Ranger

by William Stacey

  He dropped his knee into the fallen dark elf, hoping to crush his balls. When his opponent gasped in pain, he guessed his strike had been on target. Before the dark elf recovered, Alex leaned forward and used Witch-Bane to saw through his neck, feeling the hot splash of blood. An amateur and clumsy kill but still a kill.

  Alex rose and stumbled forward through the snowstorm, heading toward the glow of the trees. An orange shape materialized before him, but when Alex came closer, the storm vanished, petering out in a second. His visor reenergized, crackling back into normal mode, just in time to see Boko's surprised face. Witch-Bane, he realized. I canceled out her channeling.

  He tried to swerve away, but before he took more than a step from Boko, a vast winged shape fell upon her, crushing her bones with the impact. A huge wyvern rose before Alex, its serpentine head atop a long neck, and it opened its jaws and shrieked. Seated upon the back of the wyvern was a dark-elf mage in chain mail. The wyvern lunged at Alex, who ducked down then used his hips to surge up beneath the lizard's head, thrusting Witch-Bane through its lower jaw and into its brain so hard that his sword's point came through the top of the serpentine skull. As the wyvern's momentum carried it forward, it ripped the sword from Alex's fingers and knocked him down, pinning him beneath a wing. The dark-elf mage rolled free and came up with a saber in her hand. She stared in anguish at her dying mount then glared hatred at Alex before raising her saber to split his skull. Pinned beneath the wyvern, he was helpless.

  She froze, surprise replacing the hatred in her eyes as a feathered dart appeared in the side of her neck, just above the collar of her chain mail. She staggered back, drew the dart from her flesh, and stared at its tip in confusion. Her saber fell from her fingers as she toppled over, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

  Gevn Ap appeared, his blowgun tube in his hand, his eyes wild with terror. He helped Alex untangle himself from the still-thrashing wyvern. Alex wrenched Witch-Bane free of the wyvern's head as Gevn Ap pulled him along toward the forest. Behind them, the earth rumbled as the kelpie cavalry came on again, and Alex knew they'd never make it in time.

  He saw a flash of movement from his side, and his heart leaped into his throat as Liv appeared, her exo-suit's limbs churning up the ground as she ran right at Alex and Gevn Ap. She barely paused as she swept them up, one under each powered arm, and raced for the trees, running far faster than he could have, but the kelpie cavalry was still faster.

  Rifle fire cascaded from the trees ahead, cutting into the kelpies. Eye-searing chain lightning flashed past them, burning through the mounts and riders.

  Liv carried them into the jungle, crashing through the foliage while the kelpie cavalry, unable to follow, wheeled away from the withering rifle fire and fled for safety.

  They had made it.

  33

  Alex, Liv, and Gevn Ap joined the rest of the Strike Force in an all-around defensive posture, with the wounded in the center, along with Huck, First Sergeant Martinez, Ylra, and Leela. Huck and the others huddled together, talking, their visors raised. Beyond the tree line, the enemy cavalry was out of range near the riverbank. Well… if we really wanted to, Ylra's Light Fifty could still reach out and turn them to goo.

  Leela ran to Alex and threw herself into his arms. "I thought you were—"

  "Shh, I'm fine," he whispered. "Gevn Ap came back just in time to save my ass. And Liv saved us both." He faced Huck, hating himself for making things even harder on her right now. "Boko… didn't make it, Huck. I'm so sorry."

  She looked away, crestfallen. "She's not the only one." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Goddamn, what a disaster. What have I done?"

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Not your fault. You're only here because I went back for Lee and the others. The fault is mine."

  "Not how command works, Alex. You know that."

  "I missed the ambush. I was supposed to be your scout, your ranger support."

  She shook her head. "If not for you, we'd have been halfway across that bridge when it blew. We'd all be dead or captured. Shit. How is this possible? We flew the UAV over those cliffs and saw nothing."

  Alex sighed. "They were probably dug in, with camouflage netting over their firing positions. The UAV pass was quick and high. We missed them. But they must have thought we'd find them with the second, closer look. That's why they… did whatever they did to the UAV, crashing it."

  "Telekinesis," said Leela. "It was telekinesis."

  "They have a mag-sens," Liv stated. "Only a human could do that."

  "Wait," said Huck, holding out her hands. "Just who the fuck are they?"

  "Those were Kalashnikovs firing," First Sergeant Martinez spat. "I'd know that sound anywhere. Russians."

  "I agree," said Alex. "I heard what sounded like a PKM heavy machine gun."

  "Russians?" Huck asked in disbelief. "Are you shitting me? How are we facing Russians?"

  "Russian weapons, at least," said Alex. "Probably in platoon strength, maybe even a company. I'd guess there were a half dozen recoilless rifles firing on the war rigs. Whoever they are, they executed a textbook ambush—flawless, in fact. How they got here on Faerum, I have no idea."

  "The rifts," said Ylra. "They've been popping up at the intersections of ley lines all over your world, probably wherever these Russians come from as well. If we went through a rift, why couldn't they?"

  "Oh, goddamn it," Huck swore. "What are the odds of this happening?"

  Alex removed his load-bearing vest and ran his hands over the small of his back. The pain was still there, but there were no holes in his jumpsuit. The liquid body armor must have saved him again.

  "You okay?" Leela asked.

  "I'm fine. Whatever it was, the armor stopped it."

  "You're lucky," said Huck bitterly. "Others weren't." She looked over at the ad hoc triage where Dr. Ireland and one of her medics were working on more than a dozen injured, their arms bloody to the elbows.

  Veraxia, still in cuffs, assisted with the wounded. She could have escaped during the ambush but hadn't. It's time for those handcuffs to come off.

  "How bad is it?" he asked Huck.

  "Santiago, tell him what you just told me," she said to her first sergeant.

  The stone-faced senior noncommissioned officer nodded. "3 Platoon was on the bridge when it blew. They're gone—dead or missing—but I'd wager dead, given the force of the explosion."

  Alex felt like throwing up. "Go on."

  "We lost five out of six war rigs. The enemy focused their anti-armor weapons on them. One of the minigun rigs made it back but only because its gun jammed during the fighting and the operator lit out of there."

  "I can look at it," Ylra said.

  Martinez continued. "1 Platoon lost seven, with four wounded. 2 Platoon lost three with five wounded. Three of the four intelligence operators are dead or missing. Six out of seven engineers—those poor bastards were right beside the bridge. Captain Shapiro is among the missing—"

  Alex shook his head. "I'm sorry. KIA."

  Martinez inhaled and continued. "Three of the medics—leaving only the civilian doctor and one medic to deal with the injured."

  "I can help," said Leela, adjusting the fit of her Brace.

  "No," said Huck. "I need you to preserve your strength. They could attack again at any moment. Go on, Santiago."

  "And according to you, Major, Snow White is dead, leaving Long Bow… and your wife for magical fire support, I guess. So ninety-nine effectives, with another dozen wounded. For heavy weapons, the one malfunctioning war rig plus Long Bow and her gateway rig."

  "And my wife and me," said Alex.

  "And your wife and you," acknowledged the first sergeant. "Every gunfighter helps now."

  "We're down to just over half strength," Huck said. "From one fight. What's just as bad is that we lost a bunch of the rucksacks with the food, water, and additional ammo. We have only the rucksacks left behind by the three platoons at the objective rally point—better than not
hing, but we're combat ineffective."

  "Not sure we can apply staff college math here," said Alex. "We make do with what we have."

  Huck sighed. "Which isn't much."

  "We're alive. We have two rigs, a minigun, and—more importantly—a gateway maker."

  "Crystal's still empty," said Ylra.

  "It'll recharge," Alex said. "As long as we're alive, we can carry out the mission." He met Huck's eyes. "This is a setback, not a defeat."

  "No, it's an ass-kicking," said Huck bitterly. "They had us. They had us cold, but then they let us pull back. Why?"

  "The kelpie cavalry," suggested Ylra. "Maybe they didn't want to hit their own people."

  Alex shook his head. "I thought so at first as well, but that can’t be it. They had us in a kill zone—a damned good one. They could have kept up the fire until moments before the cavalry hit us. Huck's right. They let us go."

  "We can't stay here," Huck said. "We need to move."

  "What about stragglers?" Alex asked. "We move on, they won't find us."

  Huck shook her head. "The enemy cavalry is rounding up prisoners. Anyone who could make it back already has."

  "Prisoners?" Alex asked. "I don't like the sound of that."

  "You think I do?" Huck snapped. The color drained from her face as she looked away, and Alex knew she was fighting to hold her emotions in check, just as he would be if he had just lost so many people.

  "The wounded," First Sergeant Martinez said.

  "Go bring Dr. Ireland. Tell her I need an assessment right now."

  Martinez darted away to confer with the physician. Alex slipped beside Huck and whispered, "I'm with you. Anything you need, I'm here to help."

  She nodded. "It was a goddamned trap. They let us slaughter those boggarts just to bring us in close. What do you think? Can we attack? Clear them from the cliffs?"

  He inhaled, looking at the triage then the soldiers then across the grassy hills at the riverbank and cliffs. There must have been at least a hundred cavalry remaining, and although they couldn't see them, there were probably a dozen cloaked mages on wyverns—not to mention a mystery force of Russians. "No," he said, shaking his head. "There's no way we can take those cliffs. If we could make a gateway up there, sure, but… no. This one is a loss."

  She half grunted, half choked on her response, looking away and running her hands over her face. Martinez returned with Dr. Ireland. A field bandage was taped over her chin, but it had leaked through. She probably needed stitches herself.

  "Well, Doctor?" Huck asked, her composure in place again.

  Dr. Ireland hesitated, biting her lower lip. "Bad," she said. "Three of the wounded will bleed out. There's nothing I can do."

  Huck sighed. "And?"

  "Five others I might save but not here. I need somewhere more secure, more sanitary. And I need to draw blood from volunteers. Out here, in the jungle… they're going to bleed out or risk infection. They'll risk infection, anyway, even with antibiotics, but here is… well, we can't stay, but if we move, at least two more will die. I'm sorry. All I have are bad choices."

  "Still," said Alex, "that's remarkably few injuries for such a one-sided gunfight."

  "The liquid body armor," said Huck. "The suits stopped everything but massive damage—or those who were too close to the blast or drowned."

  "It's true," said Dr. Ireland. "The other injuries are superficial, bruises mostly."

  Huck, her face pale, inclined her head. "Thank you, Doctor. Save who you can. Prepare the others for travel." She glanced at Ylra. "We're moving in fifteen minutes. Please ask Gevn Ap to take us back to his village."

  Ylra stood in place, her mouth open. "Back?"

  "We need to treat the injured and figure out what's next. Can't do that in the jungle."

  "But… there are fae seelie after us now. We'll put the entire village at risk."

  "I have no choice, Ylra. Didn't you hear the doctor? I have shit choices, so if you have a better one, spit it out. This is about your people and mine."

  Ylra watched her for several moments, the look in her large eyes indecipherable, then, her shoulders slumping, she nodded. "I'll ask him."

  Valentin walked among the smoking carnage of the battlefield. Dimmi stood just behind him, holding the reins of both of their kelpie mounts. The rest of his men supervised the boggart cohorts as they rounded up the prisoners. Dominika was with the prisoners, tending to the wounded. She was a gifted fire starter and healer. Any of the Americans not too badly wounded would survive this day. She was an angel of mercy, attending those Valentin had slaughtered. And this had been a massacre, not a battle. His face heated at the sight of so many dead, injured, and those still in shock. But such was war, his only true talent.

  "How many prisoners?" he asked his aide.

  "Twenty-two, boss. Including a handful who were on the bridge. The boggarts found them half-drowned."

  "Really?" asked Valentin, turning to stare at his aide, surprised that anyone on the bridge had survived.

  "Seems the Americans have special uniforms, boss. Apparently, they stop bullets and shrapnel, maybe even concussive force."

  "Not all injuries," Valentin said, staring at a severed head still wearing its futuristic helmet, the visor smashed.

  "No, not all," Dimmi agreed.

  "Still," Valentin continued, "the equipment these men—"

  "Women, too, boss. Some of the prisoners are women."

  Valentin snorted, seeing that Dimmi was right. At least four of the prisoners were female. During the Great Patriotic War, World War II, Russian women had fought alongside the men, much like Dominika did now. But those had been desperate times. Perhaps the Americans had become desperate as well. "Their equipment is far beyond anything our country could field."

  "They always had the best toys, boss. Don't always win, though."

  "No, they don't." Valentin stared at the smoking wreckage of one of their marvelous exo-suits. He wanted a better look but couldn't get any closer. The soldier had been armed with a minigun, and there was a risk that the ammo might cook off. But even from here, he marveled at the technology—a single soldier bearing a weapon normally mounted on a vehicle or aircraft. Amazing. Alpha Group had known of the Americans' experiments with exo-suit technology, but to see the gear with one's own eyes was like something out of a movie. "Salvage everything, Dimmi. Everything. Ask the boggarts to sweep the river bottom." His glance drifted once more over the burning exo-suit, and he felt a momentary pang of regret. He knew the enemy exo-suits were far beyond repair, but he had to destroy them. Such equipment was far too dangerous and his surviving men too precious to risk.

  "On it already, boss. Trident Commander Za-zalgar 'Urth was bitching that it was beneath his warriors to steal from the dead, but he sent them."

  Valentin sighed. "We're lucky he's helping us at all after that bullshit stunt with his warriors on the bridge. All those dead… just to trick the Americans. They'd have crossed, anyhow."

  "Not your plan, boss."

  "I know, but it's still wrong."

  "He doesn't blame you. He blames that purple-assed bitch princess."

  Valentin glanced about to make sure none of the dark elves were within earshot. "Dimmi, if she hears you…"

  "I'm no idiot, boss. She's flying over the jungle."

  "No, she's not."

  Valentin watched the wyvern appear in the sky less than three hundred meters away as Crown Princess Kaladania, the only surviving daughter of Queen Tuatha de Talinor, canceled her invisibility spell. Her wyvern landed amidst the carnage with no thought for the boggart warriors who leaped away.

  "Crap in your mouth," Dimmi swore. "She looks angry."

  "She always looks angry. Take the mounts to the river and wait for me. "

  Kelpies hated females of any species, but the aquatic mounts seemed to share a particular dislike for the crown princess. As Kaladania stormed toward him, her face a mask of indignant outrage, Valentin understood that sentiment perfectly.r />
  He bowed, his hand upon his chest harness. "Greetings, Princess," he said in accented but flawless Empire Common, one of several Faerum dialects he had learned in the past six years' service to the queen.

  "Wolf, you traitor! You let them go. I'll skin you alive for that," she snarled, spit flying from her lovely lips. For a fae-seelie princess, she was young, in her twenties, and sadly, far from impressive, often behaving like the spoiled brat she was. Didn't she realize that she was the crown princess only because her other sisters were dead? She wore brightly burnished chain mail, a dark-green flying cloak, and a sher-cat-hide flying helmet she now pulled from her head, exposing her long white hair. On her hip, she wore a sheathed saber that Valentin doubted had ever been used in battle—yet she was in charge. He sighed. Some days, he spent all his time talking her out of foolish courses of action—when she listened at all. She was a fool, and everyone knew it, including her mother. But she was the crown princess.

  "Princess, I didn't let anyone go. Your mother tasked me with stopping the enemy at the river. They are stopped."

  "They escaped. Worse, the losses to the cavalry are extreme, at least a hundred dead—and four of my mage-wardens, burned from the sky by their Red-Ether-damned weapons."

  "I warned you against pursuing them, Your Highness. They were well armed and superbly trained. Even in defeat, they broke contact in an orderly fashion."

  "Don't lie, Wolf. You spared them. I saw your weapons stop firing."

  "No, I conserved precious ammo. Besides, those are good troops. We should make terms with them, not kill them."

  Kaladania's grin was both malevolent and triumphant. Mother's love, he hated the bitch. "And now we see your true intent, manling," she gloated, her large golden eyes shining. "You seek to grow your own forces, to replenish your losses."

  "If I can convince the Americans to serve your mother, as my men and I do, then yes, I seek to replenish my losses. I have been fighting—and winning—your civil war for over five cycles now. And there will be more fighting yet. The Americans can prove useful. Wiping out a defeated enemy is foolish and wasteful."