Weapon down, George,” he repeated.

  George pointed his rifle at the floor, his pincer mouth still clicking in concern.

  “You’re relieved of your position, George. Sergeant Norton and her team are going to guard the entrance for a bit.” Fletcher gestured to the four soldiers behind him.

  The [Insectoid] frowned in confusion. “I… didn’t do a good job?”

  “No. You did great. We’re rotating people in and out. That’s how it goes.” Fletcher didn’t have patience for George’s neediness, not during a crisis like this.

  “Okay. Sorry, Lieutenant.” George’s entire body drooped as he left the room behind.

  Fletcher took a deep breath to keep his frustration in check, and then he made sure Norton and her team were set up properly. With the catacombs entrance taken care of, Fletcher moved onto his next order of business.

  Stepping back into the hallway, he made it only a few steps down the corridor when George caught up to him.

  “Where are we going now, Lieutenant?” he asked.

  “We?” Fletcher glanced at him, his temper flaring for another moment. Couldn’t the [Insectoid] see that he was busy? Was it really too much to ask for George to handle himself just this one time? “No, George. I have other things to do. You’re needed elsewhere.”

  “Oh. Okay. Where?”

  “They’re setting up defenses outside up on the runway, better ones than just tires. Can you go help them? Hugo is scouring the storage rooms for stuff to use as a blockage. You should find some stuff from these ones to take up to him,” Fletcher suggested.

  “Take stuff… to Sergeant Hugo…” George’s voice grew small. “I’m sure that would work better coming from you, Lieutenant. I’m not—”

  “Enough, George. I gave you an order, now follow it. Gather junk we don’t need and take it up to Hugo. Do you understand?” Fletcher’s worn patience snapped entirely.

  The [Insectoid] shrunk back. “Yes, Lieutenant. Whatever you say, sir.”

  “Good. Now go, and stop pestering me.” Fletcher yanked the door to the stairwell open and walked inside without looking back. He didn’t have time to worry about George’s feelings when there was so much else going on.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Fletcher went up to the first floor and marched up to Major Palacios’s office. He entered without even a knock.

  “Major, tell me you—”

  Fletcher paused as he discovered Jana and Palacios both passed out on the floor, several empty glass bottles surrounding them.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. Carefully crossing the room, Fletcher crouched down next to Palacios and smacked his cheeks until he woke up.

  “Wha—” The man’s black eyes looked up at him, his words slurred. “Dick, what are you doing here? Come to suck my blood, you mangy [Vampire]?”

  “We defeated the first run of the Unhumans, but there’s no way we’ll last many more attacks. How long until help arrives?” Fletcher asked, grimacing at the man’s terrible, alcohol heavy breath washed over him.

  Palacios chuckled.

  “Tell me you called for help.” Fletcher held him up by his collar. “You had one job, Palacios. I need to know that you told someone what’s going on. We’re not going to survive this by ourselves.”

  The man laughed harder.

  Fletcher shook him. “Major, what did you do?” When that didn’t work, he slapped the man across the cheek, ending his fit.

  “I called for help,” Palacios finally admitted. “I did as you ordered, sir.”

  “When are they coming?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Fletcher curled his hand into a fist, raising it so the Major had a clear view of it.

  “I don’t know. Something about the weather. They’ll come as soon as they can,” Palacios insisted.

  “You’d better hope they do.”

  The man snickered as Fletcher dropped him back on the floor.

  “Idiot.” Standing up, Fletcher ran his hands through his hair. Okay. But that was technically good news. They just had to hold out for another day or two until help arrived. That was doable. Hopefully.

  Sighing as a wave of exhaustion washed over him, Fletcher left the office of drunkards behind. He couldn’t rest yet. There was far too much to do. Instead, he jogged through the corridors until he ran into Cortez, who was back in the mess hall with another six soldiers who hadn’t joined the fight originally.

  “Is this everyone you could find?” Fletcher asked as he entered.

  Cortez—a part-[Goblin] with gray skin and pointed ears—nodded. “It’s as many as I could convince to fight,” he said with a thick accent.

  “Where are the ones you couldn’t convince?” He tapped his fingers against his pistol.

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  “The barracks mostly. Drinking and such.”

  “Okay. Take these guys and arrest anyone who doesn’t agree to fight with us,” Fletcher ordered.

  “We only have one cell, Lieutenant. Where should I put them?” Cortez asked.

  Fletcher smiled. “The one cell, Lieutenant. It might get a little uncomfortable, but I can’t afford to have anyone walking free who isn’t entirely on our side.”

  The man nodded. “Yes, sir. As you say.”

  “As for anyone who does agree to fight but is too drunk to do so, stick them in a storage room with one guard to keep watch,” Fletcher added.

  “Very well, Lieutenant.”

  “Grab a radio and keep me updated on how this goes. I want to know how many more soldiers I can expect while I assign out squads.” That was two radios handed out, plus the one for himself, which left only three more. Not great, but ideally that would be plenty given the small battlefield. It would be helpful to not have to shout over gunfire during the actual fight.

  “Yes, sir.” Cortez gave a half-salute as Fletcher left the mess hall behind. Food. It was late, but people needed to eat. He would have to get someone to gather rations to take up to everyone working out on the runway since they couldn’t afford to send people inside and leave such a clear opening for an attack.

  Another thing to worry about, but first Fletcher needed to hit the armory to resupply himself. He grabbed more ammo and a radio which he hooked to his tactical vest. Everything was quiet, but that was good. Thinking more about the troops topside, he grabbed a crate that he filled with more ammo and grenades as well as two of the last three radios.

  Hefting the crate into his arms, Fletcher made his way back through the base and back outside where progress was finally being made on his earlier orders. They had two light poles up, bathing the area which faced the city ruins with more than enough light to cancel out [Invisibility]. The team Kenzo assigned to the task was busy getting more up so they had a full border of protective light.

  Hugo’s crew had a good start on a wall in the direction of the ruins, but the sides and rear were completely untouched. That was leaving them open to attacks, so Fletcher would mention that when he ran into the Sergeant.

  Fletcher set the crate down near the center of the work area, his eyes falling on George who was at the edge of the fence, placing metal crates against it to help create a sturdier border.

  “Hugo, get over here,” Fletcher called out.

  The man came jogging over, sweat beaded across his forehead. “What is it?”

  “I brought some supplies to restock everyone. And this is for you. You’re going to be watching our flank with a team.” He handed Hugo a radio. “Channel two.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Speaking of our flank, we need defenses covering this whole area. We can’t leave any obvious weak spots.”

  “Yes, sir. We’re going to get to that.”

  “Cortez has some more soldiers with him. They’re handling something in the base, but then they’ll be out to help.” Fletcher glanced around. “How’s morale?”

  Hugo frowned. “We lost five good men and women, and nobody thinks we’ll last another day.”

  Fletcher bit his lip. “That’s about what I expected. But I have good news. Palacios called for help on the global system. We don’t know when due to some weather difficulties, but help is on the way. We just have to hold out a couple more days.”

  The Sergeant shook his head. “I’m not sure we can, Lieutenant.”

  “Hold them together, Hugo. We don’t have another choice.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Sergeant bent down to the crate and began picking through it. “We can’t eat bullets.”

  “Yeah. If you have someone to spare, I’ll send them down for a ration run, but I want you to stagger meal times so we only have a few people eating at once. We can’t let the Unhumans catch us off-guard,” Fletcher said.

  “Yes, sir. You can take the [Insectoid] if you think he can handle that. He claimed you sent him to help, but he’s over messing that fence instead of doing anything I told him to.” Hugo gestured over to George.

  “Yeah. Good idea. I’ll get George to do it.” Fletcher nodded. “Do you have someone up in the guard tower?”

  “Yeah. I sent Guzmon up there.”

  “Okay. Take her a radio.” Fletcher handed the second to last radio to Hugo.

  Hugo nodded. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

  “See if you can get them to work a little faster. The sooner we have those defenses up, the sooner we can all breathe again,” he replied.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Hugo walked away.

  Fletcher took another moment to rub the sleep from his eyes. He couldn’t afford to be tired yet. There was still so much to do, and after that was all done, then they would have to be on the lookout for the Unhumans, because Fletcher didn’t think they would wait too long to attack.

  The first hints of dawn were on the horizon as Fletcher approached George who was still fiddling with the crate by the fence, trying to do deities knew what.

  “George, I have another mission for you,” Fletcher gently said.

  “I have to finish preparing the defenses,” the [Insectoid] said.

  Fletcher grabbed his shoulder. “It’s okay. Hugo will see that it gets done. This is something especially for you. No one else can do it.”

  George grumbled and then released the fence. “Yes, sir. What do you need?”

  “We need to bring rations up here so people can eat. But you’re the most expert in hauling big loads of rations, so I want you to do it. Can you handle that? It’s really important.” Fletcher spoke softly, trying to make up for his earlier outburst against the [Insectoid] who was still so child-like.

  “Yes, Lieutenant. I can do that.”

  “Good. Bring up two loads for me, alright?” Fletcher softly smiled.

  George nodded.

  “Thanks, George. I appreciate it.” He waved and then walked away from the [Insectoid] to check on the very first project he assigned out.

  Nguyen and Hernandez were out past the gate, dealing with the Unhuman bodies.

  “How goes it?” Fletcher asked.

  Hernandez turned back to him, blood and dirt streaked across his face. “This sucks, and if you ever ask me to do something like this again, Dixon, I’m going to go ahead and shoot myself.”

  “What he said,” Nguyen muttered.

  “That looks to be good enough. Head in to wash up and then you guys can eat first,” Fletcher offered.

  Hernandez dropped the legs of the [Ogre] they were carrying and dashed away. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Nguyen was right behind. “Thanks, Dixon.”

  With those two taken care of, Fletcher went over to the pile of bodies even though he knew he shouldn’t. They were his enemies. They attacked him and Vesi. It had to happen.

  Gazing across the heap of lifeless bodies, Fletcher’s stomach curled in on itself. Dead. How many of them had families? How many more kids like Ruvo did he create, stealing away parents in the name of self-defense.

  Fletcher left the mass grave behind, using the memories of his own people who had been killed to remind himself why they did it. But that didn’t help. His stomach only grew more knotted, more anxious. So much death, and for what? What did the Unhumans gain by taking over Vesi? What did the Mixed gain by defending it? This was a stupid outpost that served no purpose, yet so many had died for its cause. How many more would die for it?

  It was his fault. If he had never come to Vesi, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

  No. That wasn’t true. Vesi Station was going to be attacked no matter what. Him being at Vesi only meant that the outpost had a chance to fight back, otherwise they would have been wiped out by the Unhumans in the first push. People were going to die regardless of his involvement.

  Steeling his nerves, Fletcher went to the body collection of his own people, staring at the remnants of corpses since so few of them came out in any kind of presentable condition. He only hoped they’d be able to send something back to the families for a proper funeral, but in the case of most of the dead, that wasn’t going to be possible.

  Fletcher’s chest was so tight, it was hard to breathe. Death, death, death. That’s all his efforts created. He was insane to think they could stand against a full Unhuman attack, but their only other option was to curl up and let their enemies kill them—or worse, haul them off to conversion facilities. Fletcher would have to make sure he was dead if it seemed that capture was a possibility. He couldn’t let them take him and discover what he really was. His [Demanlic] secret needed to die with him.

  “Lieutenant,” someone said from nearby, waking him from his thoughts.

  Fletcher jumped slightly as he turned to find Hugo next to him.

  “Dixon, we don’t have nearly enough supplies to create proper defenses all the way around the runway. We either have to make it smaller or leave parts open. Which would you prefer?” the Sergeant asked.

  “Let me take a look.” He stepped away from the bodies and followed Hugo back to the central area of the fence where four walls were being constructed from all sorts of random junk pulled out of the storage closets.

  Fletcher resisted the urge to sigh again as he looked at their meager setup. It was already so small. “Leave a few holes. Space things out a bit. It’s not ideal, but I think that will be the best route.”

  “Whatever you say.” Hugo walked off to issue new orders to the work crew.

  Glancing around, Fletcher discovered that George had brought up the first set of rations and Nguyen and Hernandez were both already eating. They were laughing and smiling as they ate, which Fletcher took to be a good sign. They hadn’t lost hope yet. And hope was all they had at this point. He had to cling to it, and trust that they would make it out of this somewhere, somehow. As long as the Mixed came to save them sooner rather than later, everything would turn out okay—at least, as okay as something like this could turn out.

  So much death already. And this was only the beginning.

  Fletcher turned away from the rations area, his stomach threatening to hurl as the anxiety increased. He wasn’t going to be eating anytime soon. Let the troops enjoy the food. There was more to do.

  Heading back inside, Fletcher went to find Kenzo and check on the progress of the [Skill]-shield, but he was only halfway down the stairs when his radio went off.

  “I see movement down in the valley. I think they’re making another push,” Guzmon’s voice said.

  Cursing, Fletcher turned around and sprinted back outside. “Everyone to positions! Prepare for an attack!”

  For perhaps the first time ever since he arrived at Vesi Station, people listened to him immediately. Anyone who was eating or working dropped what they were doing to grab their guns and head the half-built wall. Only they all congregated at the center wall, which was good in the sense they needed the most people there, but bad because they still had to guard their flank.

  “Hugo, take a team to protect the sides and rear,” Fletcher called out as he swung his gun back around.

  “Yes, sir.” The Sergeant called out several names, taking five others with him to the other side of the fenced area.

  Fletcher positioned himself near the center of the main wall, right in the midst of the others. They needed to see him fighting alongside him, working to the same goal.

  “Guzmon, how close are they?” he asked into his radio.

  “Close. About fifty yards away,” she replied.

  “Grenades at the ready. Let’s see if we can thin the initial force,” Fletcher said to those around him.

  The line grabbed out ordinances, and on his count, they unleashed the explosives. He knew most of them didn’t have strong enough arms to get all the way to where the Unhumans were, but he was hoping that it would at least slow them down.

  As the grenades went off, Fletcher got on his radio again. “Cortez, take whoever you have with you and come help us out here. The drunks can wait.”

  “On our way, sir,” the sergeant replied.

  “We can help too, Lieutenant,” Norton suggested.

  “Negative. Stay there. We can’t let them into the base again,” Fletcher said.

  Norton said something else, but he was too busy organizing another grenade throw to listen or care.

  The second set of grenades seemed to be more effective since he actually heard Unhumans crying out as the explosives went off.

  “They’re reaching the fence,” Guzmon warned through the radio.

  “Everyone up. Take them out!” Fletcher sat up and began firing his weapon at the mass of enemies coming towards them.

  Gunfire filled his ears, people were screaming, explosions were going off. He issued more orders about keeping the line and watching the sky and getting the injured out of the way. Time blurred together as they fought, and his only clear thought was begging the universe that they would make it through the day. Just one more day, and then hopefully help would come. That hope was all that kept him together as the world around him fell to pieces.

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