Returning to HQ had them both relieved and on edge. They made it, mostly. Some of them had their lives changed fundamentally, but overall, they were all still thinking and breathing for the moment. Argalia looked over at Martin and Hostetter. Well, they were all still thinking, at least. Once they returned their weapons to the armory, they were given a few hours to rest. Argalia took this time to rebuild her exhausted nethergy pool.

  Necromancers had an easier time doing this as they could go deeper than the shores of the River. She was more than happy to stand at the edge. The barest kiss would be all she could handle for now. Memories of those long dead were the least of her worries if she strayed too deep into the water of souls. She knew that her people, the Vulpi, had an easier time of this than others. Naturally attuned to the ebb and flow of the River.

  Still, she never sought after that path. It had been something she thought she would like to do when she was younger. But the testing during primary school was not high enough to get her into the many schools for art on the state's dime.

  Her parents didn't have the money either. Her father was a steel worker in New Dresden's booming Beamtown. Her mother was a dealer at the Apollyon. While they never struggled, the idea of paying tuition for a daughter who was below average aptitude in necromancy was too steep a risk. Had the civil war never happened, she was sure that she would be working at the same steel mill her father did. Maybe in the future, if she could make it out of this war.

  Her gathering was interrupted by a knock on the door. Answering the door, she found a skeleton wearing a sergeant rank. Seeing “Hostetter” on the badge, she realized it was for her. All his rotting flesh had been removed to leave the slightly pink skeleton behind. Holes had been drilled into the skeleton at various points, filled with what looked like brass.

  "Private Argalia." His voice had lost a bit of depth and sounded hollow. "We are to meet in conference room seven in fifteen minutes for a debriefing."

  Nodding, she turned to grab a battle dress uniform that she could pretend was clean. The sergeant left, she assumed, to gather the others if he hadn't already. Exactly fourteen minutes from when her sergeant told her she was in the conference room, waiting for her was her squad sans Quint, as well as Lieutenant Benson and Colonel Falkenhayn.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Everyone was sitting around an old wooden table that might have been a dining table at one point. Now, the table was covered with maps, folders, and other equipment. Everyone there looked mildly uncomfortable. Benson looked like a string about to snap, while Falkenhayn was pensive.

  "Thank you for joining us. Your insight and observations on this matter will be important." She doubted that her views as a private matter much, but she would do as she was told.

  "Sergeant Hostetter explained that you had a run-in with a ghoul before you regrouped." Argalia nodded in confirmation. The ebony Felide motioned for her to continue.

  "Yes, as part of our initial sweep of the area..." She recalled what she saw at the house earlier that morning before the bombardment.

  Benson was taking notes as she recounted her side of the events. "I have heard similar stories from the other squads that have been on patrol for the last few days. Along with my own observations." He reached for the brown folder that was closest to him. "The ghoul fever outbreak is not unexpected. The city ran out of food three weeks ago, and before that, all the civilians were on one-quarter rations. Six hundred calories a day does not lead to high morale." The soldiers had been on three-quarter rations for the last month. Scuttlebutt was that there were only two weeks of food left for everyone on post.

  "We have suspected for some time that an increase in cannibalism was going to result in an outbreak. It's why I gave the order last month that anyone caught committing it was to be shot on sight." The room was silent for a moment. Everyone in the post had questioned that order. She had personally known a few soldiers who had witnessed it and had not reported it because of the desperate conditions of the people.

  "We have mostly left the prisoners of war to themselves in the Warrens. But they may be of use soon." Almost no one liked going into the Warrens. For most, it was considered a punishment detail. Argalia didn't know of anyone who wouldn't trade a month of cleaning the latrines to avoid a day of guarding the Warrens. She had volunteered for the mission with Hostetter specifically to get out of her guard rotation.

  Supplies had been running low in the city for months. To buy time, Command had cut off supplies to the prisoners and redirected them to the civilians. It wasn't much the supplies to feed nearly one hundred thousand POWs when spread over a population of what at the time was over a million people. It had bought the city a month of breathing room with its civilian supplies. The soldiers had been spared the worst of the rationing thanks to an airship that had dropped them supplies about four weeks ago. Now, that was enemy airspace as well, and they were not getting another one.

  "So, here's the plan..." Falkenhayn said, reaching for a jet-colored folder. Everyone turned their attention to him, hoping there would be a way out.