We advance to the barracks.
There we see there are no remaining enemy forces; all were eliminated or moved elsewhere. The Reaper's scanners don't detect life signs, and thermal cameras show no heat sources either.
"Gentlemen, we'll enter and conduct visual reconnaissance."
The soldiers nodded and advanced together toward the building.
The Firebat stood in front of the door and kicked it with force exceeding 5,000 kN. Splinters flooded the interior like subsonic shrapnel.
He entered with his arms positioned to burn any threat, but there was nothing in sight: only wooden bunk beds and scattered belongings.
A few seconds later the six remaining Marines, the Reaper and I entered.
"Sir, there's nothing here" —Jharls reported.
The group briefly checked the place before abandoning the building.
"Good, we'll go to the slave barracks. Remember: this is a liberation operation. Only shoot hostiles."
"Roger!" —the units responded in unison.
...
POV: Slaves in the barracks (10 minutes before)
"Did you see how the foreman and his escort ran off? I think the quaguers have appeared."
"If so, we're dead, Sarg. In the most disgusting way: food for those demonic beasts."
Two slaves with the appearance of hundred-year-olds (though barely around fifty) conversed. They were the oldest "inhabitants" of the underground mine, enslaved since before the current baron succeeded his deceased father.
The only reason for their longevity was that they weren't human: they belonged to a race of beast-men, specifically bull-men, one of the physically strongest semi-human species.
"Unfortunately, even if they are quaguers we won't be able to defend ourselves. These damn shackles prevent it. We won't even be able to protect our intestines... Only a cruel death awaits us."
...
POV: Marines/Commander (Current time)
When we advanced about 250 meters, we reached another entrance. There were stone steps that we descended about 20 meters.
At the end, 250 meters away, we could see a small group of what could be described as cloth favelas.
That was the slaves' "barracks"...
We approach slowly. The Reaper goes ahead; his sensors detect 23 weak life signals.
(System, do you remember anything about these slaves?)
"Accessing previous host's memories."
The memories arrive like an avalanche:
• Sarg: 50-year-old bull-man (looked 100). Helped me when I could no longer work. Shared his food and water.
• Tull: Another bull-man, younger (about 35 years). Also took care of me.
• They are the reason I came here.
...
POV: Slaves
"Sarg, do you hear those footsteps?"
"Yes, Tull. But they don't sound like quaguers... or like the foreman's boots."
The two bull-men peek between the rags. They see armed figures approaching with never-before-seen armor.
"The baron's soldiers?" —Tull whispers.
"I don't think so. Those armors are... strange" —Sarg responds, focusing on the leader: a young barefoot human in slave clothes, but walking with authority.
"Is it...? It can't be... That young man looks like Giliam."
"Giliam? They executed him yesterday!"
"I know, but..."
The group stops at 50 meters. The young man raises his hand.
...
POV: MC
I see them. My friends. The only ones who helped me when I was dying. Literally.
"Soldiers! Weapons down. Rest position."
"Roger!"
I walk toward the tents alone. My squad watches from behind.
"Sarg! Tull!" —I shout.
Two figures emerge from among the rags. Enormous but skeletal, chains heavier than themselves.
"Giliam?" —Sarg's voice breaks—. "Is it you, boy?"
"Yes, it's me" —I lie technically, but the affection in these memories is real.
I run toward them. Sarg hugs me; his cold chains hit my skin.
"We thought you had died, son."
"They executed you yesterday" —Tull says.
"It was... complicated. But I'm here... And I came for you."
Sarg's eyes fill with tears: "For us? We're just old slaves, Giliam."
"No. You're my family."
"Jharls!" —I call. The sergeant runs over.
"Can you break those chains?"
"Of course, sir."
Jharls takes out a laser cutter. Sarg's chains part like butter.
...
POV: Sarg
My wrists bleed after decades of shackles... but I'm free.
"How is this possible?" —I whisper.
Giliam smiles: "I told you it was complicated."
The soldier frees Tull and then the other 21 slaves: men, women, children. All skeletal, chained and frightened.
Giliam speaks to them with a soft voice: "I'm Giliam! I come to free you. These soldiers are with me. No one will hurt you ever again."
The children cry. The mothers too. The men tremble.
Is it real? Or is it a dream before dying?
...
POV: MC
"Jharls, I need medical supplies."
"Sir, only medical lieutenants carry them."
(System!)
The light surrounds me. I'm in the white room.
"Do you wish to summon medical units?"
"Yes: five medics."
I select the units. When I exit, the five medics appear with me: white suits, shining medical kits.
"Medics deployed, sir" —says one with a clear voice. Her white armor with orange crosses gleams—. "Where are the wounded?"
I point to the freed slaves: "Everyone needs attention. Severe malnutrition, infected wounds, trauma."
The medics disperse. Scanners, modified stimpacks and nutritional serums appear.
"By all the heavens!" —one exclaims—. "What did they do to them?"
"Slavery" —I respond dryly.
...
POV: Tull
A medic passes a blue device over my body. "Beep... beep..."
"Severe malnutrition. Critical anemia. Poorly healed fractures."
He applies a green serum to my arm. It doesn't hurt, just a slight tingling.
Suddenly, I feel energy: as if I had eaten. For the first time in years I feel strong!
"What was that?"
"Concentrated nutritional serum. Equivalent to a week of food."
I look at the others: children who stop crying, mothers who smile... For the first time in decades.
...
POV: MC
In 30 minutes, everyone is stabilized and fed.
"Verdict, doctor?"
"Everyone will survive, sir. But they need a week of recovery."
I approach Sarg and Tull, now stronger.
"Listen everyone! Now you're free... but I need your help."
Sarg nods: "Whatever you need, son."
"Do you know the location of the baron's other mines?"
An older woman steps forward:
"Yes. There are three more in the fief: two underground like this one, and one on a mountainside where they extract gold and iron... I was an administrator at one."
(The other slaves don't look at her with hatred; she's been with them for 20 years).
"Well, at least there were three before my sentence... I don't know if the baron opened others."
"It doesn't matter. It's enough. We'll get more information liberating our brothers" —I say, using mass rhetoric (something you learn reading the Communist Manifesto).
I see Sarg and the others nod with bright eyes. The demi-humans endured abuse better without breaking, unlike the 6-8 humans who didn't survive much here.
"Jharls! Prepare the squad. We'll leave the mine in 10 minutes. Send the Reaper on reconnaissance: if he finds resistance, he retreats firing. Clear?"
"Roger!" —Jharls and the Reaper respond.
(Respecting chain of command is always good).
"Sergeant, I see no enemies in sight. Reconnaissance completed according to Commander's guidelines" —the Reaper communicates with Jharls and requests instructions.
The sergeant indicates he should retreat and report directly.
...
POV: Group
The ex-slaves finished collecting their meager belongings.
Jharls remains at my side (even in controlled territory). The other Marines and Firebat watch entrances/exits. The three medical lieutenants finished stabilizing the sick and administering nutritional solutions.
Minutes later, Jharls receives the scout's transmission:
"Commander, the Reaper will return in 5 minutes. He completed reconnaissance and infiltration; he'll give his report in person."
(Understood, sergeant... Why not by radio?)
"Sir, protocols dictate minimum radio contact during infiltration."
(I know it's not condescension, but it feels like it... Though the Marines are impeccably courteous).
...
The Reaper arrives, salutes and reports with military precision (as if his "training" lasted years, not seconds!):
"Sir, the tunnel behind the camp winds 2 km and exits onto a plain. I detected no significant thermal signatures, only minor fauna... and vehicle wheel tracks."
(Damn bastards! Freedom was 2 km away... without rear guards. Only the shackles prevented our escape) —I think, choked by the irony.
...
POV: Jharls
(The Commander is furious... He was a slave here. Knowing freedom was so close without rear protection unleashes complex feelings...)
"Sergeant! Gather the troops. Protection formation: non-combatants are maximum priority. Clear?"
"Roger!" —I respond—. "But sir, you are a non-combatant and our priority..."
"Enough! I carry your sidearm: that makes me a combatant. March!"
...
POV: Sarg/Tull
Sarg perfectly understood Giliam and Tull: years of mistreatment, yearning for freedom.
Tull was literally snorting; steam came from his nostrils. His hooves pounded the earth while he imagined annihilating the humans who hid the nearby exit from them (more cruel than all the abuse!).
Sarg placed a heavy hand on his shoulder:
"Breathe, boy. Anger clouds the horns... Today we need clarity."
Tull dug his hooves into earth, but nodded. His gaze met Giliam's: in those youthful eyes he saw his rage converted into purpose. They weren't broken slaves; they were a closed fist.
Giliam felt the weight of that gaze. He remembered nights where Sarg shared his water or Tull covered him with straw. The scars from their shackles were now medals. The debt would be paid with fire.
...
POV: MC
The real Giliam's memories flooded me: desperation, hopes of freedom slowly dying, conviction that escape was useless...
(But let's forget it. It's time to continue).
I turn toward Jharls with a subtle apologetic nod. He reciprocates: he understands my burst of anger.
"Gentlemen! March. Dispersed advance formation" —I address the Firebat—. "You, as maximum CQC, lead the way. Everyone: fingers on triggers, safeties off! Everything the IFF detects as 'non-based_data' or similar: assume enemy. Shoot first, investigate later. Understood?"
"Roger!" —the immediate response resounds.
Everyone nods. We move.