Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

by Doug Dandridge

  “Not unknown,” said Anni with a laugh. “Well known to us.”

  The MP gave Anni a confused look.

  “We were bailed out of a bad situation by the forest Elves when we first got here,” said Anni, a smile on her face. “And we spent the first night in one of their villages.”

  “This is truth?” asked the MP, looking over at Dirk. “The Oberst must hear of this. You will come with me, Herr Winslow.”

  “I would really like to hit that chow first,” said Dirk, looking back at the nearest fire.

  “I will make sure you get your fill,” said the MP, calling another soldier over with a wave. “Do not worry. But this is information that the Colonel must have, so he can make sure it gets to the General.”

  Dirk found the Oberst sitting around a fire with other officers and enlisted men that he assumed must be part of the headquarters detachment. A runner must have gone ahead, because the Colonel was out of his chair and heading toward Dirk as soon as the band leader walked into the firelight. He held out a strong hand and gripped Dirk’s in a greeting.

  “I know you,” said the Colonel, whose name tag said Wittman.

  “Not too many Germans with my skin tone,” said the half African-American lead guitar player.

  “It is not just that,” said the Colonel with a laugh. “I was a guitar player back in the day, before the Army was my career. And I have heard of the great Dirk Winslow, though I don’t get the reference to Jimmy Hendrix.”

  “I think it has something to do with being black,” said Dirk with a grimace.

  “I was thinking more Steve Howe myself,” said the Colonel, nodding his head. “Though different as well. A sound of your own.”

  I like this man, thought Dirk, looking into the man’s brown eyes. He knows his music. And I trust him because of that. Not that Winslow had anything against the military, having a father who retired as a Sergeant Major. And he had served a tour in the United States Army, rising to the rank of Sergeant E-5. But a career had not been for a free spirit like himself, though this world might demand that of him.

  “And I heard you have met with our hidden benefactors,” said the Colonel, breaking Dirk out of his memories.

  “They are not evil,” said Winslow, looking out at the night that surrounded them, listening to the night birds and crickets. He looked back at the Colonel. “The Conyastaya they call themselves. They are not evil. They are risking much to aid us, but risk it they do. The food they are leaving for us is only the tip of the iceberg. They also scout for us, and attempt to make sure that we are not surprised.”

  “And still we are hit on our perimeter from time to time,” said the Colonel with a frown. The man raised a hand before Dirk could answer. “I know. The others they fight against are also Elves, and are not slouches in the forest.”

  “The Ellala are not in the class of the Conyastaya when it comes to woodcraft,” said Dirk, thinking back to the beautiful village he had seen that blended into the forest. “But the High Elves are powerful in magic in ways the Wood Elves can’t match.”

  “Well, we have orders to make sure that the Elves we fire on are those High Elves,” said the Colonel. “Though it may be difficult to tell them apart.”

  “Not so hard,” said Dirk, again thinking back to his contact with the Conyastaya. “The Wood Elves dress mostly like old American frontiersmen, and always have those longbows handy. The High Elves dress differently and are more likely to be armed with swords.”

  “And we have orders to shoot any of those other Elves on sight,” said the Colonel, his own gaze wandering to the night forest.

  “Not all of them are evil,” said Dirk, shaking his head. “Though I can see the dilemma.”

  Dilemma indeed,” said the Colonel. “We just can’t take the chance. So it is shoot first and ask if they are good or evil later. Unless they are the, what did you call them, Conyastaya?”

  Dirk was about to answer when a group of men entered the firelight and headed for the camp. One carried a plate heaped with food, and Dirk felt his stomach grumble again. That man headed right over to him and hand him the plate.

  “Danke,” said Dirk as he accepted what looked like more food than he could eat in days.

  “Take this also,” said the man, who had the insignia of a major on his collar, gesturing to a Captain, who handed Dirk a bottle of beer.

  “Eat up, Herr Winslow,” said the Colonel, nodding at the plate. “We are in a survival situation, and any calories we can take in are welcome.”

  “Thank you, Colonel,” said Dirk, taking the fork that had come with the plate and spearing some pork. “And thank all of you who are here to protect us.”

  “Just our job,” said the Colonel. “And our privilege. Now get yourself around some of that food and we will continue to talk about these Elves you have met. Anything we can learn that will be of use. Then I hear that you and your band will put on a small show, to which I look forward.”

  Dirk smiled as he put a forkful of tender pork in his mouth and started to chew. Things couldn’t be better. They were safe among people who could protect them from the horrors of this world, including those they had brought along with them. And they were respected both as musicians and scouts. What more could he ask. He thought of Anni for a moment, and realized he had a good thing there as well, and then it was time to chase the meat down with some beer.

  * * *

  Corporal Steve Houser of Company B, First Battalion, Sherwood Foresters walked the circuit of his company’s perimeter, checking on sentries. Most watched from the copulas of their tracs, able to use night vision scopes if needed. But the night was bright with the seven eights full moon in the sky, many times more luminous than a full moon on Earth. There were also a few rovers, and the guard NCOs and officer of the guard moving from position to position.

  “Is everything OK, Corporal?” said a deep voice from behind.

  Houser jumped in his skin for a moment, not one liking to be snuck up on. But he had also been thinking about the attack of the vampires two nights before. That had kept everyone alert on night duty, and no one wanted to be separated too far from their fellows. He recognized the voice though and turned with a smile on his face to see the giant officer standing under the moonlight. The one who had fought the vampires to a stand still. The one who was still the source of constant talk about his inhuman capabilities, and one that all of the men hoped would be around when darkness fell.

  Paul Mason-Smyth was not wearing his normal uniform on this night. He had not worn it the night before either, when the unit had stopped to bivouac. He was wearing the full plate armor of a warrior, with a large ax strapped over his back. He still carried his sidearm, belted around his waist, and held an auto rifle in his hands. He looked quite the barbarous warrior to the Corporal’s thinking.

  “Glad to see you sir,” said Houser, bringing his rifle up to a salute. “Making the rounds, sir?”

  “The Colonel thought it best that I take the night duty until we get to the stronghold,” said the Major, his eyes scanning the darkness. “So I sleep in one of the vehicles during the day, and play the Black Knight during the darkness.”

  “Well, glad to have you here sir,” said the Corporal. “Wouldn’t have thought I would ever say that about a man in full armor, carrying an ax on his back.”

  “Different times, Corporal,” agreed Paul, smiling down at the man. “Someday I think I will see all of us wearing getups like this, carrying weapons that depend on muscle.”

  “I prefer a good rifle, sir,” said the Corporal, nodding back at the nearest APC, “and a good auto cannon, with heavy tank support.”

  “And do you know how to get more fuel and ammunition up to us when we run out,” said the Major, chuckling as the NCO shook his head. “Well neither do I. We figured we’ll just make it to this stronghold when our petrol tanks are dry. Hopefully with some ammo as well. And we’ve got to ride herd on these civilians we’ve been gathering on the way.”

 
“I’ll be glad to get there, sir,” agreed the Corporal, pulling out a cigarette and offering one to the officer. “I’ll feel a bit more secure with a couple of divisions surrounding me.”

  * * *

  Paul accepted the cigarette and lit up, wondering how long they would have the luxury of tobacco. Maybe they have big heaping fields of it here, he thought, or something close to it. That, or he would just have to get used to doing without. Like he would have to get used to doing without good scotch.

  “I hope the folks are doing OK back home,” said the Corporal, blowing out smoke from his cigarettes.

  Paul had been orphaned at an early age, so he didn’t remember his parents, but instead the government that had raised him, and the army that had offered him a home. He had no one to miss him, or to be missed. Even the powerful uncle who had helped him into the army was not someone he had known very well.

  “I’m sure they’re alright, Corporal,” he replied, in his mind seeing the large cities of England as nuclear funeral pyres. “Maybe one day we’ll find a way to get back to them.”

  “You think so sir?”

  “I’m sure of it,” said the officer, turning to walk away. “Keep a good watch so you’ll be able to join us.”

  Paul walked away, heading for the next company’s perimeter. He didn’t believe they would ever leave this world, but it wouldn’t hurt for the Corporal to believe that, or the other men. Might give them something to fight for, to keep them going. And that was a good thing, no matter how you looked at it.

  * * *

  Breggara stood motionless in the night shadows, watching the strangers as they moved around the perimeter. His hunger had been sated that night. He had caught one of the unarmed strangers, a woman, in the night, outside of the area guarded by their warriors. Now he watched the one who had destroyed his pack two nights ago, his hackles rising at the same time that fear sank like a lead weight in his belly. He knew that humans could kill him in a fight, fair or otherwise. He could feel no supernatural aura on the human, and so did not understand what he was.

  Tomorrow night, he thought, remembering the plan that Queen of the Undead Kilesandra Lishana had related to him. Tomorrow night he would have an army of lycanthropes to aid him, and the humans would also suffer under the terror of their own compatriots, raised from the dead and feeding upon them.

  Then we will see if the big human is able to save his fellows. Or if he will go down to death and undeath himself.

  The one thing that still really bothered him was how one of his fellows had burst into flame after drinking the blood of one of the human strangers. He had no idea how such a thing had happened. It had only happened, to his knowledge, when a high ranking Priest of Life was attacked. And that was a rarity. As far as he could tell the man was a mere soldier. It was an oddity, and one that Breggara determined would not happen to him.

  Till tomorrow night, he thought, taking a last look at the human encampment and moving away. He had ground to cover this night, so he would be in position to attack this particular group of humans when next the moons rose.

  * * *

  The truck hit another bump as it sauntered down the road that was really nothing more than a rutted wagon track. Blackout lights were on, and the drivers had to strain to see the road ahead. Campfires were easy to avoid, though some had burned down to embers. The driver cursed on several occasions and swerved off the road to avoid fires and campsites that had been placed, contrary to instructions, directly on the roadway.

  First Lieutenant Jacqueline Smith sat in the back of the truck, among boxes of assorted items that had been deemed vital and were being moved up to the headquarters post haste. She looked at one of the books in the moonlight coming through the back of the trucks, How Things Work, which she had thought was an interesting children’s book and nothing more. But on this world it might be a survival aid par excellence.

  “Kind of a shock, Fraulein?” asked the larger man, sitting on the other side of the truck bed, leaning against some sacks he had piled up to make a comfortable nest. His English was good and slightly accented, but fluent.

  “I don’t really understand this,” she answered in perfect German in deference to the second man. “I’m some kind of super being? I thought I was just slightly above average in a lot of things. And I’m indestructible?”

  “That you are not,” answered the other man in accented German. “As you saw today, that arrow penetrated your chest and put you down. And the Troll destroyed your hip.”

  “And I healed in minutes,” said the young woman in a distant voice. “Not in months, after proper medical treatment. But in minutes. So nothing can kill me and I’ll live forever?”

  “You can be killed, Fraulein,” said the Jewish man, Levine. “I saw one of our kind burned to death during the witch trials of the sixteenth century. The fire consumed him faster than he could heal.”

  “So I can be killed. But it’s damned difficult. And if I’m not killed I will live, how long?”

  “I have been alive over two thousand years,” said Levine, a distant look in his eyes. “My friend here was born in 1912 and fought in World War II for the Wehrmacht”

  “And you don’t look a day over thirty, Herr von Mannerheim,” said Jackie to the big German. “It’s still a little bit much to digest in one sitting, gentlemen.”

  “Think, Fraulein,” said Levine, looking her in the eye. “Didn’t you say you thought you were above average in most things? Were you an exceptional student in school? An exceptional athlete? Never sick. Bright, strong and fast?”

  “So if I’m one of you, what the hell are we?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “Spawn of Satan or some such?”

  “I don’t believe we are evil,” said Levine with a smile. “Are we a genetic aberration? Someone with a gift from God? I really don’t know, but I think we are here for a purpose. I think the purpose is to lead mankind through these times of troubles we now face.”

  “To rule mankind,” said Jackie, turning her disconcertingly blue eyes on Kurt. “And you’re going to be the next Kaiser? Or is your friend from the time of the Romans to be the new Caesar?”

  “Again, I’m not sure what our purpose is here,” said Levine. “Though I doubt we are destined to be the despotic rulers of mankind.”

  Jackie looked at the ancient Jew for a few moments, and Levine gave her the moments of silence she seemed to need. Finally she blew out her breath and shook her head.

  “You must have seen so much,” she said, continuing to look at Levine. “The passage of time. The people and events of the last two thousand years.”

  “Memory is the problem,” said Levine sadly, looking down at the bed of the truck. “I can’t remember all the friends and allies, the enemies, the women I have loved. They fade from my memory with the passing years.”

  “That meditation you were doing earlier?” said Kurt, looking over at his friend. “You were moving your lips, repeating things over and over again. I thought it might be a memory tool.”

  “You are very perceptive, my friend,” answered the ancient Jew. “You will make a wonderful Kaiser, if such is needed. Yes, it was a memory tool.”

  Levine sat silent for a couple of minutes, his brow furrowed in thought. Jackie looked again at the ancient man who had lived through much of recorded history. The oldest man on Earth? Possibly. Even probably. The wisest? He had to be, if age meant anything at all.

  “Memory is our biggest problem,” Levine finally said, looking back up. “We have a limited amount of storage. I think it is much more than a normal human, several times more in fact. And we don’t become demented, as far as I can tell. But we eventually become full. I have had to do mnemonics every night for the last thousand years, in order to be sure that I store some of the memories from each day, the ones I really consider important. And I lose some memories every night. Random memories, unless I also use the meditation every night to prioritize what I want to keep. And there is no way to cover all of my memories, so there
is a daily loss.”

  “How long before this becomes a problem for us?” asked Kurt, brow furrowed.

  “Three of four centuries,” said Levine, grimacing, while shaking his head. “Maybe a little more. But eventually you will run into the same problem, if you survive.”

  “Maybe we can find a way around that problem here,” said Jackie, looking down while she thought. Looking back up, she flashed a smile at the men. “After all, this is a magical world. Maybe magic can be used to augment brain power and memory.”

  “Maybe,” said Levine, though his expression didn’t agree. “But that’s neither here nor there at this time. I would like to ask you a question, young lady, if I might.”

  “Go ahead, grandpa,” she said with a laugh. “I’m not sure what I know that would be of interest to the world’s oldest man, but fire away.”

  “Did you dream of this place? In the weeks and months before the catastrophe, did you see images of this world?”

  “Yes,” she said with a frown. “I did. I didn’t really know what they were about at the time. But some of the things I’ve seen since we’ve arrived here seem like déjà vu.”

  “Tell me about them, my dear,” said Levine, looking into her eyes. “Tell me about your visions, so I might make sense of my own.”

  “There was that evil bastard, in the center of everything,” she said in a hushed voice. “The Elf, only he wasn’t really one of them. He had once been, and then he moved into the realm of the really evil.”

  “Much as I saw,” said Kurt, looking from face to face.

  “Yes,” said Levine, nodding his head. “A prophetic dream if I have ever heard one. And we have all seen the face of the enemy. The one we must destroy, lest he do the same to us.”

  “I noticed that I overheated today,” said Kurt, an obvious change of subject. “It felt like I was cooking in my own juices, when I was battling the Trolls.”

  “That is another risk,” said Levine, his expression grim. “When we go into overdrive we build up more heat than our bodies can offload, without time.”