The sun was sinking toward the hills on the horizon as the crew of the Nordic Troll and the remaining Alliance soldiers who could still walk finished packing their equipment. Several hours had passed as they tended to their wounded and dug the townspeople out of the collapsed buildings on the edge of the field.

Aldous’s plan had worked: when Loomie flew over the valley and engaged the main engines the blowback had thrown the attacking Purists over fifty meters along the valley, igniting anything flammable. The defenders in the trenches had been shielded by the raised earthworks in front of the trenches, but several buildings along the perimeter, already damaged by subsequent attacks, had been blown over like anthills kicked by a giant invisible foot. Several buildings further into town had also been damaged, but were still structurally sound.

The allied side had suffered only one casualty: Private Dalbec, who had failed to duck behind the earthworks when the Troll’s main engines engaged. His upper half had been instantly scorched and blown away as the blowback hit him. All that remained was a cauterized torso above a pair of utility trousers, fused together at the cauterization. Oddly none of his squad mates seemed too shaken up about the loss.

More than a dozen townspeople had joined in the cleanup and recovery effort, the same few who had volunteered to help set up defenses. They now moved with members of the Troll’s crew picking up debris and helping the wounded while the Alliance soldiers who could still walk packed up their gear and their wounded and moved them to the skiff.

Gerrin, Wilkins and two of the townspeople worked to pull pieces of support beams and fragments of ceiling from the double wooden doored h