by RW Krpoun
“Pressure injectors loaded with healing potion, two per pouch,” the big Texan held up an auto-injector. “Magic still works here.”
“That’s good. OK, we have four KSGs and two AA-12s. The KSG is a bullpup pump shotgun fitted with two separate seven-round tube magazines, so with one in the chamber you have fifteen rounds. After firing you can move this bar to determine which magazine you load from; the magazines have cut-outs so you get a visual tally of your ammunition. The housing is ballistic plastic so it weighs in at seven pounds. These have a vertical foregrip, under-barrel flashlight, stock storage for extra batteries, and what looks like a Trijicon SRS reflex sight. You load here, under the stock, which is also the ejection port.”
“This is the AA-12, with the short close quarter barrel. It is a selective fire and magazine fed shotgun firing off an open bolt, with a conventional layout. Its fitted with the same light and reflex sight as the KSG. It weighs ten pounds unloaded, and the thirty-two-round drums weigh between four and fire pounds. On full auto it can fire three hundred rounds a minute. We have thousands of rounds evenly divided between triple-ought buckshot and 15mm fin-stabilized grenades.”
“So we’re leaving the buckshot behind?” Jeff grinned.
“No, the grenades don’t arm until they have traveled fifteen feet; under that they are just an inert blunt impact device.”
“Mannnn, I would love the AA-12, but there is no way I could carry enough ammo,” Derek sighed. “My back is already killing me.”
“Leave the AA-12 to me,” Fred said smugly.
“I think that’s best: we treat Fred like the SAW gunner,” Shad nodded. “He lays down the heavy fire while we keep close-range stuff off him. We’ll hydrate and grab a meal, load up, and head out. Do we have any details on what we’re up against?”
“None,” Derek shook his head.
“OK, we have cleaning kits for M-16s, so just take a bottle of lubricant and some patches, except for Derek, who takes one cleaning rod in case we have to clear a jam. Armor is personal choice, take three spare AA batteries, at least six bottles of water, gloves, and as many first aid kits as fit on your MOLLE slots. Everybody but Fred take three buckshot for every grenade round, Fred takes the two grenades for every buckshot. Carry as much ammo as you can, I expect our loads will get light quick. Do we need to take rations?”
“We’ll be dead or gone before we get hungry again,” Fred observed from where he was setting out canned rations from an unlabeled white cardboard box.
The canned rations turned out to contain the same meal: a thick turkey and noodle soup which the Black Talons ate cold from the can as there was no means to heat the meal.
“As a last meal this sucks,” Derek observed.
“It does,” Shad agreed.
“What really sucks is that after all we’ve been through I’m not going to get to kill Cecil,” Fred growled.
“You’re going one step better: if we kill the Rift, his dreams of limitless life and power turn to ashes,” Jeff pointed out.
“He’ll be dodging Samurai patrols in Canada with whatever Death Lords who were too low level to be linked to the Rift,” Shad added.
“Still sucks,” Fred grunted sourly.
“You know, this is a first for us,” Derek changed the subject. “For the first time in the spheres we’re us, not just class and level.”
“The Death Lords are going to regret that,” Fred nodded. “I’m a badass in any system and real life.”
“One last hurrah and we’re home,” Jeff said with satisfaction. “Fighting on our terms.”
“Fighting against an entire world,” Shad noted quietly. “They might be insane, but whatever the locals are now they’re going to come after us with everything they have.”
“Been there, done that,” Jeff grinned.
“I’m just glad Derek isn’t wearing a dress,” Fred tossed aside an empty can and belched. “If I hadn’t been hungry I wouldn’t have touched that.”
“Then that third can must have really been hell,” Derek snickered.
The Black Talons geared up as each saw fit, aside from Shad’s guidelines. Derek, Fred, and Shad chose soft caps over helmets, and only Derek and Shad chose to put ballistic panels in the back of their vests in addition to the front. Jeff found a bundle of ten-inch daggers behind the rations and all but Derek took one. Derek took a coil of black nylon rope, quoting the Boondock Saints as proof rope was always handy. Jeff and Shad hung Leatherman tools on their vests as well.
Shad shrugged his pack into place and tightened the straps. “Everyone ready? OK, Derek, you take the plate and work the lever. I’ll lead going out the door, then Jeff, Derek, and Fred. Jeff covers left, Derek right. Let’s do this.”
When Derek threw the lever the material of the door simply collapsed into gravel; exiting, the Black Talons found themselves standing next to a bluff in a deeply eroded gulley. The sun was at about mid-morning, hanging in a sky hazed with dust; the air was dry and the temperature felt to be in the low seventies.
“Derek, which way?” Shad kept his voice low.
The Radio Shack manager consulted the jade plate and then pointed north, up the gulley. “That way.”
“Follow me.”
At the top of the gulley’s slope the four Texans found themselves confronted with a lifeless panorama. It had been a plains at one time, but now it was a vast expanse of dun-colored dirt cut with eroded gullies and trenches. Not so much as an insect, plant, or even moss existed as far as the eye could see.
To the north the sky was discolored, as if a strip of the atmosphere was on fire, the red and oranges shifting and wavering like the northern lights.
“What a dump,” Jeff breathed, scanning the horizon. “Absolutely nothing.”
“The entire planet is like this,” Derek said soberly.
Shad pointed towards the discoloration in the sky. “The Rift, I take it. Anyone have an idea of an approach? It’s pretty damn flat in every direction.”
“Hey diddle diddle, right up the middle,” Fred muttered. “Fast is the best course we can take.”
“OK. I’ve got point, Derek walks my slack and calls directions, then Fred and Jeff.”
“All it takes is some guns and he’s a new man,” Jeff remarked to Fred, who grinned. Shad shot them the finger without looking back.
“You know, Derek has it wrong,” Jeff observed as they took a break after roughly an hour.
“Nothing new in that. Which particular thing are you referring to?” Shad drained a water bottle and tossed it into the hole they had dug for trash.
“That this is a first for us. He’s got it backwards: this is the end.”
“Well, that’s not gloomy,” Derek rolled his eyes.
“What I mean is that we started out loaded down with guns and armor in a desolate, worn-out place filled with insane enemy, and after all the BS we’ve been through with spells and gunfighters and katanas, here we are again. Full circle.”
“Point,” Derek conceded. “As a group we met in the Guard, and bonded in Iraq.”
“Don’t get all gay on us,” Fred warned. “I never bonded anyone.”
“I hit a guy with a chair in Dubai to escape getting bonded,” Shad agreed.
“We just can’t take him anywhere,” Jeff sighed. “Literally.”
“That’s weird,” Fred observed a half hour later. “There’s three dust devils on that slope we passed about three hundred yards back.”
The Talons stopped and studied the phenomenon. “Those aren’t dust devils,” Derek pointed out. “Those are shapes getting made out of dirt, like building a snowman. We’ve been spotted.”
“Great. So much for stealth,” Jeff sighed.
“Keep moving,” Shad resumed walking. “We knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”
“Nothing ever is,” Jeff noted.
“That’s not true,” Derek shook his head. “When we got back from the Prison everything was easy. It will be again if we make it back from here
.”
“When, not if,” Fred corrected him. “In three offshoots and the real world we have yet to find anyone who could beat us. Me especially.”
“Exactly,” Shad nodded somberly. “One thing at a time: find the Rift’s home, find the fuse, break the fuse. Kill anything that interferes with those steps.”
“You plans tend to be rather scary,” Jeff pointed out. “Some might describe them as psychotic.”
“Even crazy people get things right on occasion,” Shad observed disinterestedly.
“Keep in mind that this plan is coming from the guy whose assassination plan in War Hammer was: ‘fit a ballista into a wagon bed, then shoot the guy as he walks by’,” Derek reminded the others.
“It worked.”
“It was a frightening insight into your mind. I had nightmares about your Halfling.”
“Mondo rocked.”
“If you mean he should have been stoned to death, I agree,” Jeff countered. “You ruined hobbits for me.”
“He was a sick little bastard,” Fred agreed.
“I don’t know why I bother trying to enrich you guys’ miserable existences.”
“They look like what I thought an Earth Elemental would look like,” Derek observed, walking backward to study the Talon’s pursuers. “Basically a humanoid figure made of dirt that somehow sticks together.”
There were four of the lumbering figures trailing the Texans, and a fifth was forming. They were slower than the Humans, but not by much.
“Ok, another dust devil,” Jeff pointed. “Six after us.”
“There will be more dusters before it is over,” Fred observed. “I bet they’re thick near the Rift.” The discoloration in the horizon was much larger now after three hours of walking.
“I wonder if shooting them will kill them or just disperse the body?” Derek wondered.
“Interesting point. I wonder if killing the Rift will have an impact on them?” Jeff shrugged.
“I wonder why any of it matters to you guys. In less than two hours it will be a moot point to us,” Shad took a swig from a water bottle.
“Grouch much?” Jeff grinned.
“There’s the target.” The Talons had reached the crest of another of the endless low rises; Shads pointed and the others saw a distant irregularity with angles too sharp to be natural.
The Black Talons studied the distant shape. “No rest before we go in,” Jeff observed, glancing back. “Not with six…no, seven dusters on our heels.”
“The last bit will be run and gun,” Fred said with some satisfaction. “If we keep moving we’ll be OK.”
“”Dead or home,” Shad agreed. “No more hard living or bad food.”
“McDonalds nuggets and extra fries,” Derek said dreamily.
“D-Q chicken strip basket with a blizzard chaser,” Jeff grinned.
“The Cotton Patch number four meal with a gallon of cold milk,” Fred sighed. “Or a bucket of spicy wings and cold beer in the can.”
“A porter house medium rare with mac and cheese on the side, and Doctor Pepper,” Shad wearily checked their back trail. “Maybe even a slice of cheese cake, the Ira or Ima one you get in the cold food section of Wal Mart.”
“You eating sweets?” Derek was shocked. “Other than Little Debbie brownies I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat sweet stuff.”
Shad shrugged and motioned for them to move. “What can I say: I’m a Renaissance man.”
As they marched onward more and more dust devils swirled into humanoid figures; luckily for the Black Talons they only formed on the flanks and to their rear. The Talons picked up their pace; Jeff discarded his helmet, and all four dropped or chugged full water bottles to lighten their load. They took a break a half-hour later and both Derek and Shad took the opportunity to discard their back armor plates.
“This must be how Custer felt as he started the final charge,” Jeff eyed the stolid dusters trudging up on three sides. “There’ got to be at least fifty.”
“There will be less by the time we’re done,” Shad re-adjusted his MOLLE vest. “Let’s get moving.”
“This is like being herded,” Derek noted. “When did we sleep last?”
“Unless the transition counted, the night before we entered the Reach,” Fred grunted.
“Seems like forever.”
“I am not at my optimal condition,” Shad confessed. “Thankfully all the marching and riding we’ve done stayed with us. I think I am nearly in the best shape I’ve ever been, except for being bone-tired and having nearly died recently.”
“The roots were the pits, although this place is even more depressing,” Jeff noted. “This is worse than Derek at Gen-Con.”
“Shut it,” that worthy snapped.
“One foot in front of the other,” Jeff muttered. “Story of my life.”
“It looks like the Greek Parthenon if it was made of pale orange crystal,” Derek studied their destination. “And if it was designed by a color-blind drunk with a thing for the 70s.”
“That’s graphic,” Shad mopped sweat and settled his Ranger cap. “How do we find the fuse?”
“The jade tile,” the Radio Shack manager held it up. “The key fuses are blue, so in a worst case shoot anything blue.”
“No signs of any Death Lords so far,” Fred muttered. “That’s good.”
“Thank the Lord for small blessings,” Jeff grinned. “If there were Death Lords I would be tempted to shoot two and just go home.”
Shad held up a hand to gain perspective. “A mile at best, and there are dust devils between us and the crystal palace. We go violent before long, guys.”
“Good,” Jeff took a long drink and poured the remainder of the bottle under his MOLLE vest. “I’m feeling mean and shooting dirt is guilt-free.”
Wearily the four Texans resumed moving as the dusters closed from the sides and rear.
“Man, look at them sprout,” Derek sighed. “It’s like watching a time-lapse documentary on erosion.”
“Three quarters of a mile,” Fred grunted. “It won’t be long now.”
“However this plays out, it has been good to know you guys,” Shad said.
“Yeah,” Fred nodded.
“Yup,” Jeff adjusted a strap on his patrol pack.
“We really have been through a lot together,” Derek nodded. “I really care about you guys.”
“Don’t go gay on us, goat-boy,” Jeff warned.
“You need a safe-place time-out, snowflake?” Shad asked.
“You want a fresh tampon?” Fred inquired.
The Radio Shack manager sighed and shook his head.
“Less than half a mile,” Shad noted. The Black Talons were ascending a gentle slope; at the apex of this gradual elevation was the Rift base, sparkling in the sun. There was a double line of dusters just up ahead waiting for the four Texans, and scores more closing from both sides and the rear. “Fred, what range are you comfortable with?”
“Given I’ve never fired this thing, so let’s say fifty yards.”
“Boy, I hope these work,” Jeff grinned. “Or it is going to be a very short fight.”
“We should have test-fired them,” Derek agreed.
“We should have stayed home,” Shad snapped. “We were supposed to be avoiding notice, if you recall.”
When the Talons were fifty yards from the waiting figures Fred flipped the selector switch to full-auto, adjusted the leaf sight, released half a breath, and squeezed the trigger for a six-round burst. Downrange a line of explosions tore through the enemy ranks, creating a dense dust cloud; when the cloud subsided there were new gaps in the line.
“So far, so good,” Jeff noted. “Light ‘em up, Fred. This is going to be a cakewalk.”
“Sarah Lee,” Shad snapped his fingers. Seeing the other three staring at him, he shrugged. “I just remembered the brand of cheesecake I like. It was bugging me.”
“Well, now you can die a happy man,” Jeff shook his head.
“I thin
k if his death is violent Shad will die happily,” Derek offered.
“OK, shall we focus?” Shad rolled his eyes.
“I like Sarah Lee cakes,” Fred admitted. “They’re a bit pricy, though.”
Fred led the way, with Derek and Jeff flanking him and Shad covering the rear; all four fired grenades which blew apart the dusters with satisfying ease; those dirt-folk who were only damaged stopped and communed with the soil, drawing themselves back up to full strength after a few minutes. That worked to the Talon’s advantage, as theirs was a battle of time, not numbers.
The four moved cautiously, content to blast the dirt-folk at a safe distance while alert for other defenses.
“This can’t be all the Death Lords have to guard their precious Rift,” Jeff observed when the Talons were two-thirds of the way up the slope.
“They’re cutting it fine if they have more,” Shad thumbed shells into his shotgun. “Although I don’t see any blue crystal to far.”
“The ‘fuses’ are at the heart of the thing,” Derek hit a duster with a grenade, worked the action, and hit another. “Inside the crystal palace the dirt-folk will be able to get to close quarters, so we will have to move fast.”
“Fast suits me,” Fred dropped an empty drum into his pack and snapped another into place as he trudged up the slope. “I’m going to need to refill drums before the final push.”
“We’ll regroup right at the crest,” Shad looked ahead. “Why aren’t there any more dusters between us and the palace?”
“You’re welcome,” Fred grunted, pounding a short burst to the flank.
“They’re mostly coming from the sides…” Jeff began, and then stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Derek asked while reloading.