by J. F. Holmes
I could have yelled GO into the radio but the explosion was a good enough signal. There’s not a hell of a lot of difference between a designated marksman in a rifle squad and serious hunter, especially if that hunter is a veteran who has pulled a trigger on a human being before. The fact that their targets weren’t human helped. The guards around the stadium, probably around two dozen patrolling the perimeter led by an Elf on one of those nonflying lizard things, were hammered by fifty rifles, from fancy tricked out AR-15s to wooden stock M-1 Garand’s. The later probably did the most damage, the heavier thirty caliber rounds punching through armor. A half dozen orcs survived and went to cover, popping up and firing arrows at us. To be honest, the orcs sucked at archery, and they only tried once or twice, losing another soldier before stopping and cowering. That was the weakness of medieval infantry, their effective range was about five feet.
The Elf on the lizard reared it up on hind legs, rounds sparking off a shield, drew a sword and pointed at the nearest building, a cafe across the street from the stadium entrance where a half dozen rifles were barking. The orcs ran out and hid behind the shield and they charged forward. I saw my riflemen abandon the building and threw the truck into gear.
We passed the charging Elf with his infantry and O’Neill leaned out the window to give him the finger. I reached over and yanked her back in as a bolt of lightning ripped the side view mirror off “OK,” she said, eyes wide, “that was stupid.”
“No shit!” I said, then laughed as I worked to control the wheel and the heavily laden truck. Behind us the Elf was having a hard time controlling his orcs and seemed unable to make up his mind, chase us or the riflemen. He guessed wrong and spun his mount to chase after us. Well, guessed wrong for us. The beast was quick and started to gain on our van.
We had reconned the hell out of this place over the last few days and knew what they had as far as troops. The orcs were taken care of, the QRF was gone, and we had a few minutes before they got their shit together at the rail yard. A wild, crazy urge ran over me and I slammed on the brakes.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!” O’Neill screamed.
I opened the door, bailed out and yelled back at her, “DRIVE!” then I turned my back on her, drew the Gladius and ran around the side of the truck just as the lizard thing came up on us. My whole soul sang with joy of combat and my arm felt strong and true. The lizard hit the back of the truck with a bang, shoving it forward just as O’Neill hit the gas. It stumbled, exposing a long neck. I stabbed one handed but put all my strength into it and the blade went straight into the flesh, six inches of bright shining steel coming out through the scales on the other side. The lizard went apeshit and started whipping around, yanking the sword out of my hand and the feeling of power and joy vanished.
The Elf jumped lightly off the saddle and landed on his feet, drawing a wand and pointing it at me. The smile was cruel and angry as the lizard thing finished its death throes behind him and reached for the .45 on my leg holster. He nodded his head up and down, said in elvish, “Go for it,” and pointed the wand at my face from four feet away.
“YEIL-” he started to say and the back of his head exploded at the same time a little read mark appeared on his cheekbone. Like all creatures that have just had their brains scrambled by a high velocity bullet punch through their brain stem, he fell backwards like a puppet with its strings cut.
“You. are. a. fucking ASSHOLE!” yelled O’Neill in my ear.
I looked at her angry face and the still smoking FN 5.7 in her hand, then down at the dead Elf. The wand still glowed and I didn’t pick it up. As far as I was concerned it was unexploded ordnance. “Shannon, you are absolutely right. I’m sorry,” I said in a small voice. “Still, you have to admit, it was pretty goddamn cool.” There was no answer, she was already walking back to the truck. I knelt and dragged the gladius out of the lizards’ neck, and it was just a sword now, blood lust satiated.
The rest was pretty easy, actually, though it’s going to take a lot of dirt to fill the crater our truck left in the middle of the field. I think, instead, after we win this war, they should just turn it into a national memorial for the thousand or so Americans who died there, shattered into tiny pieces of marble, God rest their souls.
Chapter 41
From the war journals of Lord Thar Tavan, Head of House Tavor, Commander of the Third Legion.
The key to a peaceful society is for everyone to know their place, from Lord to slave. These people practice some insane thing called “democracy” where the population decides who will rule them, for a set amount of time. They also do not know when they are defeated. Admirable, but it just leads me to kill more and more of them. They do not understand threats, and Faran tells me that Kincaid is heavily involved. I had hoped to meet him on the field of battle or under my knife in the dungeon, but now the hunt for him begins.
The Mayor rambled on and Tavan grew increasingly bored. He was tempted to draw his sword and behead this human, right in front of his armsmen. No, as tempting as it might be, “His Honor” had been a calming influence to many of the people of the city, and perhaps this ceremony would go further. The idea of combining the human ‘police’ with the People’s warriors and Yrch to patrol the city had been a good one. He would let him live, for now. Instead he turned his attention to the buildings around him, studying the architecture that surrounded City Hall.
****
In the front row a patrolman sweated in the July head. He felt weak, still feeling pain from the arrow wound that he had received on the first day. His will was fine, though, and his anger and hate burned bright. “Piece of shit,” he muttered.
The man standing next to him said out of the side of his mouth, “Take it easy, Mulcahy. Serve and protect the people of New York City, not ass kissers like the Mayor.” His precinct sergeant still wore a bloody bandage on his neck, a week after the fighting had officially ended in the city. He wouldn’t have turned his head anyway; the thousand odd remaining NYPD cops stood in front of City Hall, eyes forward and at attention. Ceremony was ceremony.
“... and I have, on this day, signed a peace treaty, in my capacity as the elected leader of the City of New York. Lord Tavan of the House of Tavor has agreed to declare Manhattan an open city, with free passage of non-combatant humans for the conduct of business and trade. As you know, commerce has always been at the heart of this great city, and …” the Mayor droned on.
“GADDAMED TRAITOR IS WHAT YOU ARE!” shouted a woman from the otherwise silent crowd of civilians, interrupting the speech. “YA FRIGGING ELF WHORE!”
Her shout changed to a loud scream that slowly died out as her skin turned grey. It was Lord Tavan himself who stared at her, showing off his power. The screech died to a whisper and she stood a living statue. The Elf smiled a cruel smile, and there was no answer to it. The Mayor was pale; he understood the deal he had made with the Elves, for above him, crouched on the roof of the stone building, was a red dragon. At a word from his new lord, the Battle Mage controlling it would unleash fire on the unwilling civilians who had been rounded up for this show.
“I would ask you,” said the Mayor to the assembled policemen, ‘to remember the oath you swore when you put on the blue uniform. We need a return to law and order, and with your help, we will put the last few weeks aside and show the resilience and toughness that New Yorkers are famed for.”
“Are you ready, Mulcahy?” asked the man to his other side. “You don't have to do this.”
“No, sarge, I’m sure,” the patrolman muttered back quietly. “I died with my family. God will forgive me and I’ll see them again.”
“OK. Be quick, and the luck of your ancestors be with you.” And nothing else was said.
The pipe band began playing, their wails echoing off the concrete canyons. It wasn’t the traditional Scotland the Brave, but another tune. One that his friend in the NYPD band was playing for him, and him only. It took a minute to recognize it, but then Mulcahy finally smiled. Fields of A
therny. That would do.
“PASS IN REVIEW!” shouted the only surviving chief, and New York's’ Finest filed out by rank to walk in step across the front of the podium, each to be handed a new badge. This one bore the crest of the House of Tavor above the symbols of the City of New York.
Officer Mulcahy was, by design, towards the end of the row. He felt no fear, only calm, and he said a half forgotten prayer from his days as an altar boy. “Our Father, who art in heaven …” but his thoughts turned to Maria and Jenny. Both burnt down in their home in Brooklyn when an F-18 had run into a bolt of fire over the Verrazano Narrows. The pilot of the stricken plane had headed directly for the closest dragon he could, and Mulcahy had watched them tumbling down together as he helped civilians onto an overloaded Staten Island ferry. He hadn’t known it at the time, but he saw the tail fins mixed with the dragon’s wings amidst the cinders of his city block three days later when he made it home.
He mounted the steps of the podium, one by one, with a smile on his face. You bastards, he thought to himself as he passed the gleaming swordsman at the head of the stairs. Outwardly he smiled and nodded, and the elven trooper even nodded back. Step by step, closer. Three more officers took their badges, and he slowed, feigning a wound, to put space between himself and the next man. Maybe he would get away, but it didn’t matter at that point.
There was a BOOM that echoed around the tall buildings, and the guard that he had nodded to was hammered backwards, the big .50 caliber sniper round hammering into, but not through, his silvered breastplate. The Mayor, Lord Tavan and the mage next to him providing a spell shield, turned their heads, and in that instant, Michael Francis Xavier Mulcahy moved. He dove between the Mayor and the Elf Lord, screaming “FREEDOM!” at the top of his lungs and let go of the deadmans’ switch he had held closed in his hand. In the instant before the ten pounds of C-4 exploded, he saw Maria and Jenny standing in front of him, and he smiled.
*****
Tavan stood shaking as his bodyguard rushed to surround him. He had seen the man running and thrown up his shield at the last moment. The proximity of the explosion had knocked him down but he had escaped serious harm, even though the Mayor and his staff were scattered around lifeless. The Elf Lord motioned to the Battle Mage who had already commanded the dragon to take to the air. The creature swooped downward and as it did it caught a stretch of monofilament fishing line that was stretched between two buildings. Not noticed by the huge beast or its rider, the line snapped as it pulled out pins of several claymore directional mines two floors below. Both went off with an echoing double CRACK! and the shield of the mage flickered as twelve hundred steel pellets ripped at them. She pulled up on the reins, unscathed, and her head exploded as the .50 caliber round punched through her defenses. The dragon went mad and started spraying flame around the buildings, the dead mage flopping around.
*****
“Time to jet!” shouted Clark as flame washed over what had been the podium. Little figures burned like match heads and there was a rattle of gunfire a half dozen ESU cops opened up with automatic rifles, courtesy of Sergeant O’Neill. They were firing at extremely long range from rooftops and balconies, adding to the mayhem and keeping the Elves heads down, covering for the humans running away.
Hollis stopped for a second and kissed him. “That was awesome.”
Chapter 42
US Army Special Forces (Delta) - Team Gulf Three
Next thing was their leadership. Keep them off balance, and cause dissension. That meant Lord Tavan, and I had a personal score to settle with him. Then his son, Kavor, who I had found out was a number one all around asshole. I had plans for him, but Tavan himself was too powerful for a direct attack. Anything we threw at him would bounce right off his magic.
“Tor,” I asked the dwarf as we sat at a kitchen table in Riverdale up in the Bronx. Three Irish construction workers lounged outside the brownstone, keeping an eye out for elvish patrols.
“Aye,” he said, shoving a huge bar of chocolate into his mouth and washing it down in one gulp with a 40oz bottle of Olde English.
“Your taste in beer sucks.” I was assembling a detonator, wiring up a prepaid cell phone. The towers had gone back online and cell service was restored to most of the city. On the other hand, the internet had gone out. They even had someone knuckleheads running the Smart Talk office and network. I could call in and get a phone activated. Of course, there was no service outside of the local area, and that was a big question mark. What human shit stain was working with these guys to set up the coms? Not the average telecom workers, but some executive must have stepped up to manage the whole thing. Whomever that was had shot to the top of my hit list, right under the Mayor.
“Ye have no idea how good this is. Your taste in ale leans towards piss,” and he belched.
“Well, is the job done?” I asked him. To argue about beer was dancing around the real issue.
He paused, drummed his thick fingers on the table, then said, “I ken do it. That’s a marvel of stonework, it is. There’s three of them tunnels, aye?”
“Yes, and the entire city’s water supply goes through them. I want the water to Manhattan shut off.”
“Dinna matter, lad.” Another beer, then, “The Elves have a whole river running past them. They can use that to feed everyone, if they need. The only people you’ll be hurting would be your own, those who still live in the glass mountain.” He used his own name for the pile of steel, brick, glass and stone that made up the island.
“That’s my point. The more uninhabitable we make it, the more uncomfortable it is for them, the more they’ll resent the Elves. Can they clean enough river water for a million people?”
He nodded, “Aye, but ‘twill be a strain. Magic is expendable, you know, and requires energy, that’s why they took your,” and he held up his fingers in air quotes, “nuclear power plant. That’s what you should be going after. If ye give me permission, in a week I can tunnel under the reactor housing and breach it.” It was funny but his accent almost disappeared when he spoke of technical matters, especially when he started speaking in the technical terms he had devoured from our books.
“No frigging way, stubby,” said Hollis. She was cleaning the Barrett, which we did faithfully every day. Weapons were supposed to be on the way from SOCOM, but this was all we had right now, and no place to zero the scope. “I explained radiation before, and you just don’t seem to get it. Poison most of Westchester county.”
“I don’t ken how your, um, scientists, can play with such elemental forces and have no real control over them. You are all madmen, you humans.” It was a familiar teasing back and forth; Hollis and Tor were thick as thieves.
“What about the other part? Using the tunnel for transport?” I prompted him.
“Um, well, maybe, if you ken get yer hands on some water breathing magic at first. After a few months, I suppose they’ll be dry enough to walk through, but it would be an arduous task. The shafts go down hundreds of feet.”
“OK,” I said, “scratch that. How long to dig a tunnel under the Harlem River? We’re going to need our own way to get on and off the island with weapons and munitions.”
“There’s good bedrock there, mighty fine to work with. I can do a dwarf high tunnel in say two weeks. Human high, twice as long,” he said, doing some kind of calculations in his head.
“Human high two abreast,” I answered.
“Two months,” he said flatly. “And I need a mage for the demolition. Like I said, good granite.”
“And if you had help?” I asked, a smile on my face.
His own showed a startled look. “Did one of my own people come to ye? I’ve not talked to them yet.”
“So to speak.” I looked at my watch, 13:30. My contact should be here. Sure enough, a call over the radio from one of our guards and the front door opening and closing.
The man who came in was dark as night and had tight, dreadlocked hair and with a broad smile. He shook my hand, kissed Hol
lis on either cheek, then sat across from Tor. They stared at each other for a moment, then our visitor introduced himself. “Good day to you, wee mon. Though you ain’t really a mon, are you?”
“Call me one again and I’ll show you what my axe can do, lad. But I smell the rock on you.” Tor held out his hand like I had taught him, and Garnett Hooms, sandhog from a very long line of sandhogs, took it.
“Let’s leave them to sniff each other’s asses and pee on the table leg,” said Hollis. And we did. There was a lot of planning to do, and more people to meet. We wanted to hit the Elves where they lived.
Despite the Elf and orc patrols, things had gotten rough in the city. We knew that there was still fighting going on between the Army and the Elves out in the rest of the US, but it seemed to have shifted west and south, and was getting more and more desperate. Here in the city there was a brutal gang war going on without the cops to break heads and certain parts seemed to have become their own little fiefdoms. Little Odessa, Washington Heights, a few others had come to accommodation with the occupiers, usually where there was a strong ethnic enclave. It seems the Elves didn’t give a shit how you ran things if you didn’t give them any trouble, and paid allegiance. I had been in touch with Zivcovic, and we were working together on weapons and plans, but he had his people to think of.