Jence stood at the head of the warrior group, looking across his assembled troops as they made the final preparations for departure. He tried to hold back the grimace threatening to show on his face. So many of the stronghold's defenders had been either killed or injured to the point they'd be unable to fight until healed, and it had left Jence with only fifty warriors to carry out his counterattack.

Haskell was among the injured. His leg wound wasn't serious, but the limp he'd acquired because of it made him less than swift. If the battle turned against the warriors, they'd need to retreat fast. Haskell, because of his reduced speed, would either be caught or killed, so Jence ordered him to stay and guard the stronghold.

It was impossible for Jence to ignore the fact the troops going on the mission weren't at full strength. He knew the negative possibilities of taking injured warriors into battle. They'd be slower and not as resilient. As the fight went on, their energy reserves, already lowered by the defense of the stronghold, would near the exhaustion point. Injuries would also diminish the warriors' ability to strike and defend as quickly, leading to further wounds and even casualties.

Since his people could only fight for so long, Jence decided to make the attack on the enemy base fast, overwhelming it with as much speed as they could manage in order to secure victory before the depleted strength of the warriors was completely gone. If success couldn't be achieved in short order, it was unlikely to be possible at all.

"Father," Tyros said as he approached, braking Jence out of his brooding thoughts. "The younger warriors are ready to assist. Before you say no, remember we have been extensively trained and just fought in defense of the stronghold. We're ready."

"Over here," Jence said with a nod to a guard room built along the edge of the courtyard. He pulled back the horizontal latch and opened the metal door. After Tyros entered, Jence followed, closing the door behind them.

"This fight will be even more dangerous than the defense of the stronghold," Jence pointed out. He used a hushed tone to prevent anyone outside from hearing as he didn't want to discourage the troops. "We'll no longer have the protection of our fortifications. In fact, we're probably going to have to break through a few. We're also at reduced strength, and the forces we have are injured and have a lowered combat effectiveness."

"All the more reason for you to let us join you," Tyros persisted. "You need the help, and we're available. You're going to have to trust me to fight on my own someday. Why not now?"

Jence frowned and crossed his arms over his muscular chest. He didn't want to let his son go into such a dangerous conflict, but Tyros was correct in his argument. Injury or age would eventually claim Jence, and Tyros would need to be able fight well if the stronghold was going to be properly protected. It was far better to give Tyros the experience now when Jence could guide him through it than to hope he could manage after Jence was gone.

"Fine," Jence agreed. "You'll lead the younger warriors as our rearguard. Keep them ordered and safe. If I give two blasts on the horn, bring your troops up to reinforce mine. If I sound the horn only a single time, pull back to the stronghold."

"I won't abandon you and the others," Tyros protested.

"You wanted me to trust you in battle," Jence reminded. "I need to know you'll follow orders and put the lives of your people and the security of the stronghold first before any personal considerations. This is the burden of leadership. They come first."

"Yes, Father," Tyros agreed softly, his eyes directed at the floor.

"So, if I sound the horn only once," Jence prompted.

"I'll take my force and withdraw to the stronghold," Tyros said, uttering each word as if it left a bitter taste upon his tongue.

"Good," Jence accepted. "If something happens to the main force, the future of the stronghold will be your responsibility."

Jence started to leave, but Tyros' next question halted him at the threshold.

"Father," Tyros called after him. "If the main force is lost, what hope is there for the rest of us?"

Jence returned to his son and placed his hands upon the youth's shoulders.

"We are warriors," Jence told him firmly. "Small groups of determined people have changed the course of history many times. As long as we are alive and fighting for what is right, there is always hope."

Jence departed from the guard room, and Tyros followed at his heels.

"Warriors of the Swift Sword, hear me!" Jence shouted, and all eyes turned toward him. "An enemy has come to our very gates, but we have destroyed them. Their base is weaker than ever, and we have the opportunity to conquer it, plundering its resources and rededicating them to an honorable purpose. After today, there will be one less staging area for our enemies and the evil they represent. Those on the surface may outnumber us, but we're going to sharply reduce their numbers today!"

Jence raised his sword overhead, and the warriors he was leading did the same, letting loose a mighty shout. Heading through the open gate, Jence led his forces out of the stronghold.

***

Travel through the metal pipes and concrete tunnels toward the surface was quiet, only the sound of the warriors' footsteps or the occasional creak of leather and rattle of metal from their armor made any noise. No one spoke as apprehension over the coming conflict coiled around them like a snake.

The nagging worry in the back of Jence's mind related to his confidence in their chosen target. After killing the two scouts, a third had escaped through the hatch his troops were approaching, but he didn't know for certain which of the enemy bases on the surface the scout had been from. He'd undertaken numerous scouting and mapping expeditions of his own to the surface, keeping tabs on the location, movements, and relative strength of enemy forces, so he had a fairly good idea which territory was closest and most likely to be responsible for the attack on the stronghold. Nevertheless, doubt whispered recollections of previous mistakes, reminding him of his fallibility and making him question his decision. If Jence had picked the wrong outpost to attack, he could be leading his small force to certain death against a fully armed enemy encampment.

His forces were committed, and Jence knew he couldn't turn back without good cause, so he pushed the negative thoughts aside and kept moving forward.

Jence slowed the movement of his troops almost to a halt when they neared the surface hatch. Anything could've been waiting on the other side from a few lightly armed scouts to fortified defensive positions. Signaling his people to wait, Jence proceeded alone.

The metal hatch squeaked loudly on dry hinges, but it opened without too much resistance. Orange light from a setting sun temporarily blinded him as his eyes adjusted. As his vision refocused, Jence took in his surroundings.

The city streets nearest his position were broken, cracked, and decaying. Dry sprigs of grass poked skeletal fingers up through the holes in the crumbling asphalt. There were no vehicles on the road for all had been dragged away and cannibalized for parts and material by marauders. Jence thought it likely the group responsible for attacking the stronghold might've had a hand in clearing the cars as it was their territory.

Pushing the irrelevant thoughts from his mind, Jence kept his eyes moving, searching the desolate buildings of crumbling brick and scorched metal. The wind whistled hollowly through the gaps in boarded up windows, but he heard nothing to indicate anyone else was around.

Moving cautiously, Jence checked out several of the closest structures, finding only old bones and a few rats scurrying over and around them.

Satisfied they wouldn't be walking into an ambush, Jence went back to the hatch and collected the troops to continue their advance toward the enemy base.

***

It took nearly an hour to find the outpost the warriors were looking for. The terrain was difficult, but Jence and the warriors were well trained for dealing with obstacles. The real reason for their slow movement was the desire to avid attracting unwanted attention. They couldn't risk alerting the raiders they were coming.

The sun had already vanished behind the distant horizon, concealing the warriors approach, and they came quite close before Jence silently signaled a halt with a raised fist. Crouched behind a three foot high wall of broken concrete, Jence carefully peeked over the top to get a look at the enemy base.

Built around the empty shell of an old cargo plane, the outpost was a collection of improvised defenses. Razor wire and crude barricades lined each wing of the plane and small dwellings were wedged underneath.

Sandbags reinforced walls of warped lumber planks. Sheets of corrugated metal, tied on by lengths of rusty wire, added to the durability of the walls only marginally.

Guard towers placed randomly around the perimeter of the encampment had several long poles of metal rising from their four corners. Stretched between the pipes were heavy tarps or tanned hides, providing cover from either blistering sunlight or bad weather.

Jence knew he'd have to deal with the towers if the base was to be taken, but as he stared harder at the towers in the darkness of late evening, he saw some of the towers didn't appear to be occupied. He considered his options carefully. It was possible the raiders had expended more of their force during the battle for the stronghold than previously thought, leaving not enough to properly guard their own outpost. It was also possible, they were laying in ambush, and the seemingly defenseless base was bait for a trap.

Knowing there was only one way to be certain, Jence signaled for his forces to attack.