by Autumn Birt
“God, I hope the war doesn’t turn into this,” he whispered. Another shell ripped through the wall.
The blast knocked him behind the cannon, sparing him the worst of the spraying debris. “Derrick!” Jared yelled as fragments of rock and metal bits showered down. Jared scrambled across the floor to the back of cannon, finding Derrick dazed but alive. “Come on, Earl. Time for some fighting with smaller weapons.”
Derrick groaned as Jared pulled him to his feet. The room shook again, sections of the outer wall giving way under concentrated firepower. Jared found the stairs by luck and only made it upwards because it was the only way to go, hauling Derrick along with his arm draped over Jared’s shoulder. They stumbled into a frosty dusk, both collapsing onto the worn stones of the battlements.
The cannons on the upper wall returned fire, at least where there was still a wall. A large section had crumbled as if smashed by a giant hammer. Overhead, a lone plane streaked over the road, spitting bullets down the length of FLF forces. It launched one of their few remaining missiles at a tank that had pushed its way around a switchback by ramming destroyed vehicles above it off the road. As fire filled the sky, Jared lay back.
“Goddamn idiot,” Jared gasped under his breath.
“You know the pilot?” Derrick coughed.
“That’s the Captain.”
“Does he know you talk about him like that?”
“Yeah. Usually I’m doing it in his headset.” Derrick wheezed a chuckle. “Come on. Let’s grab some guns ... or swords if you prefer?”
“I’d prefer aspirin and a vacation,” Derrick answered. Jared smacked him on the shoulder as he pulled Derrick to his feet.
—
How Derrick had survived the front so long quickly became apparent. With equipment under assault on the serpentine mountain road, FLF troops had forced their way into town. They pushed straight for the battlement walls. Bullets ricocheted off the stone, giving Jared a strong incentive to push the FLF into town. The wooden houses looked far safer than hard walls bouncing ammo in every direction. That was when Jared discovered Derrick was a crack shot.
“Let me guess, hunting went along with the fencing lessons?” Jared asked as they waited out a flurry of gunfire. Behind his shoulder, Jared felt the stones of the old wall shift ... either under his weight or the assault. Like he wasn’t nervous enough outside his plane.
“Something like that ... and the sharpshooter training in the Army.”
Jared snorted as he rolled to his side. “Probably didn’t hurt. Tell you what. I cover you. You shoot people.”
“Sounds simple. What could go wrong?”
Jared, it turned out, was really good at making the FLF forces duck for cover. They worked out a system. Jared sent everyone scurrying. Derrick waited until a second after Jared’s last shot to roll out of cover, aim, and fire. He always hit someone. Jared was too grateful to be annoyed.
With help, they managed to push the FLF fighters toward the city gate. As he and Derrick followed the retreat, Jared began to regret his desire to get off the battlements and into town. The bullets didn’t ricochet as much, but there were a lot more angles, windows, and low walls for fighters to hide behind. It felt like bullets were fired from every direction.
“I feel like we’re surrounded,” Jared said, ducking as a shot shattered the stucco wall inches above him.
“Not quite,” Derrick replied. He was calm, returning fire with the precision of someone accustomed to street combat. It kept Jared focused when a part of him wanted to run. “Besides, the firefight won’t last much longer.”
“How can you tell?” Jared asked. “I mean, I’m low on ammo, but I’m hoping you mean that isn’t one sided.”
Derrick sent three shots down the street before answering. “No. They are getting low too. Their rate of return fire is slowing. Can’t you hear it?”
He was right. Across town, the gunshots were less frequent. “They’re conserving bullets.”
“Yeah. We should find some swords.”
“You don’t think they’ll just surrender?” Jared asked.
Derrick gave him a dubious glance. “They haven’t in any of the fights I’ve been in.”
“Great. So where do we find swords?”
Jared meant the question as rhetorical. He should have guessed Derrick would have an idea. Derrick had survived months of front line fighting. Jared hoped to survive long enough to absorb some of the skills Derrick had picked up.
Derrick took point, leading them on a weaving dash across a street, around abandoned cars, and down a narrow alley between buildings. Shots followed them, striking the walls at their heels and over their heads. Shouts echoed from the second floor of the building next to them.
“Now we are surrounded,” Derrick said, as they dodged behind a cement wall encasing a small garden.
“I don’t think we were supposed to run behind their lines,” Jared hissed.
“Yeah, well, they’re out of bullets or they would have shot us by now.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely,” Derrick replied.
“Where are we headed?” Jared asked, feeling marginally better. He, at least, had one clip left.
“The big building across the street, two doors down. It’s an inn. They almost always have swords on displays in inns around here.”
They waited five more seconds before making a break for the inn. Shots ripped after them from the second floor, but they were running in the opposite direction. The curve of the road put them out of range just as the shots came close.
“I thought you said they were out of bullets!” Jared shouted as they burst through the inn’s front door.
“So I was wrong,” Derrick replied with a shrug. “But not about the swords.”
“Dammit.”
Jared wasn’t sure if he was cursing Derrick or the sheer number of weapons on display. Every wall in the entrance hall held ornamental racks of gleaming blades. Pikes formed decorative columns in the corners.
“Voltzcrag was a strategic Moorish military outpost. What did you expect to see? Lion heads?”
“Just find me something decent and tell me how to use it,” Jared said, pushing Derrick forward. “I’ll watch the door.”
“Easy. Stick the pointy end in the people you want to kill.” Jared refused to laugh out loud, but he did smile. “I think there are enough weapons in here we could arm all of our fighters,” Derrick added more seriously.
“Or all of the FLF.” They exchanged a quick glance. Jared pulled out his comm. “Gisela?”
A few seconds of static hissed over the line before Gisela answered on the ancient police radio she’d kept.
“I have good news and bad news,” Jared said to her, seeing movement across the street.
“Tell me the bad,” she said.
“Well, they’re sort of the same thing. We found a pile of weapons, but the FLF is right outside.”
Jared wished he’d be able to remember the growling word she spat over the mike. It was most likely the best and most descriptive curse word on the planet no matter the original language.
The fight for the inn became a nightmare of crossed fire. Whatever firepower either side had been keeping in reserve was thrown into the pitched battle. Jared wasn’t sure that the FLF knew what they were fighting to take, other than it must be good because the Guard was trying so hard to make sure they didn’t get it. Scratched, scraped, sore, and bloody, Jared no longer knew if he had been shot or not. He knew he was alive. And when the gun clicked without an accompanying kick, he knew he was out of bullets.
“Shit. Where is the sword you found for me?” Jared asked, nervous. Derrick tossed it to him, barely pausing in his shooting. He still had bullets, of course. Then Jared ran out of time to be jealous. Three men pushed their way through the door.
Jared did okay until the FLF troops realized it had gone down to a sword fight and that they were fighting to take over the mother-load of a medieval weapons depot. T
hen they stopped trying to overwhelm Jared with reckless numbers, which had simply slowed down the FLF and made it easier for Jared to figure out how to use a sword since it was easy to poke men shoving each other forward. When they started sending in one or two cautious soldiers, Jared was in trouble. When a third joined the two who had positioned themselves on either side of him and just out of sword reach, he broke into a cold sweat.
Then one of the FLF soldiers fell to his knees. With his attention fixed on Jared he never noticed Derrick had come up from the side.
Gun replaced with a sword, Derrick was fast and efficient. He didn’t try to draw the FLF soldiers into a fight. He just took them out as quickly as possible. Step forward, quick thrust, step back. Even when Jared thought they should have seen it coming and could leap out of the way, Derrick managed to pierce them, finding ways around armor.
“Glad you could join me,” Jared said as Derrick fell back next to him. He wasn’t even being sarcastic. Two nervous FLF soldiers waited outside the door.
“Figured it was time for your sword lesson,” Derrick said with a grin. Sword fighting was his element, and he knew it.
“You don’t mind if I skip the notes for now?”
“Learn by doing always works best,” Derrick shot back, lunging forward as a soldier tried the door. He blocked with his rifle, but Derrick got him on a quick return. “I like this sword. I might keep it if we survive.”
Jared managed to learn a few decent thrusts, appreciating the balance as the sword arced forward, by the time Gisela’s reinforcements pushed the FLF back from the door. Out of bullets as well, they were thrilled with the cache of weapons, which were quickly distributed. Guards were left to keep watch over the inn and the remaining armaments while the rest of the EU forces spread across town.
The FLF found or had brought a few swords, meeting the clumsy but effective Guard offensive. Sword fighting was much quieter than the pitched battle of earlier, but still deadly. The groans and shouts of injured were more pronounced over the clang of metal compared to the deafening sound of guns and bombs. And a running sword fight had fewer things to dodge. Chasing an FLF soldier down the street, Jared realized he agreed with Derrick. He was going to carry a sword from now on. He wasn’t sure where it would fit in the plane though.
In growing darkness, they pushed the FLF toward the walls only for them to realize the city gates had been shut behind him. Jared could have kissed Gisela for that. For the first time, the remaining FLF troops surrendered. For the first time in the war, someone other than the FLF won.
And the promised reinforcements hadn’t even arrived yet.
“Captain?” Jared called into his comm.
“The reinforcements are twenty minutes out,” Michael answered back immediately.
“That’s good. We need a break. They can go and sweep up the valley and take over the prisoners,” Jared said. Derrick grinned.
The comm crackled. “Could you repeat that Lieutenant?” Michael asked. Jared laughed.
—
Everyone at Voltzcrag was given a week of rest, even Jared. He used the time to take sword lessons from Derrick. It wasn’t enough to make him an expert, but it gave him the basics. He even found a sword he liked.
“You are really going to keep that?” Derrick asked as they finished up a practice round. They cooled off sitting in the grass, the late fall sun warm against Jared’s back.
“Sure, why not? From the looks of it, over half the ground troops are carrying them now. If I find someone to train with, I might be halfway decent by the next time I crash land.”
Derrick shook his head. When Derrick taught, his fencing was slow and methodical. But Jared remembered the inn. Derrick was lethal, with a gun and with a sword.
“So where are you off to after this?” Jared asked.
“Not sure. We’ve got to get the FLF out of Europe. They fixing your plane?” Derrick asked.
“Yeah. Should be ready to fly again soon. It’ll be good to have my wings back.”
“And be above it all! You might not need to use that sword the rest of the war.”
“I can only hope,” Jared answered, wishing it could be true.
One win against the FLF hardly changed the course of the war. But he had learned a lot about the fight, more than that there was still a use for cannons and swords. Michael had spent hours going over the battle with him, sharing the information with his wife, and so too MOTHER. Changes were already being made on how the fighting was carried out. Michael made sure of it.
“They’ll probably promote you after Voltzcrag, you know. We couldn’t have pulled it off without you,” Jared said.
Derrick snorted. “A promotion like the one promised Captain Prescot? Wouldn’t care even if they did get around to figuring out the ranking system in the Guard. I’d like to see us win and the war over more. And besides,” Derrick said, giving Jared a grin. “We wouldn’t have won Voltzcrag if you hadn’t crash landed next to it!”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Jared stirred, seeing movement near the hangers.
It had been a week long vacation, but one spent on a military base. They were ‘on hand’ for emergencies. Now, it looked like they were readying the plane that would fly him to meet up with Michael. Jared stood, offering his hand to Derrick.
“It was good to meet you. Great really. You saved my life. I’ll look you up if we end up in the same area ... for more sword lessons of course!” Jared said.
Derrick shook his hand. “I’d like that. Good luck and try to stay in the air this time.”
Jared was a few hundred feet away before a thought struck him. “Earl of what?” Jared yelled.
“Kesmere,” Derrick answered, tossing a wave before walking on to the barracks.
The sound of a plane engine roared to life from the runway, rushing adrenaline through Jared. Even with people shooting at him, he loved to fly. He turned and ran across the tarmac, ready to go home to the sky.
New Heir
November 2061
“You will replace him,” her father said. Danielle stared at him. “It is the only way this will work. I will make the arrangements.”
“Of course,” she said, uncertain if she thought the words or spoke. It was why he was there after all. Why he had finally come to her after years. She was his last hope.
Danielle watched the slim back of her father as he left, hating the air that filled his lungs. His lungs instead of her brother’s. She’d rip them out and give them to Jacque if it’d bring him back. If there was enough of him left that a new set of lungs even mattered. Danielle bent her head, crying in silent, body-wracking sobs into her hand.
She’d hated the war since the beginning of last year when in its earliest days her half-brother Pietre had died as a common soldier. Pietre who was anything but common. Twenty-seven and handsome, he’d only just begun to imagine settling down with his girlfriend when the war came. Danielle had tried to convince him not to join. Their family was above common soldiering! They were le Marc, a name synonymous with politics in France. But no, that had not been enough for Pietre. He’d wanted to be a hero. And it had killed him.
She blamed her father. His money and power should have been able to protect his second eldest son. But no, Count le Marc had been focused on his eldest. The rest, Pietre, her, her mother - his second wife, could disappear. She didn’t remember if he’d even come for the funeral, at least the private part. He was there for the public pictures, of course. It turned out nothing bought support and a sympathetic media like the grieving father of a soldier. Dieu, how she hated him.
And now Jacque was gone too. The one her father had wanted to protect, had crafted from the earliest days to take over the family name and dynasty, he too was dead. Thirty-two with a young son, the first of the new le Marc generation, and a wife pregnant with the next, killed when a bomb detonated on the streets of Paris. Their car’s plate was the only thing identifiable in the mess. It had been found dented, but readable, under the rubble of a bu
ilding.
Both of her brothers gone, half brothers as her father had often pointed out as if they held the better of the halves, and now he came for her. She’d make him pay. She wasn’t sure when or how, but his time would come.
—
“We are here today to honor the memory of Jacque le Marc and his family, wife Megan and their son Rennault, named after his grandfather Count Renault le Marc.”
The funeral service floated in Danielle’s vision like a television set with poor reception. It certainly couldn’t be real. Her father might not have been able to protect Jacque or Pietre from the war, but his money and wealth certainly bought a grand funeral. Especially considering it came in the middle of a war when many were dying every day. Flowers, music, and a grand black casket embossed with gold for Jacque sat at the head of the chapel. Next to it were two white ones for Megan and Rennault, Rennault’s so small as to look like one for a doll. She would have cried if there were tears left in her.
Danielle sat through the agony of it, emotions alternating between numbness and anger. As the only living heir to the le Marc family, she sat in the front, a position not even granted to her father’s ex-wife or Danielle’s mother, his current one. She sat separated from family and friends, but next to her father’s favorite allies or worst enemies. Both offered equal condolences over the death of Jacque. The politics of it, here at her beloved brother’s funeral, sickened her.
“Dear girl. I think she is going to faint,” the man next to her said, putting an arm around her shoulders. The world twisted white.
Air fanned against her clammy skin revived Danielle. Groggy, she sat up only realizing as she did that she had been leaning over. She wasn’t in the cathedral. Bare limbed trees reached skyward to catch fitful clouds.