The Temporal Knights

by Richard D. Parker

  The Colonel shook his head. “Chances are they’d hear the vehicles and that would probably spook them and their horses. It would be best to lure them into the perimeter.”

  “Captain,” Peebles said again into the mic, “can your men flank them as they ride in closer?”

  “I think so. Could be tough with the dogs...though the wind’s in our favor, coming from directly behind the horsemen.”

  “Let’s give it a try, and shoot only if absolutely necessary. I want them in camp unharmed. Use flame to herd them back this way if they bolt.”

  “Yes Sir,” Hersey said and immediately set about deploying his men for the flanking maneuver.

  “We were not prepared well enough for this,” Peebles commented without recriminations and held up a hand to Lemay’s apology. “As a unit, our men are more prepared to use maximum force...this could get out of hand and become dangerous. I’d like to get some snipers up in the rocks east of camp just in case, but warn them of the situation. I don’t want to start any bad blood with the locals. We need these people, and we need them on our side. Force will have to be used in time I’m sure, but I want to know how much force and who we are using it against, if possible.”

  Lemay nodded and headed out to prepare the camp. Both Thane and Rice stayed with the General.

  “Get Gardner on alert,” Peebles said to Matt. “I want him in a Bot and waiting. He may have to spot for some hummer crews if we spook the locals. I don’t want them getting away and wrongly reporting our intentions...and have Sergeant Moore prepare four hummer crews.”

  Matt saluted and headed out while the General and Dr. Rice continued to monitor the situation. Captain Hersey had twelve men under his direct command at the moment, with five of them circling carefully around the locals in order to get behind them. General Peebles continuously switched the large computer monitor from one man to another in order to get the best view of the situation. He finally settled on Private Starling.

  “Private Starling,” he said suddenly into the man’s helmet. The voice did not startle the private, who was very use to such things.

  “Sir?” he whispered though the locals were still nearly half a klick away.

  “Magnify twenty times,” the General ordered, and the private complied filling the virtual display with the local riders. Private Starling then panned around covering every rider for several long seconds, knowing exactly what the General wanted.

  The riders looked to be a rough group, muscular, bearded, most with long hair, a few carried short lances, or bows, and there were swords visibly sheathed at their sides. Only one of the riders wore any noticeable armor, and that was just a single chest piece.

  “That will be your leader,” Rice said hoping he was correct. “Armor’s expensive, and only the wealthiest could afford it in these times.”

  Colonel Lemay entered the tent and joined them, trying to take in everything. He was surprised to find that his heart was pounding like a virgin stripping to his skivvies, something that had not happened to him in quite a few years. Suddenly, the sound of dogs yelping and barking erupted through the speakers and Private Starling immediately brought his view back to normal. He did this properly without orders, since magnification made it nearly impossible to fight for all but the most elite soldiers in their group, and even for them it was not practiced or recommended.

  Major Thane returned to the tent just in time to see the dogs spot and advance on Private Brooks, who was positioned directly in their path, simply waiting. The dogs were still nearly a quarter of a mile away, but were now running swiftly and the horsemen spurred on after them. Brooks remained calm, unaware that Peebles had switched to monitor through his helmet. There would be no interference, however, once the enemy was engaged. Any communication at a critical junction could spell disaster for the soldier, so when the safety was taken off the weapon’s system, all communications were cut off unless he directly toggled the speaker system. When the dogs were a bit over a hundred yards out Brooks stood and gave a short burst from his flame-thrower which was mounted on the side of his M18 rifle. It could spray a napalm mixture up to fifty yards and fire continuously for almost a full minute before running out of fuel. It was intended to be a defensive weapon, though still very lethal, and was used very effectively against surging Skawps.

  The dogs yelped at the heat and immediately turned back on their equally terrorized masters, who nearly rode over the top of them. Private Brooks was in full battle gear, visor down, looking at the world through his virtual screen. His sensors missed nothing except for the looks of absolute terror on the faces of the men before him.

  Sir Æthelnoth, Ealdorman and lord of these lands, eyed the devil before him with great caution and barely disguised fear, which was passed through his thick thighs to his skittish mount. His mind raced, trying to decide what to do. This could be some new demon challenging him…or it could be a dragon’s ruse. Dragons were notorious tricksters and very clever beasts. He was running his lands yesterday and saw the flying dragon with his own eyes, and put a call out for his best knights to come forthwith and join the hunt. They were hunting dragon, expected dragon, and not this man-like creature spitting fire at them now. But this was like no man the Ealdorman had ever seen before. His face was washed out, flat and dull. He remembered no stories of dragons turned to men, but he wouldn’t put it passed the foul beasts. He’d heard they could do pretty near anything. Æthelnoth was carefully considering what to do next when his young son Harden quickly raised his crossbow and fired. Æthelnoth admired the youth’s spunk, even though his small target was well out of range, but then the young man gave a war cry and charged the man-beast. The Ealdorman’s heartbeat quickened with fear and pride, and though it was against his better judgment he spurred his own horse to follow.

  Brooks saw the shot and dove to one side though after five years of hard fighting he could instinctively tell that the arrow was going to be wide to the left. He heard rather than saw the quarrel from the bow clatter against the rocks. It had arrived with startling speed. But Brooks was not concerned with such things at the moment because all nine knights and half a dozen dogs were charging his position. He fired a quick burst from his M18 and eliminated two of the dogs, and shot the flame-thrower nearly full force scorching the hair on the other four canines. The charge skidded to an abrupt stop. On his face shield he could see the targeting dots which represented Captain Hersey and the others in the area as they quickly circled around to the rear of the horsemen. The horses were now scared and very jittery, wanting to flee, and the Private knew that the situation was deteriorating rapidly. He held up a hand to the strangers, keeping a very wary eye on the crossbow. He was unaware that it could only fire one shot without a lengthy reloading process, but completely aware that if the weapon was fired now he would be hard pressed to avoid the arrow.

  Brooks slowly removed his helmet, causing General Peebles to raise an eyebrow and switch back to Private Starling’s camera. The faces before Private Brooks were startled and very afraid. Most of the men carried short lances which were pointed in his direction, though as the horses jostled nervously beneath them; most had a difficult time keeping the weapons in position.

  “Friend,” he yelled over the fifty-yard distance.

  The Ealdorman’s mouth dropped open, aghast. The dragon could talk...though exactly what it had said escaped him. But the beast had clearly said something. It was unheard of, and the Ealdorman looked around at his knights, then to his son, who had lost much of his earlier bravado. His crossbow was now empty which meant he would have to get in close and fight the dragon by sword, which was something apparently even the young and brash did not relish. From the faces of his knights he knew he would get no help from them.

  “Wherefore cometh upon my lands dragon?” Æthelnoth finally yelled back.

  ‘What?’ Brooks thought, thoroughly confused. He did not understand one word coming out of the man before him. It was complete gibberish.

  “I thought they
spoke English,” Colonel Lemay commented with a frown directed at Rice, who shrugged and stared at the large bear of a man who’d confronted Private Brooks.

  “If we’re even in England,” he answered helplessly.

  “We’re in position, General,” Captain Hersey reported having stopped no more than a hundred yards behind the horsemen. His men were spread out to control the locals retreat.

  “Friend,” Brooks repeated, louder this time, in the hopes of being understood. He held up his hand in what he thought was a universal greeting of friendship. Behind the horsemen, Captain Hersey and four others stood up together. One of the horsemen immediately spotted them and spun his mount around to face this new threat. His horse reared, nearly throwing him, but he held on and started to run, but fire from all the strange dragons immediately surrounded them. Brooks frowned and set down his weapon and then he began to slowly approach the locals.

  The Ealdorman twisted on his horse trying to assess this new situation. The dragon had now surrounded them by becoming not one but five men. He started to pray. Only God could save him from such devilry, but God did not immediately answer. He opened his eyes once more and watched as the piece of the dragon approached ever closer. Æthelnoth was dimly aware that Sir Elid was off his horse and on the ground praying loudly and watching the approaching beast with eyes wide enough to sail a boat on.

  “Helmets off,” Hersey said and his men complied.

  “Who are you?” Brooks asked stopping only about twenty feet away, feeling very naked and vulnerable without his assault rifle and helmet. He still had his sidearm in an emergency and he had complete confidence in Hersey and the others to take out the targets if necessary. He held out his hands, showing that he was unarmed, not understanding that the men before him thought him to be supernatural.

  The Ealdorman however, despite his fear and constant praying, noticed the gesture and was struck by it, and the oddly way in which the dragon spoke.

  “Wot ye want of us dragon?” he asked, deciding it could do no harm to converse with the beast, after all it was well known that dragons were after flesh and not the soul.

  This time Brooks caught a few words, but was still unable to catch the meaning. General Peebles and the others, who were now relegated to a scene from the helmets placed on the ground, could make out nothing.

  “I’m Sean Brooks,” he said tapping his chest, not really knowing what else to do.

  But this time the Ealdorman understood, and hoped for the first time that the beast before him just might be a man.

  “Sir Æthelnoth of Somerset,” the Ealdorman answered tapping his own chest, and this Private Brooks understood. “Ye be a man then?”

  The words had a strange cadence; a lilting quality that Brooks was not used to, and it forced him to concentrate. He shook his head and pointed at his ears.

  The Ealdorman frowned. The beast claimed not to be a man, and then pointed to his ears, which seemed very strange, though the ears appeared to be normal.

  “Ye be a dragon?”

  “I don’t understand you, Sir Aathelnot,” Brooks answered, and the Ealdorman frowned again for this time he had understood the beast in front of him plainly. Twas Anglish the beast was speaking, but a strange Anglish.

  “Ye na understand,” the Ealdorman repeated.

  “Yes, yes,” Brooks said catching the meaning immediately.

  “Ye be a man Sean Brooks?” Sir Æthelnoth tried again.

  It took a moment of thought then comprehension finally broke through. “Yes, I am a man,” Brooks answered, amused. The horsemen conferred amongst themselves excitedly for a moment before turning back toward Brooks. They said nothing and just continued to stare openly at him.

  “Now what?” he yelled over to Captain Hersey. The horsemen turned and looked at the men behind them. The knights of Somerset were all very afraid, but did not want the fact to be known. Hersey bent down slowly and picked up his helmet and slipped it back on his head, after a moment he raised the visor.

  “The General wants them in camp. See if they’ll follow you?” Hersey said nodding to the local who were again watching him.

  “Ye Sir. Whilst ye give thy name?” the Ealdorman challenged Private Starling, who was moving slowly over to join Brooks. Starling’s mouth popped open. Up until now this was completely unreal to him, a mission, an assignment yes…but not real. These could not be real men, real Englishmen, and besides he understood nothing that came from the local’s mouths. But here the man was, on horseback demanding something of him that was clear. He looked to his Brooks for help.

  “He wants your name...I think?” Brooks yelled.

  “Starling...Thomas…Tom Starling.”

  At this point the horsemen seemed excited. “Ye be Anglish then?...Tom Eh?” the Ealdorman asked with his first smile, and pointed to one of his horsemen. “Sir Tomkin Cronin of Wedmore…Tom.”

  “Tom,” Starling repeated, understanding at least that much.

  “Ye be Anglish?”

  “Anglish?” Starling said pausing, concentrating on the word. “Yes, yes I’m English,” he said finally understanding. He grinned back, and it was then that the Ealdorman was sure these were men, strange and otherworldly maybe, but men. Perhaps they were Angels from God, he couldn’t say...but some claimed to be Anglish, though it was clear others of the group were not.

  “Ho good Sir. Whilst ye tell why ye be travelin’ in these lands with the Moors?” he asked hesitantly not wanting to upset the strange men. Even though it was now clear that they were not the much feared dragon he’d spotted just yesterday, there was still something magical about them. A smile and a kind word could not make him forget the spouting of fire so easily.

  Private Starling shrugged not understanding what was being asked. Private Brooks shrugged also, neither realizing he was referring to Captain Hersey and Corporal Jefferies, who were both African Americans.

  “Moors,” Dr. Rice said catching the meaning. “He’s referring to Hersey and Jefferies.”

  “Come,” Brooks finally said motioning them to follow, and after a few attempts he headed back and picked up his helmet and weapon. Sir Æthelnoth and his group followed, though at a discreet distance which even the dogs maintained, still wary of the strangers. Within ten minutes they topped a slight rise and Sir Æthelnoth’s heart fell as he gazed down into the camp. There were hundreds of men and tents and strange wagons about and though he did not know their purpose the Lord of Somerset realized all too well that at the moment his life was beholden to these men. Perhaps he was a guest rather than a prisoner, but even so, his fate would now be decided by men he knew not.

  “Seal the perimeter behind them,” Peebles said excitedly as he watched the men from history ride down to meet him. “Do it discreetly.”

  The Ealdorman, though equally excited, was much less pleased with the situation. Strange was this camp, and strange were the men inside it. Something magical was truly happening on his lands. He was not even sure that all of the strange men were of this world, with their strange skin and enormous height. It was very worrisome. Their size was much like the marauding Northmen, but other than that they did not have the look of the Boneless, nor his men. But if this was an invasion force it was not over many, with no more than four and one hundred men total, and from what he could see, it was an army afoot…there were no horses in or around the camp.

  Odd that such a group could get this far into his lands on foot without some word coming from the surrounding villages. Travelers were big news. He and his knights looked about, studying the erected shelters and the many strange-wheeled wagons that were placed haphazardly about. The Ealdorman wondered briefly just how the wagons came to be here without horses. He wore a puzzled expression as he followed the one called Brooks into the center of the camp. His horse had long since settled down, she being a stout, seasoned war-horse, and the dogs followed along very subdued, apparently still mindful of the two kilt of their kind. He rode to a point then dismounted by one of the larg
e, strange wagons. He tied the horse’s reins to a built in hitching post on the front of the wagon and was surprised to find that the post was made entirely of hard metal. He banged the bumper of the truck and rubbed his hand along the smoothness. His knights and son followed his lead and dismounted.

  Peebles approached, followed closely by Lemay and Rice, who could barely stifle a grin and then finally Robertson and Major Thane. The General stopped in front of the local men, and was immediately struck by just how short they were; the tallest of the bunch was perhaps five foot eight. But though they were short, they were far from small. They were all very muscular and solidly built men. The man in charge of the English was only about five foot six inches tall but he had a very large head that sat, seemingly neckless, on set of broad, powerful shoulders. A thick black beard covered much of his face, but his eyes were hard and intelligent. The General could tell that this was not a man to take lightly, but as the Englishmen drew nearer the thing that truly struck him was their smell, which was absolutely horrible, though Rice barely noticed in his excitement.

  “My name is General Stephen Peebles,” he said and instantly realized that the locals were having a bit of trouble understanding him.

  “Peeebles,” the Ealdorman repeated slowly. “Sir, are ye the Captain of this fyrd?”

  Peebles paused for a moment and then Private Brooks translated for him.

  “Yes,” the General said nodding his head, not knowing exactly what a fyrd was.

  “Whilst ye tell me please, how doth ye come to be trespassing upon the royal lands of King Alfred?”

  Peebles frowned still not catching the meaning of the words, but Lemay did and this time he translated with a look to Brooks to see if the Private agreed.

  Now Peebles smiled. “Please come,” he said motioning for the short man in front of him to follow. He couldn’t get over the size of the Englishmen. The Ealdorman was very much shorter than the General’s six foot three frame, but Peebles was relieved to see that the man in charge was at least an older man, obviously older than the General by a few years. It would have surprised them both to learn that Peebles, at fifty-eight was fifteen years the Ealdorman’s senior.