by J. F. Holmes
We made it, barely, rolling into the estate with the gas light on. Two guards met us, armed heavy as shit with suppressed SCAR-H’s. There was an actual bunker sited about fifty meters down driveway, with a highly illegal fifty cal machine gun barrel tracking us, and I’m pretty sure a sniper in a hide site somewhere.
“You’re expected and have the run of the east wing. Mister Jameson is away on business, and your security will be provided for.” The guy talking looked really familiar, and I leaned out the window to catch a better glimpse of him.
“Holy shit, been a long time, Sergeant Major. Contracting work been good to you?” He was in his late fifties and had been top dog in one of the SF groups when I was ten years younger.
“Keeps me young, Major. Now if you forget you saw me, I’ll forget I saw you.” He said it in a light tone but he was dead serious.
I handed him one of the thumb drives containing all our intel summaries, a copy of the one I had given to the SEALS. “See that this gets around, CSM.”
He took it and handed me a radio in return. “If anyone shows up, there’s a panic room behind the east library wall. Look for a leatherbound copy of Conan the Barbarian, switch is behind it. Code is 1548. Let us handle everything else,” and waved us in. The last part had been an order.
*****
The Padre showed up late that night with a haunted look on his face. He had gone into the City, into Central Manhattan itself, to collect some info on ‘his people’. He looked drawn and said nothing until he had downed two shots of whiskey. We sat on a balcony high up on a hill overlooking the Long Island Sound and watched the far Connecticut shore.
“There goes Bridgeport,” said the priest. “The remnants of the 1/102 Infantry have held out there since Day Three, a blocking position covering the withdrawal of the Marines from New London. Well, that was last week. The devils have been starving them out just for the fun of it, wouldn’t even take a surrender. I guess tonight was party night for them.” He pointed with a third glass in his hand to a glow on the horizon and we watched the flashes of dragon fire lance downward. He seemed years older and I had only seen him a few days ago.
“Yeah, we seem to have forgotten about the outside world,” I answered him after a bit. “But we can only focus on our own little slice of it.” I filled him in what the SEALS had told me about the big picture and he let out a deep breath.
“I want … I’d like you to meet some people.” He seemed a bit unsure of himself, as if broaching a subject that wasn’t really comfortable with. I motioned him to continue, and he said, “Well, the Society has been underground for a very long time, and we’re reluctant to operate in the open, so to speak.”
“Padre, it’s either now or never. We aren’t going to beat them militarily, and I’ll take anything right we can get. We’ve been hitting them hard but eventually we’ll get ground down. Most insurgencies succeed because they had a friendly, or at least neutral, country to rest, refit and recruit from.” I was finally getting something off my chest that had been eating at me. I had studied warfare and counterinsurgency my whole career, and I knew how it worked. Hell, maybe I had gone about if wrong, letting the Elves settle in and then hit them.
He hesitated again, then said, “Not to change the subject, but …” and he brought out a piece of paper, handing it to me.
“REWARD,” it read in big letters across the top, followed by “INFORMATION REGARDING THE WHEREABOUTS OF THE REBEL DAVID KINCAID AND COMPANIONS.” Underneath was a no shit copy of my military ID picture along with Garcia, Hollis and Clark, followed by the actual reward. “LORDSHIP OF THE TOWN OF FREEPORT ON THE LONG ISLAND OR 50 POUNDS OF GOLD.”
“Crap, those pictures. Our IDs are Top Secret. That means some son of bitch got them into the SIPRNET.” I got angry then, angry as hell. Fucking traitors. “Well, our job just got a lot harder.”
“Yeah, and they’re executing people. You know they razed Coney Island to the ground after your raid on the MCU stadium? Everything south of the Belt parkway. Dragons turned everything to pretty much glass.” He crossed himself, and I swore. “David, I don’t know that the people have the heart to fight a war like that. We’re too … comfortable. We aren’t what we were in World War Two.”
“I know,” I sighed. “But you’d be surprised. We’re just going to have to be smarter.”
He held out his hand for another shot of whiskey. “Last thing. Tavan’s’ brutality isn’t sitting well with the other great houses. His focus on dealing with this insurrection of yours has turned attention away from the conventional fight. Their armies have taken a lot of losses, and he has a ton of manpower tied up in the City. There’s a council next week where they’re going to ask him to cut half his dragon strength over to the Midwestern field command. If you defeat him in single combat, well, his son is much more … rash, and politically weaker than him.”
“And you know this how? Your scrying?” I looked at him, seeing the strain on his face.
He nodded. “I’m getting better, but I’ve almost been caught several times. If they do, well, I’ve felt the tug on my soul already trying to leave my body.”
“Yeah, but, I mean, how the hell am I going to beat him in a fair fight? I took two fencing classes in college, and got my ass handed to me, and he’s probably been doing this since birth. I can knife fight and grapple with the best of them, but swords?” Honestly the idea of getting cut scared the crap out of me. I’ve been shot twice but stabbed or hacked was far more terrifying.
“Let me take care of that. I can get you to a point where you MIGHT have a slim chance, so training starts tomorrow. But about the people I want you to meet, I have several of them staying in a house not too far from here. The Elves have been hunting them, and I’ve been teaching them to mask their signatures.”
I took a swig of my own drink, finally. “People with talent?”
“Yes. Clairvoyants, telekinetic, illusionists, enhancers. More than a few bullshit artists, but a little bit of prayer and some perception and I can usually see through them.”
I was quiet for a moment, thinking more about dueling Tavan than whatever help we might get from some untrained people, however willing. “Take Clark. I’d have you take Hollis, but she’s going to need a few days to recover. Few weeks, more like. Some light duty would be good.”
“The Master Sergeant is a good man, but they need to see you. Like it or not, you’re the leader of this insurgency thing.”
There was a lot to digest, and we both sat there for a long while and watched the lighting flicker and die over the doomed National Guardsmen. Finally I voiced my thoughts. “We can’t win an insurgency right now. Tavan is a complete bastard and could care less how many he kills, but the other houses are concerned about destroying the spoils of war and the fighting against conventional sources. His son is incompetent, and if he inherits, we have more of a chance to hit them hard.”
“Think Edward Longshanks and his son,” said the Padre. “Wallace and Robert the Bruce didn’t stand a chance against the old bastard, but once he died …”
“Yeah. Go, but I hate this shit. I mean, I love a fight, but I hate a war, you know? No one ever wins.” I did, too. Hate it.
He had nothing to say to that, but at my side I heard the whisper of the sword. Power, glory, fame.
Chapter 47
I asked Jones to answer the challenge. I wasn’t worried about his safety, feeling that Tavan would respect a flag of truce to get the answer he craved. Me, well, I started training the next morning., and by that night I felt like I had spent ten rounds in the Octagon with Tim Kennedy.
Behind the house a tennis court set among the pine trees. It made a decent approximation of a dueling ground, giving us room to move around and hidden by trees from casual observation on the road. I did a light workout as the sun rose and then Father Mike joined me, carrying the large shield of a Roman legionary. It was about four feet tall and two across, painted red and gold with the logo of the US Army Special Forces on it.<
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“Nice!” I exclaimed. I picked it up, expecting it to be heavy as crap, but I was surprised by the lack of weight. It lifted easily, with a grip on the inside. “Lighter than I expected.”
“It’ll get heavier as you get deeper into a fight, trust me. Hopefully this will be a quick one. WE don't have time to develop the muscles a real legionnaire had.” He held up a finger. “That’s your number one lesson. The longer this duel goes on, the worse it’s going to go for you. Weight of your sword, armor and shield are going to wear you out.”
“You sound like you’re pretty well versed in this stuff,” I observed.
Mike shrugged, then grinned. “When you take a vow of celibacy, you have to turn your energy somewhere. Now, you say you took a fencing class in college. Let’s disabuse you of some notions. This …” and he picked up another sword, “is as close as correlation to Lord Tavan’s blade that I could come to.”
This one was encased in a hard canvas covered scabbard, with a basket hilt and no curve to it. I drew it out and found it incredibly well balanced. Stamped on the blade were the words US ARMY and the numbers M1913. “Interesting, it doesn’t look like an Army issue sword.” I was used to the ceremonial blades that officers purchased, the M1902 Cavalry Sabre. Never owned one myself, Delta operators didn’t spend much time in Dress Blues.
“This was designed by then Lieutenant George Patton. I trust you’ll be especially careful with that particular blade, please,” he said as I took several experimental swipes and jabs with it. “It’s the original. I stole it from Fort Knox several years ago.”
My eyebrows raised. “Stole it, Padre?”
“I am not always a good man, David, and the Bishop has heard my confession. Now, Engarde!”
He had picked up the shield and held a wooden replica of the gladius in his right hand and Roman helmet on his head. I would come to know and hate that lead weighted replica over the next hour. Placing a rubber cap over the tip of the sabre I could swear to God I hear the sword say, “FUCK!” and a sense of disappointment. Huzzah, magic frigging swords for everyone.
“Why don’t I just use this one?” I asked. “Seems more appropriate.”
“Because Tavan knows the gladius. How old do you think he is? Never mind, just understand that he’s faced similar ones before, and been beaten by them. Now, can we begin?” His tone was patient but hard.
I took up a fencing stance and immediately felt awkward, with no idea what to do with my left hand. In matches you dance in and out with fast strikes, your off handheld back for balance as you mainly used the point to thrust. I tried a tentative stab and my opponent easily batted it away, far faster than I would have expected from the heavier, shorter blade. He grinned, not even moving his shield, leaving himself wide open.
Screw it, and I drove at him, aiming for his sword arm, trying to use the superior length of the sabre to hit his wrist or forearm. The sword pulled back out of reach, throwing me off balance, and the edge of the shield smashed into my extended arm, just above the elbow. I barely kept my grip as I twisted away and the wooden gladius came a hair’s breadth, literally, of smacking me upside the head.
Stepping back I took a moment to work my arm and Father Feradach stood there grinning. Yes, I got mad. I readied my left hand to try the same thing, only this time I was going to grab the edge of the shield to throw him off balance. Instead I got a full body smash that sent me sprawling with the point of the gladius at the base of my neck.
“Remember, lad, your entire body is the weapon, not just the sword. Shield, armor, mass, speed, all of it is one weapon.” He helped me to my feet, and we began again. This time I waited on him coming to me and he advanced slowly, crouched down behind the shield. As he got closer, within striking distance, the gladius flicked out from the side to smack my blade, which I in turn easily batted away. Every time though, my riposte smacked against the edge of the shield. I tried to go over the top, aiming for his head and he turned his face aside, the blade skitting across the metal of the cheek and neck guards. In return I got a whack with the edge of his sword in my ribs that drove the breath out of me.
“Goddammit,” I huffed, “I’ve got almost six inches of reach on you. This shouldn’t be so damn hard.” I hadn’t touched him once.
“To be fair, I’m armored and shielded, you aren’t, but Lord Tavan will be. Though I don’t think he carries a shield. Did you ever see him with one?” he asked.
“No, come to think of it. We can’t assume, though, can we?”
He nodded. “No, we can’t, but there is only so much I can train you for. I’m showing you now that you can win a duel using tools that they won’t expect and will probably laugh at. Again!”
Right. Time for something different. I had some of my own trucks up my sleeve too. I brought the saber in high again, expecting him to turn his head as it slid across the top of the shield. I was going to stab downward with the point as he turned his face away, try to lever the shield down and do another short quick stab at his throat. Instead the shield came down before I even hit it, pinning my foot to the ground and the gladius blade flashed out directly across the top, knocking my blade aside and smashing my safety goggles into my eye, drawing blood. If it had been a real sword, with the full strength of his arm behind it, the point would have completely driven into my eye socket.
“KNOCK IT OFF!” I heard him yell. I had dropped the sword and grabbed the lip of his shield, trying to tear it away from him. In my fury I ignored him, trying hard to get at him, and the wooden sword hit me a stinging flat WHACK across my hip. Then he used the shield again to shove me away from him.
My head cleared as I lay in the ground and I heard high pitched female laughter accompanied by clapping. Staff Sergeant Hollis and the NYPD Sergeant O’Neill stood at the edge of the tennis court. “Aye, lad, the scorn of a woman hurts more sometimes than the kiss of a blade. Now it’s time for you to really learn. Switch out with me.”
I looked over at them both and gave them the finger, both hands, and they laughed again, O’Neill blowing me a kiss. Hollis smiled and said, “Anytime you want to leave the priesthood, Father, you just give me a call. I like your moves.”
I laughed as he blushed furiously and said to me sternly, “No more messing around, time for play is over!”
Chapter 48
That afternoon I drove with the Padre to meet his, well, I didn’t know what to call them. Later, after getting to know them, I called them the Freak Squad. I didn’t mean it in any serious way, and they owned it. I liked them, they were good people and many of them lost their lives in the war.
We met in the upstairs, of all things, a comic book store. What else? There were people who had been shunned their whole lives for showing some kind of magical talent, something that made them ‘odd’ and kept them on the fringes of society. There were five magic users, four men and one woman. Well, three men and a young girl, maybe seventeen or so, with her dad. Father Mike introduced me to all of them. Harley Osman was the girl and Kevin was her dad, along with an old Chinese guy, Dennis Cho, and a Hispanic dude, Raphael Martinez, who had the rough hands of a construction worker. The last one was a pimply faced kid named Vinny Carlucci, somewhere between twenty and thirty who looked like a rock star. He practically had drool coming out of his mouth as he cast sidelong glances at the Osman girl. Oh well, you get what you work with.
“Thank you for coming, everyone,” said Father Mike. “I know getting here was tough with the Elves and orc patrols, but some are better than none. I’d like to introduce you to Dave. He’s a US Army soldier who is exploring ways to use the Elves weapons in our fight against them.”
“With all due respect,” said the girls’ dad, “you said there wouldn’t be any fighting on Harley’s part. If that ain’t true, then we’re out of here. Come on, Harley.”
“Mister Osman,” I said, “I’m not in the business of involving children in war.”
“I’m NOT a child! Don’t be an idiot, dad!” the girl interjected, l
ooking up from her cell phone. Then she looked back down again and began texting furiously.
I sighed; we didn’t need this shit. I walked over to her and took the iPhone out of her hand before she could lock it and looked at the apps she had open.
“Hey!” she shouted, grabbing at it, but I ignored her. One of them was Instagram and I clicked on her feed. There was a selfie of her from just before we got there, this very room, and in the background were the faces of the other three magic users, with me and Father Feradach just coming in the door. #Elvesrock #magicuser. There weren't any ‘likes’ or comments yet. Thank God. I deleted it and then smashed the phone under my boot, making sure it was crushed. I looked up and didn’t see the anger on her dad’s face that I expected; he actually smiled. The girl, on the other hand, lit into me with furious anger. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” she screamed at me, raised her hand and then …
… and then glass sculpture of a dragon rocketed off the wall at my head. I ducked and it sailed past me to shatter on the wall. Grabbing her wrist I pulled her face close to mine and snarled, “If you dad wasn’t here I’d put a bullet in you for what you posted. This meeting is over.”
I felt a strong hand on my shoulder and a calm, slightly accented voice said, “Dave, I think it’s OK. I can sense no magic around here, well the elven kind. I will let you know if they come close with hostile intent.” It was Martinez, and he sounded quite assured.
“If he says that, I believe him,” added Father Mike.
“Yeah,” said the whatever age guy, Vinny, “take your hands off the girl, tough guy.”
I took a deep breath, trying to control my anger. “Ms. Osman,” I said, looking directly at her, “Elves are not ‘cool’ or anything to be admired. They are bloodthirsty killers who, if they knew about your talents, would burn you to the ground. Obviously you have skill, but whether you can use it properly or not is the problem, or if you even want to.”