The Fae Wars: The Fall

by Lucas Marcum

The general nodded and was silent for a long moment, then said, “Sergeant, I have a job for you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Acevedo replied.

  “Live.” His hand squeezed hers tightly. “You have to live.” His breaths were shallow and ragged. “Tell Helen that I miss her and love her.”

  “I will.” Acevedo felt the man’s grip loosen slightly. “I promise.” Durok stood like a statue, both armored hands on the hilt of his massive sword, the point in the ground. CJ had emerged from the SUV and was leaning silently against the fender, her eyes closed, and her head bowed.

  The man took a ragged breath. Acevedo glanced up. The horizon was bright now, the sunrise only moments away. For a long time, he was silent.

  Abruptly he said, “Pennsylvania. God, I love this state. It’s beautiful.” He was silent for a long time, and Acevedo thought he might have fallen asleep, when he suddenly spoke again. “We’ve had some of our greatest military triumphs and tragedies in Pennsylvania. The defeats in the Revolution. The dark winter at Valley Forge. The victory that saved the Union at Gettysburg.” He coughed and was silent for a moment, then added, “I wonder what this one will be?”

  Squeezing him tightly, Acevedo replied, “Sir, as long as we’re alive, this fight ain’t over.”

  “It’s not…” the general began, then his voice trailed off. His head came to rest on the sergeant’s shoulder, his eyes locked on the rising sun. His hand lay weakly in hers, and she squeezed it tightly.

  Acevedo wrapped an arm around the man and held him tightly. “Go to sleep, sir. You did your job. I’ll take it from here.” She felt the man’s body relax, and his breathing ease and eventually stop. For a long time, she sat there in the morning light, holding the man. Durok bowed his head silently. A few moments later, CJ walked up, crouched next to Acevedo, and helped her up. She guided her to the front seat of the SUV and wrapped her in a battered wool blanket. Before she knew it, she was asleep.

  -15-

  “End of the Beginning”

  Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

  Acevedo woke as the vehicle stopped. Blearily, she raised her head and looked around. Working her mouth and feeling the sticky, disgusting feel, she asked, “Where are we?”

  Glancing over at her, CJ replied, “About 15 minutes from Gettysburg.” She indicated ahead of the vehicle with her head. “This is your stop.”

  Sitting up, Acevedo peered out the windshield, shading her eyes from the brilliant sunlight with her hand. Ahead of them, she saw a column of people, mostly in civilian clothes. They walked slowly, heading towards the town. Here and there a dazed soldier in a US Army uniform could be seen, slowly shuffling along. Mothers and fathers carried children. A few people clutched small suitcases and bags of belongings. Occasionally a dog could be seen trudging along on a leash or clutched by a blank-faced owner.

  “What is this?” Acevedo asked, worried.

  “A refugee column, I think. Since the surrender, the elves have been saying Gettysburg is a displaced persons center. Everyone who doesn’t have a place to go in the area is to head there.”

  “Why am I getting out here?” Acevedo demanded, now fully awake. “I don’t want to.”

  “Me and the big fella have been talking since we dropped the captain off at the hospital in Hershey.” She glanced over her shoulder at Durok, who was squeezed into the rear seat. “We think you’ll be safer if you melt in with these guys and tell the authorities you got separated from your unit someplace.”

  “Why? I don’t think…” Acevedo started.

  “Little Warrior,” Durok interrupted, his voice firm, “you are part of a group that captured or killed three nobles of House T’Mar and destroyed a dragonship.” He nodded once, indicating the slim black woman behind the wheel, and added, “She explained to me that the equivalent for you would be if someone killed three senators and blew up an aircraft carrier.” His dark eyes bored into hers. “You must survive. If you continue with me, you will not.” He pointed an armored finger at CJ. “And with what she plans to do, you will not last long with her either.”

  “I don’t care,” Acevedo retorted defiantly. “I’m not leaving you two, and you can’t make me.”

  Durok shrugged. “No, we cannot make you. As I have noted, human females are singularly stubborn creatures.” He leaned forward and opened a massive hand. In it lay a single silver ring and a dog tag with faint, rust brown stains highlighting the pressed letters. “You were asked to return these, and return them you shall. It is your duty.”

  Bowling her head, Acevedo was silent for a long time. When she looked up, her eyes were bright with tears. She replied bitterly, “You manipulative fuck. That’s not fair.” Her tone was low.

  “It wasn’t his idea, kiddo,” CJ interjected gently. “I know your type. My ex-wife is like you. Once she sets her mind on something, there’s no shaking her loose.” Her brown eyes shone sadly. “I knew you’d made a promise, and you aren’t the promise breakin’ type.”

  “You are not, Little Warrior.” Durok reached out and placed O’Malley’s wedding ring and dog tag in Acevedo’s palm, then wrapped her hand closed around it. “Now go. Join the column. Get back to your home and family. Live your life.”

  “How can I?” Acevedo looked up. Her eyes were bright with tears. “Everyone I started this with is dead. My friends are dead. I’m the only one left. How can I go on?”

  Reaching over, CJ grabbed both of Acevedo’s hands. “Listen, kiddo. They won the first round, but this ain’t over. Aren’t you from Philly?” Acevedo nodded, tears streaming down her face. CJ squeezed her hands tightly and smiled gently. “Well, did Rocky stay down when he was hit?”

  “I don’t know,” Acevedo replied, her voice quavering. “I’ve never seen it.”

  CJ rolled her eyes and laughed. “And you call yourself a Philadelphian.” She shook her clasped hands gently. “You’re going to get in that column over there. You’re going to do what it takes to get home. Then, you’re going to wash your face, get a good night’s sleep, and watch Rocky.” She released a hand, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a piece of paper. “Then, you’re gonna email me at this address, and we’re gonna go from there.”

  “Go where?” Acevedo asked, taking the scrap of paper. She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  “Plan the insurgency, of course.” CJ grinned, “Was it over when the Alamo fell?”

  “I don’t know.” Acevedo shook her head slowly. “Didn’t they all die?”

  “Yes, but they inspired a nation! Their sacrifice galvanized the people to free Texas!” CJ looked at Durok. “Back me up here, big guy.”

  “I know not of this battle,” Durok rumbled, “but I do know the sacrifices of the five war clans of the Americans will be sung about for millennia. Of the bravery of the sky soldiers and the stubborn resistance of the militia against overwhelming odds. Tales will be told of the daring of the knights of the air and the grim resistance of the gladiators in their steel war beasts.” He looked at Acevedo, his tone firm, “They will sing of how a group of their warriors destroyed a dragonship and killed the Lord of a Great House.” He gently patted her hand. “The legend of the humans and their warriors will never die.”

  “See? He gets it.” CJ looked back at Acevedo. “Now scoot, darlin’. Me and the big fella got a few stops to make on our way back to Texas.” She grinned evilly and raised her eyebrows conspiratorially at Durok.

  Acevedo looked at Durok for a long moment, then opened her mouth to speak. Durok smiled, his tusks gleaming. “No words, Little Warrior. We will see each other again, in this life or the next. Be it on the battlefield of tomorrow slaying elfkin, or in Ma’Krosh’s halls feasting for eternity, our time together is not finished.”

  Acevedo smiled and climbed up on her knees, leaned over, and hugged the orc. He gently hugged back. After a long moment, he released her and tapped the starfield and stripes scratched into his battered armor. “E pluribus unum, Sergeant Olivia Acevedo.”

  “Goodbye, Durok,” Aceve
do replied. “Take care of yourself, and kill some elves for me.”

  “A thousand times a thousand, Little Warrior.”

  Sitting back in the front seat, she took a deep breath and put her hand on the door handle. She looked at CJ. The woman reached over, gripped Acevedo’s hand, and kissed the back of it, then pressed it to her cheek for a moment. She smiled and said gently, “Take care of yourself, babe.”

  Acevedo opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunlight. The battered SUV pulled around in a tight turn, heading back the way they’d came. One of CJ’s arms waved cheerily out the window as they drove off. In a few moments they were gone, and she was alone.

  Acevedo turned around and walked slowly towards the stream of people walking down the road, her mind blank. The only things she had left of her equipment were her ID tags, boots, and the small pouch full of recovered dog tags O’Malley had carried since those horrible early days.

  Ahead of her she could hear murmuring, then someone said, “Here it comes again. Listen.” About 10 feet in front of her, she could see a silver Subaru pulled off to the side of the road. The hatch was open, and a small TV was playing. Curious, she stepped up and watched as the seal of the United States displayed.

  After a few seconds, a calm voice announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States.”

  A figure stepped to the podium. The familiar sharp suit, perfect haircut, and smooth walk made him instantly recognizable: it was the president of the United States. He spoke, his even baritone soothing and compassionate at the same time.

  “My fellow Americans. It is with a heavy heart that I appear before you today. Our nation has suffered a tragedy the likes of which we have never before seen in human history. Our mighty nation has been tested, tried, and found wanting. The servicemen of the Army and Navy, Air Force and Marines have fought valiantly. They gave everything we asked, and more, but this is not a battle that can be won. It is in this light that in order to spare our people and our country further death and destruction, in my capacity as commander in chief, I have declared a ceasefire for all armed forces of the United States. Furthermore, I have directed the secretary of state to open negotiations with the Council of Lords to determine our future as we move from this disastrous war to healing and peace in cooperation with the Elven Imperium….”

  A deep surge of anger washed over Acevedo, and she turned and walked rapidly, shouldering people aside. The president continued speaking, but she ignored it. Walking quickly, she saw the lines of people converging on a building. A sign nearby read ‘Refugee Relocation Center’, with an arrow pointing to a nearby Marriott Hotel. Another sign read ‘Service Members’, with a sign pointing to a smaller hotel across the street. Hesitating, she considered for a moment, then sighed. It wasn’t like her DNA and fingerprints weren’t on file with the Army anyway—she might as well come clean. She followed the sign towards the smaller hotel across the street. Several Humvees were parked out front, and several larger trucks were lined up in the side parking lot.

  Walking in the front door, she saw a folding table set up. A specialist with dark bags under her eyes was sitting there. A major with his arm in a sling stood behind her, speaking to a staff sergeant. Both were looking at a clipboard.

  The specialist looked up. “Soldier?”

  “Yeah,” Acevedo replied. “Do I check in here?”

  “Yeah. Name, rank, and last four.” The soldier looked back down at her form.

  “Acevedo, Olivia, sergeant, 2269.”

  “How many in your unit?” The specialist was missing her name tape, Acevedo noted distractedly.

  “Just me,” she replied flatly.

  “Any weapons?” the specialist asked, not looking up from her clipboard.

  “Nope.” The anger inside her was bubbling over as the specialist continued.

  “Unit of assignment?”

  The anger burst from Acevedo like a dam breaking and she erupted, “First of all, you little shit, I am a goddamn NCO. When you address me, it will be ‘Sergeant Acevedo’, ‘Yes, Sergeant’, or ‘No, Sergeant’. We might not have won, but you are an American soldier, and you will damn well start acting like it!”

  Stunned, the specialist looked up at her with wide eyes, then burst into tears. The major behind the soldier looked up at this outburst, then patted the specialist on the shoulder. “Take a break, Lewis.” He lowered himself into the chair, wincing as he did. “Sorry about that, Sergeant. Specialist Lewis had it rough.”

  “She ain’t the only one, sir,” Acevedo replied angrily, “but we’ve got to keep our shit together.”

  “I guess,” the officer replied. “It doesn’t matter a lot right now. Word is, once they count noses, the elves are sending us all home.”

  Stunned, Acevedo stared at the man for a few seconds, then asked, “What?”

  “Yeah. They say they don’t want any more trouble, and we’re all allowed to go home. The Army isn’t disbanded entirely, but it’s going to be scaled back and used for internal security until we stabilize things. They’re asking for volunteers to help find lost soldiers.” He looked at the glass doors. In the distance, an elven officer led a platoon of black-armored orc soldiers by at a fast march. The major lowered his voice and added, “Between you and me, there’s no way in hell I’m working for those pointy-eared little fucks.”

  Ripping off the bottom of the sheet, the major handed it to her. In a business-like tone, he said, “This is a transportation chit. The trucks to Philly leave on the hour. Hit the casualty affairs office, then get on the next one. Once you’re there, you’ll be out-processed.”

  Slowly reaching out and taking the paper, she shook her head and said to herself, “It can’t be over…”

  The major, overhearing this, replied, “For now, it is. Maybe someday…” He glanced up at the doors again and cautiously amended, “Well. Maybe someday.” He pointed to the hall to the left. “Casualty affairs is through there; buses are to the left. If you need a meal, the Red Cross is set up in the ballroom.”

  Nodding wearily, she followed the signs for casualty affairs. The room was lined with laptop computers set on folding tables. Cables snaked up into the ceiling. As she stepped into the room, a plump female staff sergeant with silver hair who looked like she was about 50 looked up from her computer. Her name tape read ‘Kenny’.

  She said in a friendly voice, “Have a seat, soldier.” Acevedo did as she was told, sitting in front of the nearest computer.

  The staff sergeant gave instructions in a clear, kind voice. “What you do is you put in the name, rank, and as much info as you have about any soldiers you know are dead or wounded. It goes into a database, so we have something to go off of later.” She tapped a key and added, “You have anyone to report?”

  Silently, Acevedo held out the pouch full of dog tags. The sergeant took it and looked inside. After a second, she looked back up. Her face was somber. “Dead?”

  “Yeah.”

  The woman looked down again, then zipped the pouch. “I can put these in for you. Why don’t you go get something to eat from the Red Cross?”

  “I want to look someone up first,” Acevedo replied.

  “Take all the time you need.” Kenny replied.

  Nodding silently, Acevedo tapped the name entry and typed ‘O’Malley, Zachary’ and hit enter. Seeing three names pop up, she leaned closer and squinted at the screen. One was a private in the Air Force, the other a Department of the Army civilian. The third…O’Malley, Zachary Thomas, CPT, MEDCOM. With a sigh, she clicked on the name. The screen loaded, and a series of info displayed.

  NAME: O’MALLEY, ZACHARY THOMAS

  BRANCH/COMPO: USAR/TPU

  RANK: CPT

  GRADE: O3

  DODID: 4458656552

  DUTY STATUS: WIA

  UNIT ASSIGNMENT: 652 MEDLOG, 338 MED BRIGADE, 3rd MEDCOM

  BRIEF REPORT: RECOVERED BY MORTUARY AFFAIRS TEAM; ALIVE BUT CRITICAL. TRANSFERRED LEVEL 1 TO UMPC MERCY (Pittsburg) FOR
TRAUMA CARE.

  NOK NOTIFICATION: YES

  RTD DATE: Indeterminate.

  Overwhelmed, Acevedo lay her head down on the desk and closed her eyes. A few seconds later, she smelled something and looked up. The chubby staff sergeant stood next to her uncertainly with a plate. It was loaded with a chicken sandwich, biscuits, and salad. In her other hand, she held a Styrofoam cup. Sheepishly, she looked at the food. “We got plenty, so I went and got you a plate. We expected a lot more soldiers than we got, so there’s extra. This is from a local place here in Gettysburg. Been around since the Civil War, one of them said.” She laughed nervously and set the plate down. “Anyway. Here you go.”

  Unable to remember her last meal, Acevedo picked up the sandwich and took a bite. The taste of the fresh bread and perfectly grilled chicken hit her taste buds, and suddenly she was ravenous. Sergeant Kenny sat next to her and watched her eat.

  After a moment, the woman asked, “You saw the fightin’?”

  Acevedo nodded and swallowed. She looked down at herself. She was filthy. Her hands had dirt and blood caked all over them, and the civilian clothes she wore were stained and dirty. Her issued boots were torn and battered, stained with ash, blood, and dirt. On her forearms were dark bruises from the elven soldiers who had held her down, and she could feel the scrapes on her knees. She shook her head silently and took another bite.

  The sergeant continued, staring at nothing, “I got three boys. They were in the Guard, too. I haven’t heard nothing from them.” She was silent for a long time. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” She patted Acevedo on the shoulder. “But I’m glad you’re here, and I’m glad you’re going home. Go hug your momma.” She blinked rapidly several times, then muttering an apology, the woman rushed away, wiping her cheeks. Acevedo was alone in the makeshift computer lab. She sat staring at the door the woman had left through for a long time, then sighed, picked up the sandwich, and continued to eat.

  ***

  Six hours later, Acevedo climbed slowly off the back of the truck she’d been riding in and numbly followed the other soldiers. She looked up and saw the imposing bulk of the Philadelphia Convention Center ahead of her. From the windows on the third floor hung the now familiar crimson banners with the three-headed dragon, the sigil for House T’Mar. Apart from the soldiers at the convention center, the city seemed almost normal. There were police cars patrolling the streets, pedestrians walking to and from work, and food carts back in their normal places on the corners. The only thing that stood out was the constant, quiet presence of elven soldiers in their gleaming armor, and the dull, black hulks of the occasional orcish infantry patrol that could be seen in the distance.