Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

by Doug Dandridge

  “Good way to break your hand, sir,” said the gunner, leaning over onto his hatch.

  McGurk felt like cussing the sergeant out but held it in. His entire tank and crew had been promoted with him when he assumed control of a battalion combat command, and he had been with these men for over a year, plus the week on this insane world.

  “They seem to have us figured out,” continued the gunner, turning his own binoculars on the fortress. “How many do you think they have in there, sir?”

  “More than enough to create that energy shield and keep us out,” said the newly promoted Major, shaking his head.

  His command was made up of a company of his old cavalry battalion, along with a company of armor and a company of mech infantry, along with one and a half batteries of SP artillery. Until his early losses he had twenty-two tanks. Enough in his mind to reduce any fortification. But he had been proven wrong here.

  “Sergeant Major Willis,” he called on the circuit.

  “Yes sir,” came the voice of the senior NCO back in the command and control trac. “What can I do for you?”

  “Get on the horn to Army and let them know what’s going on here,” he ordered. “Tell them we’ve got this big as hell fort and its right in a place where we would like to be. And their magic is preventing me from hurting it. Then tell me what they suggest.”

  “Yes sir,” responded the Top Sergeant of the combat command. “I’ll get right on it.”

  The Major picked up his field glasses and scanned the target once again, all five hundred meters of crenellated wall, massive towers, and the keep beyond.

  “Wonder what high muckety muck owns this pile of rocks,” he said to himself, while hoping Army would come up with some way to make the solid structure a true pile of rocks.

  * * *

  “We’ve already got almost two hundred thousand civilians in the valley,” said the stout German man who had been Burgermeister of Mannheim, and who had assumed the duty of organizing the non-military personnel who were filtering into the stronghold. “By next week we will probably have three hundred thousand or more. Mein General. There is no manner in which we can feed that many people. Or house them.”

  “Tents may have to do for a while,” said the American officer, looking up from the mass of papers that sat in front of him. “And maybe you could start organizing parties to clean up those stone dwellings on the plateau and the river city. I know you don’t have the resources right now to restore the more badly damaged ones, but you could mark the more hazardous ones and clean up the ones in better condition.”

  “You need to detail soldiers to guard us then, my General,” said the man, his red face and puffy cheeks working as he spoke. “There are still things in those ruins that can kill.”

  Story of my existence since we got here, thought Taylor, shaking his head. He could have wished that a fully equipped armor corps, or better yet two of them, had followed him through the dimensional doors to this place. But he had what he had. He wrote out an order on a sheet of paper and scribbled a signature on the bottom.

  “Present this to my adjutant,” he said to the mayor, handing him the paper. “He’ll see to getting you some men to work along with you. Armed men. Now what about food? How are we doing there?”

  “Maybe enough to last a couple of weeks,” said the man, a worried look on his face. “But we need a source coming in, and soon.”

  “Can you get those little people working on crops?” said Taylor. “They can do wonders. I know it will be awhile before they can get anything growing on that cleared land. At least growing enough to actually produce food. I’ll have one of my officers organized provisioning parties to go out and take food from those Ellala bastards that are trying to kill us. And buy food from the other folks.”

  “What about the Elves and the game they have been bringing in?” asked the mayor, his own mind trying to find solutions.

  The General had to admit that unimposing as the man appeared to be, he had a sharp mind for organization, and was just what they needed for the civilian side of the operation.

  “The priestess tells me this area is about hunted out,” said Taylor, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’ll try to bring in what they can, without starving their own people. They want us to survive and be successful, since we fulfill their prophecy. But there has to be a limit to what hunter gatherers can actually spare to bring in to us. I’ll have my people try to track down some source of food that we can buy. We seem to be swimming in coin of the realm and other riches right now, so things to eat shouldn’t be a long term problem.”

  “Then thank you, Herr General,” said the mayor, bowing and backing away. “I will take no more of your valuable time.”

  “A pleasure as always, Mayer Fleishmann,” said the General with a smile. “I know you have the burden of the world on your shoulders, as do I, but you are doing a great job.”

  “I worry about my people,” said the man, fingering the silver cross that hung on a chain around his neck. “And yours. Myself, I could survive for months without food, but the children cannot.” The man gave a quick bow and left the tent.

  “Sir,” said a young Lieutenant entering the tent on the heels of the retreating mayor. “The Sergeant Major wanted you told that we have a problem in the field.”

  “What is it this time?” asked the groaning officer, wondering when the next problem to appear would be the one that caused him to drink. He said a quick serenity prayer in his head, realizing the danger of that thought.

  “One of the combat teams ran into something they don’t think they can handle.”

  “So send them reinforcements,” said the General. “Surely there are some combat units lying around out there to send their way.”

  “It’s not that sir,” said the young officer. “They say they’ve run into an energy field at one of the enemy strongholds. Their weapons can’t penetrate it, and they're not sure what to do about it.”

  “Tell the Sergeant Major I’ll be right there,” said the General.

  The young officer saluted, then ran from the tent. Within minutes the General was on his heels, his mind working on a way to kill several birds with one of the limited stones he had in his arsenal.

  * * *

  Corporal Salvadore Maritoni didn’t like this cavern watch duty at all. If it was up to him he would rather be facing dragons, wizards and Elves up in the open air, with the support of tanks and artillery. Instead he was a couple of kilometers back in a pitch black tunnel, watching, along with four other men and some night vision scopes, the other tunnels that ran into this junction. Protecting the valley from underground incursion until something more permanent was figured out.

  “I heard something, Sal,” said Private Jacob Johansson, looking down one of the tunnels. Two other privates moved to either side of the speaker and pointed their rifles down the tunnel.

  Maritoni stood very still and listened intently. He could hear a faint sound coming up the tunnel, something like metal on metal. Then the scuff of several feet. Suddenly all sound stopped, as if whatever had made it was now standing perfectly still and listening.

  Maritoni quested with his newly found talent down the tunnel, attempting to pick up sentient minds that might be lurking in the dark. So far the only thing that had come out of the dark since they had been down here had been bestial intelligences, or the complete lack of intellect that signified the lesser undead, the putrid zombies that almost unmanned him. But metal probably meant some kind of intelligence, if not undead, though intelligence could still be hostile to the soldiers.

  Maritoni felt something, a tingle in his mind as if someone were questing at his surface thoughts, even as he strained to break through whatever was protecting that intellect. He was still new to this psionic thing, though he seemed to be a natural at it according the Elf priestess who had tested him. It had resulted in his being promoted to Corporal, and there was talk about his becoming an officer in the new army that would follow the loss of
this army’s modern weaponry. He wasn’t sure he wanted that last, but also wasn’t sure he would be given a choice.

  Someone shouted out something unintelligible down the tunnel. Maritoni motioned for his troops to stand still and stay quiet, then motioned a pair to each side of the tunnel where they would be out of line of sight of any projectile weapons the intruders might have. He again felt the tingling in his mind and attempted to quest back. This time he made contact, and friendly feelings came flooding back over the link. Grouchy feelings, but full of good will nonetheless. He opened his mind and felt the other mind open, both questing at incomprehensible languages, then images, until a basic understanding was built.

  They heard a gruff voice chanting down the tunnel, and a flash of low light, then the voice sounded again, this time in broken English.

  “We are friends. Mean no harm, strangers to this world,” came the bass voice, echoing down the tunnel.

  “Well come forward, but keep your hands in sight,” said Maritoni, craning eyes in their night vision goggles, but still not picking anything up in the low level lights that had been placed in the intersection of the tunnels.

  “I come forward,” said the voice, “alone. My men come after you see that I am friend.”

  [I have several dozen men,] came a voice in Maritoni’s head. [We have traveled far, and the dark is dangerous.]

  “He’s one of them Dwarves,” said Johansson as the figure appeared down the tunnel.

  Maritoni agreed with that first assessment, as the squat, thick figure moved forward. But he noticed that there was something different about this Dwarf, compared to the Dwarves of the forest, the Gimikran, which he had seen on the surface. The creature moved differently, with a lighter tread than those rustic farmers and woodsmen. And as he moved into the light the Corporal could see that the man’s features were coarser, the eyes wider set. As the armored man moved closer the human thought he looked more massive than the Forest Dwarves, though he was of a height with them.

  The Dwarf kept both hands open and at his waist, though the hilt of a knife protruded from his left hip, and a heavy mace swung from his right. He wore a round helmet, and his body was sheathed in bands of steel, while shining chain covered his upper arms and his legs to his knees. Stout leather boots were on his feet, and his exposed forearms were ridged with hard muscle, giving the creature the look of a man who could strangle the life out of a lesser man with ease.

  “We cousins of the forest kin,” said the Dwarf in his rough basso voice. “We Dimikran, men under mountain. We travel far to meet.”

  “You came underground?” asked Maritoni, his eyes widening. “All the way through this dark.”

  “It where we live,” said the Dwarf, putting his arms across his chest after the humans lowered their weapons. “We see some in the total dark. We prefer some light. We travel most of distance from kingdom underground, only coming to surface for brief periods need to reach next series of tunnels. But I not told you who am I. I Garios na Gonron, or Garios son of Gonron, in you tongue. I a High Priest of Grimmoire, the God of Earth, and messenger from my King, Balion Under Mountain. I would have words with your leaders, and see how we might be aid to each other.”

  “Let me get on the horn with my officer,” said Maritoni, reaching to his helmet set. “I have to talk with him to see what I need to do.”

  “Do what you must,” said the Dwarf, looking somberly at the human. “Can men come forward?”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Maritoni, nodding. “Tell them to stop about where you are though. And to keep in plain sight of me and my men.”

  “You think that’s a good idea, Corporal?” asked one of the other men, his eyes locked on the dangerous looking Dwarf.

  “I don’t feel any deception from them,” said Maritoni, and the Dwarf turned and shouted something down the tunnel. “I don’t believe they’re here to attack us. They would have brought a lot more with them if they wanted to do that.”

  As the Corporal talked on his com link to the Lieutenant, further back in the tunnels nearer the surface, in the command post, more than a score of Dwarves came out of the dark and into the intersection. A couple carried maces like their priestly leader, but the majority were armed with heavy axes, and carried round shields on their off arms. All had large packs on their backs that though heavy looking didn’t bow the Dwarves one bit.

  “OK,” said Maritoni, looking at his men as they watched the gathered Dwarves, who had the look of hard rogues, not the cute personas of the Disney films. “Lieutenant told me to bring them to him, and me and him will take them to headquarters.”

  Maritoni turned to the Priest, who looked at him expectantly.

  “We’re going to see the leader of my people,” he said to the Dwarf Priest, pointing up the tunnel that led to the surface. “Are there any more of you coming this way?”

  “There no more of my people within days’ march,” said the Dwarf. “Anything moving in dark will be dangerous to you.”

  “Ok,” said the Corporal, turning back to Johansson. “You heard the man. Anything moving out there is probably hostile. So keep alert and remember your com checks. You’re in charge, Johansson. I want to see everything right and tight when I get back.”

  “Follow me,” he said, turning back to the Dwarves, then leading the way down the tunnel. The short warriors, who all must have out massed the normal sized human, followed behind as the Priest, Garios, walked beside him in strides that seemed too long for the man’s short legs.

  [You have a powerful mind, young sir,] thought the Dwarf to the soldier, turning up a smiling face whose eyes shone in the low lights slung in the tunnel.

  [As do you, honored sir,] said the soldier, hoping that he was giving the Priest the proper honorific.

  The Dwarf laughed at the surface thought of the human, and Maritoni caught the feeling that the Dwarves were a free thinking folk without much in the way of protocol, even with their King.

  [Are all of your people skilled in telepathy?] thought the human, looking down at his guest, who must have stood a little over four feet tall.

  [About two in three,] thought the Dwarf, [though not many as powerful as I. Or you. And we considered ourselves the most gifted race in this world, except for maybe the gnomes. And your people?]

  [My people did not have this gift before coming to this world,] thought the Corporal. [There were rumors and legends that some had the gift of telepathy, as well as other mental powers. Now here we have evidence that many of our people have such powers. We haven’t looked too closely, yet, because we have lots of other things to do. But the Elves of the forest think we may have it in over three quarters of us, if not more.]

  [But no magic? Or so I’ve heard.]

  [That may not be true either,] thought the Corporal. [But I had better let our leaders discuss that with you. I’m just a low ranking NCO, and don’t know if I should be talking about this.]

  Minutes later, and a kilometer further down the tunnel, Maritoni introduced the Dwarf leader to Lt. Mercer, both verbally and telepathically. The Dwarf communicated with several other of the soldiers as well, and sent a message to the Corporal and Lieutenant of his appreciation of the humans, who had only been exercising these powers for a week or so, and had such flexible minds as to embrace the gifts without reservation.

  Then they broke out into the light of day, and the humans got their first look at the Dwarves in natural light. They looked even tougher, though their beards and hair appeared to be clean, and their skin and clothing were not any dirtier than a human’s would be after many days long trek through wilderness. The Dwarves blinked in the bright light of the sun for a few minutes while their eyes adjusted.

  Those eyes then grew wide as they looked at the wonders that were around them. There was a truck moving easily up the road to the box canyon the tunnels had opened into. A Striker stood with its turret pointed toward the tunnels, while a transport copter flew over the ridgeline and began to drop onto the flattened
floor of the canyon.

  [Your machines are truly amazing,] thought the Priest to the Corporal, looking up at the flying machine that was touching down, sending dust and debris into the air. [Greater even than those the gnomes can make.]

  [The General would give you a choice, Noble sir,] thought Lt. Mercer. [You can ride in the truck that is coming up the road, which can get you to his headquarters in a little over an hour or so. Or you can take the flying machine, along with four of your warriors, me and the Corporal, and get there in twenty minutes.]

  [I don’t think I am ready to fly in that machine,] said the Dwarf, his eyes wide. [I will take the chariot. Will all of my men be able to accompany me in it?]

  [I don’t see why not,] thought the officer, as Maritoni stepped out into the dirt road and waved to the truck driver, who, seeing the armored Dwarves, pulled the vehicle over. [Do you really need them all?]

  [Can your weapons really kill from several bowshots away?] asked the Dwarf, looking at the rifle in Maritoni’s hand, his eyes wide. Then he glanced at the Striker and its even larger weapon.

  [This one can kill at slightly over a bowshot,] thought the Corporal. [Maybe twice that with luck. The one on the vehicle over there can kill at six or seven bowshots, and we have others that hit much farther.]

  The Corporal gestured to the back of the truck, whose gate had been lowered. He followed the warriors up into the bed of the truck. Some jumped up onto the side benches and slid down to a seat, while others just plopped their butts down onto the floor. The Lieutenant climbed into the front of the vehicle, which blew its horn to warn loiterers who were still looking at the Dwarves, then took off down the road.

  The Priest continued to question Maritoni as the vehicle moved down the canyon. He answered such questions as he could, and those he felt were not military secrets, and found himself greatly liking the massively muscled holy man. The Dwarf was intelligent, grasping principles the human presented to him in an instant. Or asking for clarification when he didn’t know. The Corporal thought that the man’s King had chosen a good representative to approach the humans.