Heinrich read over the reports he had compiled from the last two days. There had been some complaints, but things were clear. The city would be dead by the end of the month. Nothing he could do would change that. Four Rivers had run out of food for the civilians a month ago. The forces had eight days of food left on hand. The prisoners in the Warrens had been eating each other for months.

  Four Rivers had become a dynamo of suffering powered by the agony of the damned. He had considered surrendering, but it would just shift the supply issue to the Revolutionaries. They couldn't feed their own people. Adding a million new mouths to feed wouldn't change that. So, they needed to end this siege for good.

  Getting up from the desk, he grabbed his staff. The familiar weight and the glow of the Kriegsrubin was a small comfort. Treading a familiar path from his office to the makeshift command center, the place was a flurry of activity.

  "Colonel, we have heard back from the first sergeant you assigned to overlook the construction of the array," Lieutenant Benson informed him. "The report says things are on track to be completed by sundown."

  Heinrich nodded at this. That was a workable timeline.

  Turning his attention to his anima links, he checked the nethergy levels in the necromancer network. Levels were lower than at any point in the last year that he had been suffering in this city. Some adjustments were made to the network, and any barriers not connected to the HQ or project in the center of the city were severed. That would buy them enough time for things to begin.

  With practiced hands, Argalia dissembled her rifle to inspect it. During her routine maintenance, she noticed slight warping in the barrel. A closer look revealed the rifling had corroded substantially. This was baffling and something she never heard anyone else talk about. Not even in training did they mention this was a possibility. Her weapon had only been issued to her a month ago.

  Quickly reassembling the weapon, she hurried to the base’s armorer. Corporal Henson was average as far as Felide went. His slate gray uniform contrasted with his reddish-orange fur. The only nonstandard feature was the black stripes that ran down the sides of his face. Looking up as he entered, he seemed mildly annoyed that she disturbed what he was working on. It seemed to be a heavy weapon of some sort. It was in its disassembled state; however, she could not identify it.

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  "Ah, Private Argalia." Following his eyes, she could tell he only knew her name from her uniform patch. "Did you need something?"

  "Yes, when I was cleaning my rifle a bit ago, I noticed some odd damage I have never seen before." She placed the weapon on the table. The armorer took the weapon, and in seconds, it was in pieces. "Notice the corrosion? Also, the barrel is cracked in several places."

  Henson's emerald eyes displayed increasing bewilderment as he inspected the weapon.

  "Private, when did you get this weapon?" he asked, a combination of anger and disappointment rolling across his face and waves. His whiskers twitched ever so slightly.

  "It was issued to me two weeks ago, sir. My entire squad, except Sergeant Hostetter, had our weapons replaced. Specialist Hazard told me this was a new weapon." Henson looked up in disbelief.

  Fishing through his drawers for a few moments before he finds his prize. A logbook. Once on the table proper, he flipped over the weapon's barrel and found the serial number.

  Flipping through the book until he finds it. "By the Queen's Teats, it is new! This rifle was in the last supply drop before they pushed our airships out of the area."

  Henson was lost in thought for a moment as he looked over the damage. "No, Hazard is weirdly obsessed with firearms. He would eat ground glass before he handed out a defective weapon." He looked at Argalia with interest. "Tell me about the last few times you used this weapon. Any weirdness or nonstandard things noticed or did?"

  The Vulpi nodded, recounting all her uses of the weapon and engagements over the last two weeks. He stopped her once she got to the engagement in the building with her squad on her last mission.

  "You did what with your ammo?" he asked as if he had misheard her.

  "Okay, so I was low on ammo. I only had fourteen rounds."

  He stopped her. "No, I got that part. The thing you did after." Something bothered him.

  "Oh, sorry, sir. I was low on ammo, so to make the most of what I had, I overloaded the rounds. I know it’s a bit dangerous, but I needed all the power I could get. I am not a necromancer, after all. Just a grunt."

  Henson was as astounded at what he had just heard. "You're unbelievably lucky you didn't have a round cook off on you in the magazine. Do not do that again! There is a reason you are told repeatedly in training that you only channel for one second per round." He wasn't quite yelling at her. "The moment of vibrating feedback you feel through the anima link is the warning that you’re nearing the edge of stability."

  Argalia had heard this before many times. However, she had never felt this feedback mechanism before during training. It wasn't until her battle on 57th Street she had ever run into it. She decided not to mention this, though. Her interest in firearms and the runes behind their function peaked.

  Assuming she survived this ordeal in the city, it would be something that she investigated.

  "Now, this rifle is fucked. So, you can leave that with me." He went to one of the main racks of weapons that had finished maintenance. He kept going until he found one without a tag. He grabbed a blank tag from the bin and the pen in his uniform pocket. He scribbled some info on the tag. Filing that away, he handed her the rifle on the table. "Now, if I find you fuck this one beyond repair, and you are not about to die, you will be dead. Copy?"

  Argalia gulped and nodded. "Good." He handed her the rifle. "Now get out."

  She didn't need to be told twice. She quickly exited the room.