The Fae Wars: Onslaught

by J. F. Holmes

  There was a ripple of laughter from the Russians, and every single one raised their hand. “Great, give me twenty men, see the Master Sergeant. He’s your boss for now. Next, here’s how the ambush is going to happen …” and I launched into my plan.

  On either side of the off ramps were several tall buildings that overlooked the approaches to the bridge. I put Fox company in the north one and Gulf in the south. Their only job was to shoot every single damn thing that made its way into the kill zone.

  “What about amphibious attack?” said a grizzled man from Friedman’s’ contingent. “The river isn’t much wider than the Suez, and the Egyptians breached that easily.”

  “We’ve seen no capability of that yet, but keep an eye out,” I answered. “There’s only so many things we can prepare for. Now, let’s get to work, and use the time wisely.”

  At that moment, a Jeep Cherokee pulled up, followed by an NYPD cop car, lights flashing. Two figures jumped out and a broad smile appeared on my face. Master Sergeant Clark and Staff Sergeant Hollis came jogging over, Hollis unwounded but Clark with a large bandage across one eye. I upped our chances from nothing to next to nothing. The other person that stepped out of the cop car was a cleaned up Sergeant O'Neill, in NYPD SU tactical gear.

  She came up as I was giving Hollis a bear hug. “What are you doing here?” I asked, kinda at a loss.

  “I’m your liaison with any city services you need,” she said, giving a Hollis a look. “You know this guy? He thinks he’s Superman.”

  “It’s my job to remind him he’s not,” said Hollis bluntly.

  O'Neill grinned and said, “I like you.”

  “You two can kiss later. Right now, Shannon, I need someone who can drive a truck. Here’s my plan…” and I outlined my final defense.

  She at first looked shocked, then grinned. “Well, if that’s what you want, I’ll see what I can do. Peace out, Army bitches!” And she jumped back in the squad car, leaving a trail of burnt rubber.

  Hollis smiled and said, “You disappear, and a green-eyed redhead with a foul mouth reappears with you. It’s Poland all over again.”

  “She was blond, and no, this is different!” I protested.

  Then Clark looked around and asked, “Where’s Emilio?” I shook my head and he sighed. “Well, dammit.”

  “Yeah, and we’ve got a lot of work to do. You two are going to be my company commanders. Hollis, you take the Hasidim, and Clark, you get the Russians.”

  “The what?” both said at the same time.

  “First Brooklyn volunteers,” and I quickly filled them in.

  We were interrupted by Lt. Wells, who came over yelling my name, braking to a stop and starting to throw a salute, then dropping it. “Sir, there’s a … there’s a column coming across the bridge with a white flag at the head.”

  I left him standing there and jumped in the Humvee, with Clark and Hollis beside me. It felt good to be back with my team again, even if we were going to be separated soon enough, and Hollis hammered on the gas. The guy up in the turret had no idea what was going on but he traversed the gun and racked a round.

  We went up the off ramp to the barricade that was being constructed. As far as I knew, we still had forces on the south end of Manhattan, and in fact I could see the Staten Island Ferry just pulling out of the terminal, the deck jammed with refugees. It was just past the bow of a destroyer or frigate that was sticking up out of the water, a gigantic oil slick around it. My tired eyes thought I could see people in the water around the ferry terminal, and I realized that they were trying to swim for it. Jesus.

  Apparently we still held the far end of the bridge, because I could see a group of Humvees and NYPD cars blocking it off. Then I saw that none of the figures around them were moving. They were in combat positions, but stock still. Instead a column of people, civilians and soldiers, were slowly walking down the roadway. At their head was a score of orcs, a half dozen Elves, several other creatures that I couldn’t identify, and the same asshole that had knocked me the hell out last night. Or was it two nights ago? It was getting hazy.

  About a hundred feet in front walked a small figure carrying a white cloth on a stick. Gnome? Goblin? No frigging idea. The column stopped and the creature walked forward, waving the white flag. I ripped a piece of paper out of the -10 maintenance manual that was sitting on the radio, closest thing I could find that was white and stepped out of the truck.

  “Are you out of your freaking mind?” said Hollis, teeth clenched.

  I had a hunch that I would be safe while they were under the white flag. “If I get smoked, or suddenly stand very still, shoot that motherfucker in the fancy armor. As many times as you can while you GTFO.”

  “Got it,” said Clark, “I know who he is.” He took his Barrett and climbed up on the roof, lying down next to the .50 gunner.

  I walked forward until I was about thirty feet from the emissary and said, “Say your piece.”

  “I speak English,” it said.

  “I see that. Relay this to your master. You are to all lay down arms and surrender and you will be treated to all terms of the Geneva Convention while reparations are negotiated. Then you will leave this world.” Go big or go home.

  “Are you the military commander of the forces that defend this city? You wear the gold oak leaf of a major, so I assume not. Tell YOUR master that my Lord wishes to discuss your surrender terms. To show our goodwill we are willing to release these prisoners. You have one hour to produce your master to affirm these terms. We guarantee safe passage of one flying machine.”

  I was so-o-o-o-o tempted to tell him to kiss my ass, but this really wasn’t my call. It was LTC Flynn’s, or someone higher than him. “One hour, understood. Meanwhile, send your prisoners over the bridge.”

  “I think not. Here is something to give impetus to your surrender. Every five minutes we will throw a prisoner off this bridge.” There was a little bit of glee in his voice.

  “If one kid is hurt, mouth, I’m going to kill you. Maybe not now, but someday, when you least expect it.” I meant it, too.

  In response he held up his right hand, one claw-like finger extended. Far behind us a woman screamed and started to struggle as two orcs grabbed her and threw her over the railing.

  “YOU SON OF A BITCH!” I yelled and started to raise my rifle, then dropped it. I’d be dead about .5 seconds after I shot him, if it even worked.

  The goblin lowered his hand and said, “You have fifty nine minutes, Major. Go get your commander.”

  “Remember what I said. Do you have a name?” I asked coldly.

  “You may call me … Grimalt of Foran. Who are you?” he replied in the same tone.

  “David Kincaid, of Clan Kincaid. From the City of New York.”

  “Ah,” he grinned, showing shark teeth, “so this is personal!”

  “Bet your ass it is. Start counting your days, shithead.” With that I turned and jogged back to the Humvee. Clark climbed down and I leaned in to talk to Hollis.

  “Get to the 69th TOC and tell Flynn that they want to talk to him about terms. They want us to surrender or they start slaughtering prisoners. He can take a helo or whatever, he’s got no time.” To punctuate my words there was another scream, this time a man, and then a splash far below.

  “NOW!” I barked, and she put it in gear, spinning the truck around.

  Clark stood next to me, idly holding the Barrett. “Want me to pop the little shit?” he asked casually.

  “No, he’s mine. Dunno when, but I’ll get him.”

  And we waited.

  Chapter 20

  Flynn was, for a National Guard officer, pretty damned experienced. A couple of tours in the Mideast as an infantry officer will do that to you, and he knew the city like the back of his hand. Still, I thought command of the overall situation would have been given to a full bird colonel or even a one star. I didn’t know it then but dragons had hit the 42nd Infantry TOC as it set up in the Bronx, torching everyone inside. He w
as the highest ranking combat officer left in the city, with the 10th Mountain HQ gone to defend Boston.

  He got there in about thirty minutes. True to Grimalt’s word, a dozen prisoners had been thrown over the side. Each one’s screams had been another black mark on my soul. Flynn said nothing, just got out with his personal security detail and started walking across the bridge, making a motion for me to follow. Behind us a sergeant carried a case with a long pole sticking out of one end. When we got close enough, Grimalt and the Elf lord, or whatever he was, stepped forward, accompanied by some seriously big ass knights and one immense … thing, carrying a mace the size of a tree trunk. Behind them I recognized the woman who was riding the bear down 48th St.

  “I am Lord Tavan of Foran,” said big shithead. Little shithead, Grimalt, said nothing. Big shithead wore plate mail with some kind of tunic over it, and one of the knights carried a banner, the same one I had seen outside the big tent in Central Park. So, corps commander. Same guy who had been riding the big ass dragon and who had kicked me in the head.

  Flynn commented, “You speak English.”

  “Languages are simple to a master of the Ways. Now, I will have your surrender and your people may live. You can conduct your commerce as before, acknowledging us as your masters. Give it not, and the city burns.”

  “What about the safety of civilians trapped in Manhattan?”

  Tavan shrugged. “You need not concern yourself with my slaves.”

  “And if we fight?” asked Flynn.

  The Elf said nothing, but the big troll turned and swung his club. Three of the prisoners were hammered down into the pavement, bones crunching, without even a chance to scream.

  “You know, I saw assholes like you in Iraq,” replied Flynn with contempt in his voice. “Drunk on power, not really having a clue about the actual meaning of leadership and governance. Thinking that might makes right. Regardless, I don’t have the authority to turn over the city to you. Sure, I could surrender my command, but somehow I don’t think they would listen to me. We’re a stubborn bunch, us New Yorkers.” He turned to me and said, “Would you, Major?”

  “Surrender? Fuck no. Never.”

  Flynn turned back to Lord Shithead. “So you see, Tavan, or whoever the hell you are, you'll have to fight and it’s gonna hurt. A lot. Remember that rulers who throw away their subjects' lives tend to eventually lose their heads, and Americans have NEVER bent the knee. So póg mo thóin.”

  “The old language!” smirked the Elf. “We have fought your people before, Celt, and we will do it again, and this time triumph. The People are far more powerful than you can dream. Prepare as best you can, and pray to your gods, if they haven’t completely deserted you over these thousands of years.”

  I had no idea what the hell that was about, but he had his answer. Behind us the green and gold of the 69th Regimental flag unfurled at the top of the eastern bridge caisson, under the Stars and Stripes. Tavan bowed, Flynn ignored him, and we started to make our way back to the waiting Humvees. That’s when the prisoners started screaming. I went to turn and I felt an iron grip on my arm, Flynn stopping me from looking back.

  “It’s what they want, the satisfaction of seeing us be weak. There’s nothing we can do for the civilians now, Major Kincaid. Just fight like hell until we can get the rest of the city evacuated. You have your orders, and make sure you get that fight on video. This is going to be a long war.” He left me at the Humvee, and I didn't see him again, ever.

  *****

  They waited until the sun was setting, backlighting the Manhattan skyline. Everyone was as set as they could be and given the extra time I shifted some platoons around to other buildings. Later in the day we did see one aircraft, an F-22 very high up, probably thirty thousand feet or so. It was merely a speck leaving a contrail, but lances of fire reached up into the sky, pencil thin and creating a woven net in the air, impossible to avoid. There was a flash and then the jet arched down towards the Bronx, the pilot riding it down. There was no chute.

  That was the only presence of outside military assistance we saw that day. I was later to learn that the battle for Washington, DC, was in full swing, the 3rd Infantry Division making a hard push to take back the capitol. We lost three aircraft carriers that day; New York City was just a sideshow.

  “You know,” said Clark, peering through his binoculars, “this is going to set us back a thousand years, no matter what happens. How the hell are we going to beat these guys?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Hollis. “Let me see that magic ring of yours, Major.”

  I slid it off my finger and handed it over. She looked at it and then slipped it on, then she played a video on her phone. One of the first things we had done was to rig up a generator to charge our phones. Pictures and videos, even if we couldn’t transmit, were still of intelligence value.

  “OK, so I can’t understand shit of what they’re saying.” She turned the screen to me, and it showed a scene from their fight at the subway entrance. Screams and battle cries could be heard, and that beautiful female Elf shouting things from atop her bear. I didn’t understand them either. Hollis said, “Now, wearing the ring, I can tell he’s just shouting orders. Flank, attack, charge, all that shit.”

  “We already knew that, the ring translates,” I said.

  “Yes and no. It doesn’t translate a speaker’s words, like a human interpreter. It translates everything in audible distance, but only for the wearer. So it’s an area effect object.”

  “What’s your point?” Clark asked, still watching, taking notes on ranges.

  She sighed loudly and said, “The point is, old man, that we are going to need to focus on their technology, or whatever you want to call it. Obviously some of it is innate, but other things, like this ring, we can use, or figure out how they're made. If we capture one of their higher ups, we can force him to make these things for us.”

  “I wish that dwarf was here. He could tell us a hell of a lot.” I did wish he was; I liked his pragmatic attitude.

  “Wish in one hand, shit in the other,” replied Clark.

  The sun went down and across the river a noise started. Drums, big thunderous things that reminded me of those huge Japanese war drums. BOOM-BOOM, BOOM-BOOM, on and on. “They’re coming,” said Clark flatly, and Hollis started the truck. As I watched through binoculars from the hood of my Humvee, the first troops appeared on the bridge, rows on rows of orcs, led by orcs riding on wolves, I shit you not.

  “OK, hit it,” I signaled by flag to one of the sergeants at our small command post. He flipped several switches and spotlights glared down from the rooftops, full in the face of the enemy. We had stolen them from MCU park where the Brooklyn Cyclones played baseball. One smaller one shone on the two flags waving in the summer breeze. Then another switch, and the pipes started playing, the March of Cambreadth, booming from loudspeakers. Fuck them, we could play psychological warfare too.

  “Let’s go!” I shouted, and Hollis stepped on the gas. We charged forward into the teeth of the enemy cavalry.

  As bolts of fire whipped out at us, I wondered if this actually WAS a good plan. An uparmored Humvee isn’t exactly a race car and can’t really turn on a dime. Or a quarter. Or even a dollar. As the commander, I wasn’t exactly supposed to be doing stupid shit like this either, but I had to, because I couldn’t trust anyone but the three of us to execute it. I trusted Hollis as driver and Clark had replaced the kid on the .50 caliber. Off to our right struggled a five ton, shifting through the gears, one soldier driving. As we got closer I heard Clark open up, the hot brass raining down occasionally into the truck as Hollis swerved to avoid incoming fire. I didn’t have shit to do for the present, and that was the worst part of it. Instead I kept my eye on the driver of the other truck. She had a death grip on the steering wheel, the heavily loaded truck struggling to keep up with ours, her face looking like a skull as she gritted her teeth.

  I had thought hard about the engineers who had been kil
led by the Elves detonating their own explosives on them as they tried to wire the bridges. Apparently it had been done by someone on a dragon keeping an eye on them from a distance. I was counting on the chaos of our approach to allow us to get closer than that. Still, I saw the motion of wings rising up from the buildings on the far side of the bridge, and yelled, “NOW!”

  Hollis stood on the brakes, eliciting a grunt from Clark, and the other truck swung in front of us. The driver’s door flew open and she felt out, rolling across the pavement as the truck continued towards the approaching enemy. I saw her arm splay at an awkward angle and heard her scream over the roar of the engines. Slamming the door open I ran to grab her as arrows showered down around us. Before I went half the distance one plunged down and pinned her to the tarmac, cutting off her scream. I grabbed her harness anyway and pulled, but she was completely dead weight, literally. Letting her go I hauled ass to the waiting truck even as the LMTV caught fire from some magic shit. I dove into the open door, my helmet smacking into the radio mount, and almost fell out again as Hollis spun the wheel and gunned it. When she straightened out the door slammed shut on my leg and I cursed in pain as I tried to maneuver it shut.

  With a gigantic WHOOMP and a rush of heat that I could feel wash over me, the two thousand gallons of gasoline, soap and Styrofoam mixture exploded as an RPG from the barricade crashed into the five ton. It wasn’t to take down the bridge, or even really damage the roadway and make it impassible. Instead the pursuing cavalry was caught square in the middle of it, turning them into so many match heads. The first ranks of the following infantry, too, were showered with sticky globs of makeshift napalm and the fire burned merrily in the evening gloom.