Force of Nature

Chapter 2

The High Comrade's lodgings were much bigger than the standard raiders. It consisted of two rooms, constructed like a number 8 with two octagonal rooms. The fore-room was utilised for formal business from raid briefings to organising social events. The back room was the standard bedroom.

The role of a High Commander was similar the job of a Talla-Mór guardian, wherein it was more of a decorative role than being an actual raider. It was title earned by raiders who could no longer raid due to injury, age or sickness. Although they were still counted upon for their experience.

Unit A's High Comrade, Laidír Goldman, was young for one in his position. He was the younger, more approachable brother of Winmir. He was an impressive man with light shaggy hair, a stark contrast to his brother's short once-dark hair. Yet, he was similarly as quiet and scrutinising. Also, not unlike his brother he was subject to some mutilation. The crutches resting against the desk, were the only obvious indication of un-wholeness. He stood when we entered, putting a crutch under each arm before coming around the desk to meet us. It was only then that it became clear why the crutches were needed. His left leg had been amputated above the knee, around mid-thigh. Maisri was only young when it had happened. But even then, she knew something it was something bad.

Everyone was told the story when they began raider training. The message of the story "Never betray your brothers".

They had been ambushed by the Northern Terror. Lieutenant Colonel Dominic Morse. What had started out as a simple betrayal driven by greed led to the death of 118 raiders and the mutilation of many more. It is rumoured that as the Terror cut and mutilated he chanted over and over, "Barbarian, savage, monster."

He was the beast under their beds, the man in the shadows, the nightmare in their dreams. He haunted them. A cruel, sadistic man, wrapped up in the brutal, superior mentality of the South.

Laidír had been a promising raider. A golden boy. Light as a feather on his feet, as deadly as an assassin in combat. Agile, athletic, strong. And now, he limped crudely. His agility, quickness and grace had been stripped from him. But he still had his tactical mind and a passionate hate for the South, and a revenge greater than any other.

"Brothers," he greeted them all with a small smile, balancing on one crutch to grasp all of their forearms in a respectful raider's handshake. "And sister," he added when he greeted Maisri, his smile still in place, which she happily returned.

"Raid briefing?" He guessed. We all nodded.

"Why is there another raid so soon?" Fergus asked bluntly. Always straight to the point.

Laidír sighed, sitting himself back down in his chair, placing his crutches back in their place next to the desk. "The Chief has seen fit to organise another to examine the strengths and weaknesses of the Zones raiders."

"The whole zone?" Hamish asked incredulously. Raids were usually settlement orientated: one settlement at a time. A whole zone raid was virtually unheard of these days, not to have happened since the Exodus and the First Settlements. Laidír nodded solemnly in response.

"That's careless," Maisri said, her voice heavy with suspicion.

"Indeed," Laidír agreed pointedly. Chief McDonald was acting strangely of late and it had not escaped his, and other HC's, notice. They all knew too well what too many raids resulted in having been sent to help put out the fire's in Zone 8. Laidír looked at the unit in front of him and inwardly sighed. They were first-rate raiders and the Chief was endangering their lives and his Zone with this sudden eagerness and greed.