Company Unknown 5, page 1
COMPANY UNKNOWN BOOK 5
M. HELBIG
Copyright © 2024 by M. Helbig
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, February 2024
www.mhelbig.com
CONTENTS
1. I’m on Fire, You’re on Fire, We’re All on Fire
2. You’ll Swallow Those Words
3. Lay of the Land
4. Someone Has to Decide
5. A Monument to What Exactly?
6. Solving Problems Always Leads to More
7. Diplomacy With Hammers
8. Beating the Neighbors
9. My Kind of Diplomacy
10. What Goes Up Must Run Out of Mana & Come Down
11. The Race for Victory
12. Teamwork Works the Best When No One Knows They’re on the Same Team
13. Now Accepting Applications
14. A Stroll Through the Park
15. The Afterlife
16. Self-Loathing That’s Not Mine, for Once!
17. The War We Need, Not the One We Want
18. Diplomacy by Sword
19. New Neighbors
20. Homecoming
21. Under Siege, Under Attack, Underprepared
22. Parenting 101
23. Missing My Mission
24. Kidnapped
25. With Friends Like These . . .
26. Besiege My Heart
27. The Un-Civil War
28. Princely Help
29. A Capital Idea
30. Locating the . . . Enemy?
31. But I Do Have a Point
32. Down, Down, and Away!
33. “Head Trauma” Should Be My Nickname
34. Hey! I Know You
35. The Great, Great Beyond
36. Looking Forward
37. Only Time Will Tell
38. Answers? Ha-Ha-Ha!
39. Taking the Lead
40. See for Yourself
41. A Change in Strategy
42. Sign This Will. Don’t Ask Why
43. Prison of My Heart
44. In Denial
45. Snakes in the Sleeping Bags
46. All Swapped Out
47. Boredom
48. The En . . .
49. A—Huh?
50. Back to Normalcy . . . Relatively Speaking
51. Regular Monsters
52. Mammaries
53. The Verdict
54. Was This Really What I Wanted?
55. Reconstruction of the Soul
56. A Hole Lot of Trouble
57. Later But Not Early Enough
58. My Weekly Problems Were a Few Months Late
59. Not My Fight, But Whose Is It?
60. Is He, Though?
61. Free Mer
62. Home Sweet . . .
63. The Other Side
64. Now, What Do We Do About That Army?
65. My New Life
Character Sheet
1
I’M ON FIRE, YOU’RE ON FIRE, WE’RE ALL ON FIRE
One of the best things about having your stuff on fire was that it made things simple. Someone had caused that, so someone would have to pay. Sure, you could make it complicated by deeply analyzing why they did that, if anyone had talked them into it, and if your stuff had it coming, but I lived in a world where monsters tried to chomp you into oblivion on a daily basis. Stopping and thinking would often make you the chomped instead of the chomper.
If you wanted to get technical, you could say that was only a very small percentage of my day, it wasn’t happening quite yet, and most of the two squads with me were providing very reasoned arguments as to why a quick survey of the situation might be a good idea. But they weren’t in charge—I was. There were people I didn’t know with weapons inside the city I’d built by spending a couple of hours giving half-assed orders, and that place was burning. What to do seemed simple enough.
None of the probable raiders bore consistent markings on their armor, if they had any at all. A few pockets here and there matched each other, but overall it was obvious they were a collection of disparate groups—mercenaries, bandits, and whoever else was desperate enough to tag along. Unlike them, I didn’t need extra motivation to hit them. It was fun, they might have deserved it, and they were worth experience points. Life is simple. Life is good . . . sorry, my life is simple; theirs were about to end.
Using my brand-new tier of Swap would cause the most chaos and damage, but it had proven itself highly unpredictable, and according to the graphic depictions in the books I’d read, could leave results so horrific that even I, the usual cause of such horror, would have to look. As such, I went with the first tier of that skill and plopped myself into the middle of the closest pack. The sounds behind, where I’d deposited the elf who had been in my previous position, told me Metric had seen my hand signal and my squad was ending that unfortunate elf’s life.
My new roommates were less prepared. It was almost like they’d never seen this before. Oh, right, barely anyone on this world had. Easy to forget when you’d just come back from a different one full of people who had my rare abilities.
It was nice to be back home where I was again unique. Life was simpler here. No jackass fathers who’d neglected me for my entire life. No moms who hadn’t but were supposed to be dead. True, there was some responsibility for me here, which I normally avoided at all costs, but it was only to keep this one town safe, not to be the lone heir to a kingdom devoted entirely to war (even if that was about to end). Things were simple in this place. And right now I had only one thing to worry about, and it was what I excelled at.
One hammer strike here, a few more there—some with Knockback activated to slam them into more of their fellows, some without, as there weren’t any walls or trees behind them to end their trips in the hardest, deadest ways I preferred—and a Phantasmal Clone to save the real deal from one of the few enemies who’d regained his wits enough to put up a fight. It was so simple, so perfect, so boring. Not a single opponent gave me the slightest challenge.
Fortunately, there were plenty more to try. Good thing I was a lazy ruler and had only recruited a few dozen people. If there had been any more, I would have forgotten what they looked like and might accidentally kill the wrong ones . . .
A familiar meaty fist rocketed toward my face. I tapped my hammer to summon another clone but remembered a bit too late the cooldown hadn’t passed. Even with my thick bucket for a helmet, I had no doubt the punch would still have knocked me out if the owner hadn’t pulled back at the last second and converted it to a slap. The echo of the ringing made me wish he had knocked me out. I would have at least felt better if the huge half-orc hadn’t laughed, but the crusty dwarf behind him more than made up for it.
“Well, at least I know which of you to string up first,” I said between groans. “Got any last words that are something like an explanation for why you did that, Kickinstein?”
The half-orc crossed arms thicker than my torso. “Figured you might want to save the few noncombatants we have before working out your issues on the rabble. That drunk of yours sobered up real quick when the fires started and looks like he can handle the enemy soldiers for a while—long enough for us to clear them beams blocking the tavern doors and get the civilians out.”
My eyes turned toward the gate. Though Kegger had possessed the elite Blademaster class, this was only the second or third time I’d seen evidence of that fact. He was usually deep in his cups, passed out next to his cups, or sleeping in a half-filled barrel of the stuff that went into his cups.
While the enemies I’d fought had not been impressive and the ones arrayed against him didn’t look much different, there were a lot of them—and they had not been caught unawares. After the Blademaster effortlessly cut down the first dozen, they pulled back and were organizing into something resembling a formation. No more one-at-a-time henchman tactics like those cheesy Earth movies. They were going to hit him in force.
Kickinstein snorted my concern away and pointed back to the burning timbers that blocked the tavern. “Dumb as their first tactic looked, it’s the better one for dealing with a Blademaster. Whirlwind ability plus the bonus they get to swords—those bozos are just packing ’em together so he can slice them all up at once. Not even you are gonna want to see that bloodbath.”
“Unless they have—”
The half-orc snorted in understanding and started running.
The other squad leader I’d left behind at least looked up and answered me before he and his squad followed. “They don’t, kid,” Twinkle said. “Only reason that pack of level twos and threes got in here was that they came out of nowhere. But it must’ve been a one-shot thing. They haven’t used it again in the five minutes since.”
A quick glance around showed that the few unfamiliar soldiers inside our newly built walls were between us and the tavern. Kickinstein and his squad didn’t even break stride before cutting them down. With no new opponents and Kegger making sure no more arrived, there wasn’t any other choice but to follow. Both squads I’d brought back from the other world were with me before I even thought of ordering them to follow.
Though the material we’d used to make the tavern was sturdy enough to withstand the fire on its
Buttons and Hemorrhage made quick work of the sizeable fire covering the two massive beams, but even with all four squads lifting at once we couldn’t move even one of them. Worse yet, the mages’ success on the ground did not translate to the much larger fire above. In time they would be able to tame it, but the space the beams had vacated left large holes in the roof that the fire was more than happy to use as a funnel for its biproduct: smoke. The loud coughs from inside said our civilians’ lungs would not survive quite that long.
“Try some of that magic on the beams,” I said. “But, you know, different.”
The pluckily annoying wood elf in my squad slapped his hands together. “You heard the bossman, cast stuff but different stuff than whatever that cold stuff was that you were just casting.”
“Extra week of training for you, Dink.” I motioned toward my birdlike second, and Metric dutifully checked it off in her notebook. “And I’m no mage. I trust them to know what’s best for that.”
“Don’t you have Holy Magic?”
“Only a little. Like two spells. And I don’t have any of the other magic skills, those would be the ones Buttons and Hemorrhage have. Now . . .” I looked at the two mages; they had already chosen to ignore us and were trying to lift the beams. Metric was a mage too, but we both knew none of her spells were useful here. She shrugged all the same.
Ice Fist, unfortunately, was what its name implied and nothing more—fantastic at punching, not so good at anything else a normal hand could do. A more accurate name was Ice Ram, but that wasn’t as catchy, and Ice Fist wasn’t that great at ramming either; the beam barely moved. We’d chosen the tavern as our place for defense before we’d built our walls for a reason.
Hemorrhage’s Force Blasts and Levitate didn’t fare much better, nor did Buttons’s odd choice of Lightning Bolt. After that, the two mages tried a few combinations, but I think it was more a venting of frustration than true attempts. With that, naturally, all eyes turned to me.
“Why do you guys always expect me figure out everything?” I asked.
Though that was supposed to be rhetorical, Dink naturally jumped all over it. “Because you’re the one in charge, you ordered us to ask you before doing anything, and the contract we all signed with the Hall said we have to listen to you.”
“Why do I have a feeling that was the only time you’ve ever listened to me?”
The wood elf stared off into the distance. “Did someone say something?”
“Whatever. Guess I’ll just have to save the day again. The burden of being awesome.” I sighed and stared at the stubborn hunks of enchanted wood. “Did anyone try a portal?”
Hemorrhage stopped her Force Blast mid-cast to glare. “Don’t have the spell.”
Her partner was much cheerier. Though I’d been a terrible friend, Buttons just wasn’t capable of holding a grudge. “Mer does! He has a few portal abilities.”
“What use is a place to move it to if you can’t move it all? Summoning one under it won’t work either. Can’t summon a portal into a location you can’t see and since the pesky ground under it is very much not transparent . . .” The mage went back to her spell, but the beam seemed to absorb the Force Blast.
I considered using Dimensional Trip to spite the dark elf, but another ability caught my eye instead. After moving a dozen feet away from everyone, I targeted the beam in front of Hemorrhage with my rarely used Item Relocation. Not only did the ability move the beam to the spot to my right, but the change caused her to stumble into Twinkle. The clang of my helmet’s arrival in front of her was the perfect combination of loud and surprising, just like its owner.
I wasn’t sure who she was angrier at: me for not warning her or Twinkle for putting his hands on her. Even if the dirty dwarf was only trying to prevent her fall, she assumed his hands were there for other reasons. Knowing Twinkle, she was probably right. Swatting him away only encouraged him—just like not swatting him away would.
His fellow squad leader ignored their antics and nodded a quick thanks my way. “Mind doing that to the other one?”
In all my mental back-patting, I’d forgotten there were two of them. Not that I would let them know. “Cooldown. About forty-five seconds left.”
“Forty-four,” Dink said. “Forty-three . . .”
While several hands from my squad worked on covering his mouth, holding his arms down, and burying themselves in his stomach, I retrieved my helmet and then moved in the other direction away from others. It would have actually been useful if they’d let Dink keep going. In all the confusion, I’d lost count—but with nothing else to do, I just tried the ability until it worked.
Once the doors stood free, no one bothered to take the time to thank me for doing all the work. They were also too busy to hear me call them ungrateful. Since they were helping my coughing and nearly unconscious subjects as they stumbled out of the smoke-filled tavern, I decided not to press the slight. Couldn’t really complain, considering that Kickinstein had remembered how many of them were supposed to be in there and I hadn’t.
Though Perception showed none of the civilians’ health was close to danger, internal stuff like lungs didn’t always follow the easy interpretation for rules of that stat. Statusologists theorized there was an extra hidden stat that covered that kind of damage, and even that there was one for each organ, but I theorized they were just making that up to keep their jobs. Whatever the case, a few healing spells did make my subjects cough less and move more quickly. Twinkle shuffled them into our Hunter Hall. The building was the strongest structure in our piddly town, but as it was neutral ground, we hadn't chosen it as our fallback point in case of attack. If any of the raiders stepped inside it, they could demand that every citizen of the town be thrown out, and the staff would probably comply for their own safety. Yet now we had the opening in the town blocked up, so it was unlikely anyone would make it much further.
Kegger had done a brilliant job holding that pass, but he was beginning to waver. Spending most days, including this one, drinking and not practicing didn’t leave you with a whole lot of stamina—another stat the statusologists swore existed but couldn’t prove. Just as the Blademaster teetered over, Pits arrived to catch him.
The gnome’s squad formed up in front of them, with mine to their right, Kickinstein’s to his left, and Twinkle’s to my right. Our arrival proved even better, as Kegger’s epic stand had finally attracted their leader and what appeared to be his elites . . . or at least their armor was elitely shiny. Time to figure out if that was true.
2
YOU’LL SWALLOW THOSE WORDS
Iwasn’t the least bit surprised that they were led by an orc. His damask tunic and silk hose were terribly unsuited for a battlefield, but as in the case of those I assumed to be his kin, appearances could be deceiving—well, at least as far as their martial capabilities. The McMurder children were all dandies to the core. Even if they weren’t trying to kill me, I’d want to bludgeon them.
The particular one approaching me did not have either the puffy, over-stylized hair of several of his male relatives or the bald head I’d seen on the others. His was short, dark, and slicked back. I still had no doubt that whatever he’d used to hold it so perfectly in place was stupidly expensive and made from all sorts of fancy, rare, and completely unnecessary ingredients. If a servant or twelve hadn’t died gathering them, then they weren’t worth it. It was good to see that my recent discovery that I was also a noble hadn’t clouded my judgment of them. In a way, his kind had done me a favor by showing me what not to do. Guess I owed them that, and what was a more Mer way of showing that than with violence? There was a face that needed some un-smirking and a confidence that demanded a pushdown of a few dozen pegs.
The orc’s only armament was a forearm-length rod with a round ball on the end. He was either a master of the fighting baton or a wizard then. The McMurders always possessed unique skills and abilities, however, so nothing was out of the question. All but one I’d met were fairly easy to outthink, and since this one’s eyes didn’t have nearly the intelligent sheen of Scrotumio’s, I wasn’t too worried—especially not with four veteran squads behind me.
