by J. F. Holmes
I was almost at 7th Avenue when I heard something else I expected, the whine of turbojet engines clawing through the air as Tomahawk missiles darted through the canyons, doing a side run while the bombers occupied the Elves’ attention. Yeah, we were going to hurt them, but the Air Force was screwed. They should have led with the Tommys and then done a bomb run, worn out the magic users, but what did they know? The US had enjoyed air superiority for so long, I think they might have been panicking. Some four star general in a bunker in Colorado being asked to do the impossible, and things must have been popping off all over if they were trying to stop it right here in Central Park, but the funny thing was, there were no ground units to support such an action. A limited invasion would have been met outside urban areas, allowing maneuver units to assemble and engage their main force after being softened up by the Air Force. If those portals were everywhere, though…
I made a snap decision right then. If we just threw away a hundred billion dollars’ worth of aircraft on a gamble, then I’m pretty sure the US was screwed, unless we started throwing nukes. THAT wasn’t going to happen in any major cities, so I was safe enough for a while. First things first, though, food. I was running on nervous energy, maybe had a concussion and sure as shit I was going to wake up bruised all over from duking it out. I was thirty three years old, not nineteen, and had been running and gunning, first as a Ranger, then in Delta, for fifteen years. That crap adds up.
Less than a mile away explosions started all over Central Park. I couldn't see them, but I sure as shit could feel them through the soles of my feet. Time to get someplace where I could do some battle damage assessment in the morning. How I would pass the info on, who knew, but it might give me an idea of what we were up against. Yeah, we were screwed, but I had sworn an oath and didn’t know the meaning of quit. The area around me was deserted except for some assholes clearing out a jewelry shop a block away. I ignored them and they ignored me as I cautiously passed by on my way back to Sixth Avenue. First, see if there were any indication if Hollis and Clark had survived. Then, find a decent OP and get some rest, and I had a pretty good idea of where I could find an open apartment with a good view. Along the way I passed a news stand, shuttered and locked, but the dagger popped the padlock and I grabbed a few bottles of water and half a dozen candy bars. As I did, I tried the dagger edge on the aluminum of the wall, and it cut through easily. I suspected it would do a number on steel, too, and it did, shaving a bit off the chain. Damn, I would have to hang onto this, but it made me wonder about the metallurgy of the people we were up against, never mind the magic shit.
I came up to Sixth again and the broad avenue was deserted, not a soul in sight. Quite a few bodies, though, mostly human civilians cut down by swords and arrows or burned, tons of cars too. A few blocks north was an anthill of activity as the last Tomahawks hammered into their targets, and even as I looked, purple domes of light flickered and faded out, the need for protective shields done. Mother of God, right now would be the perfect time to hit the beachhead, or whatever you called it, with the First Armored Division. Shit in one hand, wish in the other, see what fills up first. A glance over my shoulder, southward, showed more fires burning, obscuring the view. Taking a deep, smoke-tinged breath, I ran across the avenue and slid in behind a parked car, dagger up and waiting to stab.
There was nothing except a dozen orc bodies and one Elf, stripped of his weapons and armor. The entrance to the subway was glazed over with some kind of web, grey strands blocking any entrance or exit. OK, so the bad guys weren’t stupid then. I had hoped that maybe we could use the tunnels to move around, get behind them, but hope was not, as my cadre in Ranger School once pounded into me, a plan. I didn’t see any human bodies, which was good, although they could have been down in the entrance or been carried off to be eaten. What I DID see was a shitload of brass casings, first behind a car, then at the entrance. 7.62, and a couple of .50 caliber from the Barrett. My hands also found a small, sticky puddle which my nose instantly recognized as blood. Someone was hit, hopefully not too badly. Nothing I could do about it, so I put it away. Then I saw in the dim reflected firelight three .50 casings, in a line as if someone had placed them there. Crouching down I looked along the line and saw nothing one way, then the other way a bus shelter, one of those two walled and roofed plastic things with a bench inside. Knife out, I slowly made my way over to find … nothing. Dammit, but that would have been too easy. This wasn’t Call of Duty, with weapons and loot crates lying around, and the only reason they would have abandoned the sniper rifle was if they couldn’t carry it due to wounds.
I jumped up and caught the edge of the shelter, about eight feet up, and exhaustedly pulled myself on top of it. Yep, there it was. The bipod was bent and there was a score along the barrel, but otherwise it looked OK. Over to one side, as if thrown separately, was a magazine. I gently lowered it down, hoping not to hit the sight and knock it out of alignment any worse than it was, and followed it down to the ground. Now what to do with it? The whole thing weighed almost thirty pounds, heavy as a 240 machine gun, and was pretty much useless to me right now. I put it over my shoulder and proceeded down the side street, heading towards Seventh Avenue. I passed an alley and cut down it, finding a parked car, a Toyota Camry, I think. Using the pommel of the knife I hammered out the driver’s side window, reached in and opened the door as the alarm wailed. Then I popped the trunk lever and dropped the Barrett into it, slamming it shut. I’m pretty sure the car wasn’t going anywhere soon, but I slit all four tires to make sure and disconnected the battery, easily cutting through the negative cable. Then I headed out into the night, northward, towards the bad guys, through a weirdly empty, darkened Manhattan. Back to where it all started, less than a day ago.
As I walked, I thought a bit about the unreality of what the last few hours had brought. Alien creatures, looking like something from Earth’s myths and fantasy fiction, had invaded New York City, and by extension, the United States. I was calling them orcs and Elves, but that was just a place holder so my mind could grapple with the unreality. The magic, well, any technology far in advance of ours was magic, so to speak, and it seemed to rely on energy. Apply enough force to it, and it would bend or break, or wear out. Problem was, outside of nuclear weapons, I wasn’t sure all the military on Earth had enough force. I had seen an F-22 swatted from the sky and lightning destroy high tech stealth bombers. True, we had killed a dragon, but I supposed that Mister Badass riding had been low on whatever magic tech power he had. And I had gotten lucky with those two Elves. They had been noobs, for sure; Lord Badass wouldn’t have walked into that alley, just blasted the fuck out of it. Another thing was the ‘orcs’. They were eating humans but left me alone after I killed some Elves. I had recognized respect from one veteran soldier to another in that laugh, and whatever their working relationship, he hadn’t given a shit about the Elves I had killed, once he knew they could get away with it.
These thoughts ran through my mind as I carefully made my way through shadows and back alleys, at one point hiding under a stopped city bus as a patrol went past. One part of me was in the here and now, responding to threats. The other was in the past, collating information for use later. There was no use thinking of the absurdity of it all. I was a member of the most elite unit in the U.S. military, and there was a mission in front of me. First, survive, then assess, then act.
I made it without incident, just as dawn was breaking, to the back door of the luxury apartment building that this had all started from, what seemed like a lifetime ago. No sign of the kid Hollis had shot and the fire door was still slightly ajar, so I slipped into the darkened stairwell and started upwards.
Chapter 9
From the war journals of Lord Thar Tavan, Head of House Tavor, Commander of the Third Legion.
The air attack before dawn was almost our undoing and delayed the conquest of this island by at least a day. I had not anticipated the amount of sheer energy we would have to deal with, and though ou
r defenses held our mages were exhausted. Farn of the Minor House Utha was so set upon while walking the Way that his heart burst asunder. I have given his son a last name, ‘Aiwenor’ in the low tongue.
The culling goes well, and we have begun to send slaves as tribute to the King of Summer. Fighting has moved north, to the “Bronx”, (such uncouth names) and my son is as ever in the forefront. We are ignoring the south for now aside from sending dragons to harass the fleeing civilians. I am aware of the gathering of their forces to the East and do not begrudge them the time. The stronger the foe, the more the glory.
“To the air, then,” muttered Tavan to himself. He stood from the table, done issuing commands to his staff. “If the enemy can use it, then so shall I. Hurte, prepare a war dragon, a Red, please.” His flunky ran from the tent to give his own orders, power and bullshit running downhill.
Tavan closed his eyes focused on his daughter and an image sprang to mind. She stood high in the shoulders of her bear, watching her troops push slowly towards the center of resistance by the local militia. They were pushing into a maze of streets south of a broad avenue and taking a lot of casualties trying to cross it. Then as he watched a human stepped out into the street. He was an older man with strange eyes and bronze skin, and Tavan felt a sense of danger flood through him. This human … was … dangerous, in a way that he had not felt in centuries. “THAT ONE!” his mind screamed, and he saw Ellarissa turn her head. She smiled and pointed her wand, unleashing a bolt of pure energy.
It shot out across Canal Street and struck the old man, who had raised and crossed his arms. To Tavan’s amazement the spell bolt splashed around him, leaving the human unharmed. He started to raise his own hands in Ellarissa’s direction, cold red flames dancing in his palms, and Tavan made a mental scream, a shout so loud it caused all the Elves in that area to feel it in their heads. He needn't have bothered, Ellarissa smiled and whipped her hands around, making her own shield, and the ball of fire that erupted out of the man’s hands winked out on contact. “TAKE HIM!” she yelled, and half a dozen orcs charged across the street towards the old man. There was a burst of pyrotechnics and smoke and the human disappeared. Their commander cursed and turned her attention back to the main fight as Type 82 assault rifle fire crashed into the orc ranks. The Triad members, veterans of vicious gang fighting, charged forward with swords and pistols, to be met with a roar of approval by the orcs and flashing blades.
“So,” hissed Tavan. “There are some humans who still use the Way. I shall have to talk to Frastan. Later.” He entered the dragon stable and climbed on the Red that was being held by five stewards. The dragon hissed and eyed him malevolently; this one had not been trained, only broken. He called on the Way, forcing his will onto it, and the eyes went dull as he climbed into the saddle. Some riders eschewed strapping in, but Tavan hadn’t reached his great age by being a fool and he expertly buckled into the harness.
*****
Just south of Staten Island the USS Anzio was keeping station, its powerful phased radar scanning the skies over the City. She had slipped in at night to try and get some intel on the situation. The Air Force has blown it yesterday but there HAD to be something they could do.
“Sir, CIC reports a large air contact, moving at about seventy knots, heading south. Range twelve kilometers. We can engage at any time.”
“ID?” asked the XO. They had no idea what was going on, but the memory of the Vincennes shooting down an Iranian airliner.
“Unknown, but no IFF,” came the reply.
Captain Joan Haverstrom sat in her chair, pondering the ships’ next move. SATCOM had stopped the moment the ship had entered the Lower Bay, cutting them off from higher, but the radar was still functioning. Boats of all descriptions had been passing them by, some ferrying people off Staten Island and others headed out to sea. She could see traffic jams on the roads, fires burning. A faint smell of smoke hovered in the air and tension filled the Bridge.
“Ahead one quarter, bring us around the edge of the island. Let's see what’s going on in the Narrows. Weapons hold on the SAMS and spin up the CIWS.”
*****
The wind whistled through the wings of the Red and Tavan felt alive, as he always did when flying. He passed over the south end of the island, drinking in the screams and fear echoing up from the crowd of refugees fleeing over the bridges. Gunfire rattled and spell bursts flashed as he pulled on the reins, curving downward and over two large ships that were crowded with people.
“Ellarissa,” he called from his mind.
“Yes, father?” she answered, her thoughts sounding tired, and he swore to himself that as soon as the humans were subdued, he would dismiss her from the army. For now, though, she was too powerful a user of the Way to spare.
“You have done enough today. Have your troops hold at that cross street you are on. Let the human refugees pass through your lines, they will be a burden on the defenders.”
“Yes, Father,” and he let her go about her business.
Over the water now he wrestled the beast downward until the wings formed a cushion of air above the waves, greatly increasing his speed. Past a giant statue of a woman holding a torch high in the air, aiming a ship riding at anchor in the bay. With a fierce cry he spoke a word and the dragon grew warm under him, the fire building, and the fire burst out in a long thin line.
******
“Speed increased to 150 kph, altitude JESUS, ON THE DECK!” shouted the young radar operator.
“Weapons free,” ordered the Captain, who had come down into the CIC.
*****
The line of fire intersected the Liquid Gas Carrier BW Volans on the port side, easily slicing through the hull plates and into the quarter full tanks. The Volans had been unloading when the invasion had started and her crew had moved her out of the Bayonne Terminal as a safety measure, then promptly fled to shore. When the dragon fire breached the tanks the liquid gas erupted in an explosion equivalent to a ten-kiloton bomb, an enormous fireball that billowed up above the New Jersey skyline.
Tavan shouted with joy and rode the burning thermals high in the air, the dragon almost uncontrollable as it soaked in the flames. As he rose he saw a long grey shape moving up through the water, a deep wake behind it. Then from the front of the ship there was a spark and a projectile rushed towards him at incredible speed. Tavan used all his will to twist the dragon, staggering in midair and then folding its wings, diving forward into the rapidly fading flames. The projectile exploded just past him and metal ripped through the air, several punching through the membranes of the dragons’ wings.
Fear and excitement shot through Tavan and he aimed the dragon at the ship. This was what he had been seeking, an enemy worthy of him. He screamed his war cry even as the cruiser erupted in a blaze of fire, a ripsaw buzzing that threw a wildly waving lance of fire at him. His war wand was in his hand and he threw an illusion of himself high into the sky, diving even lower until the dragon’s wingtips touched the water with each beat. To his amazement the waving line of fire tracked lower, ignoring the illusion. Then it stopped chasing him, passing just over his head and he drove the dragon straight at the bow of the wildly maneuvering ship. Up and over and he pulled on the reins. The dragon’s neck arched back and then forward, spitting out a lance of fire that crashed into the slab of the forward superstructure then poured over the 5” gun as it swiveled toward him.
The dragon fire heated the steel cherry red and melted the aluminum components of the superstructure, burning right through and into the ship compartments. The ready rounds in the 5’ detonated, firecrackers next to a roaring inferno, but the crewmen inside were already dead. Throughout the ship alarms raged and lighting failed while crewmen scrambled through the smoke and fear to reach exit hatches.
Tavan laughed; this was better than slaying one of the great wild drakes of the far north. He guided the beast down the side of the ship, running fire along the length and leaving it a blazing hulk. As he flew away, the missiles in
their vertical launch containers blew, shattering the hull and driving the ship down to the bottom of the shallow bay. A pall of smoke and steam hung over the water and Tavan yelled in exaltation. To celebrate his victory, he turned his dragon towards the small boats that were trying to flee the scene and started setting them on fire, each one flaring like matches next to a blazing inferno.
Chapter 10
US Army Special Forces (Delta) - Team Gulf Three
The two bodyguards were still lying in the hallway in pools of blood, flies buzzing around their wounds. I searched them and took two Glock 22 pistols and a total of six magazines of .40 caliber pistol rounds. Not my favorite choice, as I preferred a .45, but it would do.
The girl lay there, her face pale and starting to bloat, the surprised look still under the extra eye. She had been young, mid-twenties, probably all excited to be in the game, not really understanding the consequences of losing. She had a 5.82mm QSZ-92 in a holster strapped to her leg, under her dress. Little idiot, that was a dumb ass place to put a full-sized pistol, uncomfortable, hard to get at and way overpowered for any situation she might find herself in. Plus a dead giveaway if she had been stopped by the cops in NYC. I grimaced as I pulled it out because she had shit and pissed herself when she died. There’s no dignity in death, and she was probably going to lay here a very long time. I didn’t care about the bodyguards; they both looked like bruisers who had been in the business for a while. This, though … I sighed and found a towel in the kitchen, draping it across those pretty eyes. I would have closed them but rigor had set in. What a frigging waste, but then war was a cruel god that demanded sacrifice of the young.