Chronicles of the Nova English - 1

Chronicles of the Nova English - Part One; From the Ashes

Five Years before the Rise.

Alric Daeg squeezed the trigger of his rifle as the target lined up with the sights of his gun. There were a series of loud bangs that reverberated in the enclosed space as several rounds erupted from the rifle. Alric quickly shifted his aim as an additional target appeared behind the cover of a concrete barrier. Within a split second he fired a quick burst towards the target before it ducked back into cover.

A klaxon blared and the dim light of the room suddenly brightened. ‘End Ex.’ Barked a voice close to Alric.

Alric quickly released the magazine of his rifle and cleared the chamber, leaving the now unloaded rifle and magazine on the table in front of him. Extraction fans burst into life, draining the shooting range of the faux smoke produced by carefully placed machines throughout the range. As the range officer approached him, he removed the uncomfortable ear guards and stood to attention.

‘Stand easy cadet Daeg’ Said the range officer as she checked his rifle, before glancing at the torn paper targets scattered among bits of artificial cover. ‘Good shooting. Response time was within the limit and groupings were acceptable. Well Done Cadet, you’ve passed your level 3 range test. Now fall out.’

Alric snapped his foot as he stood to attention and saluted the range officer ‘Thank you Ma’am’ he responded before marching out of the range room.

He stepped out of the range and emerged into a utilitarian corridor, bare faced concrete walls lit by harsh fluorescent lights which highlighted the chips and scuffs that marked the entropy of time. Alric breathed a sigh of relief as he followed the corridor and headed towards the classrooms. This morning had been his second attempt of the level 3 range test enabling him to proceed onto the Garrison training stream. Traffic within the corridor was light, and only a few individuals in the grey boiler suits that marked them out as engineering operatives or the olive green uniforms of garrison soldiers passed him by. Glancing at his watch, Alric realised that he was running late for his Geography lecture and began to quicken his pace.

A few minutes later Alric arrived at his lecture room and quickly apologised to the lecturer as he took a seat in the darkened room. Ahead of him a projector displayed a political map of Micras, most likely long outdated since the destruction of the facility’s long-range radio equipment in the early days of the lockdown.

The lecturer motioned towards the map, pointing out various nations and providing the students with various pieces of information from political systems to military strength. Alric started to switch off, day dreaming of a future in which he’d be reconquering the faedertellus above ground. However his trails of thought were shattered by the lecturer calling him out and motioning to continent of Benicia. ‘Cadet Alric, would you like to provide a brief synopsis on this nation?’ Said the lecturer as he leaned against his desk and begun stuffing a ration of tobacco into his aged pipe.

Alric cleared his throat as he stood up ‘Sir, the nation that you pointed to is the Imperial Republic of Shireroth. At the time of the lockdown they were one of the most populous nations of Micras and governed by a feudal system overseen by the Kaiser.’

The lecturer meanwhile struck a match and began to light his pipe, inhaling and exhaling acrid smoke in quick succession as he listened. When Alric finished, the lecturer cocked his eyebrow ‘And cadet Daeg?’ Alric in turn racked his brain as he tried to recount what vital piece of information he had missed.

Sensing Alric’s panic, his classmate cadet Fuller stood to attention ‘Sir. The Imperial Republic of Shireroth was responsible for the catastrophic loss of naval assets during the Gascon campaign. In addition to this, regiments of the Imperial Army carried out mass killings against the Britannic people in Gascon villages such as Balac where circa fifteen thousand civilians are thought to have been killed alone. Following the war and the collapse of Bosworth, they supported the Vanic occupation and subjugation of the remaining population.’

The lecturer stood up from his perch and waved his hand at the two cadets ‘Correct cadet Fuller, permission to sit back down.’ He then ejected a cartridge from the projector and replaced it with another. The map of Micras was quickly replaced by a grainy black and white image of Shirerithian soldiers playing cards next to a partially filled mass grave. ‘Now this photo shows soldiers of the 2nd Aviation squadron, taking a moment to relax having mercilessly executed civilians in the village.’ The projector continued to cycle through a number of grisly photos each emphasising the unspoken horrors that had occurred during the Gascon conflict.

Alric left the lecture filled to the brim with anger. He wanted desperately to lash out at the foreigners who had committed genocide against the people of Gascony and caused the martyrdom of Nova English sailors and marines. However being locked up in an underground bunker meant he could do little more than brutalise the punch bags during his next exercise class.

Three years later – Two years before the rise.

It was Alric’s eighteenth birthday, tomorrow he was to undertake his first initial operation out of the bunker but that evening he stood blindfolded in a chamber. He had been taken there in the early hours of the morning, long before many of the other bunker dwellers had risen from their beds. With his sight blinded, Alric could only rely on his sense of smell and hearing. Already he had been in the chamber for over twenty minutes, with the only sounds being the shuffling of footsteps and the crackling of burning charcoal.

The silence was eventually broken as a set of footsteps approached him. ‘You are Private Alric Daeg, son of Michael Daeg?’ queried the raspy voice of an elderly man.

‘Yes, that is I.’ Responded Alric.

‘Good’ replied the unknown speaker ‘I am Master Smith Oslic Yuoilt and in the early hours of this day, you shall undergo the trials of the forge and God shall judge your worthiness in becoming his servant. Now hold out your hands.’

Alric did as he was told and heard a metallic clang as an object was lifted from a tray. Suddenly he felt the heavy weight and wooden grip of a hammer in his right hand, in his left he felt the coolness of a dagger. ‘Tell us what you hold.’

‘The hammer is our root, our ancient duty that crafted the tools and weapons of our ancestors. It forges our strength and straightens our resolve. The dagger represents Leofing the Smith, who rescued Saint John I from the oath breakers and swore to protect his bloodline. Thus proclaiming our eternal mission.’ Answered Alric.

A grunt of approval from the voice confirmed that Alric has responded correctly. The objects were removed from his hands and the voice spoke again ‘Our knowledge in the mission must always be tested and your answers must always be true. Where does our most holy order exist?’ asked the Master Smith.

Without hesitation Alric responded ‘In the shadows of the forge we keep the embers alive.’

‘And how do we keep the embers burning?’

Beads of sweat started to soak Alric’s blindfold, the heat of the fire pit was increasing as someone in the chamber begun methodically pumping a set of bellows. ‘Through sacrifice and guile, we use the tools that the forge delivers.’

‘And what of those might try to extinguish the embers?’ Asked the Master Smith as Alric listened to the metallic scrapes as something was warmed in the fire.

‘We strike out the weakness on the anvil, through force, through fire, through craft and through devotion.’

Alric’s right arm was held out by an unseen figure, the sleeve of his shirt undone and pulled away from his wrist. There was a rush of heat as something was pulled from the fire, footsteps marched towards him, the Master Smith asked his final question ‘And what time do we devote to this cause?’

As Alric began to answer, a searing pain erupted in his wrist, his nostrils were assaulted by a mix of burnt hair and flesh as the brand was held against his skin. Through gritted teeth and stifled grunts of pain he answered ‘All time, until the end of time and the beginning of the new. We are eternal in our cause and so that we never stray we carry the brand of those before us, to remind us of our devotion.’ The brand was pulled away from his skin leaving behind an anvil shaped brand, as he finished his response his arm was thrust into a container of water and quenched.

The blindfold was removed from him, dipped in water and wrapped around the brand. Knelt on one knew he awaited the command of the Master Smith. ‘Alric Daeg, you have passed the trials of the forge. Your brand now marks you as an eternal member of our most holy mission, you are to be assigned to Farrier John Spere as Apprentice.’ The Master Smith made a lifting motion with his hands ‘Now you may rise Apprentice Alric Daeg.’

As Alric slowly rose he looked at the faces watching him within the chamber. The only source of light was the fire pit in the centre of the room which caused their faces to appear and then disappear in shadows. He recognised some of them, the engineering foreman, the commander of the garrison, cooks, mechanics and other soldiers. In front of Alric stood his old school lecturer, clad in a worn brown leather apron and holding the still smouldering branding iron. He was the teacher of them all and through his wisdom the faedertellus would rise again.

Two Years Later - The Rise. 979AJ

Corporal Alric Daeg held is rifle close to his chest, around him in the dim glow of the entrance chamber. Soldiers rushed pass him as they moved into formation and the deafening growls of engines reverberated as sleeping armoured vehicles were woken from their decades long slumber. Ahead of him were the giant ten foot blast proof doors of the bunker, a mechanic hurriedly worked on its control panel resulting in a klaxon blast that silenced the grumbling vehicles. Great gears began to groan as they ground at each other and shifted the immense weight of the doors.

Officers and sergeants barked orders at their men as the first streams of sunlight began to filter into the chamber. Outside the entrance stood the remains of long abandoned vehicles and belongings that had long since decayed with the passage of time. As the gates opened wide enough, bulldozers began to push ahead clearing a path through the debris. The amassed soldiers followed the bulldozers, marching under the flag of the National Redoubt. When Alric exited the bunker he could see the ruins of Newcastle-Upon-Eastmoor in the near distance. It was there that the embers would be stoked and the faedertellus born again from the ashes.