Squad Games [Squad Building LitRPG] [Book One Complete]

Ashlyn staggered into the safety of Benxi's central square. Captain Guan's militia kept the strategic point secure. Three of the captured ballistae were still here—except now, they pointed north, ready to shatter any attempt by the imperials to retake the square.

It seemed unlikely. It had been another day of success for the Apples. Ashlyn's force had pushed the imperials back, taking most of the lumber yard that Stiff had designated a key objective.

With Ashlyn came her crewmates—Vixen, Oripione, Rilie, and The Hoffmeister. Thirty-five of the infantry were with them. Their skill with the ballistae was improving every day and had been crucial in breaking through the enemy defences. Even with their help it had been brutal, exhausting work. Ashlyn's legs gave out, and she sat in the middle of the square.

"Are you alright?" the tiefling asked, concerned.

"I'd be sick if I had the energy for it," Ashlyn replied, aware it wasn't the most reassuring of answers.

"I'll brief the next squad," Vixen said.

"Thanks," said Rilie, sitting next to Ashlyn. The halfling wasn't twirling her sling with suppressed energy these days. She looked as spent as the rest of them.

The next unit were ready to go out for the night shift. The Harvester, The Guvnah, Mental, and Bletcher, along with another group of infantry. Ashlyn almost felt sorry for the imperials who were given the task of stopping them.

Vixen walked over to give her report. Ashlyn knew Chinara did so because it gave her a few moments with Alfie. The pair were of them were effortlessly cool, with no outward show of affection. But everyone knew they were an item, even if they didn't act like it.

Vixen waved to let them know she was done. Ashlyn and Rilie gave little whines of complaint, until Oripione and Georg pulled them back to their feet.

They left the square and made their sorry way back to barracks. A ballista stood alone in the yard. It had served its role as a training tool for The Hoffmeister's infantry. No doubt it would soon be wheeled to the front line.

"Who's coming for drinks?" Vixen asked. "I'm paying."

"Thought you'd never ask," said Ashlyn, desperate for her first one. Desperate to forget the last eight hours or at least think of something else.

Georg shook his head. "I need my sleep."

"We all need sleep," Vixen said, sounding mystified. "But you're the only bastard I know who can get any after a shift like that."

"It's because he has Eva waiting for him in his bed, all cosy and warm," Ashlyn said, not hiding her jealousy.

The Hoffmeister smiled good naturedly, not denying it. "I'll see you battle ready tomorrow," he said, departing to a chorus of swearing.

The four of them headed for Oripione's room on the ground floor. They helped each other strip off armour. But there was no attempt to clean it of filth. That was a job to be postponed. They left, still stinking of sweat and worse, for the recreation room.

Barging the doors open, they were met with noise, warmth, artificial light, and smoke. The room had developed organically into a den of vice that never slept. It was fuelled by the brutal urban warfare they were engaged in; Stiff's shifts; and the money that General Fei lavished on them. Ashlyn had never been so well off; while folks like Vixen, now Level 6, were making even more.

The locals had been quick to see the opportunities. There was drink, drugs, and gambling. There were beautiful women. There were less beautiful women, who still made money thanks to the drink and the drugs and the gambling.

Vixen ordered them drinks at the bar.

Clamor was on a stool, long past the point of ordering individual drinks. He had his own bottle of white spirit, nearly down to the bottom. Nearby were three women. They were waiting, like vultures, for him to get so inebriated they could lead him off to his room and take his money.

Ashlyn couldn't help herself. "Cheers!" She offered her cup of rice wine for him to clink.

Clamor scowled at her.

"If you're not enjoying yourself, why not go to bed? You've work in the morning."

Ashlyn drank, those first sups easing the tension in her neck and shoulders; muffling the noise in her head.

"I didn't ask for advice from you," Clamor said in his gruff voice.

"I was ensorcelled by Amotken as well, you know," Ashlyn persisted. "I have the scars to remind me of Eyota's treatment."

"You didn't kill one of your friends though, did you?"

Ashlyn drained her cup. "What is this, a competition over who suffered the most?"

Clamor got up from his stool and made a fist. He'd probably already have hit her if she was a man.

Oripione grabbed her and pulled her over to the bar.

Smoke had appeared with a pouch of rolled joints, and he handed them out. "My treat," he said with a crooked smile. Shag was easy to come by in Kuthenia, smoked by everyone. The recreation room stank of it.

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He lit Ashlyn's and she pulled on it, the herb filling her lungs. The last vestiges of stress from the day's fighting were smothered. I'm alive, aren't I? Worrying about stuff is a waste of energy.

Rilie giggled.

"Another bad one?" Smoke asked.

"The fighting was intense," Vixen told him. "We softened them up for the night shift. I've no doubt they'll break them and secure the lumber yard tonight."

Smoke let out a long slow puff and smiled. "That's what I wanted to hear, chommie. I could do with an easier one in the morning." He looked across at Clamor. "So could Rittel, by the looks of him."

Clamor heard and stalked over. "Quiet your mouth, Alinko," he said. The rage emanating from the scout was almost tangible.

Smoke opened his arms wide. "Hey, no offence intended. Hargon."

Clamor grabbed his shirt. "Think you're funny, Smoke?"

"Funnier than you, for sure."

"I should—"

"Don't finish that sentence, chommie. I can draw a blade across your neck before you get to the end of it."

Clamor looked Odafe in the eye. "No doubt. Maybe that's what I want."

"What good will that do?" Smoke asked him. "Won't bring Eddie or the others back. I miss Henning every day. Wish it had been me instead of him. But what's done is done. You need to find a way to live with it. A better way than the path you're taking."

Clamor held onto Smoke and blinked. Ashlyn had rarely seen a man look so lost.

"Come, Felix," said Oripione.

He let the tiefling lead him away.

"He doesn't need your help," Ashlyn said to the three vultures who had started to follow.

One of them showed Ashlyn her middle finger, but they made the wise choice and went hunting for some other victim.

Ashlyn watched Oripione and Clamor go, disappointed. But after they spoke for a little while, Felix left alone. She beamed at the tiefling when she returned, who gave a self-conscious little smile.

"Time to party," Vixen announced.

They left Smoke for the gaming tables. Here they found The Baron, sitting with a large pile of tokens at the shuffleboard. Around the table sat a disgruntled array of Kuthenians. "Come to play?" he asked them.

The Baron had provided them with detailed diagrams of the dispositions of the imperial army. They had proven to be highly accurate and valuable to their recent progress. In return, Stiff seemed to allow the Durnishman to spend his days and nights here. No shift work for The Baron.

Rilie bought herself into the game, giggling as she placed her tokens with thoughtless abandon.

"Enjoying yourself?" Ashlyn asked him.

"Indeed I am," he answered, flicking the Coin of Deception back and forth across the knuckles of one hand. "Though I fear I am the only one." He eyed his muttering opponents. "On the bright side, I have learned several swear words in the local dialect. Could prove very useful."

Ashlyn tried to focus on the man. Grey eyes. She'd never noticed that before. Maybe it was the shag, but looking at him made her feel dizzy, and she turned her attention back to the board.

Victory went to The Baron once more.

Rilie swore and reached across to scatter the tokens and coins.

Only Vixen's quick reactions stopped her. She lifted the halfling into the air and carried her away.

"Let go!" Rilie demanded, her legs kicking.

"I think she's had enough," Vixen said. "Say goodnight, Rilie."

"It's not fair!"

"Rilie," Oripione said in a serious voice, while Ashlyn tried not to snigger. "It's time for bed."

"Alright." The halfling stopped struggling and allowed Vixen to lead her away.

Back to the bar, then Ashlyn and Oripione moved on to the card table, where Stiff sat next to Rosalind. They spoke quietly to one another. Judging by their tokens, both knew how to play.

"Well, if it ain't Silverlock?" Ashlyn said as they joined them.

Rosalind raised an eyebrow. "Someone's been drinking," she noted tartly. "Or worse."

"Or both," Ashlyn grinned. She picked up her cards and tried to stop them swimming before her eyes. "Got any news from back home, or is it for Stiff's ears only?"

"Not an awful lot to report," said De Cheney, giving her hand a dissatisfied look. "Greenskins getting more numerous is the main issue."

"In the Deepwood?" Ashlyn played a card, not completely sure what game they were playing.

"Aye. Place is swarming with them. But the Crimson Palace has been overrun as well."

"Huh. Maybe it was a bad move killing Eyota?"

Stiff gave her a cross look. "What else could we have done?"

"I dunno."

"Then keep it to yourself. Damn it," he added, as Rosalind took their money, unable to keep the smirk from her face.

"Not sure I can afford another round," Oripione admitted.

"Come on," said Ashlyn. "Enjoy your night."

Fresh drinks, then the pair tottered over to a quiet corner of the room, heavy with smoke. Here the two dwarves sat contentedly across from one another with pipes in mouths. Half a dozen tables were set up for the same two player game. At none of the tables, dwarven or Kuthenian, did much appear to be happening.

Ashlyn squinted at the carved figures on the board. "What's that?"

"A scout," Randall answered, puffing away.

"What does it do?"

"It's the fastest moving piece. But the most vulnerable."

"Why aren't you drinking?"

Randall looked distastefully at her cup. "Maybe if they had ale. The Kuthenians have offered few improvements to world culture. But this game is certainly among them."

"Why isn't anything happening?"

"I'm thinking," Lurin told her. "About my next move."

Ashlyn looked at the other games. A Kuthenian player reached for a piece, then thought better of it, and returned to a state of contemplation.

"Isn't it terribly boring?" she asked. "Don't you want to play something with a bit more drama?"

"Haven't you had enough drama out there for one day?" Lurin asked her. "One's mind needs to slow down after all that, not run faster."

"I suppose you might be right," she admitted. "But it's not exactly a spectator sport, is it?"

Randall sighed. "Then what are you doing here?"

The delights of the recreation room fully explored, Ashlyn and Oripione returned to the tiefling's room. Ashlyn sat on the bed next to her and looked at the Armour of Resilience lying on the floor. "I can't be bothered to clean it, put it on, and go out there all over again."

"It's hard," the tiefling agreed. "But we're winning. At this rate, we'll soon take back the city."

"Have you seen The Baron's map of their base camp? It's a suicide mission trying to take that."

Oripione sighed. "I have to admit, it worries me."

"By Gehenna. We were supposed to get kaylied enough to forget about all this." Ashlyn looked into the tiefling's sea blue eyes. Oripione was an innocent. No doubt she thought she hid her yearnings. But Ashlyn could see them, plain as day.

"Tell me your story, Ori."

"Ori?"

Ashlyn smiled but offered only silence.

"I've never told it."

"Then isn't it about time? You have listened to me and others, like Clamor. Now it's your turn."

"Tieflings are born with sin. Something an ancestor did made me this way. Or maybe it was me in a previous life."

"A previous life?" Ashlyn scoffed.

Oripione shrugged. "That is how tieflings are explained. We are taken from our parents when we are born, to lessen the shame. The lucky ones are given to a lord, like I was given to Lord Seregin. He owns me."

"Owns you? You're a slave?"

"I'm a tiefling," Oripione said, a trace of bitterness intruding into her controlled demeanour. "I serve him, and he protects me. He trained me to be a warrior. Think what else might have happened to me. I'm one of the lucky few."

"You poor thing." Ashlyn put a hand to Oripione's cheek, then the other on her waist. The contact made her heart thud in her chest. She wondered what that pink skin might look like beneath her clothes. She leaned in, putting her lips to the tiefling's.

"I—"

"It's alright, Ori. You're safe with me."