Lexson of Aerolite

Chapter 5 Cataract

  "Martin make sure that arm of his doesn't fall apart. Tie it to him or whatever, just make sure it's tight. He'll need it once they can reattach it." Sion watched as Martin wrapped the last of his gauze around the fellow soldiers left arm. Then, Martin carefully secured it with a belt to the man's hips. Sion was surprised it had worked. The cut across the soldier's arm was severe, even the bone was shattered into bits. The arm was held together by raw sinew. You could see through parts of the wound. Martin looked satisfied with his patchwork but Sion could see fresh blood soaking the bandage. He placed one hand on his book and felt a rush of energy radiate and become displaced. His hand glowed. Fingertips lightly burnt. He felt his feet begin to rock unsteadily beneath him. Martin grasped him by the shoulder before his knees could buckle.

"It's only temporary. I am...okay," Sion muttered back.

"Very rarely does it hold true—that you are okay any time you have to assure someone with certainty... And Sion, aren't we friends?" Martin replied softly with a coy inflection. "There is not a man whose body doesn't ache and burn with pain. No need to lie." Sion grinned past gritted teeth; Martin was spot on, all of him did not feel 'okay'. He could barely fight and his mind felt all loose. Like lukewarm spaghetti left to stew in the water. His thoughts were fragmented and adrift. He couldn't think in clear sentences even though he still continuously barked orders without end. He was surprised he still knew the right things to say and manage to utter them. His voice had long since grown hoarse. But at least, the wound had become sealed. The bleeding quenched for a time.

"I am hardly lying Martin. I never took you for a weakling. Bodies are temporary. I was speaking of the pure nature of my soul. Our flesh is temporary. My soul is just fine." Martin laughed behind him, cracking him with a painful slap to the back. The other newly gathered comrades also chuckled. Many, were hurt too badly to break into laughter. In total, around them gathered thirty men. Each still a bit alive. Still holding on, together: one badly mangled collective.

The enemy had too, separated into pockets after taking similar heavy losses. Everything and one drifted around the main line which formed an upside down U. Sion's men were resting and soon would try to gain an advantage by pressing forward at the enemy still harassing their countrymen. The front line was still by some miracle a solid fixture of the battle. Men seemed to fall in equal number on either side and as such a tenuous balance was maintained. It was short-lived, the enemy pulled together on the defensive. They saw the cavalry on the horizon ready to charge. Their front line shrunk back in fear of getting trampled as did their other stretched out remnants.

Sion, at the edge of the combat, had attempted to rebuild a small enough force to skirmish pockets of the enemy on either side; especially those that attempted to slip to the rear and butcher the many lifeless wounded and those few medics left alive. As of now though—the enemy had retreated towards the front. Knowingly waiting on their reinforcements.

"What shall we do commander?" The patched-up soldier asked. He walked forward, overtly lankier than most others, with his arm tied comfortably to his side.

"We must—." Sion was in the middle of reassuring his men, keeping them busy and focused on living. A horn blew. The cavalry began to swell forward. The enemy infantry rushed ahead with new stamina—leaving gaps for the riders to slip through. Everyone seemed stunned, both the ardour of the infantry and the rolling thunderous hooves struck out against all friendlies. Sion shouted "Brace!" to all friendly men. Then he turned his head. He felt the rushing wind envelop him. Then the cavalry struck, trampling many all across the front as new spears and swords plowed forward. The front was lost. No... Everything. The battle was certainly beyond salvage. He was not a man to work miracles. He saw small pockets of resistance holding on, but almost everyone else lay dead or dying. Enemies were rapidly charging towards him and his men.