"Heave, heave, heave..."
Horn blasts tore through the sky. With his back to the smoke-blackened heavens, Toby trudged forward, following the plate-armored back of the comrade ahead of him toward the outside of the camp.
The shield was so heavy that Toby had to grip its underside with his other hand to support it, leaving its edge cutting into his palm.
It was a composite shield the army's craftsmen had worked through the night to make. Heavy, with sharp metal burrs along its edges, it put both strength and agility to a severe test.
Yet Toby would not, and dared not, abandon it.
"Listen up, brothers!"
The company commander's roar from the head of the column struck their eardrums like a hammer. His voice was furious and grim.
"We're outside the camp now. The enemy can see us, and their cannons can reach us..."
Toby silently tightened his grip on the shield. His arm armor clinked against his breastplate, and his spirits grew steadily heavier, his nerves tighter.
No one could ignore the fact that the enemy had shelled their camp all night, much less assume that Chris's artillerymen would stop firing today simply because they had fired through the night.
Everyone knew what they, the first wave out of the camp, were supposed to do-and what would likely become of them.
As they walked, Toby caught sight of the remains of the earthen wall over the shoulder of the comrade ahead. The men at the front shoved the remnants down, then clambered over the clods that had already begun to dry.
Cold mud clutched at their boots. Gritting his teeth, Toby forced his legs to keep moving. He stepped into a soft shell crater, splashing mud onto his greaves. Through the gap above his shield, he saw the scorched