The truck turned into a wider area of dirt that was a vehicle park, filled with dozens of trucks and some armored vehicles. A few of the trucks were backed up to a large tent, and men were pulling chests off of the vehicles, while piles of armor and swords lay near the entrance. Older soldiers, probably staff NCOs and supply sergeants, were looking through the piles and writing inventories on clipboards.
“Maybe we can find you something to wear to the next fight in that treasure,” said Kurt, gesturing toward the booty.
“If they’ll let me have any of it,” said Jackie, rolling her eyes. “I was thought to be a warrior on our world, in modern times. I might be relegated to the rear in this medieval world.”
“You are too much of an asset as a fighter for that to happen,” said Kurt, laughing. “You are too quick and strong to be relegated to the rear, in this muscle powered world.”
“Spiderwoman,” she said with a laugh. “The new super hero on the block.”
“This way,” said Levine, finishing his asking of directions of a young American soldier, who stared at the trio, especially the fully armored men.
The trio headed toward another large tent across the field. A pair of armed guards stood outside the canvas entrance, while several others paced around the outer fabric. As they approached a beautiful Elf woman, dressed in white raiment with jewelry on her fingers and an amulet around her neck, strode from the entrance, running long fingers through her golden hair. Her emerald green eyes focused on the newcomers and she staggered in her step for a moment. Composing herself, she ran gracefully toward the trio and fell to a knee in front of Kurt.
“My Lord,” said the woman, her eyes to the ground. “You have come. The Goddess said you would be here, and here you are.”
“Stand up, woman,” said Kurt in an embarrassed voice, reaching down a hand to gently pull the woman to her feet. “Stand up. I won’t have any bowing and scraping. I’m just a soldier.”
“But you will be so much more, my Lord,” said the Elf woman, her emerald eyes meeting his as she came to her feet, looking up into his face.
“And you are the wise man who will give counsel,” she said to Levine, turning her eyes on him while keeping her hand in Kurt’s. “And the companion of a thousand years,” she continued, looking at Jackie.
“I beg your pardon,” said Jackie, giving the woman a look that one would give someone who is mad. “What do you mean, companion?”
“But of course you don’t know this,” stammered the woman, turning her eyes downward. “And perhaps I’ve said too much already. I would like to meet with you after you have talked to your General.”
“Of course, my lady,” said Kurt in his courtliest manner. He was remembering how to act as a member of the aristocracy, after spending so many years pretending to be someone else. But the lessons of his youth were returning.
“And just who the hell are you?” called out a loud voice, interrupting his thoughts. Kurt looked over and saw a short but very fit man standing in the entrance of the tent, twin black stars on one collar of his battle dress uniform, crossed rifles on the other. He had a little gray in his hair and his uniform was rumpled, but he was shaven and clean, though his eyes indicated a distinct lack of sleep. Kurt could relate to the feeling, remembering the fatigue he always seemed to feel when he was in command in the field.
“Are you the people the Germans called me about?” said the officer, continuing to stand at the entrance, his eyes scanning the armored men, then the woman wearing the same uniform as himself. His eyes widened as he took in the blood soaked front of that uniform.
“That would be us, sir,” said Jackie, rendering a salute. “These are my companions, Kurt von Mannerheim and Ishmael Levine.”
“If we could have a few moments of your time,” said Levine in heavily accented English. “And forgive me, but it has been many decades since I needed to speak your tongue.”
The General looked as if he didn’t quite believe that, and looking at Levine Kurt wasn’t sure he would have either, as the man looked to be in his early thirties.
“You should listen to them, General Taylor,” said the Elf woman, gesturing the three toward the entrance to the tent. “They are the ones I have talked with you about, and they are to be of great benefit to your cause.”
“Well come on in,” said Taylor, waving them forward. “I’ve met Lieutenant Smith in the past, in another Universe. But I’ve a feeling that things have changed for her, a whole lot more than it has for the rest of us.”
* * *
Emperor Ellandra Mashara stormed into the room, his eyes flashing at the military people who rose from their seats and flashed him a salute, striking their left breast with right hands. What he had heard on the way to this meeting had not given him great confidence in these men, but he was willing to listen to what they said before passing judgment.
“You first, Killasan,” he barked to the Ellala in the all black uniform of the Imperial Secret Police. The Elf blanched for a moment, obviously hoping he could get his news in after some others had softened the Emperor, and realizing now that he couldn’t.
“Your majesty,” he began, his eyes glancing to the other men in the room. “I have troubling news.”
“I know that, you idiot,” grunted the Half Lich Emperor. “Now I want to know what the troubling news is. So out with it.”
“We,” said the Ellala with a gulp, “lost most of the French that we had held prisoner in the local prison.”
“Lost them,” said the Emperor, raising his eyebrows. “You mean that you misplaced them? Or that someone came and took them from you?”
“The latter, your majesty,” said the man, wiping some beads of sweat from his brow with an embroidered black scarf.
“And who took them from your vaunted guards, pray tell,” said the Emperor in a hissing voice. The man shrank in on himself, then straightened and faced his lord and master.
“They were called the Foreign Legion,” said the man, looking down at shaking hands that were holding some notes. “They appear to be an elite commando force, that means some kind of stealth attack unit, of the nation of the French.”
“And they took the prisoners how?” asked the Emperor, eyes boring into the man.
“They came over the walls, secreting themselves into the prison, and attacked the gates at the same time,” said Killasan, more sweat breaking out on his face. “They used their magical weapons and destroyed the guard force, then released the prisoners.”
“And where are these prisoners now?” asked the Emperor, his eyes burning. He had wanted to sacrifice some of the French each day, to keep up his energies and fuel the magics that he intended to throw at the Germans. This man might do to take the place of one day’s sacrifice, but what after?
“They fled under cover of darkness to the mountains to the south of the city,” said the man, looking as if he wanted to pass out.
“That is difficult terrain to search,” answered another of the Ellala, General Jossianli, commander of the Dragon Corps. “Even from the air there are dense woods and quite a large number of caverns there. The only region with more would be the fabled Underdark.”
“And a multitude of the Dekefini,” said another of the officers, referring to the ebon skinned brethren of the Ellala.
“Which means they are probably dead, my Lord,” blurted out Killasan, wiping his brow again. “Those people would make sure of that.”
“Maybe not,” said the Emperor, an evil smile on his face. “They have been known to play both sides in the past. Even go against their natures and subvert the wishes of those Chaos Gods of theirs. And the French have their weaponry, for now.
“No,” said the Emperor, turning on his chief of security, “we cannot count the French dead. And I want those other worldly souls for my spells. So you will find them, and bring them back, or your life will be forfeit.”
“I will send my best commanders to search the area, majesty,” said the man, hope rising in his eye
s.
“You will lead them yourself, Killasan,” said the Emperor. “I want your feet on that ground to inspire your men. Now get from my sight before I change my mind and send your soul to feed the Gods.”
The man stammered an apology as he got to his feet and swayed from the room. The fear was palpable in the chamber, and most pitied him his task. He would be facing the weapons of the French and the fanatical resistance of the cavern dwelling Dekefini. None of the others in the room expected to see him alive again.
“Now, my son,” said the Emperor, turning on another of the Ellala in the room, one sitting directly to his right. “What of the Armies?”
“They are on the march,” said General Prince Tristialla Mashara, who for the last five hundred years had served as the commander of his father’s armies. “We of course have to leave a guard on the frontiers, along with enough forces to discourage an attack. And the inner provinces to the West require garrisons to keep the population in check. But I still have almost two hundred thousand men marching on these Germans.”
“And what of their capabilities?” asked an ancient Ellala, who by the lines on his face was entering the last terrible decade of their people, when age caught up with them. “I have heard that they have weaponry even fiercer than these French who have dropped into our home province.”
“Their capabilities are fierce, General Hoffradan,” said the Imperial Prince, inclining his head in agreement. “And they have tens of thousands of soldiers. But as we know from the French prisoners we have questioned, they have little of the supply they need to keep their machines in operation. When they run out of this magic, this ammunition, they will be helpless before us. They lack our skills with horse, lance and bow. They lack the ferocity of the Grogatha fodder that march with us. We will use the Grogatha and some of our own forces to drain off their weapons, then crush them.”
“Just make sure those dunderheads marching on them don’t bunch up,” said the old General. “Otherwise we may be crushed by them, to the point where our other enemies assay to take our lands.”
“Yes, my son,” said the Emperor, frowning. “Keep a tight rein on your field commanders. You need not go into the field, but keep communications open. They seek glory, all of them, and cooperation is not something that is bred into our commanders. I fear it is different with these humans. Reports say that they cooperate to a singular degree.”
“My commanders know what is expected of them,” said the Prince. “They know the price of making mistakes, of failing the Imperial edict.”
“But they may still disobey,” said old General Hoffradan. “They will not think that failure can stalk their forces. They have not commanded long enough, against a skillful and aggressive foe, to know that any commander can be defeated if he is too overconfident.”
“A good point, General,” said the Emperor. “I have faith in my son, and in his judgment. Remember that he did fight in the wars of conquest, leading troops for five hundred years to help forge the Empire we have today.”
The old man inclined his head in agreement, but all could still see the doubt written on his face.
“Perhaps I should take the field,” said the prince with an incline of his head. “Just to make sure that the commands are obeyed.”
The Emperor gave his son a head gesture of accent, then looked back into the aged face of his senior councilor.
A reason to seek immortality, thought the Emperor. For though he still had several centuries of natural life before he became one as the General, it still frightened him that he might end his days in similar straits. He dismissed the thoughts, knowing that he would survive for ten thousand years or more when his plans came to fruition. He might become a God himself, ruling the world and the magics of the world. He turned to his last senior commander and met the eyes of the Ellala.
“What of the Dragon Corps, General Jossianli?” he asked the smallish Ellala with the signals of rampant dragons on his collar.
“We are ready to respond, my Lord,” said the General. “I have ordered provender and supplies cached along the way to this stronghold the Germans wish to establish. I can strike with three hundred dragons within three days at your command.”
“And what of the other theaters, General?” said the Prince. All knew that the heir, who would never inherit if what his father sought came to pass, relished his power of command of the army. The Dragon Corps was a separate entity, not under his command, though he might wish it so. But the Emperor thought it well to have a loyal commander of great power that was not allied with his son, just to make sure the child never essayed to usurp the father.
“We still have two hundred dragons in reserve,” said the man, smiling. “Some would wish to throw all against the foreigners. And I can see the wisdom of that wish. But I also see the wisdom of holding back a reserve to keep our other enemies in check.”
“And remember, General Jossianli,” said the Emperor, “these are not the only strangers that we must fight and subdue. There are other peoples to the west; more of these Europeans, as the greater whole call themselves.”
“I still call for a swift strike with my dragons, my Lord,” said the General. “I could leave their army burning in the valleys they hold with one offensive. Then the army could march in and take the shocked civilians without a fight.”
“They seem to have a penchant for knocking dragons from the sky,” said the Prince with a smile. “They have weapons, even flying machines, which can take out your beasts. That is why I want to use them in a supporting role.”
“They have a few weapons that can hurt us, true,” answered Jossianli. “But they have only faced a flight of dragons at a time. Less than a dozen. Let them face three hundred in mass and see how they fare.”
“And if we lose a hundred thousand Grogatha, and ten thousand Ellala,” said the Emperor, “we can rebuild that force in no time. Lose the Dragon Corps and it will be a century or more to rebuild. My son is correct, General. We will use your force in support. Massive support. But support that will protect your corps.”
The General inclined his head in agreement, knowing that he would not win an argument with his ruler.
“Now let us continue after some refreshments,” said the Emperor, remembering that the mortals had to eat and drink. “And then we will make our plans. And remember, I want as many prisoners as you can gather. Corpses on a battle field mean nothing to me.”
* * *
General Jossianli left the room with a plan formed in his mind. His mindshield was in place, as he knew his lord and master, as well as several of the other officers in the meeting, could read surface thoughts, and he himself was a powerful telepath, as were all dragon riders and their commanders. He kept his plans to himself while he rode his carriage out to the large landing field outside of the city.
The carriage passed by a number of the large dragon hangers where the beasts were sheltered from the elements. The structures covered the pits in the ground that were the lairs of the animals, keeping them cool in the summer’s heat and warm during the cold of winter. The carriage horses reared and fought their restraints as they caught the scent of the carnivorous giants. Even being used around the monsters did not inure the herbivores to the proximity of predators that could eat them in a bite.
“My Lord,” said the senior of his Wing Commanders to the General entering the ready room of the control center on the edge of the field. “How went the meeting? Are we cleared to attack?”
“The landing zones will be prepared within a few days,” said the General, skirting around the truth of the meeting. “We will begin the flights toward this growing enemy stronghold. Then we will attack in strength and crush their defenses, that our brethren on the ground may march unmolested into their lands.”
“The Emperor countenanced this plan?” asked another of the wing commanders, a man who led fifty of the great dragons into battle.
“This is secret,” continued the General, ignoring his subordinate. “Not a wor
d is to be transmitted to those below you. Or those outside of our chain of command. We will meet with the squadron leaders and individual riders when we are at the last field before the objective. Then I will pass out the attack plan so that all will know it. Now prepare your wings, gentlemen,” said the General, sweeping the room with cold eyes. “We fly at first light.”
Chapter Five
“If you told me that story last week I would have called the authorities and had you locked up,” said General Zachary Taylor, staring at the three sitting before him.
“But now, General?” asked Ishmael Levine, a slight smile on his face.
“Hell, I don’t know what to believe,” said the General, sighing. “I find myself in a land of Elves, Dwarves, dragons and wizards. What’s a couple of people who regenerate like mothers and possibly live forever, with the strength of Hercules and the grace of Spiderman.”
“So you do believe the gist of the tale?” asked Kurt, his ice blue eyes meeting those of the General.
“That you for one fought for the Wehrmacht in WW2?” said Taylor. “I have no way of disproving that, any more than I can disprove that your friend watched the Roman Legions destroy the Jewish resistance two thousand years ago. I have no access to any of the records I would need to disprove that. One thing I do know.”
“And that is?” asked Levine, cocking his head to the side.
“The reports I have is that the three of you are the most hellashius fighters anyone has ever seen swing a sword,” said the General with a smile. “You are definitely the warriors we need in this world. Because we are not going to have this superior technology for long. Even if what the physicists say is not true and the machines don’t stop working because of some change in the physical laws, or, as the elfin priestess says, the Gods don’t like them; we will still run out of ammunition and will have a bunch of starving transports.”
“What about the prophecy of these people?” asked Levine, gesturing over at Kurt, where the big man puffed a cigar he had been given by the General and swirled a good brandy around in a glass.
Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2 Page 6