He was up the stairs to the main stable before he even knew it. Someone produced a space blanket, wrapped her in it, and got her some water. The team medic gave her a light sedative.
Commissioner Miller looked at the girl, then at Torbin. The female Federal Agent came up retching. Behind her, Emily was helping the two ambulatory young ones up the stairs.
“The word is given, Major,” Miller spoke.
“Cell phone, please.” Torbin took the phone and dialed a special number, unknown to most.
A voice answered. “Forest Fire Reporting. Where’s the Fire?”
“Forest Fire, Torbin, 1775.” Torbin then gave a classified code that changed each week, followed by the address of the stable complex. “Friendlies on site. Need Fire Response Soonest. Lots of trees involved.”
“Response is dispatched. Turn radios to the following frequency…”
A few moments later and Torbin disconnected and handed the phone back to the Commissioner.
“About ten minutes, the calvary should be in the area.”
Just then, one of the agents who had finished searching the cellar, called out to the Commissioner.
“Boss. The rooms at the end of the cellar are arms rooms, jammed pack with weapons. Must be at least a thousand rifles, machine guns, plus a bunch of pistols and shotguns. Ammo, too.” The agent began passing out two five round boxes of 12 gauge slugs, and one of buckshot to the shotgun users.
“Wait here please,” Torbin said to no one in particular, and went back down the steps. He ran down the hall to the armory and looked in. He whistled. There were rifles of every type you could imagine. His eyes went to a long one with a wooden stock. A 30-06 Garand, a late World War II shortened bayonet affixed to its barrel. Looped over it was a bandolier of loaded eight round en bloc clips. Torbin grabbed the weapon and the ammunition. He did a quick function check, saw the rifle had been lubricated, well cared for. It was probably from a private collection of some citizen who did not survive the first six years. He grabbed a clip and loaded it the correct way so as not to get an M-1 Thumb. Then he hurried back up the steps.
The Federal agents were checking their weapons, as Emily and the medic carried for the three girls. The female agent was shaking, pale as a ghost. Torbin met the Commissioner’s eyes, nodding his head toward her. Miller said in a low tone, “She saw the chimp monster raping that girl. She’ll stay here with the wounded.” Miller motioned to the Garand. “I see you found a friend.”
“Yes Sir. Had an old Gunny show me how to use this weapon. A rifleman’s rifle.” The Commissioner nodded in appreciation.
“Okay, time to move. Doctor, stay here with the ladies and the wounded agent.”
Torbin handed Emily a revolver he had grabbed from an old west-style holster in the armory. “Here. This is a replica of an old Smith and Wesson .45 Top Break Revolver. Five rounds in it. You know how to use a pistol, right?”
“Yes, Torbin. My father taught me to shoot. I think I can handle this.”
“It’s more for humans, but it’s better than nothing on the beast things.”
“Time to go, Major,” the Commissioner interjected.
“Okay. Watch yourself, Doctor.”
Emily smiled. “Will do. You come back in one piece, Major. Understood?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
The team stacked up quickly, Torbin at the rear. Then they move out the large swinging double doors of the stable, heading toward the next stable. Two smaller outdoor lights illuminated the area between the two stables, nothing more. As they were about to enter the next stable, large creatures came running around the corner of the building. These monsters had started out as something doglike, but now looked as if they had been crossed with an oversized hyena and something from a person’s nightmare. Well over two hundred pounds, Torbin got a glimpse of some weird vestal arms or tentacles emanating from their front shoulders. The mouths had way too many teeth. He fired his Garand. There must have been a half dozen, two of them slamming into agents with open jaws even as they were sieved with bullets. An agent died with a crushed face and head before he knew what hit him. Torbin emptied his rifle, the en bloc clip pinging from the action after the last round. Torbin grabbed for another one as new threats appeared from out of the dark. Miller cursed as his MP5 ran empty, grabbing for his 10mm Glock 20 pistol.
“Eaters!” somebody yelled. Now Torbin knew someone had found a way to control these bastards, as they were ignoring all the fresh kill meat around and headed straight for the Assault Team. Only a few shots rang out as the rest scrambled to reload. An Eater was almost on top of Torbin, as he swung the rifle out to use the bayonet.
A segment of the darkness turned into a figure as a sword blade flashed, cutting the limbs off the left side of the Eater. It slid into the ground, letting go with the god awful mewling screech that a person never forgot. The clawed hands were cut off, then a blade penetrated its brain thru the left eye. It collapsed, dead.
“Ichiro. What the holy hell are you doing here?”
“Why saving you again, my blood brother. And I have some help.”
From about fifty yards away, an animal horn blown by someone with strong lungs sent a call to arms sound reverberating out into the night. The Sons of the North had arrived.
“Shitfire. Don’t I have any operational security and secrecy?” The Commissioner yelled as he emptied his pistol into an approaching Eater. Then, nothing else attacked.
A huge man dressed in traditional Viking warrior garb stepped out of the darkness. Of course it was Rolf Knudsen. Who else would suddenly show up, with a huge broadsword in his belt?
“Ah, we found you, brothers. But too late I guess. You have killed everything.” He sounded almost sad. Upon hearing Rolf’s pronouncement, the proverbial gods of combat stepped in with a vengeful, “Oh really? Watch this.”
Out from the dark came more of the dog monsters, as large as black bears. People scrambled to bring their firearms to bear as Rolf let out a battle cry, producing a long spear and stepped in front of everyone.
“Get out of the field of fire, goddamnit!” Miller cursed as he reloaded his pistol.
Rolf braced the long boar spear with his right foot on the weapon’s butt, catching one of the dog monsters full in the chest. The boar spear had two cross pieces a foot apart on the shaft, designed to keep boars that impaled themselves from pushing down the shaft of the spear and feeding on the human at the dull end, even while it died. It worked exactly the same way with this new threat. Snapping, jerking, and snarling, Rolf kept ahold of the spear as the monster died. Rolf bellowed praises to Thor, then drew his broadsword.
Torbin took out two more with his heavy 30.06, as a combined weight of fire dispatched the fourth one. Seven more American Vikings came out of the shadows, bedecked similar to Rolf. A baboon creature burst screeching from the shadows and was impaled by an arrow. Torbin glanced over to the projectile’s source and saw that it was a female holding the bow. Tall, blonde, statuesque, the Daughter of the North had a look of satisfaction as the attacking creature flopped around, then lay still.
“Excellent shot, Brynhildr.” Rolf bellowed. Torbin saw that even though she had traditional Norse garb and armor, the bow she was using was a modern compound bow, with attached spare arrow holder. She had two short handled single blade battle axes stuffed in her wide leather belt, a small quiver of arrows strapped across her back. Brynhildr looked as if she had just stepped out of an expensive Hollywood action film. This night, she was the real deal.
“Alright.” Commissioner Miller began snapping orders. “You and you, stay with the Major and I. And with our new friends here. The rest of you, take the dead and wounded back to the doctor. We’ll pick you up later.” Miller picked up the assault rifle of the dead agent, then took a full magazine from the dead man’s belt. With practiced ease he swapped out the full magazine with the partial, stuck the latter in a front cargo pocket. He had seen death many times before, and he would grieve for his lost agent la
ter. Right now, he needed to take care of the living.
The six male Sons of the North lined up shield to shield in a practiced formation, Rolf and Brynhildr behind them. Miller grunted. “You want us to follow you? Anyone have a firearm?”
Rolf gave another large grin. “You may fire around us, and by us. We will not flinch. Let us be your shield wall. We will keep these beasts from hell away from you.”
“Okay, it’s your funeral.”
Rolf laughed. “And a fitting one at that. To die in battle, taken to Valhalla by the valkyries. What could be better?” The Commissioner saw in Rolf’s eyes that he was serious. He had learned never to question a man’s religion, unless the man was trying to force it on him. He was not about to start doing something different now.
“Okay, lay on Macduff. Into the last stable through those barn doors. Then we can hit the assholes holding the main gate from the rear.” He paused. “But first, raise your right hands.” All the men raised their hands with broadswords in them, Brynhildr had an arrow in hers.
“Do you all solemnly swear to defend the Constitution and the people of the U.S.A. against all enemies, foreign and domestic?”
A chorus of “Yah, yes, of course.” followed.
“By the power vested in me, you are all sworn in as Deputy U.S. Marshals for the next twenty-four hours. Don’t make me regret this.”
Rolf laughed. “My Commissioner, we will do what you tell us, as long as it involves killing the enemies you mentioned.”
Rolf barked an order and his people moved in practiced unison toward the aforementioned doors. Torbin noticed Ichiro was walking by his side. “I don’t suppose I could get you to stay back with the doctor?”
Ichiro smiled. “With respect, I am here because your wife and Abigail called me, afraid you were about to do something stupid. Impulsive. It appears that they were right. Now, I must get you back in one piece, or suffer their anger.”
Torbin smiled. “Okay, but only because I don’t dare make Aleks angry. Just do not get hurt on my account.”
“I would never dream of it, Torbin-san.”
With the shield wall they shoved open the barn door. No button hook, no criss cross entries, just straight in. Torbin was sure they had Kevlar under their Viking armor, so they would be almost bullet proof to small arms fire. Good combination of old and new weapons technologies.
They were in another dimly lit large stable. This one had just a few horse stalls along the sides, most of it open in the middle. Hay bales and horse tacking were spread out across the dirt floor. Maybe the last group of creatures were it, Torbin thought. Torbin and the others with firearms did a quick check of the few stables as they slowly walked past, making sure nothing would hit them from the sides or rear. A few huge dog tracks, nothing else was found. The group slowed as they reached the end of the building.
“Okay, when we exit through those doors, we will be in sight of where the miscreants are holed up,” Miller stated. “We gunmen will get them in a crossfire with the Assault Team trying to enter through the front. We have a couple of flash bangs, which should help clear them out.”
He turned toward Rolf. “If you and your people could watch our backs…”
Breaking glass interrupted his comment, as windows shattered in the south side of the stable they were preparing to exit. Screaming baboon creatures rushed at them.
With practiced ease, Rolf’s people raised their large, circular shields, swung them up and over the others and reformed a shield wall in the new direction of the threat before the others could bring their firearms to bear. An arrow from Brynhildr’s bow took one creature through its throat, and she drew another. A couple of shots were fired, then a dozen creatures were leaping at the Sons of the North.
Broadswords demonstrated their deadliness as the baboon creatures were clove in half, the swordsmen letting rip with battle cries. One actually made it past, to latch on to Rolf’s left arm, which held a small buckler rather than a full shield. He laughed as the creature bit down, only to discover traditional chain link armor underneath. Rolf crushed its head with the pommel of his sword.
The other double doors of the stable, now to their backs, burst open. Whoever controlled these monstrosities had it down to a science, as the sacrifice of the baboon creatures allowed for an attack from a different direction, with no wall of shields for protection against them. Torbin yelled, “Behind!” as a pit-bull with a spiked collar leapt at his throat. Automatic reflexes took over, and he thrust the bayonet on the M-1 into its chest. The force of the contact almost bowled him over, but he managed to stand his ground. He pulled the rifle’s trigger, the blast helping to free the bayonet blade from the now dead canine.
The pit-bull was the only “normal” animal among the attacking force. Once again, whatever means of control the criminal owners of this venture had, it enabled them to send various types of creatures at them, mixed up, all at the same time with no danger of distraction. They existed to reach and rend their target humans, nothing more.
Ichiro dispatched an Eater with his practiced technique, then used his katana to slice a super weasel almost in half. Shots were fired at the canine monsters, baboon creatures, once-an-ape animals. The other American Viking swordsmen were there, trying to get their shields between the creatures and the others. It turned into a complete melee of blood and guts.
A bear-sized canine monstrosity latched onto the shield of one of the Sons of Norway, crushing and shattering it as the creature knocked the man over onto his back. Even though reinforced with Kevlar, the shields could not stand up to the crushing might of the creature’s jaws. The American Viking, unable to use his sword, pulled a dirk from his boot and began perforating the monster’s chest and side. In a blur, a katana blade was sticking through the base of the modified canine’s skull. It shuddered, then collapsed onto its original prey. The warrior, with Ichiro’s help, heaved the dead body to the side.
“Thank you, my friend. That beast was being difficult.”
Ichiro smiled, gave a short bow, and then went looking for another target.
Brynhildr had grounded her bow, and pulled her two battle axes from her belt. Letting out a war cry equal to any man’s, she started swinging her weapons in an intricate pattern of death. She was selective where she struck, going for the soft throats, guts of the attacking creatures, so as not to bind her blades in bone. Soon she had her arms soaked with blood from gushing neck wounds and spilled gut sacks.
Then the threats were gone, or down. One of the two remaining agents was also down, his right leg badly bitten and bleeding. Brynhildr bent down, grabbed the emergency medic pack every one of the agents had on their belt and quickly had him bandaged up. He told her thanks and Brynhildr flashed him a smile. Then she was back up with her bow at the ready.
“Fuck!” exclaimed the Commissioner. “This was supposed to be a search and arrest warrant operation, not a damn monster hunt.” He fumed, looking at his downed agent. “Screw this.” Miller reached into a small ditty bag he had on his hip and withdrew a couple of round objects. He stepped over and handed one to Torbin, an M-26 shrapnel grenade. Torbin looked at Miller. “These are not usually law enforcement issue, are they?”
“No,” answered the Commissioner. “But it is better to have them and not need them, than need them and not have them.” He then turned to Rolf, who was checking his people out. One warrior had a cracked arm from a dog-monster bite, his mail armor stopping penetrating teeth but not the extreme crushing pressure of the bite. Later tests would show the creature’s bite pressure was equal to a large crocodile. The rest had cuts and bruises, nothing serious.
“Rolf, can I borrow a couple of your warriors?”
Rolf grinned broadly. “Of course. They are not done fighting.”
Miller then turned to his two agents. “Bowen, take your wounded comrade back to where the doctor is.” Just then, his radio crackled to life. He answered it, listened to his earpiece.
“Well Major, your choppers are
a minute out,.I think I can hear the rotors. The team is going to fast rope down on the business office roof, and take care of those inside. So, that leaves us to help take out those blocking the entrance. Ready?”
Ichiro stepped forward. “Sir, please allow me to accompany Torbin. That will free you to coordinate with the arriving military any last minute actions.”
The Commissioner paused in thought for a few moments, then handed the other grenade to the Free Japan Officer. “You’re right. You’re thinking straighter than I am. I can see why General Reed values your opinion so much.” Ichiro went to attention, then gave a short bow. He turned to his friend.
“Shall we, Major?”
“Absolutely, Major.” Two Viking warriors formed up shield to shield, the two military men falling in behind their large frames. Both were almost as large as Rolf, thus allowing Torbin and Ichiro the ability to hide behind their bulk and shields. Torbin gave the order to move out and crossed the open area between the stall and the former tack/equipment storage shed, now the guard shack for the entrance of the compound. Torbin and Ichiro both had their grenades in hand, opposite hand social finger through the pin ring.
As they crossed the open area, a couple of shots rang out from the back of the destination building. The rounds impacted on the shield of one of the Sons of Norway. No follow up shots were taken, as an arrow streaked directly into the area of the muzzle flash. A scream of pain told them the arrow had struck true. Brynhildr had scored again. The two Majors pulled the pins on their grenades, then heaved them thru the back window of the structure. The warriors crouched down behind their shields, the Majors behind them.
The grenades blew a chunk out of the wall, eliciting screams from inside. Then, Torbin heard muffled cries of “We surrender!” as the front Assault Team finally made entry through the main gate. At that moment, the Military Special Response Team fast roped to the roof of the business office of the former commercial stables.
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