by RW Krpoun
“If I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life doing this sort of thing I would have picked better friends,” Shad sighed.
“Who said we’re friends?” Jeff asked.
The entrance into the cave was a harsh slash into the exposed rock at the base of a hill, a forbidding line of darkness that smelled of cool air, dampness, and old dirt.
“You figure they know we’re here?” Jeff whispered to Fred; the Black Talons were hiding in heavy brush thirty yards from the entrance.
“If they don’t, it won’t be for long,” the Scout/Hunter whispered back.
“Let’s roll,” Shad whispered. “Derek, do your thing.”
The Scav/Alienist carefully decanted strips of inked paper from tubes and touched them to the Talons’ weapons, whispered, the paper crumbing away as he spoke. He repeated the process while touching the individual Talons themselves, and finally pinned several strips to his own shirt. “That’s it, I’m using Scav skills from now on.”
“Why do you get the extra protection?” Jeff asked, hanging his hat on a handy bush.
“Hex amplifiers-I see their value now,” Derek checked the tube magazine in the stock of his Spencer. “I learned a lot last night.”
“OK, Derek leads with me on his slack, and Jeff stays last,” Shad hefted his shotgun. “Once he’s sure we’re trap-free I’ll move up to point. Any questions?” There were none. “Make your peace with the Lord.”
“Good luck, guys,” Derek whispered, and slipped out of the bushes, Shad hard on his heels. Fred and Jeff banged knuckles and followed.
As they moved up Shad found Bob Dyan’s ‘Knocking on Heaven’s Door’ running through his head. Under his tactical gloves his hands were sweating and there was a cold ball of greasy ice in his stomach. He wanted desperately to do anything else but enter that cave, except to live with the shame of not going in. As much for himself, he was fearful for the others; although he would have died on a rack before admitting it, the other three were the closest thing he had to a real family. Although if any of the others ever vocalized such a thought he would immediately ask if they needed a fresh tampon.
At the opening Shad lit a fireball, a stone with layers of tar-coated burlap wound around it, and used the attached length of rope to pitch it into the cave.
Using the light of the fireball Derek crept in and froze, tracing a tripwire up to a spiked grate set to swing down onto the unfortunate soul who tripped it. Wiring the grate securely to its latch he draped a length of red ribbon over the tripwire and advanced cautiously deeper into the cave. Shad followed after measuring the grate against his shotgun.
The entryway angled into the hill into what was apparently a natural cavity in the stone, but the sharp-eyed Radio Shack manager spotted an opening tucked into a niche, used three nails to wedge a pressure plate into place, and after marking it with more ribbon, entered to find a downward passage sloping deeper into the hill.
Up ahead he saw light reflecting off the damp stone walls before Shad threw another fireball ahead. “They know we’re coming,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Shad slapped him on the shoulder. “Get us past that curve and then I’ll take point.”
Derek crept forward eyes busy, reflecting that whatever else you could say about Shad, the maniac took his share of risks. When it was all boiled down, whether Iraq or the Prison, none of the four had shirked or faltered. Down deep Derek knew he would have seized any excuse to avoid this cave, except for the fact that he couldn’t live with letting the others down. He wished he could talk about it some time, but he knew none of the others would understand. He was confident that Shad wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here.
Derek disarmed a simple alarm just short of the curve, and then Shad gave him the remaining fireballs before squeezing past him.
Taking a deep breath Shad thumbed back the hammers on his shotgun and tried to think about something other than dying, but couldn’t manage it. Fifty feet ahead the passage opened into a fairly well-lit chamber; he started walking in that direction, gradually picking up speed to a trot as he closed. He felt the trip line hit his ankle and dropped, rolling clumsily into the chamber as a spiked grate swung down on screeching hinges to slam into place.
Like the one at the surface this grate ended at waist-high, missing the Shootist. He heard Elf-shot, the foot-long darts with leather streamers and wickedly barbed flint heads, striking all around him, one punching into his left calf. Coming to a crouching stop he caught the blur of buckskin closing to his left and fired each barrel in rapid succession, dropped the empty shotgun, and drew a Colt as Derek rolled in under the grate.
Coming to a crouch with his back to a sweating wall Derek shot the grate’s locking latch, parried a spear with his carbine barrel and lunged to his feet to smash the receiver of his Spencer into his attacker’s face. Dropping the carbine he deflected a savage thrust from a stone sword with his forearm, cursing as the edge grated across bone. Drawing his Le Mat he fired the stubby shotgun barrel into the Elf’s face, blasting its lower jaw apart.
Careful to grab the rusting metal of the grate between the spokes Fred heaved the assembly inwards and up until the trap-latch caught. Taking a picket pin from behind his belt he drove the steel shaft through the nearer hinge. Drawing his Remington the Scout/Hunter advanced into the chamber, grunting as an Elf-shot punched through his buckskin jacket and into his left pectoral muscle. Firing at the nearest Elf, he drew his Bowie with his left hand and continued to advance.
Dropping to a knee next to Derek, who was blazing away with his Le Mat, Jeff flipped a healing charm onto the Scav/Alienist’s bleeding arm and shouldered his Winchester. The chamber was about sixty feet wide and only poorly lit, the visibility further hindered by numerous carved pillars scattered through the room, obstructions the nimble Elves were using to their best advantage.
Shoving the empty Colt into its holster Shad grabbed his shotgun and dove behind a handy pillar, thumbing the action release and snapping the weapon up so that the barrels dropped and ejected the empty hulls as he pulled two shells from the bandolier he had purchased in Bloodseep. He had caught another Elf-shot in the side and more were clicking off the too-slender stone shaft he was behind as he reloaded. Leaning around to his right he fired each barrel in turn at movement.
Ducking back, he reloaded, yelling, “Derek, fireballs!”
Firing the last shot in his Le Mat, Derek shoved the weapon into its holster and pulled out his match case, wishing that Shad was yelling for the spell.
Crouching behind a square block of stone that reeked of old blood and violent death Fred shoved fresh rounds into his hot revolver, trying to look in three directions at once as the first fireball arced deeper into the chamber. He though they might be winning, although he had been hit by three more Elf-shot. The bastards had fallen back and were trying to bleed the Talons with missile fire before making a final rush.
Firing off each barrel in turn, Shad raced forward instead of ducking back, drawing his other Colt and firing at movement as he raced to a pillar on line and to the right of Fred’s position. Sliding behind his goal he hastily reloaded his shotgun, fired off the remaining rounds in his Colt and then reloaded it. “How are we doing?” he called to the Scout/Hunter.
“Three-four confirmed between all of us,” Fred took a shot at movement and ducked back. “But they’re game. That’s their shrine-wall ahead.”
“This might not have been our best idea,” Shad admitted as he reloaded his other Colt.
Heaving the last fireball Derek grabbed up his Spencer and trotted to a pillar on line with and to Fred’s left. “How many are left?” He called, putting a round into a likely shadow.
“Some,” Fred replied.
“Great.” Derek fired four more shots and then pulled the empty metal tube out of his stock and dropped it into his shirt. Pulling a full tube from his case he slotted it into the Spencer. “I’m already sick of this house-to-house shit,” he advised. “Again.”
&nb
sp; “It gets old quick,” Fred agreed raising up to fire and then ducking back down as Shad’s shotgun crashed out two ear-bruising shots.
Shad thumbed shells into the hot beeches of his shotgun and snapped the action closed. “Bounding.” Fred and Derek opened fire as he lunged out from his position. Trotting towards a pillar near the far wall he grunted as an Elf-shot caught him in the side, firing a barrel at the shadow he thought it came from. “In position.”
Fred gave the Shootist a ten-count to get settled. “Bounding.” Up and trotting he felt a couple Elf-shot hang up or be deflected by his jacket as Shad and Derek blazed away at the hostile portion of the chamber. Sliding behind the pillar he was startled as an Elf came around from the other side with a flint hand axe at the ready. He wasn’t too startled to fire twice as the tall being came at him, knocking the Elf to his knees. The big Scout/Hunter shot the Elf square in the forehead before the humanoid could recover. “Position,” he called. “One confirmed.”
His Winchester empty, Jeff crouched against the wall with a cocked Bulldog in each hand. As the medic his job was to cover the rear and be ready to move forward if anyone called for medical attention. He was trying to watch in every direction, but his main focus was the passage they had taken to get here; this was the Elves’ home, and he suspected that one or more might have been sent aboveground to circle around and come in behind the Black Talons. He had already put a bullet into the skull of the Elves that lay within sight.
“Bravo check,” Derek called, indicating he needed to reload and get organized. Slotting a full tube into his Spencer, he drew his Le Mat and reloaded both the revolver cylinder and the single-shot shotgun barrel.
Shad fired his shotgun, reloaded, and then pulled the box of .45 Long Colts from inside his shirt and dumped a dozen cartridges into his shirt pocket. The Elves could retreat through other passages, but he doubted they would leave their shrine, so it was going get hairy soon.
“Bounding,” Derek called, and Shad and Fred opened fire as the Scav/Alienist moved forward. An Elf tried to rush Derek but caught a load of buckshot and two of Fred’s.44-40s before the Radio Shack manager even brought his weapon to bear.
“Last rush,” Shad called as quietly as was practicable, reloading his shotgun from his nearly empty bandolier. The chamber was large and they were moving forward, but the powder smoke was growing in intensity while the fireballs were beginning to burn down.
The Elf’s mistake was to hit Fred in the back with a light javelin; alerted, Jeff shot it in the left temple as it glided into the chamber from the passage the Black Talons had taken. The second rushed Jeff and soaked up five short-case .450s before collapsing at the Jinxman’s feet. Jeff paused just long enough to put a round into the second Elf’s head before racing to Fred.
Seeing Fred get hit Shad burst from cover and rushed the enemy-held side of the chamber-Fred was alive but hurt badly, and if the Elves moved first they could kill the Scout/Hunter and secure the center of the chamber, turning the tables on the Talons. He saw a head and an arm drawing back a dart to throw and fired twice with the shotgun, seeing blood fly. Derek was shooting as the Shootist drew a Colt and slid behind another chest-sized stone, shooting a downed Elf in the head to ensure it was out of the fight.
He heard Derek yell and emptied his Colt in suppression fire as the Scav/Alienist joined him.
“How are we doing,” Derek gasped, sliding another tube into his Spencer.
“That one’s dead, don’t know who got him but I skull-tapped him just to be sure. Hit another, how bad I can’t say.”
“Jeff got two that came up from the way we had.”
“Good,” Shad closed the shotgun and started reloading the Colt. “I’m down to what’s in the shotgun.” He dumped the rest of the box of cartridges into his shirt pocket. “About twenty .45s in reserve. You?”
“Topped off and maybe thirty rounds all told. If I could get a decent look this would be over quick.”
“Yeah, I don’t think many are left. How is our hex situation?”
“They not doing anything-I think we got their shaman or whatever they call their hex-slingers.”
“They won’t rush us, and I bet they don’t retreat, either; they’ll make us come to them.”
“Yeah, its their best play,” Derek hawked and spat. “I wish I had a canteen.”
Shad eased an Elf shot from his calf, hissing at the pain. “Can’t help you. You ready?”
“Yeah,” Derek drew his Le Mat. “I’ll move, you cover.”
“OK, on two. One…TWO!”
Shad unloaded both barrels at likely places as Derek charged. An Elf appeared to the Scav/Alienist’s right with a spear, limping badly, and the Shootist hit it with two rounds before it could close. Derek skull-tapped it as he ran past.
Another Elf charged from the left, hand axe ready, but Derek hit it with six .31s, the light bullets grouping well as there was minimal recoil from the heavy revolver. He fired the Le Mat’s last round into the Elf’s skull as it hit the floor and cocked his Spencer.
Jeff joined Shad at the stone block. “Fred’s OK now. His jacket has seen better days, though.”
“Life is hard,” the Shootist said absently as he reloaded a Colt. “Two more down. Load up and move alongside Derek, and then I’ll assault all the way to the far side.”
“OK,” Jeff rushed forward.
Shad checked the loads in both his revolvers and then whistled. As Jeff and Derek opened fire he jogged forward, a revolver at the ready. Behind the final set of pillars he found a badly wounded Elf kneeling by a nearly dead Elf binding up its wounds. The kneeler looked up at Shad with an expressionless visage, one arm hanging limp, its shoulder socket smashed by a bullet, a bandage covering a second wound in its belly.
“Better you than us.” Shad shot it just below the hairline, and followed suit with its dying comrade. “Secure.”
Chapter Six
Jeff lit a torch and swept the entire chamber, putting a bullet into the skull of any Elf who lacked one, no matter how dead it looked. “That’s that,” he observed as he returned to the battered trio. “Fred’s patched up, so let’s get to you two.”
“Derek first so he can search,” Shad said, corking Jeff’s canteen. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”
“There’s other chambers,” Derek protested.
“You’re out of hexes, Jeff’s going to be low on charms, and we’re low on ammo. Besides, the best stuff will be at their shrine-wall.”
“You don’t know for certain,” the Scav/Alienist argued. “The Elves of the Realm might be different from the Elves of the Prison.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’m leaving very soon.”
“Me, too,” a pale Fred agreed. “Jeff’s charms don’t replace the blood lost, and I’m down a quart or so.”
“And we still have to patch up the Station House,” Jeff agreed as he examined Derek’s wounds. “I figure the Goblin-sign was made by the Elves, but I’m not going to bet my life on it.”
“OK, OK,” Derek sighed, sneezing in the acrid haze of gun smoke. “At least the powder smoke cuts the smell.”
Burdened by loot and the shock of now-healed wounds the Black Talons trudged back to their base.
“We should have brought the horses,” Fred grunted.
“Then we would have to unsaddle them,” Derek pointed out.
“Point.”
“That fight was worse than the first time we went up against Elves, back in the Prison,” Jeff observed.
“These knew to expect guns,” Shad said. “And there were more of them. I think maybe they use larger groups because of guns.”
“They were doing pretty good without guns,” Fred shook his head. “Or even metal. For a minute there I was thinking we were going to check out.”
“We’ve been in tighter spots, but not many,” Derek agreed. “That bar in Dubai springs to mind.”
“I thought we were going to never speak of that incident again?” Shad snarled. �
�And yet we end up talking about it regularly.”
“That guy probably didn’t die, Shad.”
“I hope he did; I certainly did my best to kill him when I hit him with that chair. The point is that that was not the sort of incident you want to bring up.”
“So we walked into the wrong sort of bar, no big deal.”
“That was not a bar, it was more like the shower room at San Quentin,” Jeff shuddered. “It wasn’t my life I was worried about.”
“The big deal is the stack of felonies we left behind us in a Third World nation,” Shad shook his head. “Felonies committed against gay ethnic types.”
“Ethnic gay would-be rapists,” Jeff corrected him. “But that’s a good point. We didn’t start it, but we also did not report it.”
“You guys worry too much,” Derek grinned.
“Speaking of things in our past, remember back at Gen Con…” Shad began.
“OK, OK, point made!” Derek interrupted him.
“Remember at the National Training Center when Derek bagged that homely POL clerk?” Jeff mused. “Damn, she was ten miles of West Texas road.”
“She was nice,” Derek snapped.
“Pretty good ass, as I recall,” Fred mumbled.
“It was a long time between goats, I guess,” Shad grinned.
“Like you would have passed her by,” Derek shook his head.
“I wouldn’t have,” the Shootist conceded. “You have to relax your standards at times like that, grade on a curve.”
“That’s a good motto to live by,” Jeff agreed.
“Apparently that is Sara’s mantra,” Derek grinned.
Fred shot the Scav/Alienist a sidelong look. “When I get back up to speed we’ll revisit that remark.”
Jeff nailed planks over the windows and took the first watch as the others washed up as best they could and collapsed into their bedrolls. He spent his watch cleaning his and the other’s weapons and performing various household chores that could be done quietly.