Elizabeth looked from Leela to Paco. The family resemblance was unmistakable, but where Paco was handsome and rugged, Leela was young and fresh-faced with large dark eyes and a striking natural beauty. She carried herself with the same self-focused pride he did, however. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her older brother but, a moment later, sighed heavily and nodded. "Okay, what do we do then?"
"We fight back," said Elizabeth, drawing their attention. "We hold the dark elves here long enough for these people to get across the bridge—on foot if they have to."
Paco bobbed his head then climbed up onto the cab of the truck and stared north.
"Here," said Elizabeth, handing Paco her small binoculars.
He took them then scanned the horizon. "I don't see anything yet."
"What about the army?" Leela asked.
"Armies move way slower than you'd think from the movies," said Paco. "Closest force that can help is 1 Division in Edmonton, Alberta. But even if they left right now—which they just can't do, 'cause they need to arm and prep first—they'd still be some hours away." He scanned back and forth across the Alaskan highway and the surrounding terrain. "This female RCMP officer—Trotter, was it? She's right. The hills to the northwest will funnel the enemy down the highway. They could still come around from the west, but the terrain is much rougher, hard to traverse."
"Hard but not impossible," said Elizabeth. "I came from the west." She pulled out her map and opened it on the grass. Paco jumped down and knelt beside her, and Leela knelt as well. "There were hellhounds there already," Elizabeth said, indicating the railroad bridge with her finger.
"Shit," muttered Paco.
"They're dead," she said simply.
Paco stared at her then squeezed her bicep, winking. "Good to have you with us, Elizabeth." He grunted as he examined the map and the surrounding terrain. "These hellhounds you ran into, they may have been scouts or foragers or just stupid fire-wolf-dogs let loose to scare the shit out of us, but we need to consider the possibility the enemy may come from the west as well as the north."
"You're guessing," said Leela.
"Course I'm guessing. I was an infantry section leader, not a medieval fantasy army specialist. All I can do is make guesses. But it makes sense. The hellhounds can move quickly across the rough terrain to the west. Those things can go anywhere."
"The cars," said Elizabeth. "If we could get the people to abandon their vehicles and move across the bridge on foot…"
"Maybe," said Paco, turning to examine the packed highway. "But people won't want to leave their vehicles, especially not if they've got old people or children."
"They might not have a choice," said Elizabeth. "I can't stop the dark elves. They're way better at magic than I am—than we are. I wish Cassie were here. I wish I had her Brace." She wiped her arm across her sweaty forehead. "If wishes were wings…"
"I can help," said Leela.
"How's your offensive game?" Elizabeth asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Lightning bolts, fireballs, telekinesis… that sort of thing."
Leela's face fell, and she shook her head. "Mostly I block things."
Elizabeth stared at her. "You block things?"
"Don’t look at me like that. I can make shields—really strong ones. They can stop bullets, just about anything. Once, I even stopped a speeding truck. It rammed into my shield so hard the engine block looked like a crushed soup can. I can do the same to people and monsters." She glanced at the cab of the truck, where several hunting rifles sat wedged between the seats. "And I can shoot."
"Okay," said Paco, running his finger over the map north of Taylor. "There's elevated land here, a wood line with open fields to the north and an unobstructed view of the highway. We need to put as many people with rifles as we can in these woods, and we need to do it right now."
"What about the west?" asked Elizabeth.
Paco chewed his lower lip as he trailed his finger over the map. "A blocking force then, right here near the raceway."
"Blocking force?" Leela asked.
"One truck with dudes with hunting rifles. They can let the rest of us know if the hellhounds or anything else comes from the hills to the west."
At that moment, a thunderous crack reverberated around them. Everyone froze, staring up as a pair of fighter jets rocketed over the town then disappeared from sight as they headed north. The crowd cheered, and everyone on the packed highway began honking their horns in a chorus of approval.
"CF-18 fighters," said Paco with a huge gap-toothed smile. "Hornets."
"What does that mean?" Leela asked.
"It means, sis," said Paco, "that the Royal Canadian Air Force has finally gotten off their asses."
"So help is coming?" Elizabeth asked.
"Always knew it was. But that's gotta be a recon flight. Hornets can't help us. We still need to convince the mayor and that RCMP officer to make a stand here while the civilians get across the bridge."
Elizabeth stared north. Please, God, let my family be safe. "Let's go convince them, then."
A LARGE, harried-looking RCMP officer blocked their entrance into the community hall, but after Paco told him they were with Constable Trotter, he let them inside. No one questioned Clyde's presence. The community center was deserted, but they heard people arguing in one of the offices. Paco and Leela went in first, with Elizabeth right behind. The mayor stood red faced behind a desk, holding a phone against his chest. Constable Trotter stood before him, her finger jabbing at his face. Two other RCMP officers, as well as Sergeant Yahey from the Hudson's Hope Rangers, and an obese man in a hunter's jacket were crowded into the small office. Clyde huffed loudly, spun about, then lay down in front of the desk.
"What are you doing in here?" the mayor asked.
"We came to help," said Paco. "We need to establish defenses. I think the dark elves… the aliens are coming."
The mayor looked from Paco in his blue jeans and T-shirt to Elizabeth in her digital-patterned combat clothing, assault rifle, and military gear. He turned back to Constable Trotter. "What's this? I thought she wasn't with the army."
"I'm a civilian working for the military," said Elizabeth. "Kind of a consultant."
"Where's the army?" the obese hunter asked. He had a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, and his pockets bulged with bullets.
"No one else is going to be able to help us in time," said Paco. "If we don't hold the aliens north of the town long enough for people to cross the bridge on foot, they're all gonna die in their cars."
"That's what I've been saying," said Constable Trotter.
The mayor, his eyes wild, stabbed his finger at the window. "The army just flew past. We need to let them do their job."
"Don't be stupid," said Paco, advancing on the man. "I'm ex-PPCLI. Trust me. The closest force is in Edmonton, and they'll be hours yet—if not days."
"He's right," said one of the RCMP officers. "There's no one else coming, not even police. Anything's gonna happen, it'll have to be us."
"We're civilians," whined the mayor, "not soldiers."
"We have at best an hour before the enemy gets here," said Paco. "If all those people are still stuck in their cars on this side of the river…"
"What?" Spit flew from the mayor's mouth. "An hour? How?"
"Fort St. John was a massacre," said Constable Trotter. "There's thousands of those aliens, and they’re killing everyone they come across—everyone!"
The mayor looked about at the occupants in the office, and his gaze stopped on Paco. "I don't know what to do. I'm the mayor of a town of a thousand people. I can't do this!"
Paco stepped forward and gripped the man by the shoulders, putting his face inches in front of the mayor's. "I know what to do. I'm an ex-soldier. I've been trained to deal with this." He glanced at the ranger and the RCMP officers. "We need to put as many people with rifles—any kind of rifle—into the tree line to the north. We stay hidden in the trees with the open fie
ld before us, and we stop anything marching down the highway. But we need to move right now—like this very moment!"
"I agree," said Constable Trotter. "But we tried to stop them in Fort St. John, and they brushed right past us."
"We can't stop them here, either," said Paco. "Just slow them down and buy these people time to get away. The terrain will be on our side. The hills will funnel them onto the highway, mass them together, and make them easy targets."
"Okay, okay. What do you need?" asked the mayor.
Paco dashed to the window and pointed to the trees north of the town, maybe a kilometer away. "We put everybody with a gun in those trees—as many volunteers as we can find. We watch the highway. Keep vehicles ready behind the trees 'cause we're going to have to pull out fast. We hold the aliens as long as we can, then we haul ass for the bridge once the civilians are across."
The ranger sergeant, Samuel Yahey, nodded. "On it." He bolted from the office.
"What about us?" asked the hunter.
"You got buddies with guns, you get over there as well."
The hunter stumbled from the office, looking as if he was going to throw up.
"How about the rest of us?" asked Constable Trotter.
Paco took Elizabeth's map from her, laid it open on the desk, and motioned the others in closer so they could see. "All right, here's what I'm going to need."
20
Wearing bright-orange coveralls, Alex knelt in Club Ed's communal showers, scrubbing the tile floor with a hand brush, a bucket of soapy water beside him. He had been at this task for about twenty minutes now, but his thoughts remained on Fort St. John. He had friends at the Magic Kingdom, soldiers he had served alongside in operational theaters. How many of them are dead now?
When he heard a chorus of boot steps and voices echoing down the hallway, he jumped up and stood at attention. Moments later, a small gaggle of soldiers poured through the doorway into the showers. An MP sergeant led the captain who commanded the detention barracks, but right behind him was the base commander, a lieutenant colonel. Behind them were a major and a master warrant officer in CADPATs—the distinctive Canadian digital-pattern combat uniform soldiers wore when they went into the field. The major was movie-star handsome, with a square jaw, prematurely greyed silver-fox hair, and piercing ice-blue eyes that had never failed to separate the ladies from their panties—Gus Ryker. He and Alex had been friends since they were both brand-new lieutenants in Basic Military Officer Qualification training at the garrison in Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Quebec—boot camp for officers in the Canadian Army. Gus wore a serious demeanor, as well as body armor and a loaded 9mm pistol in a shoulder holster—normally a serious infraction in a detention barracks, but no one else seemed to care.
What's going on?
The master warrant officer behind Gus, an ugly, bald man with a bulbous nose, was also armed and wearing body armor. Over his wide shoulder, he carried a half-full duffel bag that he now plopped down on the wet tiles and proceeded to glare at everyone else, including Alex, as though he wanted to start kicking the shit out of all of them. He was, Alex noted, almost a cartoon caricature of a combat arms sergeant major, the senior enlisted rank responsible for discipline. Officers might command, but sergeant majors got shit done.
"This the man you're looking for, Major?" the captain asked.
Gus Ryker was shorter than Alex but powerfully built, an armored officer through and through. Alex had been an infantry officer, and his career had taken him on a different path than Gus's, but they had run into each other over the years, often during courses at the Gagetown Combat Training Center. He hadn't seen Gus in a couple of years but had heard he had made major and been given command of an armored unit in 1 Division. Gus stood before Alex now, frowning, shaking his head in disbelief. "Jesus, Ranger, what are you doing here?"
Ranger, my old nickname. He hadn't heard it in years, since before Special Forces selection and his time with Joint Task Force-2. "Sir, this is where I should be," Alex said, staring straight to his front.
"Bullshit," Gus muttered. "This is the one, sir," he said to the base commander.
"I feel as though I have to point out how highly irregular—and possibly illegal—this is," the captain commanding the detention center said.
"Irregular or not, this is happening," the base commander said. "When I get phone calls from the Chief of Defence Staff, I do as I'm damned well told. I suggest you do the same, Ted. This is way beyond your pay grade."
"Yes, sir," said the captain. "He's all yours, Major. I don't have a clue what kind of paperwork is needed, but we'll figure it out. You need anything else from me?"
"No, thank you," Gus said. "We'll take it from here."
No one else said a word. The base commander squeezed Gus's shoulder on his way out. "Godspeed, Major."
"Thank you, sir."
The captain nodded at Gus then motioned for the MP to lead the way, leaving Alex alone with Gus and the bald sergeant major.
"Goddamn it, relax, Alex," Gus ordered. "I still don't believe this shit."
Alex loosened his stance. "Believe it, sir. I did what they said I did."
Gus shook his head. "Not the way I heard it, but we don't have time for that now. We're rolling ASAP."
"You're going to Fort St. John to help, aren't you?"
"No. We're going to Fort St. John. You've been released to my authority as a subject-matter expert. Sergeant Major Ouellet, give the captain his duds."
"I'm not a captain anymore," Alex said in confusion just before the heavyset sergeant major picked the duffel bag back up and thrust it into his arms. He could tell from the bag's weight that it held a military uniform, boots, helmet, and body armor.
"Yes, you are," Gus said, his trademark smile returning for just a moment. "Chief of Defence Staff says so. Besides, you can't come as a private. My troops wouldn't listen to a word you say. Isn't that right, Sergeant Major?"
"Fuckin' A, sir," said the bald sergeant major. He spoke with a thick French-Canadian accent. "My master corporals would have him digging shitters and prying stones from tires."
"Someone needs to fill me in," said Alex.
Gus grunted. "You and me both, buddy. Get dressed, Alex. I'll explain what I know along the way."
LESS THAN TEN MINUTES LATER, Alex, Gus, and Sergeant Major Ouellet were tearing down the base roads in a white duty van. The driver, a young corporal, seemed to be doing his best to piss off every military police officer on the base, but neither Gus nor the sergeant major told him to slow down, and the MPs all seemed to be somewhere else today. Alex wore CADPATs, an armored vest with a ballistic plate, and a helmet. His rank insignia was that of a captain. Despite his friend's assurances that the Chief of Defence Staff—the senior general in the Canadian Armed Forces—had given his blessing to the battlefield promotion, Alex suspected he was now guilty of impersonating an officer. The army bureaucracy just didn't work this way. Fuck it, he told himself. This is war, and people are dying. He glanced at his old friend sitting beside him and leaned closer, lowering his voice. "What do you know of Operation Rubicon? Have you been read in?"
"If by read in you mean did a rather harried-looking civilian in Ottawa explain to my sergeant major and me over a secret video-teleconference a couple of hours ago that we and the Americans have somehow altered the laws of space and time in order to create interstellar gateways between worlds, thus precipitating an alien invasion in Fort St. John—then yes, I've been read in."
Alex saw the eyes of the driver widen in the van's rearview mirror.
"Don't worry about my driver, Alex. We have bigger problems than secrets."
"I'm surprised anyone thought of me."
Gus made a noncommittal grunt. "Seems you have a friend in the States who called the Chief of Defence Staff personally and spoke on your behalf."
"McKnight?"
"Guess they met when this General McKnight commanded your little super-secret alien combat unit. Anyhow, he reminded the CDS that you h
ave personal experience in battle against these … dark elves—Christ, I want to slap myself every time I say that. It's like some nerd's wet dream, only it's real, and people are dying."
He came through, Alex thought. Bless the man. "So what's the plan?"
"The plan, such as it is, is that we drive north as fast as we can and figure out what the fuck is going on. If we can save lives along the way, then we're going to do that, too. We're multitasking on this one."
The van headed in the direction of the base's front gate.
"Has there been any further contact with Task Force Devil?"
"Not a word. I'm sorry, Alex. But we're going to have to go up there and put eyes on. CF-18s have done flybys, but even with the cameras mounted on the sniper pods, the city's on fire. With all the smoke, it's hard to make sense of anything. The situation is … fluid, but it looks like an alien… dark elf… enemy army is moving through Fort St. John, driving the population before it. There's people—thousands of people—stuck on the north side of the Peace River. There's only one bridge in the area, and it's congested."
"Taylor Bridge. I know it."
"What we're hearing from the locals via land line is stomach churning. They're talking about a full-on slaughter of civilians. I think this is going to be bad, a real disaster."
"General McKnight mentioned other invasion sites around the world."
"All true. At least nine locations identified now, maybe more. But the only fighting is in Fort St. John. We don't know why."
"Shit."
"There's more. There are now reports of hundreds of people just … collapsing within a couple hundred kilometers of all these sites. Most of these people aren't waking up again, but those that have are … doing things."
"Things?"
"Impossible things—magical things. The religious nuts are going crazy."
"That actually makes sense. The gateways the dark elves use also open our world up to an unknown power source we call mana. A small percentage of the population is sensitive to this mana and can manipulate it—just like the dark elves. The gateways must be creating more mag-sens."
Gunz (The Dark Elf War Book 2) Page 13