Starcross

Chapter Eighteen

Riverview Apartments

Loveland, Colorado

 

            Clenching his teeth together and squirming every way possible, James waited until the burn from the liquid iodine subsided before Miss Lilly wrapped his arm in a bandage — a ragged gash that she had to suture before she could wrap it.

            “I thought you said it would only sting, not burn like Hell,” He said when she was finished.

            The old woman tossed the used medical supplies into the trash. “Well maybe next time you can sew your own damn arm up.”

            James smirked and nodded before he slipped on his helmet and grabbed his rifle; the old M-1 had seen a lot of action in the last few days. “Thanks, Miss Lilly,” He said before walking out the door of the first floor apartment complex on the outskirts of Loveland.

            Riverview, he thought. Where there is no river and there is no view. After the 33rd saw its first days of combat the Druidth beat back the Army and turned their focus on the barely trained militia. Despite all the advances they had made against the smaller units, the 33rd was routed by the larger force in a matter of moments.

            Suffering massive casualties they fell back until they came to the outskirts of the city and set up in the scattered apartment blocks to await reinforcements. Reinforcements that hadn’t come. Out of the original 1,500, roughly half the brigade which was a third of the division, barely half were still alive and another hundred of them were too wounded to fight. Druidth weapons didn’t leave many wounded.

            Back outside in the sweltering early July heat, James made his way back to his squad’s position, just to the left of the main entrance where a sandbag barrier and an aging fifty caliber machine gun had been erected. Nick was propped up against the side of the large weapon, reading a book; like many soldiers they had both found out that the life of a soldier was long periods of boredom broken by grueling work and moments of pants wetting terror.

            “Good book?” He asked while he climbed back into the bunker and propped up his gun.

            “Crappy book,” Nick answered, not looking up. “Something to do.”

            “Quiet out there today.” James added.

            “Yup.”

            “Quiet’s bad.”

            Now Nick put his book down and looked at James quizzically. “And how do you figure that? No one’s shooting at us and that’s a good thing in my opinion.”

            “Yeah but they know we’re here,” James argued. “But so far the Drids have left us alone. Kind of odd for an army.”