The Forever Man: Betrayal

by Craig Zerf

  It would be at this point, when the Annihilator army was situated close to the wall that the Fair-Folk would advance through a series of forced marches thereby pinning the Roach army between the wall and the entire Fair-Folk army.

  Then Nathaniel would unleash his pre pulse weapons and, in a combined assault from both humans and Fair-Folk, they would utterly destroy their shared foe.

  Ammon asked if he could have some time with his advisors and Nathaniel agreed, saying that he and Tad would be in his tent enjoying another mug of coffee.

  The two humans had just finished their second mug of coffee when Ammon and Seth arrived and asked permission to enter the tent. Tad stood and ushered them in.

  ‘It shall be done,’ said Ammon. ‘We will start to consolidate our troops tomorrow morning. It will take as seven days to completely mobilize all of our forces and another ten to position them into the correct areas. We shall begin our advance eighteen days hence.’

  Chapter 24

  Donald Rathbone lived alone. Very alone. In fact Donald had not interacted with another human being for almost twelve years. In less confused times he would have been considered a hermit. Or perhaps a religious aesthete, living a life of austerity and contemplation.

  As it happened, Donald was none of these things. What Donald was, was completely insane. Twenty years ago, after the pulse and on seeing his first Orcs and goblins, Donald had suffered a complete mental break from reality.

  This was due to the fact that he knew that Orcs and goblins did not exist. However, he was patently seeing them. Ipso facto – he must be insane. And, as an insane person, he deduced that he would no longer be safe in a normal, sane, society. So he went to live in the deepest woods, surviving off the land and sleeping and an old grotto dressed in the barest remnants of clothing that had survived his self enforced banishment.

  This morning Donald rose with the sparrows, drank deeply from the brook that babbled past his grotto and then went in search of food. As per usual he collected up a handful of grubs and the odd root. Then, seeing a bird nest high in an Oak tree, he decided to climb to the top in order to check if the nest contained any eggs.

  Slowly, testing each branch before he climbed on to it, he made his way to the uppermost boughs of the tree. He reached the branch that the nest was on and peered in. Empty.

  Donald sighed philosophically and looked over the surrounding treetops to the horizon beyond the forest.

  And as far as he could see, stretching from the west to the east, were thousands upon thousands of marching Orcs, goblins and trolls. Above them flew hundreds of bat-like people, large leathern wings keeping them aloft.

  The old man chuckled to himself. What a sight that would be if it actually existed, he thought.

  He climbed carefully back down the oak tree. On the way down he came across a large tree-snail.

  He put it in his food bag to eat later.

  Chapter 25

  Greg was nineteen years old and this was his first command. When he had told his parents and his sister about being chosen, they had been inordinately proud. As had his girlfriend, Mandy. In fact, she had been so impressed that Greg finally got to get to third base…and beyond.

  The Little Big Man himself had picked this team, as he had the forty-nine other teams. There were twenty soldiers per team, young, fit and agile. All were mounted and proficient with bow and sword.

  Their mission was simplicity itself; find the Roaches, attack, hit hard and run. That was it.

  But even the best laid plans of mice and men go astray.

  It had taken a week to find a Roach patrol and Greg had positioned his men with great care.

  He had left two guarding the houses, situated in a small fold in the land about half a mile from the Roach camp. Then he had followed the natural fold to the camp, setting up an ambush halfway down. Ten of his men lining the sides of the small valley. Finally, he and the final seven had crept up on the camp itself.

  The plan was to attack, retreat and then ambush the pursuers, knocking more of them out before all running to the horses and then getting the hell out of Dodge.

  His second in command, Tommy Halse, was less than happy.

  ‘Greg,’ he whispered as they lay under cover outside the Roach camp. ‘I’m worried that we’re overcomplicating things. Can’t we just hit them and run. After all, that’s what we’re meant to do. Straight forward and simple. That’s what The Little Big Man told us. Hit and run.’

  ‘Listen, Tommy,’ answered Greg, an expression of superiority etched across his face. ‘You may be happy to do the bare minimum, but I’m looking to do more. That’s why I was chosen as a commander and not you. I go the extra yard. You don’t. So why don’t you just shut it and do as you’re told. Or are you chicken?’

  Tommy shook his head. ‘Of course not,’ he denied. ‘That’s unfair.’

  ‘Well then,’ continued Greg. ‘On my command, we attack.’

  The word went down the line, whispered from one man’s mouth to the next man’s ear. The tension grew as tight as new tuned piano wire as the men waited for Greg’s command.

  Finally the young man rose to his feet, bow already drawn. ‘Fire’ he yelled and he unleashed his arrow. It was a great shot, hitting one of the Roach guards in the middle of his chest and punching through him, knocking him to the floor.

  The rest of the men sprang up and unleashed their arrows. The sound of steel smashing through armored carapaces rang out. Roaches dropped, squealing to the ground.

  One of the insectoid warriors fell into the camp fire and Greg was astounded to see that it immediately burst into flame. That must have been partly why the fire storm happened, he thought to himself, the Roaches are flammable. I must remember to tell The Little Big Man.

  Greg was surprised at how swiftly the Roaches rallied, some of them drawing their bows and firing back while others formed up into ranks.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he shouted to his men. ‘Withdraw.’

  He sprinted off in the direction of the ambush that he had laid across the small valley, followed by his men.

  But their retreat did not go as smoothly as planned due to the fact that the Annihilators had rallied their forces so quickly. Every twenty or thirty paces Greg and his men had to turn and fight, loosing more arrows at their pursuers and cutting down the odd Roach that got close enough to actually engage in hand to hand combat.

  By the time that Greg’s small group got to the ambush point they were close to exhaustion, feet dragging as they barely managed to keep ahead of the enemy. In fact they were so close that the ambushers were unable to unleash their bows as they were afraid to hit their own compatriots. So, instead, they simply charged and took on the Annihilators hand to hand.

  The humans fought with desperation, drawing on reserves of energy that they didn’t even know that they had, their youthful energy and speed making up for their lack of combat experience.

  Finally they had dispatched all of their pursuers, although they had lost four of their own.

  ‘We did it,’ panted Greg as he surveyed the fallen Roaches about him.

  ‘Looks like we did,’ admitted Tommy. ‘Why are there so few of them?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Asked Greg.

  ‘Look,’ said Tommy. ‘I thought that there were more of them. There’s only ten or so bodies.’

  ‘It just looked like there were more,’ said Greg. ‘They’re very good fighters. We did well. You did well.’ He patted Tommy on the back, magnanimous in his victory.

  The exhausted survivors staggered back down the valley to their horses.

  Greg was really looking forward to getting home. He would be modest when he told all of his victory. Praising his men while still ensuring that all knew of his plan.

  He imagined The Little Big Man’s approbation and admiration as he told all that Greg, instead of running, had destroyed an entire unit of Roaches. Perhaps he would even be introduced to the king. The Forever Man.

  He was jerked out of
his reverie by Tommy’s sharp retort.

  ‘The horses,’ he said. ‘What the…’

  Greg peered into the darkness. ‘They’re lying down,’ he said to Tommy.

  ‘No they’re not,’ snapped Tommy. ‘They’re all dead.’

  As he spoke, at least fifty Roach warriors stepped out from the trees, surrounding the small group of humans.

  ‘They must have flanked us while we were fighting the others in that ambush of yours,’ continued Tommy. He grabbed Greg by his shirt front. ‘Well done, you arrogant ass,’ he said. ‘You’ve killed us all.’

  And the Annihilators fell upon them, ululating and screeching as they hacked them to shreds.

  Chapter 26

  ‘We’ve lost eight commando groups in the last two days,’ said Tad. ‘All totally wiped out. That’s one hundred and sixty men. We have to do something about it. It can’t go on like this. I suggest that we increase the size of the commando groups, maybe one hundred. Venture out in strength. Also, the ratio of young inexperienced men is far too high. I think that we need to put at least thirty older more experienced warriors in each enlarged group. A captain or lieutenant in charge, instead of some newbie. What do you think?’

  Nathaniel stood on the battlements of the wall and stared out across the open land and into enemy held territory. ‘Have the Fair-Folk engaged the Roaches yet?’ He asked, ignoring Tad’s question completely.

  ‘Nothing major,’ answered Tad. ‘A few minor scuffles but, on the whole, they seem to be pushing the Annihilators our way.’

  ‘So,’ continued the marine. ‘All seems to be going according to plan. Would you agree?’

  ‘On the whole, yes,’ agreed Tad.

  ‘So why do you want to put it all at risk by changing the plan?’

  ‘I don’t want to change the plan, per se,’ argued Tad. ‘I simply want to bolster the commando groups. One hundred and sixty lives are too many.’

  ‘Acceptable losses,’ said Nathaniel.

  ‘No losses are acceptable,’ argued Tad. ‘At least let me put some experienced men in charge of each group.’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘Young men fight hard and take risks. Age and experience brings with it a certain reticence. We want the Annihilators to perceive our random attacks as a final act of desperation. Throwing our young men in their path in a futile ability to slow them down as they approach our final defenses.’

  ‘So,’ said Tad. ‘What you are saying is that we need to take casualties. It’s part of your plan.’

  ‘Regrettably, yes,’ sighed Nathaniel.

  ‘That’s cold,’ said Tad. That’s really cold. I don’t think that I can agree to that.’

  The Forever Man turned and looked at Tad. His eyes bored into him, blazing like fire-lit emeralds. A frisson of fear rippled through the Little Big Man. He felt like a domesticated dog that has just been confronted by a full grown wolf for the first time. A disturbing mix of fear and respect and a need to please.

  ‘I never told you to agree with it,’ said The Forever Man. ‘I have simply told you to do it.’

  Tad bowed slightly. ‘And so it shall be done, my king,’ he said. ‘Even though it wounds my very soul to do so.’

  The Little Big Man turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Nathaniel alone on the wall.

  ‘It wounds me too,’ whispered Nathaniel. ‘And I shall have to live with it forever.’

  In the next week they lost another ten score warriors. Two hundred young men, not yet out of their teens.

  And the Annihilator advance continued across the front, heading for the killing ground in front of the wall.

  Chapter 27

  Ammon stared at the Vandal standing in front of him. The Fair-Folk commander made no attempt to hide the distaste that he felt towards the scrawny bat-like creature with its huge leathern wings, sharp teeth and skinny bow legs. However, although he detested the creatures on a personal basis, he could not argue as to the fact that access to aerial observation combined with the ability to bombard the enemy and to negate the threat of their flying Yari must surely give one a marked advantage when it came to tactics.

  However, Ammon had yet to figure out how to change his customary tactics that had always worked so well against the Elven hive-creatures that he had battled so successfully on his home planet.

  Grim-son stood at semi-attention, deliberately allowing himself to slouch to one side and assuming a vacant expression simply to antagonize the little gray thing in front of him.

  He couldn’t quite figure out why, but the moment that the vandal wing commander had been introduced to the Fair-Folk he had found that he was overwhelmed by an instant and intense feeling of dislike. However, King Nathaniel had asked him and his fellow flyers to assist the rubber heads and he had agreed. He missed working with the humans. He missed their innate sense of humor and their unconscious kindness as well as their bravery and skills in battle. They were good friends and even better allies.

  On the other end of the scale were the fair-Folk. When it came to making military decisions, Grim-son found them to be tacitly naïve and totally without imagination. Their standard battle tactic was to simply march massed ranks of heavily armed infantry, supported by massive trolls, straight down the enemy’s throat. Goblin archers were used as simply covering fire or to soften up the enemy before a charge.

  ‘So you are sure on your numbers?’ Asked Ammon again.

  Grim-son nodded. Three thousand Annihilator foot warriors and less than five hundred flying Yari. They are encamped about five miles away, behind the mountain at the end of the valley.

  ‘Have they set sentries?’

  ‘Some,’ affirmed Grim-son. ‘But they are overconfident. They do not fear attack from you and your people. Your lack of aggression has lulled them into a feeling of security. At the moment, the few sentries that they do have are on the northern side of the camp, about a mile out. Long range scouts guarding against human attackers.’

  Ammon sat back in his chair and thought for a while. He had no real desire to engage with the Annihilators but he was now inextricably linked to King Nathaniel’s plan. If he did not keep some sort of pressure on the Annihilators, ensuring that they kept moving north towards the retreating humans, then there was every chance that they would turn on his advancing troops. He shuddered to think what fifty thousand plus Annihilator warriors might do to his Orcs and goblins. They were a warrior class that fought with consummate skill and passion, as opposed to the Orcs that were bred more for following orders and fighting solidly and stoically against a less motivated enemy. Their shortcomings had already been greatly exposed by the humans in the few major skirmishes that they had ever had with them. Ammon was the first to admit that they had been outfought and outmaneuvered every time.

  It was only the scarcity of human Free State numbers that had prevented them from actually attacking the Fair-Folk in an aggressive way.

  He stood up, decision made. He had almost fifty thousand Orcs and goblins under his direct control so attacking a mere three thousand Annihilators should not pose any great threat. And a victory would be good for everyone’s morale. Plus it would show that ghastly, self important Forever Man that the Fair-Folk were doing their share of the work.

  ‘We will attack,’ he told Grim-son. ‘Ready your flyers and tell them to keep the Yari off our backs.’

  Grim-son nodded. ‘Would you like us to bombard them? We have some naphtha flasks.’

  ‘No,’ said Ammon. ‘Just do as I have already asked. Keep the Yari at bay.’

  The Vandal wing commander bowed, bending far lower than was necessary as he subtly mocked the Fair-Folk leader. ‘So be it,’ he said as he left and headed back to his squadron.

  Ammon pulled in a little of the power provided by the life light and he pulsed Seth Hil-Nu.

  Minutes later the paramount mage arrived. ‘You called.’

  ‘Greetings, mage,’ replied Ammon. ‘The Vandal scouts have found an encampment of Annihilators at the end o
f the valley some five miles from us. Three thousand strong. I have decided to attack. The bat creatures will keep the Yari off our backs and we shall simply overwhelm the Roaches with superior numbers. Goblin archers to the fore, arrow storm then a running charge from the Orcs. I propose setting them in fifty ranks of one thousand. Finish this whole thing as quickly as possible. Can you and the other mages help?’

  ‘Certainly, commander,’ assured Seth. ‘We can provide support in the form of fireballs and lightning but perhaps we should refrain.’

  ‘Why?’ Enquired Ammon.

  ‘With such overwhelming odds, I doubt whether mage support would be required and I am afraid that it might attract unnecessary attention. Thunderbolts and fireballs can be seen and heard from great distances away. The last thing that we need is to attract unwanted attention from another larger force of Annihilators.’

  ‘True, my friend,’ agreed Ammon. ‘Well said. Tell your men to refrain from using magiks unless absolutely necessary. Now go forth and inform the Orc sergeants to prepare to move out, battle formations in ranks of one thousand.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Seth as he bowed low. Unlike Grim-son, there was no hint of mockery in his obeisance.

  Ammon sat in his chair and prepared himself for the upcoming battle. It had been many years since he had last been personally involved in anything larger than a scuffle and he went over the plan in his mind. It wasn’t difficult; he would simply do what he had always done. Victory was inevitable.

  Outside his tent waited four Orcs who were spanned to a two wheel cart like oxen. Seth was already in the buggy.

  Not for the first time, Ammon wished that they could have found some way to convince horses to work with the Fair-Folk or the Orcs. Still, Orc power was far preferable to walking and a good Orc could travel as far as, although not as fast as a horse.

  With his fifty thousand troops in the vanguard, commander Ammon set off to do battle against the three thousand Annihilators.