mix. The nanite coated wires would slice anything that the shrapnel contacted with. Though if they were found by another VTOL, there was nothing they could do.
* * *
Night settled and an air of anticipation was about the tent. The walls of the tent cracked and creaked as the cold settled. Ice crystals rasped against the outside as a slight breeze rose. None spoke of it, but all feared another storm.
William lay awake and stared up at the dim lightband above him. Every day the lights seemed to grow dimmer. He slid his hands onto his knee and felt the flesh hot and painful. It didn’t seem to be infected, he thought it was too cold for that, but it still hurt like hell. His eyes drifted closed and a fitful chilled sleep finally took him.
The morning chill pierced through the sleeping bag shawls like a crisp knife. The men huddled outside of the tent and watched as it stooped down as if in prayer. Finally it deflated and they moved quickly to roll it. The material was stiff and recoiled back before finally being lashed down.
The men fanned out before the sleds. Each sled had a set of dull black conductors tied to the front. The four sleds were pulled by men hitched like oxen. The snow near the camp had been packed down and the sleds pulled well. Once they had traveled a few hundred meters the rate slowed. The forward edges dug down and had to be lifted and set back on track.
The snow was deceptive. In some spots, it was stiff and made a fine grip. In others, it was soft like sugar sand and took tremendous effort just to remain standing.
Matty Kerry was the first man to sit down and cry in despair. The cold was relentless in its assault. They heaped him next to the wounded, lashed tightly and not complaining.
Sebastien plodded on, each foot planted and shoved before the next drew forward. Stomp. Plant. Shift. Pull.
Hunger gnawed at them. To stop was to freeze. The dim rise they came from slowly disappeared behind another featureless hill. The landscape was different yet still the same.
William watched the men around him. Heads were hunched down as feet stomped forward. They only paused to adjust the sleeping bags. The forward progress was in halted motions as sleds became stuck and men tired. At the end of the day they made good progress on the leeward side of a ridge. The downward slope let the sleds glide gently without catching.
They made camp and watched as the tents rose slowly. Men stumbled about like drunkards as they took turns hammering in the stakes. The sled with the wounded was covered in men soaking up what little heat it offered. They began to stream inside even before the walls were fully inflated.
Eduardo shivered in silence with white, frost burnt, hands to regulate the reactor. His index fingers shook and wavered with every tap. The eyes around the room all greedily focused on his movements. The coils began to hum that mournful hum and the men relaxed. Soon snow was melting and more gruel was being made.
“That went better than expected eh Mr. Grace?” Avi said. He chewed down the gruel of ration bar and tepid water as he awaited the response.
“Yes, yes it did,” William lied. He guessed the progress at less than ten kilometers. By Eduardo's reckoning they had four more days at that rate. He didn’t know if they had four days in them.
Avi sucked down the rest of the gruel and smiled with grit covered lips. His eyes drooped and in minutes he slept.
William watched Avi, and most of the others, do the same. He envied them as he stood. His legs burned. His calves were tight like burnt twine. He hobbled out the door to check on the wounded.
The men had split up evenly between the two tents, but all the wounded were kept together. Everyone feared the winds culling another tent.
William stood before the thick plate sled. Men had eyed the warm sled coveting what it had while they trekked. Men who would lay down their lives courageously now were jealous over the slightest benefit. He knew
* * *
Night settled and an air of anticipation was about the tent. The walls of the tent cracked and creaked as the cold settled. Ice crystals rasped against the outside as a slight breeze rose. None spoke of it, but all feared another storm.
William lay awake and stared up at the dim lightband above him. Every day the lights seemed to grow dimmer. He slid his hands onto his knee and felt the flesh hot and painful. It didn’t seem to be infected, he thought it was too cold for that, but it still hurt like hell. His eyes drifted closed and a fitful chilled sleep finally took him.
The morning chill pierced through the sleeping bag shawls like a crisp knife. The men huddled outside of the tent and watched as it stooped down as if in prayer. Finally it deflated and they moved quickly to roll it. The material was stiff and recoiled back before finally being lashed down.
The men fanned out before the sleds. Each sled had a set of dull black conductors tied to the front. The four sleds were pulled by men hitched like oxen. The snow near the camp had been packed down and the sleds pulled well. Once they had traveled a few hundred meters the rate slowed. The forward edges dug down and had to be lifted and set back on track.
The snow was deceptive. In some spots, it was stiff and made a fine grip. In others, it was soft like sugar sand and took tremendous effort just to remain standing.
Matty Kerry was the first man to sit down and cry in despair. The cold was relentless in its assault. They heaped him next to the wounded, lashed tightly and not complaining.
Sebastien plodded on, each foot planted and shoved before the next drew forward. Stomp. Plant. Shift. Pull.
Hunger gnawed at them. To stop was to freeze. The dim rise they came from slowly disappeared behind another featureless hill. The landscape was different yet still the same.
William watched the men around him. Heads were hunched down as feet stomped forward. They only paused to adjust the sleeping bags. The forward progress was in halted motions as sleds became stuck and men tired. At the end of the day they made good progress on the leeward side of a ridge. The downward slope let the sleds glide gently without catching.
They made camp and watched as the tents rose slowly. Men stumbled about like drunkards as they took turns hammering in the stakes. The sled with the wounded was covered in men soaking up what little heat it offered. They began to stream inside even before the walls were fully inflated.
Eduardo shivered in silence with white, frost burnt, hands to regulate the reactor. His index fingers shook and wavered with every tap. The eyes around the room all greedily focused on his movements. The coils began to hum that mournful hum and the men relaxed. Soon snow was melting and more gruel was being made.
“That went better than expected eh Mr. Grace?” Avi said. He chewed down the gruel of ration bar and tepid water as he awaited the response.
“Yes, yes it did,” William lied. He guessed the progress at less than ten kilometers. By Eduardo's reckoning they had four more days at that rate. He didn’t know if they had four days in them.
Avi sucked down the rest of the gruel and smiled with grit covered lips. His eyes drooped and in minutes he slept.
William watched Avi, and most of the others, do the same. He envied them as he stood. His legs burned. His calves were tight like burnt twine. He hobbled out the door to check on the wounded.
The men had split up evenly between the two tents, but all the wounded were kept together. Everyone feared the winds culling another tent.
William stood before the thick plate sled. Men had eyed the warm sled coveting what it had while they trekked. Men who would lay down their lives courageously now were jealous over the slightest benefit. He knew
Similar Books
