[GZG] [GZG Fiction] The Battle of Ballachulish

The Battle of Ballachulish

What I saw after as Operation Heavy Hand played out proved to me how difficult
ground operations were in this state of all out war. The mobile forces
involved meant the action was fluid and plans needed to flow with the shifts.
We were also operating over such a broad front that we were effectively on our
own; a string of separated, if
quasi-coordinated, attacks. Then there was the ever-present spectre of
logistics and the effects of the hellish terrain. Nothing was solid,
everything was as irresolute as the sandy ground underfoot. No wonder people
said war is an art form.

I still had my seat crammed into one of the big Phalanx “sand beetle”
APCs. My cramped seat meant I was privy to more than just what came over
general comms, catching a snippets from the forward ops crew.

It was mid afternoon when we got the news that Colonel Roy Nguyá» n had
assumed command of the attack. Brigadier Henninger had been mortally wounded a
couple of hours earlier when his command vehicle was hit by a missile. He had
survived the initial strike and had suffered only minor burns, thanks to the
quick thinking of his driver who doused with flame retardant him before they
bailed out. Unfortunately, he had also taken a 5cm wide razor sharp splinter
from the chassis through his abdomen and there was little the medics could do
under such challenging conditions and with no available air support.

Colonel Bakir, commander of the brigade the 2/34 sat under, had been
disabled when the APC he was travelling in was struck and rolled during the
initial push on the bridges. He’d refused to leave the field, but due to his
injuries had been retasked in a support role. This meant that Iron George
would command the armoured brigade that covered the key point of the OU’s
forward shock group. We were to play a principal combat role in the battle. I
was proud, excited and terrified in equal measure. Front line cover is what
every war correspondent hopes for, but I also knew what Kra’Vak were capable
of. I tried not to dwell on that lest the chill down my spine spread wide
enough to freeze me solid.

I also tried not to dwell on the fact that our 3000 troops would be the pointy
end that was used to strike at the Kra’Vak forces that had halted their
withdrawal along the far side of the plain. Even if half of
the contacts showing on the tac-map were true we were easily facing
seven or eight times our number. Yes we had support, but we also knew that
Nguyá» n was conservative. On top of that it was a poorly kept secret that
General Troughton had wanted the west to go slow enough to distract and
encumber the Kra’Vak while the main NAC force pushed through in the east. If
we crumpled too early then we’d have failed. NguyỠn was sure to hold back
significant reserves. In my mind at least that meant we were it.

The offensive opened fairly well. One of Henninger’s final acts had been to
send a fast grav force on a wide outflanking sweep through the thin strip of
desert that ran between the ridges and the sea. The force
was made up of all the grav available - a squadron of Cockroach heavy
grav MBTs from the 1st armoured regiment, the 3/4 cav regiment and 2/1
light horse. There weren’t many grav vehicles amongst the OU forces on Mars,
the logistics train was too taxing, but what we did have had a reputation for
being fast and furious. Their crew had a reputation as large and lively as
their vehicles. They added to the reputation by making exceptionally good time
through the tricky terrain, striking the Krak at about 17:10. The pass back
onto the plain was not particularly easy however and the decent soon saw them
become disjointed. The defile
they’d found to re-enter the plain was in behind the first line of
Krak vehicle units. Not particularly close to our frontline and it was quite
difficult for us to offer much immediate assistance; although our field guns
tried with all their might to soften up the Krak’s hindquarters for them.

The Krak were able to win many of the small fragmentary engagements as the OU
vehicles came down the slope, throwing many of the flanking units back, which
clogged the decent and caused even more delay. What had started so well now
didn’t look so promising; the Krak grav was a match to ours and was rapidly
turning to face the new attackers. Iron George wasn’t content to sit and
watch however.

Cathy elbowed me with excitement as she pointed out the Paladins
shifting from marked as “holding” to “attacking” on the tac-map.

“He’s sending in the super-bugs!” Everything in the military gets
a nickname and the Paladin tank was no exception. It was affectionately
known as “super-bug” thanks to some wag tying its heroic monicker to
its many-legged appearance.

Our super-bugs were soon charging into the side of the distracted
Kra’Vak. Many of the lead Krak MBTs had made the mistake of turning their
noses, overly keen to be in on any skirmish. There were a few of their lighter
tanks and heavy strike vehicles left facing our positions, but not many and
the Paladins steamrolled through them and ran full tilt into the sides of the
much bigger heavy grav MBTs.

Like everything else the Krak tanks had been given nicknames by the wits in
our forces. The smaller tanks were known as Mangosteens, because they had a
hard shell, but when cracked open were squishy inside. The strike vehicles,
with their twin guns, looked (at least to some demented mind) like a squat fat
man with his arms spread out so they were known as CTP or “Come To Papa”.
The big MBTs however had earnt a whole new league of respect. They were known
as Killjoys or simply as BFGs. Big fuckin’ guns. Though Iron George referred
to them as fat heads. I was pretty sure this wasn’t out of a complete
disregard for them, but more to try and break any mystique they held.

Humorous names or not they still fought damn hard. The footprint of the grav
plate gave an odd shimmer to the ground under the Krak tanks as they swung
about on the sandy ground; kicking up sprays of small stones when the plates
clipped an outcrop of scree patch. In minutes everything was clouded by dust
and smoke as the battle dissolved into a whirling
melee of tanks and armoured vehicles. Even with the tac-map feeds to
help me decipher what was going on it looked like some mad dance or
orchestrated chaos, with lines shifting to and fro, repeated turns of fortune
and momentary successes and defeats.

Riley wiggled up beside me, chomping on a nutri-bar, he was positively
babbling with excitement, though with a wistful touch of frustration at not
being in the midst of it all.

“Freakin’ amazing! Wish I had made the cav, like my brother. Did you
see those super-bugs smash through the little mangosteens and the
CTP?”

He shook his head once in gleeful admiration.

The back and forth went on for hours. It was as if the Krak were some sort of
spring. Every time we ran them down and pushed on for Severns, we’d find
ourselves suddenly sliding back across the plain, as this or
that flank miss-stepped or tired. This phase of the battle didn’t so
much end as peter out. We were roughly two thirds of the way across the plain,
with the front line straddling a series of shallow gullies that provided both
sides with sufficient cover to break the imperative for ceaseless direct
engagement. The fire had ebbed to dribs and drabs. As if two prize fighters
had run down to exhaustion and were just standing there, watching each other,
arms dangling in lassitude. With no clear reason for this I was supremely
disconcerted.

The weather was also taking a slight turn for the worse, with what rated as a
stiff breeze on Mars whipping the smoke away and clearing the air. The
external cameras showed the white disk of the sun dropping below the ridge
between us and the frigid waters of Kolyma More; the sky shading from oriental
blue to a mix of midnight blues and a colour I couldn’t identify as anything
other than black currant. Sunsets here were so different to Earth even when
not in the midst of a tank battle.

Soon after dark I noticed a small chain of new vehicles snacking their
way into the rear of our forces on the tac-map. A small convoy of
reinforcements had arrived. Colonel Nguyá» n may have wanted them in reserve,
but Iron George saw it as an opportunity to build on the
earlier gains. He ordered the tank-killers and artillery onto the high
ground, while the rest of us prepared on the lee slopes of the gullies. A
quick inventory showed that many of the tanks were running low on fuel and
some were in pretty precarious states from the previous fighting. They
weren’t really up to further prolonged mobile ops, but hopefully one solid
push and we’d be through. Between this and the fact we had to cover a pretty
wide area there was no scope for reserves. The reinforcements were enough to
fill the gaps, but there was no excess.

We were notified that close-in artillery patterns had been planned,
given the proximity of the Krak line. The super-bugs would lead the
attack, as they had the greatest chance in a slugging match against the
Killjoys. The other armour was effective against the smaller Krak tanks, but
against the Killjoys could only harass at most. To tighten the left flank,
Iron George had a hasty minefield laid. It wasn’t the more thorough job
possible by VR fighter sweeps, but one of the haphazard fields laid from orbit
and inevitably it wasn’t exactly on the mark. It was fairly close but
deviated a little near to our lines for my liking, actually overlapping our
rear units and hampering movements back there.

I must have dozed off. One minute I was chewing on a nutribar and next I could
hear the dull thuds of gunfire in the near distance. It was just
after midnight and the tac-map showed the southeast of the plain lit up
with criss-crossing fire. Our lines were holding down there, but the
Krak on the other wing were mobilising now too. This was going to be hairy.

Iron George wasn’t waiting for the Krak to penetrate however. Instead
he ordered the body of the 2/34 forward. We cleared the first few
gullies with relative ease. The uneven ground caused the tanks to bounce
around, straining our harnesses. Enemy fire was light so far. As we crested
the lip of the fourth gully we ran into heavy fire, a chain of units of
killjoys tenaciously defending a series of shallow defiles. At first I was
perplexed as to why they would pick there. The other gullies provided better
cover, but it quickly became apparent that these defiles were perfect firing
positions for them. Broad enough to allow the big
tanks to manoeuvre and deep enough to provide cover to these low-slung
behemoths without impeding fire. They could roll forward, let loose a barrage
and slide back down.

With the help of heavy artillery fire and Valderik bombing runs we managed to
punch through. Three RNACAF planes ran the length of the
gullies, carpet-bombing the killjoys. The bomb drops looked like
flashing light bulbs on the tac-map. Big strings like phosphorescent
streams that winked out as the planes banked and climbed away. The external
camera feeds showed the sky lighting up, with arching direct fire flares,
dangling pinpoints from hover globes and the pyrotechnics of shell strikes and
bombs exploding, the explosive debris augmented by rock fragments. A growing
number of Krak tanks and other vehicles were aflame. Anything that took a
direct hit, even the killjoys, flew up in the air unfolding in a thousand
pieces of military grade confetti. Some of the eagle eyed starting to call out
sightings of burned out tanks or crews bailing. With each new call spirits
rose. I was jangling, the excitement catching me up and mixing with my already
bubbling fear and adrenaline.

Despite our good spirits and what seemed like solid progress in the dark of
night daybreak provided an alternative impression. In reality we had only
crept forward, making at most 5 kilometres. Iron George’s intention, to push
his motorized units forward as hard and fast as possible, had not succeeded.
It was clear to all though that we couldn’t break contact. This battle was
going to be fought to the bitter end.

***

About 1100 hours it became clear that the Krak weren’t as committed to this
battle as we were. A few killjoys had penetrated our minefields in the east,
but in the main we had gained more ground and we could see some of their
lighter units withdrawing back in to Severns. Not long after an intense
sandstorm brewed up. I was afraid that the Krak might try to use it as cover
to counter attack, but Iron George had other plans, using it as a an
opportunity to refuel and rearm.

As the day wore on, and the storm thinned, the tac-map renewed its
steady updates. The purple edged marks indicating enemy tanks and positions
continued to drain away to the south. What was initially a handful of lighter
vehicles became 90 or more tanks and many more mechanized transports and guns.
This was a serious retreat. Ultimately though it was postponing the inevitable
for us. We were committed to pushing into Severns and riding Mars of the
Kra’Vak once and for all.

In the early afternoon I was beginning to feel very hemmed in, watching
the enemy dribble away on the tac-map, waiting for the refuelling and
rearming to be done. It seemed an excruciatingly slow process and I caught
myself nodding off. At about 1530 hours I woke to excited reports that two
squadrons of killjoys had broken away from their defensive positions and were
heading our way. Switching to an extern mount camera I was cheered to see that
the storm had thinned enough that I could pick
out the enemy tanks coming straight toward us. They were zig-zagging
their way along the gullies apparently aiming for the front of our position.
Their lead tanks, were laying sporadic fire down on our lighter vehicles,
mainly form machine guns and small auxiliary weapons not their main guns. All
I could guess is that they were trying to distract us long enough to let the
body of their forces slip away.

Despite their limited numbers, they were still and impressive site.

 “Strike One this is Alpha two. Eight kilo-juliet approaching. Range
one through one point four clicks. Following gully that runs past our
nose.”

“Alpha Two this is Strike One Actual. We copy. We have them painted and do
not want them crossing ridge at
five-three-mike-delta-victor-seven-eight-eight-seven-three-one-nina.
Supply implications. Eagles live, but likely on call to mother bear. Hold fire
until under point nina clicks, then brass up for maximum effect. Your job is
to see those fuckers tango uniform. ”

“Five by five actual. Over”

“Ok be ready to take down those Krak when they hit line alpha on your
tac-map. You squeezers in the back better be ready to debus pronto, this
could get hairy.”

Cathy was all over this. Reinforcing who had to do what and making sure
everyone was ready to go. I watched the little icons slide across the
tac-map. I was tensing as they approach the critical line, though a
little nervous we would be purposefully leaving a solid defensive position. As
the Krak hit the line on the map I looked up at Cathy. She
was starring intently at the tac-map, only lifting her eyes to snap a
look at the outside feeds. Her hand was raised ready to signal go, but she had
paused.

“Hold. Hold. They’ve stopped short. Shit.”

Turning to the external feed myself the image is filled with a mammoth killjoy
Krak tank. Its great long barrel apparently pointing right at me, but its
stopped dead still. Oddly it brought to mind the image of a snake, coiling and
rocking ready to strike.

“Break break this is Strike One. Krak birds inbound. Estimate contact in 3
minutes.”

“Fuck it if I’m gonna wait for that!” Cathy cried. “Ok all Alpha teams
are go go go. Get in amongst them. If they’re gonna hit us, they’re gonna
hit them too.”

I could feel the driver gunning it. Madly driving straight at the Krak tanks.
It seemed like the craziest idea I’d ever heard, but I guessed Cathy and
Iron George thought it was better than waiting to be picked off by Krak air
support without doing anything. Later on I had a chance to ask Iron George why
he chose such a potentially immoderate course of action. He told me that when
threatened with imminent annihilation you use what ever weapon comes to hand,
even if apparently suicidal. If you’re likely to be destroyed either way
then it hardly matters whether the actions taken are conventional or not, so
long as the enemy perishes with you.

“Besides Jock, some times the good lord is so shocked at your balls he
grants your cheeky arse a reprieve.”

The dust and sand kicked up by the sprinting vehicles soon turned the
external feed into useless haze. On the tac-map, icons from both sides
were slewing past each other, a maelstrom of markers forming a kaleidoscope of
obstacle and mine warnings, unit identifiers, casualties, kills and shell
arcs.

Cathy spurred the driver and gunners on. Getting them to make hasty manoeuvres
to make us harder to hit; urging them vehicle one as it laboured through pits
of loose sand. The bigger tanks had congregated in patches, exchanging
slugging blows. The smaller vehicles flitted through in a mechanical frenzy,
rolling across the plain in the mechanical equivalent of a knife fight. The
smaller tanks were trying to get angles on weaker armour, but we were aiming
for the far edge of the plain. Our troops were most effective if we could
punch in to Severns.

I stopped bothering to flick my eyes over the external feeds; visibility was
zero. We dodgemed up one slope, bouncing from rocks and vehicle collisions and
the clangs of glancing weapon hits, before sliding and fish tailing down the
next. Everyone was getting buffeted inside, getting bruises from where
harnesses bit or limbs contacted equipment mounts, storage bins or the edges
of seats.

Looking over the gunner Daniel Chapman (Chappy’s) shoulder I could see we
staring down a CPT. Our laser turrets paired off versus its mass drivers. Both
Chappy and the Krak seemed to take an uncannily long time to respond, though
when I checked the playback later it had actually been done in seconds. I
jumped when the moment was finally broken, by autocannon fire ricocheting
harmlessly off the forward hatch rather that the deadly strike I had been
expecting. Rurik wasn’t waiting for anything larger spinning the APC past
the slower moving CPT.

Cresting another of the rocky corrugations we came face to face with one
of our tanks sitting stuck in the sand, its midline axle see-sawing on a
rock outcrop.

“Charlie three this is Alpha two, what is your status?”

“Alpha two this is Charlie three. We can’t get any traction and the
engine’s redlining.”

“Copy Charlie three…”

Keoni tapped Cathy on the shoulder, “We could pull them out boss. I’ll
take over the umbilical.”

“It’s a wall of bullets out there..”

“They’re dead if I don’t.”

Cathy’s voice was tense and I could see a frown through her faceplate. She
still said “Ok, go.”

“Charlie three this is Alpha two. Hey Spud, if you can get your umbilical
out we can try and yank you off.” Cathy replied. She nodded at Keoni who
pushed open the top hatch and heaved himself up out into the dust and noise of
the battle. I should have been able to hear his boots clanging on the roof,
but the din drowned it out and Riley yanked the hatch down again quickly, to
prevent the cabin filling with the choking sand. Switching to the feed from my
combat recorder I could see the ghostly silhouette of Keoni jump down from our
beetle and run to a body coming from the tank. They quickly had the umbilicals
linked and then Rurik through us into reverse, causing our engines to whine.
There were a few tense moments as shells hit dangerously close as our beetle
struggled to pull the super bug free, but with a lurch it was finally done.
Then Keoni was pounding on the hatch to come back in. I was amazed and very
relieved that he’d made it through out there unscathed. The entire area was
laced with fire of all calibres. His prompt and unquestioning action had
helped save the crew of Charlie three from quite an untenable position.

A lumped formed in my throat as I realised we were being pursued by a Krak
tank. It was only a Mangosteen, not a mammoth killjoy, but it was enough to
crack us open if it got a clear shot. Rurik was jigging about enough to mean
it hadn’t gotten a direct hit yet, but I could feel the beat in my temples.

Rurik jumped the APC off a small rock face, the landing cushioned by sand and
raced up the next small rise. As we cleared the top Rurik and Chappy both
gasped. Even as he did so Rurik slammed his hand down on the grav thrusters
and we shot straight up in the air, shakings us still further and causing a
round of profanity. The thrusters were standard on many of the larger
vehicles, but they guzzled energy and were typically only used to help if the
vehicle was bogged or lame. What’s more they tended to make passengers quite
bilious.

“What the f…”

“Clear front, break lef..”

“B`lyad'! Zat vas clos..”

BOOM. A wall of noise flattened our dazed senses. My first thought was that we
were hit, but Chappy’s reaction seemed all out of place.

“YES! Xeno fuckin’ take-down! That’ll teach you to ride our arse
motherf... Shit! Rurik, you crazy Euri son of a bitch!!”

Fighting confusion and the spreading ache of stress in my forehead, I
hit replay on my feed from the combat recorder. A fine mesh ghost-like
representation of our immediate position and surrounds sketched itself on the
left eye of my specs. We’d cleared the hill into the sights of a killjoy,
who’s gunner and Rurik must have reacted simultaneously.
The killjoy spewing out what seemed an enormous rod-like shell and Rurik
firing us vertically. Rurik had leapt us over the shell, which had
smashed into the Krak tank behind us instead - obliterating it. Rather
than risk our already fast depleting fuel reserves with a prolonged thrusters
assisted glide, Rurik had audaciously brought us down on the killjoy and then
scooted off its back. Thank heavens the Krak didn’t seem to use reactive
armour!

I flicked through some of the diagnostics before dropping the recorder into
its background passive mode. We were low on fuel, our left armour had been
weakened though wasn’t cracked as yet and the sandstorm had picked up again.
We couldn’t tell it apart from the brimstone of the melee, but we were
actually enfurled in a raging sandstorm.

Rurik continued to careen across the plain, caroming off geological features
and the remains of Krak positions alike. Meanwhile I strained
to concentrate on the tac-map, the effort required further intensifying
the pounding across my eyebrows. The Krak were clearly pulling out. We were
effectively racing with them off the battlefield. Iron George was pushing us
all forward, not giving the Krak a moments pause from the brutal pyrotechnics
bathing the desert around us. Behind us Nguyá» n had slowed the main advance,
though he did keep the artillery employed. Their harassment never ceased and I
was in awe of the skill of the gunners who managed to successfully creep it
ahead of our mad charge – striking the retreating Krak columns without
smacking our nose, though it got awful close at times!

I called up the combat feed and zoomed in on the retreat. The rock pavement of
the local mine roads was strewn with abandoned vehicles. Amongst the fiercely
burning remains of vacated CPTs and wrecked and derelict Mangosteens scorched
Krak crew could be seen trying to get back to safety. Streams of our
autocannon and machine gun fire, marked out in luridly bright streams on the
false colour image, cutting most down before they made much headway.

We received the order to debus and dig in as we reached the escarpment and
switchbacks that lead down into the approach to Severns. We had made more
progress than the armies to the south, but now needed to consolidate as the
body of our troop was out of fuel. Nguyá» n felt that holding these passes
would prove advantageous in the advent of any Krak counter attacks. Pressing
on over the lip of the crater would create serious offensive and logistical
problems. As much as it pained any of us to agree with Nguyá» n, he was right.

***

We settled into a slit trench that Chappy cut into the rock on the eastern
side of the entry into Ellsworth pass, the most seaward of the passes down
into northern Severns. We weren’t sure the fuel would hold out long enough
to finish blasting out the gouge, but thankfully the
battery didn’t hit the low-end buffer until Chappy was tidying up. I
didn’t relish joining the long list of grunts through history who’d had to
dig their own defensive accommodation.

We had to stay clear for a few hours to let the edges cool enough that we
wouldn’t cook in our power armour, but there were plenty of chores to do.
Rurik, Chappy, Ase and I were tasked with resupply. We trundled back in our
beetle to the supply point, as drew closer it looked like the entrance to a
human hive, rivers of bustling humanity flowing in and out of the staging
area.

Ase and I stocked up on ammo, rations and other kit, while Chappy grabbed
parts and Rurik sorted out the fuel. On the way back we wove our way through
the echelons moving back to refuel and passed scores of troops moving in
streams, both to and from the front, just off the edge of the track. In
amongst them we spotted HQ’s signalman Phil Lappin jogging along the side of
the main track in full kit. Rurik slowed down and Chappy stick his head out
the forward hatch.

“Hey chook, want a lift?”

“Too right!” He cried eagerly swinging up onto the back of the beetle.

“What’s an a-grade bucket like you doin’ leggin’ it?” Chappy
asked, making room for Phil to drop into the APC as Rurik continued on.

“Well that was a level one charlie foxtrot.” Phil said with a role of his
eyes, stowing his pack in the rear before walking back up front, bracing his
hands on the roof to steady himself as he went. He dropped into a seat by me.
“The brass is demanding that any Krak shiny we find has to be hand delivered
to the boffins. Don’t know what the fuck for, not like we’ve ever got
anythin’ useful from it. Keeps ‘em occupied I guess. Anyways, so after
we’d cleared some tech from the
kilo-mikes we get the word that Nguyễn is sending his boot boy
Forsythe to personally drive me over. He goes for a shit or something so I
have a bit of a fossick through the bits box to see if I can find some spares.
You know, replace that rooted aerial on Macca’s beetle and fix up that dodgy
link on the boss’ ride. Anyway, next thing I know the
bastards done a bunk and I’m lookin at a long walk home. Piss-weak
wanker.”

“So what’s the word on how it shook out?”

“Dunno, missed the boss’ sitrep because of Forsythe. Betcha is a cracker
though as I’m fuckin’ knocked up. Could sleep for a week I reckon.”

“Don’t know about a kip, but I’ve got some of that special brew
left.”

“The Jupiter Beans?”

“Yep.”

“Magic. Count me in!”

The talk soon slipped to music that could be shared, the latest finds in the
care packages and news from home. In a surprisingly short time we were back at
our position. We arrived just as Riley came strolling up, a grin plastered
across his face and a Krak scalp in one hand. Holding it up he brandished it
enthusiastically.

“Look at the fangs on this one!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Plenty more
where they came from too. There’s heaps of nicely cooked up Krak back there.
Come see?” half turning his body and motioning with his head back out on to
the plain.

“No thanks Riley. Got to get some shit sorted here thanks mate.” I really
liked the crews I rode with. They were brave and tough and generous, but there
were a few things I still couldn’t quite get used to. The Krak gut the dead
and dying, theirs and ours alike and some of the younger grunts took a less
than guilty pleasure in mimicking it, tearing open the torsos of dead or dying
Krak. I didn’t know whether the ritual was an honour or desecration to the
Kra’Vak, but I couldn’t bring myself to participate. For one the stench as
their abdominal cavity was punctured was overpowering. Just the thought made
me nearly wretch.

Thankfully Cathy came in then, back from a briefing with Iron George. The
losses on our side had been extraordinarily high, starting with the initial
show down, but really accumulating once we’d gotten into the final melee.
Altogether in the western sector of the attack we’d lost over 500 dead,
nearly 2000 wounded and 250 vehicles lost. They’d faired even worse in the
east, but we’d done our job and across the entire NAC line there had been
significant breakthroughs. It’d been costly though and we could only hope
that reinforcements arrived rapidly enough to sure up the odds for the final
push on Severns.

The cheering news was the initial counts of the Krak dead suggested that they
had faired much worse. They had lost thousands of troops and hundreds of
vehicles. Many times what we had. It also looked like Keoni would get a gong
for saving Charlie three.

Sitting round the fire Ase had started the fatigue suddenly hit me hard.
Fighting to keep my leaden eyelids open I realised I wasn’t alone. Everyone
looked dusty and tired. Grace was stretched out in complete body armour,
helmet still in place, fast asleep in the dirt. It had been a tough couple of
days.