Viridian Sunset - Chapter One

by ~Scottie-theNerd

“Quintus.”
        The boy slowly turned his head towards the voice.
        “You should go to sleep Quintus. Your shift’s over.”
        Quintus nodded. He stepped down from the makeshift lookout platform and paced around for a few moments to relieve some cramp.
        “Two hours goes by quickly, doesn’t it Emilio?” asked Quintus. He looked up and watched Emilio’s medium-sized frame prop itself onto the platform.
        “Only if you’re in the shit, or you’re asleep,” replied Emilio. “You look tired. You should go.”
        “I should,” replied Quintus, and he walked off.
        Emilio made himself comfortable on the lookout platform. The lookout was little more than a rocky outcrop with some small trees growing from the ground, covering it with some foliage. The rock formation had a natural set of “stairs” on one side, while the other was a blank stone wall. Quintus suggested that it could be used as an observation post, as it provide a good view of the surrounded grassland without exposing the observer. After putting in some wooden planks and some storage space for supplies, the Rock was a fair stronghold in itself, although its purpose was to guard the entrance to the main stronghold.

        Quintus walked slowly to that stronghold, which they appropriately named “The Camp”. Located in a small valley with a creek running through it, the Camp was a collection of tents and makeshift huts, acting as sleeping quarters and supply storage. The creek provided fresh water for its inhabitants, and a small fenced area kept some hens to add some variety to their regular diet of bread, fruit and water. Occasionally they would go on a hunting and foraging trip and return with some local game, which they dried and rationed.
        There were seven of them. Leon was the oldest, at thirty-five years of age. Quintus was the youngest, being only sixteen. The others were in their mid-20s. Despite the apparent establishment of a hierarchy based on age and experience, it was the young Quintus was led the group and the Camp, with all its members trusting their youthful leader.
        Despite Emilio’s suggestion, Quintus checked the camp before attempting to sleep. He patrolled the sleeping quarters of the other men. Leon Knight, the burly police officer, slept nearest to the entrance of the Camp, along with his close friend Shaun “Ash” Johnson. The next tent was occupied by Mark “Croc” Hunter and Michel “Zipper” Thibodeau. The third tent was normally occupied by Emilio Davoli and Edmund “Dante” Sears.
        The tents were arranged in a triangular shape in the camp. At night it was difficult to see anything in the camp other than a path through the middle, but Quintus had memorised each location. Next to Zipper’s tent was a small wooden hut used as a minor supply dump, but the main storage depot was located on the other side of the creek in a small cave in the side of the valley. Quintus didn’t go there on his patrol though. He knew that no one could reach the cave without crossing the creek, which would have woken up everyone in the Camp.
        Quintus turned from the creek towards another small hut. He opened the door and took off his boots before lying down on the hammock inside. His watch told him that it was nearly 4am. He had time for three hours of sleep before their day began. He glanced at his makeshift desk, with some papers lying on it. Quintus was a light sleeper, and usually found trouble sleeping regardless of how tired he was. Nonetheless, he slept well tonight, the first time for years.

        The morning rays of the sun pierces through the darkness of the sky. From Emilio’s position on the Rock, he could see the round face of the sun slowly rise into the sky, heralded by the bright glow on the horizon. Emilio used his hand as a visor while he scanned the illuminated ground for any signs of movement. Convinced that there was nothing, Emilio descended the Rock and returned to the Camp.
        The group was starting to wake up, but Quintus was already sitting on the tree stump in the middle of the Camp. By his side was a stripped World War 2-era Mosin-Nagant rifle. Quintus was painstakingly cleaning each part before reassembling the weapon.
        “You take good care of your equipment, Quintus,” commented Emilio.
        “I find some peace of mind knowing that it fires when I pull the trigger,” replied Quintus. He took a five-round clip from one of his pouches and inserted it into the rifle’s magazine. The action of Quintus pulling the bolt handle back stood out amongst the natural sounds of the valley and creek.
        “Aren’t you afraid that you won’t find any more ammo for that thing?” Emilio asked.
        “I don’t use it that often,” Quintus replied nonchalantly.
        Emilio didn’t return a comment, instead pacing around the front of his tent waiting for the others to turn up. He tapped on the stock of his Kalashnikov assault rifle noisily. The AK-47 was looking a bit rugged, but Emilio claimed that it handled perfectly.
        “Good thing the AKs don’t need to be cleaned as often,” remarked Emilio.
        “Mikhail Kalashnikov was a smart man,” replied Quintus. “He designed a rifle that could be used by someone with minimal maintenance requirements.”
        “The idiot’s rifle,” said Hunter as he emerged from his tent. “Even a chimpanzee with half a brain could use one.”
        “Although certain species like Emilio might have trouble figuring it out,” remarked Ash, clapping Emilio on the shoulder. “Don’t worry; we both have a common ancestor. Didn’t they teach you evolution in school?”
        Emilio swiped at the nimble Ash, who ducked under his arm and scattered back, laughing. “At least we know who’s higher in the food chain,” replied the stouter Emilio.
        “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” said Sears, the self-proclaimed poet, emerging from his tent. “Still cleaning that rifle of yours, Quintus?”

        Emilio fried some eggs while Ash went to the cave across the creek to check take out the supplies needed. The group wasn’t going to return to the Camp for at least a week, if not longer. Zipper and Sears were sorting out their packs, while the others were sorting out their weapons and ammunition. In Quintus’s hut, Leon and Quintus were looking at a map of the area, plotting their route. The destination was a small town around twenty kilometres away. The initial walk would follow the creek until it reached a road bridge. The group would then walk along the tree-line following the road heading into town.
        “How busy is the road?” asked Quintus.
        “Last time we were out there, we saw a few trucks go past. Nothing major; doesn’t look like the road can take any more traffic,” replied Leon.
        “Weather forecast?”
        “Nothing but blue skies.”
        “Anyone in the town itself?”
        Leon scratched his chin. “We’re not sure.”
        “We’ll find out then,” replied Quintus.

        Leaving behind their tents some spare ammunition, the seven men walked out of the Camp. They travelled light, with provisions for three days, with bread being the first to be consumed, but the bulk of their rations were Meals Ready to Eat, which they had preserved since their last journey and kept in reserve for its balanced nutritional value.
        Each man wore a backpack, containing spare clothing, food, some ammunition and other essential equipment. They all had boots, although only a couple had khaki clothing, with most having either denim pants or slacks, and mainly civilian shirts and jackets. Everyone carried an AK-47 with spare magazines in military-issue webbing, except for Quintus, who carried his Mosin rifle. While each person was proficient in different skills and was interchangeable to an extent, the group was generally divided between the two leader figures: the young Quintus, who worked closely with Sears and Davoli, and the older, experienced Leon Knight, who worked with Hunter, Zipper and Ash Johnson. Quintus’s trio took the lead, with Emilio at point.
        The seven-man group passed the Rock, entering sparsely populated grassland on the extreme outskirts of urban crawl. Marching in a staggered column, the group followed the small creek for a few kilometres, resting every half-hour. At noon they rested in a small wood not far from the creek, where they ate their rations. The weather was slightly overcast, but the landscape was still brightly illuminated with a slight breeze blowing.
        After a few hours of walking, the group finally spotted the road bridge across the creek. Emilio, at point, raised his right hand to signal halt and crouched, the rest of the group doing the same.
        “What’s up?” whispered Quintus.
        “Smell that?” replied Zipper. The breeze carried a distinctive, unnatural scent.
        “Petrol,” said Leon.
        “What do you think, Quintus?” asked Emilio.
        “Ash, Zipper; scout ahead and check out that bridge. The rest of us will take cover in the tree line. Stay low, could be anything,” ordered Quintus.
        Ash and Zipper went off ahead, treading carefully through the undergrowth. Quintus gathered the remaining men around a small rock formation in the trees, waiting for the scouts to return.
        “What do you think it might be?” asked Leon to Quintus.
        “Probably some broken-down vehicle,” he replied.
        “What if it’s something bigger?” asked Hunter.
        “Then make sure your rifle fires when you pull the trigger,” answered Quintus. “You did check your weapon before you left, right?”
        Emilio smacked Hunter lightly across the head.

        The group didn’t need to wait long. Zipper and Ash returned from their reconnaissance and reported their findings. Two trucks were on the bridge; one having severe engine trouble and being salvaged for parts and fuel. Ash reported that the other vehicle drove off after the salvaging was complete, leaving behind the scrapped truck.
        Quintus resumed the march, and ordered the group to continue to the bridge as planned. As they approached the end of the tree line, they moved into an echelon formation and halted at the edge of the trees. Around five metres in front of them was the road, and to their left was the bridge, with the remains of the truck still there.
        “Looks clear,” said Leon. “Alright, let’s go.”
        “Wait,” snapped Quintus. “Stay low.”
        As if Quintus was expecting it, the sound of another truck could be heard coming from the other side of the bridge. It crossed the bridge and stopped just past the abandoned truck. Six men, in combat uniforms and armed with AK-47s, exited the truck from the back and started moving on foot. The truck proceeded forward slowly with three men on each side, steadily fanning outwards.
        “What are they doing?” whispered Hunter.
        “Recon,” replied Quintus.
        “They know we’re here,” said Leon.
        “No, not us,” answered Quintus. “They’re moving away from us. They’re looking for something else.”
        “What now?” asked Leon.
        “Hold your fire,” responded Quintus, “we wait.”
        The seven men kept their heads down in the undergrowth, unmoving, waiting for the troops to disappear. As the armed men moved towards the trees on either side of the road, Quintus gazed through to the undergrowth on the other side. He finally spotted what he had been scanning for.
        “Look,” he said, pointing across to the far side.
        “I don’t see anything,” replied Leon.
        “Muzzle.”
        Lacking binoculars, Leon squinted in order to see the object on the opposite side of the road. He soon spotted the black muzzle of an AK-47 poking through a bush.
        “Guerrillas,” whispered Quintus, “Ambush.”
        “Shouldn’t we help?” asked Dante Sears.
        “No, they’re too far. We’d expose ourselves to enemy fire without any mutual crossfire. These guys don’t know what they’re doing; we can’t help them without getting ourselves killed.”
        Dante looked uncertain. “There’s seven of us, six of them, plus the guys on the other side. We outnumber them by a fair bit, we could take them.”
        “And achieve what?” snapped Quintus. “We kill a recon group, we give away our position to the enemy, and we risk getting eliminated. We’re not here to take out troops.”
        “We’re here to do our duty,” replied Dante defiantly.
        “This isn’t our duty, Sears,” responded Quintus. “This is stupidity.”
        Before Dante could put in another word, there was a scream from the far side of the road. A burst of AK fire shattered the natural ambience. One of the uniformed troops fell, clutching his thigh. The other two on his side of the road dropped onto the ground and began suppressing the trees. The other three dashed around the truck and threw grenades into the midst of the trees before opening fire with their rifles. The grenades exploded, followed by some screams. A few shapes were seen rising and running away from the troops, soon falling from a few accurate shots. The troops then stormed through the tree line and silenced the remaining partisans.
        “Shit,” muttered Ash.
        “Shit,” replied Zipper.
        “That could’ve gone better,” said Quintus.
        There were more shouts from the troops. Two of them hauled a body onto its feet and dragged it into the open. The body moved, indicating that it was still alive, if only barely. The figure was male, with short blonde hair mattered with clods of earth. The nearest trooper smacked him with the end his rifle, forcing him back onto the ground. The other men surrounded him with the rifles loaded and pointed at his body. The passenger in the truck ran out to provide aid to the wounded soldier.
        “Do you think they’ll kill him?” asked Dante, referring to the captured partisan.
        “No. They’ll need him,” answered Quintus. Sure enough, the soldiers secured the partisan and loaded him into the back of the truck before getting on. The truck revved its engine and departed.
        The squad waited for a couple of minutes before Quintus ordered them to move out, but before crossing the bridge, Quintus wanted to check the bodies. Leon took his three men across the road into the opposite tree line, while Quintus shadowed his movements on his side. When they approached the bodies, Leon waved Quintus over. Quintus dashed across the road while Emilio and Dante stayed to look out for further traffic.
        “What is it?” asked Quintus upon reaching the trees.
        “All dead,” replied Leon. “Don’t recognise any of them, although it looks like they’re from a local resistance cell.”
        “Any idea what they were up to?”
        “None.”
        Hunter cut the conversation off. “Quintus, you should check this out,” he said.
        Quintus walked over to Croc’s position, where he was checking a body for items. He handed Quintus a blood-stained notebook.
        “Looks like a diary of some sort,” said Hunter. Quintus nodded in agreement as he quickly flicked through it before placing it into his pocket.
        “Leave the bodies here, there’s nothing more we can do for them,” ordered Quintus. “We need to get back to our mission.”

        The group crossed the bridge and returned to the tree line, marching for another few hours without encountering any further contact. Normally the group would talk their way through the journey, but with the botched ambush still fresh in their minds, they kept their chatter to a minimum. As the shadows started to stretch across the landscape, the group took a detour from the road down a dirt track. The path was overgrown, although it showed signs of steady use and for good reason too. It led to a small brick hut, complete with a toolshed.
        Emilio and Dante scouted ahead while the group halted on the track, watching for signs of life. When the scouts signalled all clear, the group relaxed and headed into the hut. Emilio fired up the stove and began cooking some rations, with the others throwing their packs down and lying down wherever there was space.
        “You know,” said Ash, “sometimes I think this safe house is a bit too convenient.”
        “That’s why it’s here,” replied Hunter. “For the sake of convenience.”
        Meanwhile, Quintus walked into the next room and pulled back the curtain. He examined the scratch marks on the wall next to the window, running his index finger over the surface to be sure. The section of wall behind the curtain featured line after line of Roman numerals, with no particular order, but only going up to six. Quintus pulled out a pocket knife and scratched in a V shape, indicating the number five in Roman numerals.
        “What’s it look like?” asked Leon, walking into the room.
        “Odd,” answered Quintus.
        “Why odd?”
        “The last line.”
        Leon looked at the last line of numerals. “I don’t see it.”
        “Five, two, three, two, one, two, seven, three, six, six, five,” Quintus read out.
        “So this safe house has been used nine times since we were last here, more than usual,” commented Leon. “What’s odd about it though?”
        Quintus pointed to a specific numeral. “Seven,” he said. “There is no seventh group.” Leon contemplated Quintus’s observation for a few moments before Quintus explained.
        “We left the town a day before Team Two and stayed here before going to the Camp. Team Two stayed here the next night and moved on, and later returned to the house. Apparently they’ve been sent out again, so that means they’re still out there. Team Three was out before us, so they must have returned here while we were at the Camp, and they were sent out again before we got here. Team One had a long-range patrol, so they must be back at base by now.”
        Quintus pointed to the two digits before the last V. “Something happened to Team Six. They were our newest group, so that’s not surprising. There doesn’t seem to be much of a time difference between these notches. I’m guessing they were sent out, but had to retreat to the safe house for some reason.”
        “And then there’s Team Seven,” muttered Leon.
        “You can probably read my thoughts,” said Quintus. “If Six was the newest group, who the hell is Team Seven?”
        Leon gave a blank look, unable to provide an answer.

        After resting at the safe house through the night, the seven men resumed their journey to town. At the speed they were going, they would reach the outskirts of town before the evening. Apart from Leon and Quintus, the men took turns taking point. With a clear view of the road, they could see and hear any activity without exposing themselves from the tree line.
        After a few hours, they finally caught sight of a few small houses, indicating the first signs of civilisation. By the road was a sign that said “Welcome to Millerton”.
        “Mr Miller had a great imagination,” commented Sears upon passing the sign.
        “You should check out Amerigo Vespucci,” said Quintus. “He went on a boat trip one day and came home with half the world named after him.”
        “Sounds Italian,” joined in Ash. “You know him Emilio?”
        “Yeah,” said Davoli, “I remember him back from the 15th Century.”
        “They have TVs back then?” asked Ash.
        “Oh, yeah, of course. We had a cable company called Foxtellus Maximus. The Internet connection of the day was carrier pigeon. Ping of five weeks, ninety percent packet loss.”
        “Beats AOL,” remarked Dante.

        As they drew closer to the town, the sun began to sink in the sky, casting orange rays over the landscape. The squad broke off from the road and moved at a faster pace behind the sporadically placed houses. Soon, they reached an oak tree by one of buildings, an abandoned church.
        Quintus settled the group down behind a shed and sent Zipper ahead to check out the oak tree.
        “What am I looking for again?” asked Zipper.
        “Stand by that wall, crouch and look up towards the oak tree,” directed Quintus. “One of the branches has no leaves. Look for it, and tell me what colour cloth is there.”
        “Okey dokey,” replied Zipper before dashing out. Within a few seconds, he returned. “Orange,” he replied.
        “Vermillion,” said Dante.
        “What’s the difference?”
        “None,” interrupted Leon. “Orange is Team Six’s colour.”
        “Six must be here,” said Quintus. “Otherwise they wouldn’t place their colour on the Oak.”
        “But where are their sentries?” asked Leon.
        “My guess is as good as yours.”
        Quintus quickly raised his hand to break the conversation. The group stayed silent and looked around. The sound of crunching leaves could be heard nearby and heading closer. Leon looked at Quintus, raised six fingers and flicked his head towards the sound. Quintus turned and tapped Zipper on the shoulder to get his attention. Quintus raised two fingers, motioned them in front of his eyes, and then pointed towards the sound. Zipper nodded and quietly moved to the wall of the abandoned church. He carefully peaked around the corner, looked back at Quintus and slitting motion in front of his neck with his index finger. Quintus turned back to Leon and made the same motion.
        Quintus pointed to Leon, raised four fingers, and then flicked his finger towards the right, ending his signal by waving his curled index finger. He then signalled to Dante and Emilio and got them to follow him around the other side of the church. Leon pulled his three men to the right of the shed and wooden fence, and waved a curled index finger to repeat Quintus’s order.
        The divided group took up their positions and tracked the footsteps. Soon, a group of five men walked past the Oak, dressed in the same uniforms as the recon group on the road. They were snapping remarks at each other as they walked past. Leon looked down his rifle’s sights and aimed at the leader, keeping his finger on the trigger. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Quintus, propped up against a wooden railing, doing the same with his bolt-action rifle. The overgrown grass helped conceal t heir position, and the only noise was the sound of the patrol walking by.
        The patrol stopped at the oak tree. The leader tapped the shoulder of one of the men, who turned around and revealed a radio pack on his back. The leader took the receiver and reported in his position. He went silent for a bit, rubbing his moustache, nodding and acknowledging as if he were receiving new orders. Finally he hung up and ordered his men out, unslinging their weapons and running off.
        After a few minutes, Quintus rallied his men and moved to Leon’s position. Things were a lot tenser now, with all seven men ready to shoot on sight.
        “What now?” asked Leon, looking towards the last location of the patrol.
        “That obviously wasn’t Team Six,” replied Quintus.
        Suddenly, there was a burst of gunfire, and “plunk” sound from elsewhere. Instinctively, the group broke up and dove under cover. However, the explosion sounded further in the distance.
        “Shit,” muttered Leon, “mortars.”
        “We’ll go around,” said Quintus. “Leon, take your men and head down the gully that way. I’ll take my guys and follow that patrol. When you reach the back fence of the next house, look towards my position and I’ll give you the signal.”
        The group split up again. Leon led Zipper, Ash and Hunter down the gully behind their position while Quintus moved out with Emilio and Dante, pausing slightly, and then following the same track as the sighted patrol. Both squads moved out quickly, but quietly. Upon reaching the back fence of the neighbouring property, Leon looked towards where Quintus would appear. Quintus did appear, and he curled his index finger, but instead of waving it, he made one slow motion with it.
        “Weapons free, gentlemen,” said Leon to his men, “fire at will.”

        Quintus watched Leon’s team dash off. He signalled to Emilio and Dante and headed in the opposite direction. The gunfire seemed centred on a large house on the outskirts of town. He could see a machine gun position in one of the windows and rifle fire coming through the other windows. A rocket slammed into one of the side walls, blowing a hole through the brick and mortar.
        The three men ran from cover to cover, shadowing the path of the patrol. As he got closer to the house, he heard the noise of a heavy machine gun. From behind a bush, he spotted its tracers arcing from its entrenched position to the house, blowing chunks out of its stonework.
        He signalled to his men to move again. On his first step out, he stepped on a dry pile of leaves, making a loud crunching sound. One of the men near the machine gun, he recognised from the patrol, turned around nonchalantly. Seeing the teenager holding the bolt-action rifle, the soldier quickly pulled the bolt handle of his AK-47 and shouldered the weapon. His right shoulder lurched back as he was spun around, a bullet piercing his collarbone. He collapsed, clutching his bleeding shoulder as his rifle fell to the ground.
        Quintus continued moving, ejecting his spent cartridge by flipping the bolt handle and jerking it back. He stopped behind a stone wall and scanned the area with his rifle while Dante moved to his rear. Emilio moved forward towards the outhouse, but as he approached it, the door opened. Instinctively, Emilio swung his rifle butt, connecting with the face of uniformed soldier. The soldier head snapped back and his body collapsed back onto the toilet bowl, his hands still holding his trouser zipper.
        In the distance Quintus heard another “plunk” sound, and a few seconds later he saw a mortar round explode on the roof of the house. It blew some chunks of wood and tile, but the roof remained intact. Expecting another shell to be fired, he took up a position near a large shed, directly behind the entrenched machine gun. The mortar in the distance didn’t fire, however, as he heard the sound of rifle fire erupt in that direction. Immediately after the gunfire began, he saw a large explosion where the mortar position was.
        He peeked around the corner towards the machine gun. The crew and the patrol guarding it were looking towards the bright flame and smoke from the destroyed mortar. Quintus waved his two men forward. Emilio ran to the side of the trench and fired a dozen rounds at the crew and guards, while Dante took a position next to a picket fence and opened fire on the remaining patrol members looking towards the mortar.
        The whole position fell to their sudden onslaught. Scattered around the trench were six bodies, along with the soldier in the outhouse and the one Quintus shot before the attack. Suddenly, Quintus heard a revving sound, and he spotted a motorcycle escaping from the mortar position and heading towards the road away from town. The afternoon sun reflected off the badges and medals on his uniform. Quintus shouldered his rifle and tracked the movement of the motorcycle. He took one look through the rifle’s sights and fired.


        Leon, too, heard the heavy machine gun commencing fire on the house. Leaving it to Quintus’s judgement, Leon and his men continued their flanking manoeuvre. They heard another “plunk”, seeing the trail of the mortar shell leaving the tube, creating a large parabola in the air before smashing into the roof of the house. He quickly located the mortar crew, located in the backyard of another house. He waved Hunter and Zipper to break left while Ash and he approached from the right. Leon crouched and ran behind the cover of the yard’s picket fence.
        Hunter and Zipper approached the mortar directly from the rear. They spotted three men at the mortar, which was surrounded by boxes of ammunition. A squad of infantry were lined up behind some sandbags forward of the mortar, ready to advance. Hunter hesitated, not confident in revealing his position to so many enemies. Suddenly, a distinctive rifle shot was heard in the distance towards the left. The soldiers and the mortar team all glanced left simultaneously. Not believing his luck, Hunter seized the opportunity, peeked above the fence and pulled the trigger.
        Rather than a string of automatic fire, the only thing that resulted in was an audible “clack” sound.
        “Shit!” Hunter thought to himself. He pulled the bolt handle back to eject the jammed round, but it remained stuck. He pulled it again, but it was no use. The troops turned around to see what the noise was, and raised their weapons all at once.
        Just as they did so, Leon and Ash opened fire from the other fence. The first few bursts knocked down several troops. The remaining soldiers turned and fired on the two riflemen, who had ducked behind the fence while enemy rounds slammed into the fence. Next to Hunter, Zipper fired a burst from his AK onto the mortar team. One of them collapsed after taking several rounds in the back.
        There was a shout from one of the other mortar crew members, and then the whole position erupted in an explosion. The force of the explosion knocked the attackers down and virtually wiped enemy from existence.
        “What heck did I just do?” yelled Zipper, getting back on his feet.
        “Must’ve hit one of their ammo crates,” Hunter yelled back, “You lucky bastard.”
        “You’re lucky Quintus didn’t see you screw that up, Croc,” shouted Leon as he came up to their position. “Didn’t he tell you to check your weapon?”
        “Leon!” shouted Ash. “Look! It’s their officer!”
        The four men turned and saw a uniformed officer attempt to escape on a motorcycle. Hunter was the closest, and he could just make out some of the medals the officer was wearing on his jacket. He raised his rifle again and fired, and again the rifle made a loud “clack” sound.
        “God damn it Croc!” shouted Leon, running forward and raising his weapon to fire. Just as he did so, however, the officer’s head jerked to the side and his body collapsed. The motorcycle lost control and crashed into a ditch by the road.
        Leon looked towards where the shot came from. He saw Quintus holding his rifle and ejecting a cartridge. Quintus spotted Leon and raised his rifle in salute. Leon did the same with his assault rifle.
        Leon ordered his men to advance to the house while he ran to the fallen officer to examine the body. Leon pulled the slumped body back and saw Quintus’s handiwork. There was a hole below his right ear, and an exit hole through the left ear.
        “Nothing but air,” said Quintus, who appeared by Leon, “In one ear and out the other, as they say.”
        “That was one hell of a shot, Quintus,” said Leon, still amazed by the path of the bullet.
        “I’m surprised I didn’t hit one of his medals.”
        Leon laughed. “What kind of idiot wears all their medals and awards in combat?”
        Quintus thought for a moment. “Horatio Nelson. And look what happened to him.”
        “Good point,” replied Leon, “Same thing that happened to this guy.”
        “And I’m not keen on building a stone column with a statue of him and naming the square after the place he died.”
        Leon and Quintus left the body of the officer and headed towards the large house. By now the sun was disappearing below the horizon, its orange glare losing its brightness. As they were walking, they met Dante, who was standing by an old battered schoolhouse, as if he was standing guard.
        “Since Vermillion Six got the old church, I thought I’d mark some place for us to sleep tonight,” announced Dante. He pointed to the flag-post in front of the school, where he had tied a strip of cloth at the bottom.
        “I still think it’s Teal,” mused Leon.
        “No,” replied Quintus. “It’s Viridian.”