Canon of conflicts E-Book

Moritz Elzenheimer

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 663

Beschreibung

A female soldier who fears for her family. A man who has lost everything. Two fates. Two young people trying to do the right thing in the turmoil of war and conflict. One is on the side of the Federation, the other on the side of the Republic. And yet both actually want the same thing: peace and security for their homeland. But in the midst of a war fought on airships and armored caterpillars, it is not easy to know what is right and what is wrong, and who is on which side. In the end, they have to decide: how do they want to live? And who do they want to let live?

Leseprobe

Chapter 1

Anyone else would have found the soundscape on the banks of the Krei idyllic. The water was calm and rippled softly, a few birds sang their melodies and the cicadas in the grass chirped their rhythm. But Armas didn't even notice.

He calmly raised the pulse crossbow to his chin and took aim at the head of the trout closest to him. He exhaled and pulled the trigger. The bolt attached to a rope shot out of the magnetic barrel at lightning speed. The barbed tip drilled effortlessly through the head. Armas smiled with satisfaction. With the push of a button, the winch retrieved the fish and Armas stowed it in his rucksack. One of four fish. Enough for one day.

He hardly minded the long walk home. He wasn't particularly strong, but he was very persistent. A thin and averagely tall boy with fair skin and a beardless, diamond-shaped face. His dark brown hair lay tangled in his face and partially covered his almond-brown eyes. At twenty, he was barely an adult. And yet he was one of the youngest in his village.

Tarnio was not far from the Krei. An unpaved gravel path followed the river up to the village. The path led past disused windmills waiting to crumble and return to the ground. Although they were all still fully functional, most of them were overgrown with creepers climbing up the stone walls.

Apart from a few hikers and traders, there was no one who wanted to go to Tarnio this way. For beyond that there was only eternal tundra and small stretches of forest that had yet to be rediscovered by the animals. And Tarnio itself was not worth traveling so far from the capital.

The path led Armas past a large hill that offered a view of the gigantic filtration plant towering over the Krei. A huge building whose smoke-spewing chimneys rose two hundred meters into the sky. The high walls of black metal and stone were interrupted in several places by cogwheels, pistons and other machinery protruding from the sides. The arrangement seemed random, but it was based on an ingenious system that defied the average citizen's understanding. But as beautiful as the complex was from a technical perspective, it was just as ugly from an aesthetic one. In the midst of the green meadows, the cloud-covered sky and the beautiful mountain landscape in the distance, it looked like a tumor rising from the earth.

Shadowspitter, as the facility was maliciously called by the inhabitants of Tarnio, had no official name. Perhaps it had one among the engineers in Walkolap, but if so, nobody else knew it. It had been built about two years ago and even then the inhabitants of Tarnio had been watching the construction with suspicion. Nobody had asked their opinion, because nobody had to ask about their opinion. The order came from Walkolap and when an order came from the capital, it was a done deal. For months, airships arrived with materials, laborers and tools, throwing the quiet valley into turmoil.

Some residents did not want to put up with this paternalism. There were demonstrations and, in isolated cases, violence. But only a few dared to raise their fists. The workers were accompanied by Republic soldiers who patrolled the construction site day and night. Hardly anyone in Tarnio had the experience or the courage to take them on. And those who did were quickly arrested and never seen again.

And then, all of a sudden, everything was quiet. There were no workers to be seen, no hammers or saws to be heard. They had all disappeared. Only the filtration plant remained, spewing dark smoke into the air. That was all the villagers knew about the shadow spitter. No one had ever been inside or exchanged a word with the staff.

Why this monster had been built in the first place was just as mysterious as its inner workings. The people in the area had been living near the Krei for years. They used the water for drinking, washing and cooking and no one had ever noticed anything unusual about it. It tasted the same both above and below the plant. And although there were many rumors about the shadow spitter, the people's curiosity was overshadowed by their resentment. They were simply too proud to ask anyone what this colossus was all about. The thought that the plant was completely useless and polluted the surrounding air for no reason appealed to them and fueled their disgust. And they didn't want to change that.

Armas paid no attention to the shadow spitter as he approached the outer houses of his village. Tarnio lay insignificant and inconspicuous at the foot of the complex, just a few meters away from the black granite walls. It was already dusk when he reached the first half-timbered houses and the clouds blocked the remaining rays of sunlight. Armas looked up in surprise. He hadn't seen such a cloudy sky for a long time. If a cloud really did form over Tarnio, it usually dissipated quickly and Armas was sure that this time would be no different. He lowered his gaze and walked past the many boarded-up houses that had stood empty for some time. Only when he reached the market square did he look up again. He went to the butcher's stall, as he always did. The stall was just as deserted as the rest of the square and, if Armas was honest, he preferred it that way. He put the fish in the salt barrel that stood behind the counter and took five copper coins from the till.

His house was not far from here. A simple, two-storey half-timbered house with a slightly crooked roof. When he reached it, he opened the door and entered with a sigh. He hung the pulse crossbow on a wall hook and carelessly threw his jacket and rucksack to the floor. Uncle Uril was sitting in his large armchair near the fireplace, as he did almost every evening.

Uril was a tall, but above all broad man. The few hairs on his head were neatly combed back and his broad face was marked by a long but superficial scar. He wore loose wool trousers with suspenders over a gray shirt that had already been patched several times. But at some point he had given up on patching the holes, and so mismatched patches were paired with frayed holes.

He didn't move when Armas closed the door behind him. His eyes were closed. Armas threw some logs into the fire, which had almost gone out, and stoked it up again. When he turned around, he saw that Uril was awake. He concentrated on his lips.

"How long have you been back?" Uril's eyes looked at him wearily.

"Only for a minute."

"How many did you get?"

"Twelve trout. I've already delivered them to the butcher."

"Only twelve? You're getting sloppy. I used to catch at least sixteen a trip."

An almost imperceptible grin flitted across Uril's face. Anyone else would probably have missed it, but Armas paid close attention to his counterpart's face.

"And now you sit in your armchair all day and sleep."

Uril grimaced. "The armchair is damn comfortable, too. But even the most comfortable armchair won't stop me from getting up and smacking you if you don't keep your mouth shut!" He cleared his throat, sat up and took a sip from the glass on the table next to him.

"It's me who feeds us and brings money home every day. And by the way: my fishing skills have doubled since last year!"

"Two times zero is still zero," Uril said with a joking undertone in his voice. Not that Armas could have heard it, but he could clearly see it in his uncle's face.

Armas shrugged his shoulders, took some bread and cheese from the table and dropped into the armchair opposite, sighing. The fire had now regained strength and bathed the room in a cozy light.

"Anything new?" Armas asked, smacking his lips as he ate his bread.

"From Walkolap comes the news that the Terin troops have achieved a major victory on the Eastern Front. That was a decisive breakthrough!"

Armas exhaled in resignation. "They've been saying that for years, Uril. Almost every month the same thing:decisive victory! It's almost time! We've almost made it!Blah, blah, blah."

"This time I'm sure of it! It's only a matter of time before the Federation capitulates. What else are they supposed to do? Their resources are exhausted. They won't last much longer."

"The republic won't last much longer either."

Uril pulled his face into a grimace. "You've been saying that for years. The same thing almost every month:we won't last much longer! The abyss is near!Blah, blah, blah!"

Armas laughed briefly and his gloomy expression smoothed out a little.

"Apart from that, we're not doing badly at all," Uril added. "I don't care what they do in the capital! Nobody cares about Tarnio, and that's a good thing. What kind of brainwashed general would think of attacking us? If Walkolap goes up in flames and the oh-so-powerful Terin Republic falls, Tarnio will still be standing!"

Armas looked at him with a kind smile and rose from his chair. "Enough of this. I'm going to sleep now. And unlike you, I've really earned it."

He turned away and saw out of the corner of his eye how Uril angrily tried to formulate a counterattack, but he paid no further attention to his lips.

His uncle hated it when Armas threw snippy remarks at him, only to pay no attention to his lips afterwards. And he could imagine only too well how Uril wrinkled his nose behind his back.

As he climbed the narrow staircase, he stopped again. "Good night."

"Good night, Armas. Get some sleep. I'm going to get water in the morning."

The spotlights were dimmed until only a single beam of light shone down on Armas from above. The hall was completely sold out. Everyone, rich and poor alike, wanted to see him and listen to his voice. The war was secondary. People from the Republic and the Federation sat side by side in their seats, staring at the stage with excitement. The first time in years that they didn't want to kill each other.

Armas watched the lips of the people whispering quietly. He raised both arms into a graceful pose and immediately the hall was completely silent. The orchestra began its final crescendo. Arma's singing grew in intensity. His voice swept over the audience like a gust of wind, leaving them breathless with awe. He turned to face the orchestra.

The drummer behind him accompanied him with gentle beats on his timpani. At first, he played an unfamiliar but harmonious rhythm. But after a while, the inviting, discreet rhythm turned into a military march. The beats became more intense with each passing second and Armas was sure that his singing could not keep up with the noise level. Nervously, he gestured to the drummer to play more quietly. But the drummer paid no attention to him. With a fixed gaze, he beat his drum and hit it harder with each stroke. Armas turned his head and looked into the rows of spectators.

The people who had previously been sitting so peacefully next to each other were suddenly attacking each other. They tried to kill each other with everything they had. Some struck with their bare fists, others had knives and a few even shot each other with pulse rifles, their magnetic barrels spewing deadly bullets into the masses. In a matter of seconds, the ranks were paved with corpses.

Armas couldn't believe what he was seeing. Was it the timpanist who was driving people to commit these atrocities? He turned to him.

There he sat. With an expressionless face, he pounded on his drum. He himself didn't seem to mind this magic. But the rest of the orchestra fell into a blind frenzy, just like the audience.

Armas decided to put an end to it. He ran towards the drummer, ready to take the sticks from him. But the stage suddenly seemed infinitely long. The further he ran, the further away the drummer got.

And then, all of a sudden, the drummer stopped in mid-motion. Startled, Armas stopped and saw him slowly raise the mallet above his head. Armas wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. The drummer, expressionless as before, waited a moment. Then he dropped the mallet.

The shockwave catapulted Armas out of his bed. He landed roughly on the hard wooden floorboards. It took him a while to come to his senses. For a brief moment, he thought back to the strange dream. But a muffled noise interrupted his thoughts abruptly. Less than a second later, the house was shaken violently and Armas clung to the bedpost next to him. Only when the shaking subsided did he let go of the bedpost. Confused, he looked around.

He was alone in the room. His books had fallen off the shelf. The non-fiction book on the propagation of sound had landed right in front of him. He heard the dull thump again.

Wait a minute. He heard something? Armas listened hard to make sure the sound was not just his imagination. But indeed, the throbbing was real. He could hardly believe it. He had been almost completely deaf since he was fourteen years old. Apart from particularly deep and loud noises, he could hear practically nothing. So how could it be that he was now aware of this throbbing? If even he could hear it, how loud was it for someone who didn't have hearing loss?

Armas got up with a groan and stepped to the skylight in front of the bed. He reached the pane and saw the slightly bluish night sky for a brief moment. But his attention was immediately drawn back to something else. A distant glow that was rapidly approaching.

A huge shockwave caught Armas and flung him into the other corner of the room. He hit his head hard on the wall and came to rest on the floor. He lay on the floor, dazed and buried under shards and debris. Coughing and gasping, he cleared the chunks of stone and broken glass from his chest. His head was pounding and his attempt to get up was punished with an intense attack of dizziness.

What was that?, he asked himself, staring at the wall of his room.

Except that there was no wall. There was a huge hole in the wall where his bed had just been. The roof, which had now lost a load-bearing wall, was leaning menacingly downwards. Armas rubbed his eyes in disbelief to make sure he wasn't still dreaming. It couldn't be. It simply couldn't be. He must still be dreaming.

Armas, driven by adrenaline and fear, jumped up and tried to open the door to his room. With a jerk, he pulled on the handle, but realized he was pulling the entire wall with him. The roof followed. Armas realized that if he opened the door, the roof would collapse on top of him and bury him. He let go of the door handle and walked away from it at a snail's pace without turning around. He imagined he heard the cracking of the wooden floor, but he realized that his mind was playing tricks on him. But the sight of the crumbling walls made the danger all too clear to him. It was more than likely that the house would collapse sooner or later.

Armas turned around and slowly stepped up to the gap that had been torn in the wall of his room. He carefully placed one foot on the wooden floorboard in front of him. He took another step forward and looked down. The outer wall of the lower floor had also been torn down and a crater about four meters wide opened up in front of the house.

"Uril?!" he shouted down. "Do you hear me?"

He knew he wouldn't be able to hear Uril's answer, but he prayed fervently that his uncle would simply come out of the wall of the house and wave to him. But no one was moving downstairs. If Uril were buried down there and crying for help, he wouldn't have been able to hear it.

Instead, Armas still heard the muffled thumping, sometimes louder, sometimes softer, but he didn't look around. His attention had to be on the jump he was about to make. It was his only chance to get out of the house. If he didn't land properly, he was sure to break his ankle. The fact that he wasn't wearing shoes didn't make things any easier. But if he managed to jump into the crater and roll off the sloping crater wall, he could cushion the impact enough to avoid more serious injury.

Armas took a deep breath and pushed himself off the edge. He was airborne for a second, landed with both feet and rolled forward. The momentum knocked him off balance and he came to rest on his stomach on the ground. He snorted violently and stood up again. The headache persisted, but apart from a few scratches, nothing else had happened to him. He knocked the dirt off his nightshirt and climbed out of the crater. When he finally stood up and looked around, he saw the chaos unfolding before his eyes.

The inhabitants of Tarnio were running around, their mouths open in silent screams. Most of them still had their nightgowns on. Some were even naked. Everyone was preoccupied with themselves and Armas could read from their faces that they knew as little about what was happening as he did. They were running around but didn't know where to go, hiding or looking for their relatives. The house next door was no longer recognizable as such. It was just a pile of rubble. There was no smoke, no fire. Just rubble. He saw Devmin, his neighbor, crawling out from under a wooden beam, his face contorted with pain. His face covered in blood, a gaping wound on his forehead. No one noticed him.

Suddenly Armas was struck by lightning. Uril! He turned around and looked into the hole in the wall from which he had just jumped. Nothing could be seen in the darkness. Armas ran to the front of the house. The front was still reasonably intact and he was able to open the door without any problems. He stepped inside and looked around.

The left side of the first floor, including the bookshelf, was gone. Uril was lying on the floor near the hole. Only his left arm was visible. The rest was buried under wood and stones. He did not move. Armas did not hesitate. He clumsily climbed over several pieces of rubble until he reached Uril.

"Uril! Are you hurt?" he shouted.

No movement. Armas tried to lift the rubble off his uncle. The small stones and pieces of wood were quickly cleared aside, but a large wooden beam made a heavier impression. Armas braced his back against the wood. He pushed with all his might, but the beam remained in place, unimpressed. Armas pushed even harder, pushing until his head turned red and his hands ached, but it didn't help. After a few minutes, he slumped down, breathing heavily.

"Uril, please! If you're still alive, help me! I can't do this alone!" Armas turned his head towards the door. "Help! Is someone there?" he shouted hoarsely, only to be silenced again by a fit of coughing.

All of a sudden, something stirred behind him. Uril's arm, which had just been lying limp next to him, suddenly pressed against the side of the wood. Armas did not hesitate. With all his strength, he once again braced himself against the beam, which moved slowly but steadily to the side until it finally fell from Uril's broad shoulders.

Armas looked into his uncle's half-open eyes in panic. Then his gaze wandered down to him. He was horrified to see that Uril's patchwork shirt was stained red. A hand-sized splinter of wood was stuck in his stomach. Armas' throat tightened. He felt Uril's hand on his cheek, turning his face back to his eyes. His mouth formed words, but Armas could not decipher their meaning. Shock numbed his senses, making it impossible for him to read his uncle's lips. He concentrated.

"T-h-e c-e-i-l-i-n-g!"

He was jolted as he realized the meaning of these words. Without looking up, he stood up, grabbed Uril's arms and pulled him towards the hole in the wall. His heavy body moved only slowly. Inch by inch, they came closer to the opening and Armas expected that they would be buried under the rubble of their house at any moment. When they finally reached the crater, Armas pulled himself and his uncle into the hole. He stumbled, fell and came to rest on his back. Another fit of coughing seized him. The dust in his lungs and the exertion slowly robbed him of his senses. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his familiar home finally collapse.

Armas struggled not to vomit. His lungs and limbs were burning. He no longer had the strength to sit up, let alone get up. So he stayed lying down and looked up at the night sky. He saw the cloudy sky and a few scattered stars that flashed between the clouds. But then he saw something else.

A shadow emerged from the clouds and descended on them. Armas narrowed his eyes. Up there, far above the ground, something was flying. A cigar-shaped something with four extensions on its sides where propellers rotated.

An airship? thought Armas.

He saw something flash briefly on the underside. Shortly afterwards, he heard the dull noise again. Had the war come for them after all?

Armas tried to make out details and looked for emblems on the side of the ship. He spotted a symbol on the side. A golden sun, emitting its rays like a fan in all directions.

The Terinian sun? thought Armas. We're being shot at by our own troops?!

His vision became blurred. He simply had to be wrong. His mind was playing tricks on him. It couldn't be any other way. Armas fought against the faintness that gradually overcame him and continued to stare at the airship. He realized that it was staring back.

Two eyes were painted on the front of the bow. Blood oozed from the lower eyelids and ran down the canvas wall of the gasbag. They glared at him angrily, as if they wanted to destroy him with their gaze alone. Armas stared paralyzed at the painting and did not move. Then he turned his head to Uril, who lay motionless beside him. His eyelids fell shut and he went black.

First came the pain. His whole body felt like a cramp. His lungs were burning, his head was pounding. Everything was spinning. Then he felt the rough fabric underneath him. No bed, just a few sheets with stones digging into his back. And finally the memories caught up with him. What had happened? Where was Uril?

Armas opened his eyes. The dizziness subsided somewhat, but the headache persisted. His vision was blurred. He looked up at the ceiling of a tent. Roughly and provisionally constructed from sheets and sticks. He didn't even try to get up. Just lying down was painful enough. His neck stiffened and he turned his head to the left.

His neighbor Devmin lay next to him. His eyes were open, but they were staring into the void. His pale face was covered in dried blood. He did not move. Armas immediately realized that he was dead. For a while, his mind was completely blank. No thought passed through him. Only a feeling of confusion and helplessness. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approaching. He paid no attention to the newcomer. He continued to stare at the dead Devmin. Only when the person tapped him with his foot did he look up.

Doctor Bertlas stood in front of him. A gaunt man with a narrow face and short shaven black hair. His legs were strangely deformed so that he could only walk with a limp. He was the only doctor who had remained in Tarnio and had not been called to arms as a field medic.

He was wearing a gray shirt and wide-stitched brown leather pants. Both were covered with dried bloodstains and perforated in several places. His belt was covered with countless pockets and tools. Among other things, there were several scalpels, syringes with different colored liquids and other utensils that Armas could not identify. He also wore a strange-looking construction on his arms. Two small, bronze-colored cylinders were strapped around his upper arms, with several strands of cable leading from the underside. These ended in two oval metal disks that were attached to his wrists. Two short needles protruded from the disks, apparently acting as hypodermic needles.

Armas knew the device. When he was little, he saw one of Tarnios elders holding his chest and collapsing. Bertlas was called. He rushed over, carrying these strange devices on his arms. He pressed the two disks onto the old man's chest so that the needles dug into his body. A jolt went through the man. It took a few seconds, but then he opened his eyes and began to breathe again. Later, Uril explained to him that it was a defibrillator. The disks had given his body an electric shock that stopped the irregularly beating heart. He was then administered a mixture of morphine, adrenaline and a few other chemicals via the needles, which got his heart beating again and took away the pain.

Armas stared in amazement at the strange device, while Bertlas tightened the straps on his arm. His eyes were barely open. Deep circles lay under his eyelids.

"Can you understand me, boy?"

Armas nodded.

"You have a slight concussion and a few bruises, but apart from that you're fine."

"Devmin," Armas said quietly. "He...is dead."

Bertlas looked at Devmin.

"I guess so," he said with an expressionless face. "His head injury was too serious. I was able to stop the blood loss, but his skull was pierced by a few splinters." Bertlas yawned and rubbed his eyes. "It was only a matter of time," he concluded soberly.

He turned his head to the right. "I'm being called. Stay here for a while."

With these words, Bertlas turned towards the tent exit.

"What about Uril?" Armas called out. "Is he all right?"

Bertlas stopped and turned around again. "A splinter of wood caught him in the stomach, but the old man is hard to kill. He's out of danger at the moment, but I'm worried about an infection." Bertlas shrugged his shoulders. "It's quite possible that he'll kick the bucket sometime in the next few days."

"Where is he? I want to see him!"

"You can't go to him now. I just told you to stay down."

"I don't care about that! I want to see him."

Bertlas rolled his eyes. "Fine. Why don't you do what you want? Why do I even bother with people if they won't listen to me in the end anyway? Uril is one tent over." With those words, he turned around and limped outside.

Armas looked after him deprecatingly for a moment. Finally, he slowly lifted his upper body upwards. The movement intensified his headache, but he ignored it and looked around.

Apart from him and Devmin, there were seven other villagers in the tent. He recognized Ralma and Dalfin. Two sisters, just eleven and twelve years old. Both were crying and their parents were nowhere to be seen. There was also Tobrun, the butcher, to whom he had put the fish in the salt barrel last night. He wouldn't need them any more, that much was certain. He only knew the other people in passing. Some were missing limbs. Others were apparently unharmed, but they lay motionless on their sheets and stared at the ceiling.

Armas paid them no further attention and stood up with difficulty. He walked at a snail's pace towards the tent exit and stepped outside. His headache worsened and he felt sick. He bent forward to vomit. Bertlas' order to stay down was well-founded, but Armas didn't care.

When he stood up again, he saw a small city of tents. Most of them consisted of makeshift sheets and ropes tied together. A few were real tents made of sturdy fabric, used by hunters in the past. As they had not been used for five years, they were in surprisingly good condition and stood out from the crowd.

The inhabitants of Tarnio wandered around between the tents. Wearing bloody bandages, carrying pots of water and food, loaded down with wood and tools, they stumbled over tent ropes, bumped into each other and tried to bring structure to the chaos around them. Their faces were etched with shock and exhaustion. Some were still wearing their nightgowns. They had obviously been up all night. Armas was sure there were dozens of wails and screams all around him. This was one of the few moments in his life when he was glad he couldn't hear.

A little further back, Armas caught sight of his house. Or at least what was left of it. Armas swallowed. This house had belonged to his parents. They had lived in it with Uril until they left. And now it was gone. Just a pile of rubble. Armas could no longer bear to look at it. He turned his gaze away.

Very few of the houses had survived the attack. Most were completely destroyed or so badly damaged that it was no longer safe to enter them. It was no wonder that all the injured were housed in tents.

Armas turned his gaze to the filtration plant behind the remains of the village, fully expecting it to be in ruins as well. But to his surprise, it hadn't suffered a scratch. It stood there as if nothing had happened, polluting the now cloudless sky with smoke.

Armas' thoughts were racing. What had happened? Why had it happened? He shook his head and pushed these questions aside. It wasn't important at the moment.

The tent where Uril lay was directly in front of him. He walked slowly towards the entrance and took a deep breath, knowing that it was quite possible to see his uncle's lifeless body. He pushed aside the fabric wall and entered the tent.

Uril was lying on several sacks of potatoes piled on top of each other. The splinter in his stomach had been removed and a thick bandage encircled his hips. His eyes were open and his chest rose and fell slowly.

Armas sighed with relief. The thought that Uril had not survived the attack had almost driven him out of his mind.

"Uril," he gasped. "Your stomach ..."

"I'm all right," Uril interrupted him frantically as he raised his head. "Bertlas stopped the bleeding and patched me up. What about you? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine."

With visible relief, Uril lowered his head again.

Armas knelt down next to him and looked at the bandages around Uril's stomach with a worried face. "They should have been changed a long time ago."

"We don't have enough bandages. I'm sure Bertlas didn't expect us to use up his entire supply in one night."

Armas looked dejectedly at the other survivors who were in the tent with them. "What happened, Uncle?"

Uril stared into space for a moment. Then he looked at Armas again. "When you were already in your room, I was still downstairs smoking my pipe. I was just about to get up and put out the fire in the fireplace when there was a deafening bang. At first I thought it was old Rumes shooting the birds out of the sky with his gun again." Uril pointed a gun with one hand and fired into the air.

"But this was definitely a bigger caliber, that much was clear. Shortly afterwards, there was another bang. Even louder than the previous one. The whole house shook and I almost fell on my face. I stepped to the window and what I saw made my jaw drop. An airship was approaching the village from the north and a little later disappeared above the clouds. One of those small, maneuverable ones with four propellers on the sides. I could still faintly make out the golden sun on the side."

Armas looked at his uncle, puzzled. "Golden sun? Then it really was a Terin ship?"

Uril looked down at the ground for a moment. The fear was clearly visible in his eyes. "For a brief moment, I could still see the projectile flying towards me. The next thing I remember is you finding me under that beam and pulling me out of the house."

Armas breathed out air. "I just don't believe it. Are you sure it was a golden sun?"

"We were fired on by our own troops," Uril said in a lowered voice. "That was definitely a Republic scout. I remember those things from before, when they drafted your parents. Those ships were used to get them to the barracks."

Armas shook his head in disbelief. "Why would they do that, Uncle?"

"I don't know."

"What about the shadow spitter? It's still standing while everything else has been destroyed."

Uril shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

Armas thought for a moment. "Maybe they attacked us as revenge for the attacks during the construction."

"No, I don't think so. Some of their workers and guards were also killed, as they were in Tarnio at the time of the attack. Some of the people here have spoken to them for the first time in a long time. They're just as perplexed as we are."

"And what if federal soldiers have captured the ship?"

"I don't think that's likely either. The front line is already many kilometers north and west of us. If a federated force had really made it that far into the center of the Republic, it would have far more significant targets than Tarnio to choose from. And since the filtration plant is still standing, I don't think it was the target. And I guarantee you that these scouts are a thousand times crazier than any common soldier. They'd rather throw themselves into their propellers than see their ships in enemy hands. No, no. I'm sure of it. It was our own people."

He said these words with a calmness that sent a shiver down Armas' spine. Uril had often raged about the war in the past. He complained about the incompetence of the Terinian generals who sat in their command centers and had never seen a battlefield. About the conscription of young men and women who were more children than adults. And about the senseless attacks that claimed countless lives just to gain a few meters of land.

But now he was lying there. With an expressionless face, as if the anger had drained from his stomach wound along with the blood.

Armas nodded and looked helplessly at his uncle. "And what does that mean now?"

"I have no idea. For the time being, I guess we'll just have to accept that we have no haze."

"What am I supposed to do now, Uril? I don't know what to do."

"It's okay," Uril said soothingly. "Get some rest. You're pretty pale around the nose."

"I can't just leave now," Armas replied defiantly. "Not if you're that badly hurt. What if you ..."

"Die?" Uril finished his sentence. He laughed briefly, but immediately grimaced again in pain. "A bit of wood like that won't kill me. It'll take more than that to take me down!"

He put his hand on Armas' shoulder and looked at him urgently. "Go on. I'll be fine."

Armas tried to smile, but failed miserably. Reluctantly, he stood up and said: "I'll bring you a fish and something to drink for lunch today."

"Thank you, Armas."

Armas nodded and left the tent.

Chapter 2

The silence was unbearable. So many people in one place and no one saying anything. She would have preferred anything. A cough, a clearing of the throat, anything. But she heard nothing. Everyone just stood there, waiting for their turn.

Four queues formed in the assembly hall of the Minike barracks. At the very back, against the southern wall, were four large desks made of dark wood, at which the federated officers sat. They were the only ones talking, but you couldn't hear them from so far back.

Noemi stood roughly in the middle of the left-hand queue. Taller than average for a woman, she towered over the people in front of her and was able to survey the hall. About two hundred recruits were gathered here. They wore light gray uniforms with dark green suspenders. The red star of the Federation was emblazoned on their sleeves and their wide pants were tucked into black boots made of sturdy leather. Brown belts encircled their hips, to which were attached pouches containing various utensils and a sheath with a field knife. Their rucksacks were hung with a sleeping bag and dozens of small pouches. Many recruits had small talismans attached to them, most of which were everyday objects. Many of the uniforms had been patched several times and you could clearly see how uncomfortable the ones wearing them were.

They had all been waiting for this day and yet they wished it had never come. Their training was now over. And this was where it was decided which regiment they would be assigned to.

Noemi lowered her gaze. Her curly brown hair fell into her narrow face and covered her brown eyes.

Anything but the vanguard, she thought. Please don't let it be the vanguard.

The recruits had already heard a lot about the different regiments. One soldier had told her that the heavy artillery was the best. Most of the time, they would only operate the pulse guns, far away from the chaos of battle. And if their own position was overrun, the artillery regiments were the first to clear the field. After all, nobody wanted their expensive weapons in enemy hands.

Another soldier claimed that the airship crews had the best job. Up there you get a view you won't soon forget, he boasted. Of course, you'd get into fights more easily than with the heavy artillery, but if you died, it was a quick death. Most federated airships were small and lightly armored. When they were hit, there was usually not much left of them.

The bottom line was that everyone told a different story. But they all agreed on one thing. The Vanguard was the worst fate that could befall a recruit. And so it was no wonder that there were hardly any volunteers. Two officers from each regiment came to the training camps a month before the end of basic training and tried to win recruits for their regiment. The soldiers from the vanguard were much younger and less experienced than their colleagues from the other regiments. It was their job to inspire the recruits for their cause, but while they spoke of honor and comradeship in battle, you could see the dark abyss opening up in their eyes. Their speeches were rehearsed. No one really believed what they were saying, but that was what they were asked to do. Someone had to take on the tasks of the vanguard. And if a few naive volunteers could be found, all the better.

Noemi became more nervous with every step. There were five more recruits in front of her. Then it was her turn. Now she could see the expressions on the faces of the recruits who had just been assigned to her regiment. The boy - there was hardly any other way to describe the small, beardless toddler who had just stood in front of the officer at the table - walked out of the side exit to the right. A slight grin flitted across his face as he exhaled with relief.

"Name?"

Noemi returned from her thoughts to the present.

"Noemi," she squeaked.

"Last name?" the officer asked, bored. He didn't look at her. His eyes were fixed on the paper in front of him.

"Som."

The officer ran a pen over the table in front of him and searched for her name. Noemi's heart was beating so hard that she thought the whole room could hear it. Her hands trembled incessantly and she pressed them to her hips.

"Noemi Som, No-e-mi.Ah yes, here. The 432nd Vanguard, squad seven. Report to Lieutenant Tatsu on ramp five."

Noemi didn't move an inch. Her heart, which had just been pounding like crazy, suddenly seemed to stand still. The officer looked up from his table and gave her an irritated look.

"Did you not understand me? Lieutenant Tatsu. Ramp five."

"Are you sure? Maybe you've slipped in the line."

The officer tilted his head slightly to one side and pierced her with his light blue eyes. "Did I...What kind of nonsense are you talking about? Get out of my sight! There are others here waiting."

"Yes," Noemi said hoarsely and staggered towards the exit.

Bright daylight shone towards her and a jumble of people ran past her as she stood on the barracks square. The noise level was enormous. Everywhere, the engines of small, three-wheeled vehicles rattled as they carried crates and soldiers to their destinations, and large masts with loudspeakers blared out all kinds of announcements.

Noemi looked at the gate not far from the assembly hall. Behind it lay the vast meadows of the Ichu district. Dozens of small lakes glistened in the morning sun. Under other circumstances, this sight would have brought her joy.

The vanguard, she thought. Of course it had to be the Vanguard. Maybe she should just run away. Couldn't she just leave and never come back? The Ichu district was the largest of the federated districts and consisted almost entirely of small villages. It wouldn't be long before she found a small settlement. She could work, perhaps as a watchmaker, and earn a living that way. She could make up a new name, cut her hair and wear different clothes. She would be a normal person in a normal village. All she would have to do is walk through that gate. What would be lost to the military? The meadows were crying out for her. Come to us, she heard them calling in her head. Leave all this behind you. Walk through the gate and don't look back.

But no. She couldn't hide. It just wouldn't be right. She could disappear, but the war would still be there. If everyone just ran away, the Federation would be lost. Apart from that, she would probably be found sooner than she imagined. The wanted notices for deserted soldiers usually only hung on the notice boards for a few weeks. The rewards for revealing the whereabouts of a deserter were simply too tempting. And if they were found, they would be put up against the wall. No hearing, no trial.

Noemi laughed in defeat. It didn't matter how she decided. In the end, a bullet was most likely waiting for her. And if she was going to die, at least it would be for a good cause. She took a deep breath and shook her head, as if to make it clear to the meadow that she had changed her mind. She tightened her grip on her backpack and made her way to the ramp where she was to report.

There were a total of six ramps in the Minike barracks. They were large concrete elevations that acted as platforms and enabled the transporters to board. One such transporter was already waiting at ramp one. It was a box about seventy meters long and five meters high, tapering into a wedge shape at the front. The front windows were tinted black to protect the driver from the sun. There were several sliding doors on the sides that could be opened and closed hydraulically, allowing the soldiers to get in and out. In addition, a pulse rifle was mounted on each side to provide support fire for the soldiers when they got out. The long barrels, fitted with two rows of magnets, protruded from the embrasures on the sides and made a menacing impression on Noemi.

In Noemi's opinion, however, the most remarkable feature of this transporter, known as a caterpillar, was its wheeled legs. Basically, they were three legs extending in a star shape from a pivot point in the middle. A wheel was attached to each end. Two of these wheels rolled along the ground as normal, while the third was suspended in the air. If the front wheel hit an obstacle, the legs rotated around the hub in the middle so that the next wheel could take over. Six of these wheel legs, three on each side, flanked the cab and moved the caterpillar forward, enabling it to overcome even the roughest terrain.

Noemi imagined getting out of one of these things under fire and throwing herself into battle while looking at this misshapen box. It sent shivers down her spine.

"Attention, step away from the edge. Caterpillar on ramp one is departing," it sounded over a loudspeaker.

She was startled and ran off. If the caterpillar on ramp one was already leaving, then the same applied to ramp five. Noemi hurried past officers, recruits and transporters to her destination. Behind several ammunition crates, she saw the sign that read "5" and was relieved to see that the caterpillar was still there and the recruits were still standing in front of the locked doors. Out of breath, she joined the others. Some of the recruits gave her a disdainful look, but immediately turned around and paid her no further attention.

"Do you want to be put on extra latrine duty?"

Noemi looked in the direction from which the voice came. A young man with straight black hair that reached just below his eyes looked at her curiously.

"What?"

"Whether you want to be put on extra latrine duty."

"No. Why would I want that?"

"Because your shoelaces are untied. If one of the officers sees that, you can expect to be cleaning the latrines for the next week," the man replied, grinning at her.

Noemi opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again and bent down to tie her shoes.

"Which unit have you been assigned to?" he asked, without waiting for Noemi to stand upright again.

"The 432nd Vanguard."

"Oh, under Komin Tatsu? I was also assigned to him. That's why I signed up for the vanguard. I knew beforehand that the recruits for the vanguard would be assigned to him. With any luck, Major Konomi will be our commanding officer. Have you also signed up for the vanguard? And what's your name anyway? My name is Minoh Riyati. But the emphasis in Minoh is on the "i". It's not common, but my parents thought it was better that way and ... "

Noemi frowned and looked at the guy, who didn't want to stop talking. He was relatively small, which was accentuated by Noemi's enormous height. Two small, green eyes gazed at her ecstatically and his little nose twitched in rhythm with his words. While he told her his entire life story without being asked, his arms lay limp at his sides throughout. Not once did he indicate a gesture or move in any other way. The only thing that kept moving, however, was his mouth and bright-sounding streams of words tumbled out of it.

"... He couldn't have known that my parents had the same name, which is why he had sent us the wrong letter. Between you and me, the bureaucracy is terrible, although ..."

"My name is Noemi," she interrupted him abruptly. "And no, I didn't volunteer for the Vanguard. Why would I do that? Why would you want to join the Vanguard of all things?"

Minoh looked at her in surprise. "Where else would I go?"

"For example, to the heavy artillery or the airmen."

Minoh shook his head vigorously, but still kept his arms at his sides. "No, artillery s too imprecise. You never know exactly whether you'll hit or miss. Rifles are much more accurate. I think..."

"Nobody volunteers for the vanguard. And for good reason."

Minoh's expression suddenly changed from euphoria to concern. With a slight tremor in his voice, he asked, "Why?"

Noemi opened her mouth, but when she looked into the large, shimmering eyes of her counterpart, she paused for a moment.

"Because of the officers. I've heard that the officers in the other regiments are a bit more loose than here," she said, smiling artificially.

Minoh paused and looked at her. His worried expression suddenly changed to amusement.

"As loose as your shoelaces?"

Noemi couldn't help but laugh. She didn't actually find it that funny, but there was something about this guy that amused her.

Minoh laughed along with him and his shoulders lifted slightly. But the very next moment they were firmly anchored at his sides again.

"Do you know where we're being taken yet?" he asked quickly. "As far as I know, we're being sent to the south-eastern front. Oh, you haven't even told me where you're from yet. Is it nice there too? With us..."

"Hey, if you want to know something about me, you should give me a chance to answer you too."

Minoh looked down at his feet, concerned. "Yes, you're right." After a short pause, he asked, "So, where are you from?"

"I come from Nagan."

Minoh's eyes widened. "What, you're from the capital? I've always wanted to go there. I was told that there are huge skyscrapers there. Almost two hundred meters high. You must have a wonderful view from there."

"Yes, you have a good view up there." Noemi's face became serious. "But what you see there is anything but beautiful."

Minoh looked at her again with that somewhat exaggerated puppy dog look. "Is it still that bad there? The Nagusi district has recovered to some extent. The trees have stored the water for years, which has allowed us to continue growing mushrooms."

"How many where it with you?"

"About half."

Noemi waited, but Minoh remained silent.

"Attention, recruits! Form up!" was heard from the middle of the square.

The recruits scurried around and lined up in two rows according to their service number. Noemi and Minoh hurried to their spots. Both stood in the front row.

An officer stood in front of them with his back straight and his head held high. It was Lieutenant Komin Tatsu, commander of the 432nd vanguard. He was about forty, had short-cropped brown hair and a muscular physique. His uniform was tailor-made and fitted perfectly. Not a single wrinkle was visible. The red star of the Federation was emblazoned large on his sleeve and there were numerous insignia and medals on his chest. Even though Noemi knew nothing about him apart from his name, she immediately recognized that this was an experienced soldier.

Behind Lieutenant Tatsu, she saw six other officers. They stood bolt upright with their hands clasped behind their backs. Almost all of them looked serious and disciplined. Only one officer, a young woman with dark red, long hair that she had tied up in a plait, was smiling slightly.

"Welcome to the 432nd. I am Lieutenant Komin Tatsu. You are no longer recruits. From now on, you are privates and will be referred to as such," Tatsu's booming voice rang out.

Noemi had never heard such a loud but controlled voice in her entire life. You couldn't help but listen to him, and the soldiers standing on the other ramps also turned to him instinctively.

"You will be taken to the south-eastern front," Tatsu continued. "There you will stop the advance of the Terin troops and push them back. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Tatsu," the privates shouted in chorus.

Tatsu nodded in satisfaction, turned to the side and pointed with his open hand to the officers behind him. "You will now line up in front of your superiors according to your assignments. Then you will be taken to the front with the caterpillar and equipped. You will have two days there to familiarize yourselves with the new environment and your tasks. You will then receive your orders. Now line up with your superiors. That's all."

With these words, Lieutenant Tatsu strutted towards the foremost hydraulic door of the caterpillar and disappeared inside. The seven officers, who were still standing stiff as boards in the square, now called out their names one after the other.

"Major Ima Konomi. Squad seven," called the young officer with the red hair. She hadn't stopped smiling the entire time.

Noemi stood in front of her as instructed and the next second Minoh was standing next to her. He looked at her with a satisfied smile. Two more privates joined them and after a few seconds all the soldiers stood in front of their new commanders. About four to seven soldiers per officer.

"Great," said Major Konomi cheerfully. "Get in then. We've got a long way to go."

Together, they climbed through the hydraulic doors into the interior of the caterpillar. Noemi had to duck her head to avoid bumping into the low door frame.

"I've never seen the inside of a caterpillar before," said Minoh, looking around enthusiastically.

The caterpillar was divided into several segments, similar to a train, which were separated from each other by closed hydraulic doors. Benches with belts were attached to the walls for the passengers to sit on. The two pulse rifles were mounted in the walls and a small embrasure allowed the shooter to look outside. The floor and seats were made of wood, in stark contrast to the rest of the vehicle, and several small lamps on the ceiling bathed the interior in a cold light.

Noemi sat down in the seat right next to the door and fastened the belt. Less than two seconds later, Minoh was sitting next to her. Major Konomi, who was still grinning, took a seat on the opposite side and smiled cheerfully at Noemi.

Noemi wanted to smile back, but then averted her eyes. How should she behave towards this officer? Not a single officer in the training camp had ever smiled at her. As long as the soldiers were on duty, they were expected to behave in a disciplined manner. And now this Konomi was sitting in her seat and grinning at her as if they were on a school trip.

As if she had read Noemi's mind, Major Konomi said, "You can smile back. I don't bite."

Noemi looked down sheepishly, then looked up again and gave a tentative smile.

Ima laughed out loud. "Just relax. I'm not like those tranny bags next door. That goes for you three too, by the way."

With these words, she looked at the other soldiers sitting on the bench next to them. Apart from Noemi and Minoh, there were two other privates in the compartment. One of them, a particularly muscular man with brown hair shaved to the sides and ice-blue eyes, looked sheepishly at the floor, while the female soldier sitting opposite him looked Konomi straight in the eye.

"What's your name?" asked Major Konomi Minoh, who had pretended not to notice the conversation until just now.

"Minoh Riyati," he said so quietly that it was barely audible. "Ma'am," he added hastily.

"And where are you from, Minoh Riyati?"

"From the Nagusi district, ma'am."

Konomi's grin widened even further. "Don't use that ma'am. That's not necessary. You can just call me Ima. At least when Lt. Tatsu isn't around."

Minoh looked at her in irritation. "Yes, ma ..." He broke off and cleared his throat. "Yes, Ima."

"So, you must be a mushroom grower if you're from the Nagusi district, right?"

"Yes."

"Ah, the Nagusi mushrooms are the best. There's no discussion about that. But are the trees there really as big as everyone says? I've heard that the tallest ones grow to three hundred meters."

"Four hundred meters in some places," Minoh now replied at a normal volume. "The trunks have a circumference of almost sixty meters."

"Really?"

Minoh nodded exaggeratedly vigorously. "We once tried to clutch one of the trees by standing around it and holding hands. It took almost forty people. I'd love to climb a tree like that, but the lowest branches are still fifty meters above the ground. I once tried to build myself a ladder out of wood, but it was pretty bad. I was able to finish the thing, but I never dared to try it out. My uncle did it once and fell off. He broke two ribs and an arm. But our doctor quickly fixed it ..."

"Okay, okay, hold your breath again," Ima interrupted him with a laugh. "I still want to know what the others are called."

Minoh looked sheepishly at Noemi, who looked at him teasingly and shrugged her shoulders. She had had to stifle a laugh while Minoh was talking. The way he sat bolt upright and didn't lift a finger while he babbled like a waterfall amused her greatly.

"You, for example," said Ima, pointing to the private next to Minoh. "What's your name?"

The man with the ice-blue eyes hesitated and looked up sheepishly. Finally he said, "Hagal."

"Hagal and further?"

"Nothing more. Just Hagal." His eyes avoided Ima's gaze as he fiddled nervously with a scrap of cloth tied around his left upper arm.

"So you don't have a surname?" Ima asked slowly.

It was immediately completely silent in the compartment. Ima's smile disappeared abruptly and everyone stared at Hagal. It probably only lasted a few seconds, but to Noemi it seemed like an eternity.

"So you're from the Republic, are you?" asked Ima.

"Y-yes."

The blonde-haired soldier next to him was immediately on high alert and gripped the handle of a black steel knife she was carrying on her upper arm.

"Relax, unknown lady," said Ima, without taking her eyes off Hagal. "I'm sure Hagal has a good explanation for this."

Hagal, who was still avoiding Ima's gaze, ran a hand through his brown hair. "I was born near the dead zone," he explained. "My family were nomads. We moved around all the time. One time we were in the Federation and then again in the Republic. That's why some of us were born in the Federation and have a surname and others don't."

Hagal paused for two seconds and looked Ima straight in the eye for the first time. She didn't look convinced.

So he continued: "When the war broke out, we were just in Federation territory. We hadn't heard anything about the initial Federation attack on Tapt. The counterattack came as a complete surprise to us. Without warning, we suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a battle. My parents tried to persuade a caterpillar driver to give us a lift, but he only replied that he had no more room. In the end, my mother managed to convince him to at least take me with him. And that's how I ended up in the Federation for good."

The soldier sitting opposite Hagal dropped the knife back into its sheath and wrinkled her crooked nose in disdain. "That's all we need. A Republican bastard in our ranks!" she said, shaking her blond hair out of her face.

"And what about your family?" Noemi asked.

"I haven't seen them since." He tapped the scrap of cloth on his sleeve with his finger. "This is all I have of my family."

"What's that?"

"It was part of my mother's jacket. I pulled on it and tore it off when she put me in the caterpillar."