The Fae Wars: Onslaught

by J. F. Holmes

  The Fae Wars

  Volume One: Onslaught

  by

  J.F. Holmes

  &

  Lucas Marcum

  Chapter 1

  US Army Special Forces (Delta) - Team Gulf Three

  Major David Kincaid, Commanding

  Manhattan, New York City, NY

  15:00 Hours, August 3rd, 2015

  We weren’t really there, of course. For starters, the team wore tactical gear with NYPD ESU, New York City Police Department Emergency Services Unit, the city’s anti-terrorism unit stenciled on the back. Which we weren't, but the cops had been told through Homeland Security that ‘someone’ was doing things in midtown and to stay out of the way. The NYPD were notoriously touchy about Federal Agencies and the military operating on their turf, but the word had been ‘nuke’ and they stepped back. We weren’t DHS either. We were working for the CIA this time, completely off the books. A lot of acronyms that didn’t really mean squat, we were American soldiers carrying out the mission of defending our country.

  Sometimes we were called Delta, short for 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta. Lately the names had been Combat Application Group, Army Compartmentalized Unit, Task Force Green, whatever. We were better than SEAL Team 6 but we kept our mouths shut, the top tier of the military, and blacker than the darkest night. Point was, yeah, the four of us were Delta operators, about to do a ‘no knock’ raid, also known as an assassination, on a high-rise apartment overlooking Central Park in the middle of Manhattan. If that wouldn’t make a Constitutional lawyer shit himself, nothing would. I’m sure that somewhere, probably stuffed in our JAG officers’ desk, was a Presidential Executive Order making this OK. Let the Department of the Army and the Supreme Court fight it out; I was only concerned about the next few minutes.

  One problem with operating this way was a severe lack of support. No tech unit surveilling the place for days ahead of time, no fiber optic cameras slipped through tiny holes in the wall, no lasers recording vibrations on windows. Two of us from G Squadron had trailed the money guy from the UAE to London to NYC and the other two in my little team had followed the scientist and his bodyguard from UC Davis to here. We were out of touch with Joint Special Operations Command, plausible deniability if we got caught. It wasn’t a nuke we were chasing, of course, but something potentially far worse. Doctor Joseph Lee was a Chinese American who was one of the top internet virus researchers in the US, and his contact / money guy / handler was People’s Liberation Army Senior Colonel Jiang Hai. Our intelligence people had supposed that the FBI was getting hot on Lee, and he had demanded a meeting with a senior PLA guy to talk about moving up a cyber attack on the US, probably economic. A warning shot over the latest trade war or something. I didn’t give a shit; we had our orders and as far as I was concerned, we were at war with China. That made them legit targets, and I’d pursue them anywhere, Posse Comitatus or not.

  We stood around the corner, down the hallway. It was on the thirty-eighth floor and we had hot footed it up the stairs instead of getting caught in the elevator. An NYPD guy had made the manager clear the back alley, so we didn’t have to go in vanilla, in civies with pistols. Nope, body armor and suppressed MP-5’s. A 1940s era building, so steel and brick, no over penetration into other apartments.

  I did have the floor plans of the unit from the NYPD SU files and we sat memorizing the layout. When everyone had it, I switched out with SFC Garcia, who did have one of our own fiber optic cameras low down on the edge of the hall. Same situation, two bodyguards chilling, but both alert. No guns visible, so they were being conscious of the fact that they were in a civilian building. Time to use our special weapon.

  I gave Staff Sergeant Hollis the thumbs up. She nodded back and stripped off her NYPD jacket then the body armor. Underneath she wore jeans and a pretty tight T-shirt, the white in soft contrast to her coal black skin. Slipping her Glock into a holster clipped to the rear waistband of her pants and flipping her shirt down over it, she picked up the two boxes of pizza that we had brought with us. Damn that shit smelled good, it was great to be back in my hometown. You can’t get NY thin crust pizza anywhere but the city.

  She walked back into the stairwell as our last man, Master Sergeant Clark, quietly opened the door for her. Down one floor, get on the elevator and then come back up. I heard her voice over the radio, “Set,” and my heart pounded. Calm cool professional my ass.

  I watched the two men through the fiber optic, seeing their reaction when the elevator dinged. Both reached into their suit jackets, and my ass puckered. This was the hard part; they could tell her to fuck off or shoot her. I didn’t think she would be in any real danger; this wasn’t downtown Aden in the middle of the Yemeni civil war. Still, this is why we get the big bucks.

  I could see her pretending to look at an order slip. “I’ve got a pizza delivery for Mister, uh, Lee?”

  “No pizza,” grunted number one.

  “Seriously? Goddammit. The phone number is…” and she reeled off Lee’s California cell phone number. “If I get fucked out on another scam delivery, I’m gonna get fired!” she whined. Hollis was a great actor, which is one of the reasons she was in G Squadron, our clandestine ops unit. I saw them look at each other, then one turned and slid a card key through the door reader. The pizza did smell really good.

  “You wait,” grunted thug one, in heavily accented English. “We check.” When he said it, he leered at her, eyes just about chest height.

  The door popped open and thug two turned to stick his head in to ask a question. I stepped around the corner and put three rounds in the face of the guy who was ogling Hollis. Garcia rolled out behind my right shoulder and put one shot in the head of the guy with his hand on the door, a spray of red blood erupting as it hit low at the base of his neck and blew through his throat. His second round took off the top of the guards’ skull and the body fell forward, blocking the door open.

  Hollis dropped to one knee, simultaneously tossing the pizza boxes and drawing her Glock, firing in through the doorway. POP POP and I heard the thud of a body hitting the floor as a round intersected someone’s central nervous system, I followed Clark down the twenty feet of hallway and he went in first, weapon up and firing at something even as Hollis turned to cover the hallway and elevator. I was two feet from his back, weapon up, and we slow, smooth, fast went through the apartment, Garcia and I taking turns kicking in the doors while Clark bulldozed his way into the main room. There had been five total, the two bodyguards / soldiers, Lee, his girlfriend who was probably his controller and owned this place, and Colonel Hai. The girlfriend, I didn’t remember her name, lay just inside the door, a surprised look on her pretty face and a third eye square in the middle of her forehead. Hollis was a damn good shot and the other round had gone through an open, surprised mouth. Clark had put two in her chest just to make sure.

  I heard Clark’s gun cough two more times and followed him into the living room of the apartment, seeing Doctor Lee tumble backwards onto the arm of the couch lifeless, roll over and fall to the floor. People who have had their brains paint a wall by a 9mm hollow point tend to do that. Colonel Hai immediately raised both hands but the look on his face was one of annoyance. There was no way an NYPD unit was going to pop a Chinese citizen in a swank apartment overlooking Central Park, and he probably thought he had the double protection of being a high ranking foreign military officer. To be honest, he looked more pissed about blood on his suit than scared.

  “I’m assuming,” he said, in perfect Yale accented English, “that you really aren’t from the local police department. Do you mind if I call my Embassy? I can have a driver here in a few minutes, before your clean up team arrives.
”

  “You assume correctly. Major David Kincaid, United States Army, Delta. No need to call anyone, because we want you to take a message back to your bosses in the PLA.”

  “Oh?” asked, “and what message would that be?” eyebrows raising slightly at my telling him my name and unit. I’m sure danger signs were going off in his brain at that, and to be honest, I did it to put some fear in the ice cold son of a bitch.

  “No more fucking around on US soil. And you’re the message.” OK, kind of dramatic, and it broke one of my cardinal rules, no talking shit. Annoyed at myself, I pulled the trigger. One thing I liked about the MP5 is that it had very little barrel climb, so my second round impacted just a little over his hairline, about an inch above the first. Grey matter, blood and bone splattered across the brick wall and his arms flopped lifelessly down. I stepped forward and put another one in his face, then said fuck it and emptied the magazine one round at a time, starting with each eye and moving downward. Sending the message.

  “Hey Major,” said Garcia, standing by the large plate glass window overlooking the park. He was stuffing a slice in his mouth. Never let NY pizza go to waste.

  “What?” I half barked, pumped up as hell; even so I heard Hollis rummaging through luggage in one of the bedrooms. I’m sure Lee’s laptop would be interesting to the NSA.

  “Just come check this out!” he urged, urgently waving me over. There was no time for fucking around, we needed to be out of here just as fast as we came in. Still, I trusted my men.

  I stepped over and looked, then let my weapon fall in its sling. Far below us, right in the middle of Central Park, a black hole rimmed in purple fire was hovering over the baseball field, and there was a goddamned dragon spraying fire at running people, turning them into bright sparks that flared for a moment and then fell to the ground. Around it, black figures marched through in orderly rows, dropping the few feet to the ground like soldiers hitting an LZ from a helo and then fanning out.

  So yeah, we were there when the Fae came.

  Chapter 2

  From the war journals of Lord Thar Tavan, Head of House Tavor, Commander of the Third Army.

  Our attack goes well, several hours in. The humans seem to have been caught by complete surprise. My fears of their ‘technology’ being a match for the power of the Way have proven unfounded. The humans fight hard and well, if not honorably, as I remember. Our casualties have been high among the Yrch slaves taken in the Winter War, but that is of no matter. With pride I send my son northward to press the pursuit and my daughter to seize the bridges to the east, where we expect the most initial military resistance. Soon I shall ride south myself on Orme to harry the enemy. Even as a commander, the slaughter and glory calls me. The return to Terra, or Earth as they now call it, has been a glorious day.

  Tavan sat back, scratched out a line in his journal and rewrote the last sentence. It was a glorious day, and a beautiful summer one, but his nostrils were assaulted by the stench of hydrocarbons. It was an offense to everything natural.

  “Father, I go.” It was a statement made with the self-assuredness of the rash young. His son was a veteran of the Winter War, commanding a company in combat against the rebel Yrch tribes, but he was also a hot head and, to be honest, not a very deep thinker. His path on the Way was the least of Koras’ interests; he wanted blood and glory.

  “Remember your place. You command a Legion now, and someday this very Army, perhaps. I suspect this war will be a long one, and it will be foolish to throw your life away,” said his father. “Or the lives of your soldiers.” The last was a warning; there were only so many elven knights and archers to go around. The slaves, well ...

  Though Koras was quivering with suppressed energy to be up and away, riding on the back of his dragon, he knew better than to rise from his kneeling position. Tavan looked at him long and hard, thinking of the Roman cohort that had slain his own father, driving them back with relentless slaughter. They had come so far in their exploration of the Way, living in exile, but so much was unknown. “Go,” he finally said, and Koras shot upward with excitement, backing away to the proper distance, saluting and then running towards his huddled group of subordinate commanders.

  “Come, daughter,” he said to the slim, mail clad figure waiting patiently. Tavan gestured to a chair in front of him, little more than a stool compared to his field throne, but a high honor. She had been, and always would be, his favorite. “Is your mount ready to carry you to glory?”

  Ellarissa smiled at the thought of Gault, raised by her since a cub. “More eager than I, I will admit. It will be hard to prevent him from the slaughter, once he tastes blood.”

  “Let him. This is war, and the sooner the humans get the message, the less will suffer in the long run. Let the blood flow now so there is peace for future generations.”

  “You say that, but … where is the peace for the Yrch? The Naughrim? The other races that exist no more?” She was always so serious, so like her mother.

  At the thought of his dead wife his face hardened. “Were it not for your counsel, I would slaughter them all, with their technology and pestilence. She has been gone for four hundred years now, and yet every day is another painful memory.”

  “Father, she was a warrior, as are you. There was no way to know that our scout teams would bring back this ‘smallpox’, and eventually our mages defeated it, no? Would she want you to be a hard, angry Elf?” She said it with an imploring smile.

  “Would you rather I just walk in the woods with you and speak with animals? Wars need to be fought, honor satisfied, revenge taken. The humans denied us the world and exiled us to a place of harsh desolation. Never again. Though perhaps, when all is settled, I will take you … what was it you wanted to see?” And a small smile lit his face. He could never stay mad at her.

  “Would you go, Father?” she laughed, clapping her hands together in delight. “I would want to see it all! Do you know they have trees in Cali-fornia that are almost three hundred feet tall? There are great beasts in the ocean that are as wise as Elves and who swim about eating and playing? I would see all of it, spend my time learning and at peace, not playing at war. Walking through the green dales of the mountains in … in … Virginia, yes, that is what it is called.”

  “And this … this is why I trust you to lead the more important attack, east and south to seize the bridges. You understand that someday after war comes peace. Your hot blooded brother, on the other hand …” he trailed off, and they both laughed.

  Ellarissa stood and then kneeled, drawing her war wand, and holding it point down, in the ritual way. “To a short, quick victory, Father, and then healing in our new home. Did you know that the Monarch butterfly travels thousands …”?

  “ENOUGH!” he roared, but he smiled as he did. “Go!”

  She flashed her perfect, delicate grin and stood, looked around at the blue sky far overhead, and took her leave.

  Chapter 3

  US Army Special Forces (Delta) - Team Gulf Three

  TO: ALL US MILITARY FORCES

  NCA MESSAGE FOLLOWS:

  UNKNOWN INVADING FORCES HAVE INITIATED HOSTILITIES WITHIN CONUS AND WORLDWIDE. ALL FORCES ARE ORDERED TO DEFCON TWO. ALL RESERVISTS AND GUARD ARE ACTIVATED. REPORT TO YOUR NEAREST MILITARY INSTALLATION IF POSSIBLE. IF NOT POSSIBLE RENDER AID TO CIVIL AUTHORITIES AND DEFEND IN PLACE. ALL SUBSURFACE AND SURFACE WARFARE UNITS TO PUT TO SEA.

  I looked at the text message on my phone as our feet pounded down the stairs. No shit, sherlock. We burst out of the back entrance into the alley, guns up, not knowing what we would find. The van was still there, a rental loaded with all our heavy shit from the safehouse in Queens. There was some kid trying to jimmy the lock, so I put a three round burst over his head. The dumbass actually drew down on us, probably scared as shit, pulling out a pistol from his saggy waistband and holding it sideways. I knew I should have left Garcia with the van, but this was Midtown, for Christ’s sake, not the South Bronx.

  “Seriously? PU
T IT DOWN!” I yelled. He was shit scared and we didn’t have time for this. Plus even the best operator can die from a bullet from the most incompetent dumbass. Master Sergeant Clark apparently agreed with me, because he kneecapped him, one shot. The kid fell to the ground, howling in pain and I kicked the pistol away from him.

  Hollis knelt, whipping out a pressure bandage and wrapping it around the knee. Then she slapped him, hard across the face and told him to stop being a little bitch, it was as through and through and he’d be fine. While she did that the rest of us took off our NYPD outfits and went full tactical. We had no idea what was going on, but our radios were going apeshit. I ran up the satcom and managed to get through to operations back at Bragg, but he had no info for me. “All I know is we’re on Defcon Two, Major, and orders have come down from JSOC to have all individual units react to their local situation accordingly.” Great, that told me everything and nothing. Just short of nuclear war and jack shit for intel. I was in mid-conversation with him when there was a rush of air and something huge flew overhead. I caught the tail end, literally, of a dragon maneuvering between two buildings and all my coms went dead. The satcom was still lit up, so there was power, but no carrier wave, nothing. At the same time, the police scanner that Garcia was listening to as he donned heavy body armor blipped off.

  “Gimme a comms check on the radios.” I ordered. Nothing. We tried the van radio, FM and AM, no stations. Okay then, we were dealing with an enemy who had jamming capability. A big deal, but we would adapt. First though we find out what the hell was going on, and for that, we had to get up close.

  “OK, plans, people,” I said, taking out my own kit and strapping in. It was our C setup, heavy duty full spectrum war shit. The van was a rental but we had had everything else we needed shipped to the safe house from Bragg the minute we knew where the target might be headed. Call it overreaction on my part, but I have yet to be in a combat situation where overreacting was a bad thing.