The Clouds of Caelus
Copyright© 2026 by Lumpy
Chapter 8
Camp Banwīhraz, Central Germania
Medb sat in the guard tower, watching the holding cell, observing the final two prisoners. The confines of this cell were much less comfortable than the standard camp, with some bedrolls on the dirt, little cover from the elements, and three dozen men crammed into a small area.
Used to hold prisoners waiting to be transferred to another part of the camp or waiting to be assigned to one, they’d told these men their section of the camp needed maintenance and they were being confined temporarily while that happened.
A lie, although the maintenance was still being done, to keep up the ruse.
In reality, Medb wanted to watch the last candidates Fa Jian had identified among the captured Eastern soldiers in a more pressure-filled environment, and not just the status quo that they’d grown used to.
The one called Zhang Min paced the small confines like a caged wolf. When another prisoner accidentally knocked over one of the water rations just after they’d been delivered, Min had erupted into a shouting match that required three other captives to restrain him from throwing punches. The man’s anger burned hot and immediate.
Chen Wei presented the opposite temperament. He sat calmly, cross-legged against the far wall, methodically observing the other prisoners while appearing to meditate. When two men began arguing over sleeping positions yesterday, Wei had quietly intervened with a few chosen words that defused the situation without either combatant losing face. The man possessed the patience and good sense of social awareness.
What intrigued Medb most was how the two men complemented each other. They knew each other and Min often checked in with Wei, deferring to Wei’s judgment, while Wei seemed to appreciate Min’s directness when dealing with more stubborn prisoners. Her end plan didn’t call for them to work together, but this could feed into the escape if played right.
“Bring Zhang Min and Chen Wei to interrogation room three,” Medb said to one of the guards as she made her way down from the tower.
They quickly separated the two men from the group and escorted them toward the central camp building. Medb followed at a distance, her mind already going over the conversation ahead. These prisoners represented her best opportunity to establish reliable assets within the Eastern front lines and get Jian out of the camp without arousing suspicion, but convincing them would require careful manipulation of their loyalties and fears.
The interrogation room contained only a wooden table and three chairs. Medb entered after the prisoners were seated and positioned, studying their faces as they realized this might not be one of the odd interrogations where they were left to sit alone, unbothered and unquestioned, that many had gone through lately.
“Hello,” she said in their native tongue, her pronunciation rough but understandable. “I’d like to speak with you.”
Min sat straighter in surprise as she spoke. Soon enough, speaking to them in their native tongue would not be uncommon as interrogators were taught the Easterners’ language, but that was taking time and they had yet to get any to the level of fluency needed to question hostile men.
So she made sure to keep the knowledge that she could speak their language a secret, to be used only for just this sort of moment.
“You speak our language,” Wei said carefully, not exhibiting any of the surprise of his friend.
“Poorly, but enough for what we need to discuss.” Medb settled into her chair. “Including that I know you both are part of the Han group resistance fighting against your rulers.”
The words had the intended impact. Even the more controlled Wei couldn’t keep his surprise off his face.
“We are simple soldiers,” Wei said. “We know nothing of these people.”
“Caution is wise. But consider this. I am clearly someone with power in the Western military. You can see that the guards follow my orders. I have learned your language and know about the existence of the Han. I know about its failures when it tried to go against the empire many years ago. I know about its more careful path now, how it split into hundreds of small groups across the empire for safety. I know its Han roots and its goals.” She leaned forward. “Consider how I know all of this when deciding if I am somehow trying to trick you.”
The two prisoners exchanged a look.
“What do you want?” Wei asked finally.
“I want your help to not only end this war but to end the current empire and help a more reasonable government regain control in your homeland,” Medb said. “I want peace.”
Min snorted. “You want to replace our current rulers with yourselves. That is what all conquerors claim.”
“Others I have talked to felt the same when I first approached them. Your suspicion is understandable and shows wisdom. But let me ask you to consider something. Compare how Britannian forces handle prisoners versus how the TianYou Empire deals with captured enemies.”
“We do not take prisoners at all.”
“Exactly.” Medb let the word hang in the air between them. “When was the last time you heard of TianYou forces feeding enemy captives, providing medical care for wounds, or allowing prisoners to maintain their dignity? When has your empire ever shown mercy to those who opposed it?”
Neither man had an answer for this.
“Let me also ask if your current resistance efforts against Eastern rule are succeeding? Have generations of Han resistance achieved results against an empire with vast resources using brutal suppression? Are your people closer to freedom now than they were when your grandfathers fought the same battles?”
“What exactly do you want us to do if we agree to cooperate?” Wei finally asked.
“I’m developing plans to provide material support to the resistance operating within the Eastern homeland, but I need reliable contacts and intelligence to make such efforts effective. For you specifically, I need your help at this end first. I want you to return to the Eastern lines where you can gather information about military operations to help us get those supplies deeper into your homeland and potentially influence or limit what your commanders can accomplish,” she said, purposefully implying the supplies would be going overland and not by some other, indirect method. “I can establish secure communication methods that would allow you to pass intelligence back to Western forces. You would need to maintain your cover as loyal Eastern soldiers while secretly working to undermine the military effectiveness.”
“How would we return to Eastern lines without making our commanders suspicious?” Min asked.
“A staged mass prisoner escape that would provide cover for your return and help grow your reputations at the same time,” Medb said without hesitation. “The key is making it appear completely authentic to everyone involved.”
“How? It has to be obvious that an escape from a place like this would require some kind of inside help?” Min pressed.
Medb had anticipated this question and spent considerable time developing the answer. “Western guards will create a deliberate weak point in the camp’s perimeter fencing during our ‘maintenance’ and arrange an obvious changing of guard rotations. This will provide you with the opportunity to discover the weakness and rally other prisoners for a coordinated breakout attempt. You’ll be able to claim full credit for organizing the operation when you return to the Eastern forces.”
Wei frowned, his brow furrowing with concern. “And the other prisoners?”
“I am willing to let them escape to secure your safe position back inside your lines. They will genuinely believe they’re attempting a breakout. The mass escape must appear completely authentic to maintain your cover, which means convincing fellow captives to participate while secretly ensuring the attempt succeeds according to our predetermined plan. You will be notified during your next interrogation when the guard changes will happen and where to look for the compromised fencing. From there, it is up to you to ensure the plan works, although know that the guard reaction will be slow and confused, but the guards themselves will not directly know of the escape attempt, to ensure it is authentic.”
“What guarantees do we have that you’ll honor your promises?” Wei asked. “That you won’t simply use us and discard us when convenient?”
Medb met his eyes directly, holding the contact for several heartbeats. “None, beyond my word and the evidence of how we’ve treated you compared to how your empire treats prisoners, and the fact that I know what I know, you have no guarantees. But consider this: if we wanted to eliminate the Eastern threat through pure conquest, we would need decades and hundreds of thousands of lives. If we can destabilize the empire from within, we save both Eastern and Western lives while achieving the same goal.”
“And if we’re discovered?” Min asked bluntly.
“Then you’ll die as martyrs to your cause, which was always the likely outcome of resisting the empire regardless of your methods.” Medb’s tone remained matter-of-fact, neither sugar-coating the reality nor dwelling on the brutality. “The difference is that your deaths might actually accomplish something meaningful rather than simply adding to the count of failed rebels.”
Silence stretched between them as both men wrestled with the decision. Finally, Wei looked at her.
“If we agree to this, there’s no going back,” Wei said. “Once we cross that line, we become something different than what we are.”
“You already made that decision when you learned of the Han resistance and did nothing to stop it and even joined it,” Medb replied. “The only difference is that this time you can actually do something.”
The two prisoners sat in contemplative silence, the weight of decision pressing down on them. Finally, Wei spoke.
“We’ll do it.”
Macedonian Coast, Greece
The landing craft pitched as another waterspout erupted fifty meters off the port bow, close enough to send a sheet of cold spray across the men huddled on deck. The sea, once placid, was a chaos of intersecting wakes and explosions. Modius kept his eyes fixed on the shore. Above the continuous roar of the surf, the sounds of the deeper, percussive impacts of the naval guns were a physical force, a series of shocks that traveled through the boat’s hull and up through the soles of his boots. The Britannian fleet, a line of caravels and schooners standing a kilometer offshore, was engaged in a systematic demolition of the Easterners’ coastal defenses.
He could distinguish the different shell types. Some struck the crude earth-and-timber bunkers directly, the impact fuses detonating with a sharp crack and a burst of black smoke, blowing fortifications apart causing showers of splinters and dirt. Others were airbursts, the timed fuses exploding twenty meters above the trenches, spraying a wide cone of deadly fragments down onto the exposed infantry. It was this second type of shell that was most devastating, clearing entire sections of trench line with each detonation. Return fire from the shore was weak and uncoordinated. A few puffs of white smoke would be followed seconds later by a geyser of water far from any Britannian ship. The Easterner gunnery was abysmal, although moving ships could be a difficult target.
The first wave’s landing craft were already on the beach, dark shapes against the brown strip of rocky ground at the edge of the sea. Through his field glasses, Modius watched legionaries disembark and form up. Squads advanced in a staggered line, one providing covering fire while the other moved forward. They were closing on the first line of trenches. The faint, rapid popping of their lever-action rifles was just audible over the naval gunfire. They were not waiting for the enemy to recover from the bombardment; they were pressing the assault immediately, maintaining the pressure.
He couldn’t wait any longer, climbing down a rope ladder to long boats that had just returned from dropping off the first wave to load up the second. By the time they reached the shore, the first wave had already moved well inland.
Modius was one of the first off the long boat, his cohort splashing through the knee-deep, debris-filled water behind him. The beach was a landscape of destruction. Craters were all along the shore, some large enough to swallow a supply wagon, some just shallow enough to twist an ankle. The wreckage of an Easterner gun emplacement lay half-buried, its cannon barrel bent back on itself like a piece of wilted foliage. He stepped over the still forms of several Eastern soldiers, and sadly, some of his own troops, their padded cotton uniforms soaked and dark. Medics were already at work on the Britannian wounded, their white armbands a stark contrast to the grey of the uniforms and the darker grey of the sky.
He led his men forward, quickly catching up to the first wave, which was more actively engaged. They had already secured the coastal road and were pushing on.
The speed of the initial landing had been exceptional, exceeding even the most optimistic projections. The Easterner defenses, which on paper had looked formidable, had been undermanned and collapsed under the weight of the naval guns and the swift infantry assault that followed.
Over the next thirty minutes, more waves came ashore as the remainder of the lead cohort landed, and then the second, and then a third. It would take the better part of the day to get the full legion on dry land, but a cohort was enough to push inland.
Back on the beach, Modius could see the beginnings of the logistical train coming ashore: mules loaded with ammunition crates were being led up the beach, engineers directing the placement of pontoon sections for a temporary jetty. Order was being imposed on the chaos of the landing zone.
As he was getting his own men organized from the push, and deciding where that push should be, a messenger showed up, delivering orders from the Consul.
The orders were short and simple. Push forward to the mountain pass that separated this low beach area from the inland plains. He’d already known that was an objective, but it was originally planned for the second or third day of the landings, as more men were brought ashore, since the assumption had been it would take them at least a full day to establish a foothold on the coast.
The Consul was taking advantage of their rapid progress and moving the time tables up.
“New orders,” he said when nine of his ten centurions came in for a quick council meeting before getting the men moving. “We’ve had our orders pushed up. The Easterners are on their heels and making a run for the mountain pass. We are to stay on them and hold the pass for the remainder of the legion in support of our push inland. It’s an hour’s march, and you need to push your men hard. The enemy will have sent word of our landings by now, and it won’t take them long to rally reinforcements. They know this land and will know that pass is their best place to hold us, so it’s a race. And I don’t want to lose it. I want your men on the double march in the next ten minutes. Supplies are just coming up, so get what you can before we march out, because we will be operating on our own for a while until the rest of the legion gets organized and comes up to support us. Our orders are to hold the pass until they do. Any questions?”
There were none.
“Move out.”