Ranger

by William Stacey

  "Maybe," said Alex, "but he said they were a battalion when they arrived. That's a lot of ammo. And he was firing live rounds at the bridge. They're gonna have recoilless rifles and Rocket-Propelled Grenades too." He bit his upper lip. "No, he has ammo. Maybe not a lot but enough. The question is 'Does he want to waste it when he can just wait us out?'"

  Martinez snorted. "He can try—"

  A winged shape appeared in the sky less than fifty feet above them, winking into existence in an instant—a wyvern with a dark-elf rider sitting in its saddle, her face filled with surprise. She thought she was invisible. His training kicked in, and he brought his Tac rifle to his shoulder and drew a quick sight picture on the winged lizard as its rider frantically tried to turn the beast away.

  "Weapons free! Weapons free!" he yelled as he fired his rifle, putting round after round into the wyvern.

  The wyvern shrieked in pain as others opened fire, including Martinez. A fusillade of rifle rounds ripped through the wyvern and its rider. The beast tilted over and dropped like a sack onto the mesa top, striking with a bone-crunching impact.

  Alex and Martinez ran for it, and as Alex came near the still-thrashing winged lizard, he put several aimed shots into its skull. Its rider, a female in chain mail, was still in the saddle, her yellow eyes open and unseeing, bullet wounds riddling her torso after punching right through the mail armor. Alex placed two fingers against her neck and felt nothing.

  "Scout," he said to Martinez.

  "Why'd she just… appear like that?"

  "The anti-magic effect. There's a meteorite underground that interferes with magic. It cancels it out, like my sword but on a much larger scale. The field must extend into the air over the mesa, but I don't know how far. This scout came too close, though."

  Martinez chuckled. "Shitty day for her. So what now?"

  "Make sure the troops understand if they see a wyvern in range, they light it up. Let's kill as many of their magic-users as we can before they figure out that they can’t fly too close."

  "Yes, sir," said Martinez with an evil smile.

  Valentin approached the two male fae-seelie warriors who stood guard before Kaladania's command tent. According to fae tradition, both warriors should have challenged him, but all the warriors in this army knew him, and both elves nodded in greeting. They were good lads, but he'd need to have a quiet word with them later. If Kaladania had seen, they might have lost their heads.

  Valentin entered the crowded tent.

  The usual sycophants were here, sipping wine and sucking up to Kaladania. Nerilac Brand, the senior mage-warden, was bent over a table, tracing her finger over a map, talking and joking with Kaladania. Both were holding wine cups, as if they were on a picnic. Nerilac's ambition was almost as impressive as her ignorance. Kaladania didn't even glance at the map. Valentin knew from experience that Kaladania found tactics a bore and fit only for ignorant warriors—like him. Standing just behind the two but not too close was Ferial, the senior mage-scout now that Kaladania had sent Terlissandia to escort the woman doctor to the queen. Ferial was a poor replacement for the famous Silent-Death and a second-rate scout. Farther away, standing by himself and scratching his sizable ass, was Grut Blood-Tusk, the strongest, nastiest, and stupidest troll Valentin had ever met—although to be fair, Grut hadn't been the one to send the army's best mage-scout away on a glorified delivery mission.

  Valentin also saw several welcome faces—the one-eyed boggart warrior Za-zalgar 'Urth and the commander of the kelpie cavalry, Rend Kalwin, an experienced fae warrior.

  "Ah," said Kaladania, a mocking smile on her thin lips, "the great warlord Wolf arrives. I thought you had abandoned us to join your own kind."

  Nerilac and Ferial snickered. Za-zalgar' Urth and Rend Kalwin had the decency to look away. Grut continued to scratch his meaty ass.

  Valentin placed his hand across his chest and bowed. "I serve your mother, the queen… and you, of course, Your Highness."

  "Of course," parroted Kaladania with a sneer. "Report."

  "My fire weapons are readied, trained upon the summit. The angle is a challenge, and the enemy has the high ground, but we should have them outranged."

  "And your… special weapons?"

  Valentin paused, considering his words. She was too quick to want him to use those munitions. Nor did she even try to hide her thrill at their effects—the sick bitch. He needed to walk carefully now. Kaladania was as stupid as she was spiteful, and Valentin could often maneuver her into a desired course of action, but if mishandled, she'd lash out in petty rage. "They are ready, Your Highness, but I'd recommend against such a waste. We have only a few left, and your mother has other enemies. Best to wait. They will surrender. I'm certain of it. In a day or two, they will run out of water."

  "Told you," Nerilac said with a knowing glance at Kaladania.

  "Great one," Trident Commander Za-zalgar' Urth said in a sibilant voice, "the Wolf offers sage council. There is much we do not understand, much that increases the scent of blood in the water. Why have the manlings come to our world now? Do they also have special weapons? And why have they entered the Char, of all places? A wise leader watches when the small fish scatter, and the small fish have indeed swum away."

  Kaladania rolled her eyes.

  Nerilac leaned forward and touched Kaladania's arm. "That idiot mage-scout stupidly dropped her invisibility spell. Perhaps she was trying to goad the manlings. If so, she died for her vanity. No loss to us."

  "I warned my mage-scouts to remain invisible at all times," said Ferial, speaking in a whisper, her eyes darting at Kaladania before looking away. "She wouldn't just drop her Shadow-Soul spell."

  Without even looking at her, Kaladania held her hand out, silencing the mage-scout commander. "I do not understand why she revealed herself and her mount, but the enemy has drawn first blood and made us look weak. This cannot stand."

  Za-zalgar' Urth, unhappiness in his one good eye, inclined his head in obedience.

  Now, Kaladania grinned at Valentin, clearly enjoying herself. "We need to teach them a lesson. There will be no compromise, no further negotiations. The boggarts will attack, and you, Wolf, will use your special weapons to drive the enemy from the high ground."

  He glared at her, his anger spiking, but forced himself to be calm. She's trying to play you, Valentin. Think of them. They're counting on you. Swallow your stupid pride, or they'll die in the queen's dungeons. He looked down, hating himself. "As you command, Princess."

  44

  The fighting began with magic. Or at least that was the dark elves' intent.

  The first warning Alex and the others had that they were under attack was a dozen fireballs hurtling upon them from above, cast by invisible dark-elf mages on wyverns. But the fireballs fell apart within a hundred meters of the summit, turning harmlessly into clouds of sparks. The boggarts charged forward, heading for the gorge and its path. Most likely, Alex realized, the dark elves had intended their fireballs to offer cover for the boggarts, like an artillery barrage. The boggarts didn't know the magical attack had failed, and they entered the gorge.

  "Weapons hold," Alex transmitted into his radio, willing calmness into his voice, knowing the troops would pick up on his tone. "Let them get closer."

  While Alex had deployed most of his ninety-two men and women facing the gorge, the main line of enemy attack, he had also positioned observation teams at key locations around the mesa, maintaining an all-around defensive. He had no reason to suspect boggarts could scale the cliff, but he wouldn't take that chance. For a reserve force, he had tasked Lee with staying back with a section of infantry.

  The first cohort of boggarts, at least two hundred warriors, marched closer with another cohort now entering the gorge. The four-armed warriors wore mail armor and carried swords, axes, and spears. He hated them but couldn't fault their courage. By now, they must have understood how deadly firearms were, but they kept coming, their discipline holding firm. Their first ranks slowed as the
boulder-strewn path funneled them into the kill zone, but now they were less than two hundred meters away, well within range—but Alex waited. Valentin hadn't opened fire with his artillery or other weapons yet, but he'd need to do so soon if he wanted to give cover for the boggarts. Maybe Martinez is right, and he doesn't have the ammo. Six years is a long time to fight without resupply.

  On cue, the first mortar round screamed in.

  "Incoming!" Martinez yelled.

  The mortar round struck the top of the mesa fifty meters behind one of the firing positions, scattering shrapnel and rocks. It had been a good shot considering Valentin's men were firing up at an enemy they couldn't see. The next round struck twenty meters closer to the firing position, well within the mortar round's danger radius. All four soldiers lay prone, covering the back of their necks with their hands. Alex's heart leapt into his throat. That was too close for luck.

  The third mortar round detonated among the soldiers.

  When the smoke cleared, all four lay still.

  "Goddamn it!" Martinez said. "There has to be an observer somewhere, adjusting their fire."

  "Stay down," ordered Alex. "It's probably an invisible mage, too high for the anti-magic field."

  A soldier rose, perhaps intending to check on the impact site, but his chest exploded in a red mist. A single rifle shot cracked overhead—sniper, a high-caliber weapon, maybe even a 7.62mm Dragunov, but powerful enough to punch right through the man's MR armor. Alex's pulse throbbed in his skull as anger rolled through him. I should have killed Valentin when I had the chance.

  The first cohort was now less than a hundred meters from the lip of the mesa. Hundreds more boggarts marched into the gorge, drums pounding and filling it with the strange aquatic warriors.

  Close enough. "Contact front, one hundred meters, rapid fire!" Alex spoke into his radio.

  Nearly fifty soldiers opened fire within seconds of one another. The boggart cohort came to a jarring halt under a devastating cascade of rifle fire. In moments, dozens were down, dead, wounded, or too terrified to move. The Strike Force soldiers kept up the intensity of fire, pouring death into the boggarts. At this range, with the enemy bunched together, no one missed. Bullets ripped through the enemy's mail armor, killing other boggarts behind. Alex opened fire, sending round after round into the enemy. The boggarts screamed in agony and fear. The stench of cordite and blood was overpowering. Someone launched a 40mm grenade to explode among them, and pieces of boggarts flew through the air. The boggart cohort fell apart, and the warriors fled, running over one another in their terror, but the other cohorts coming behind didn't understand what was happening, and as the survivors hit their ranks, they created more confusion. All the while, the soldiers kept shooting, putting round after round of accurate fire into them. It was a slaughter.

  "Weapons hold! Weapons hold!" Alex ordered into the radio.

  For several moments, gunshots continued to ring out, but then the shooting stopped, replaced by the screams of the wounded echoing from the gorge walls. Hundreds of dead and dying boggarts filled the path, and the survivors, driven mad by terror, forced their way past other cohorts trying to march into the gorge. Another sniper round cracked past, but the bullet struck the rocks behind them, winging away. The mortars were silent. A horn blew, and the boggart cohorts gave up, turning and retreating in as orderly a fashion as they could under the circumstances. The attack was over.

  "What do you think, First Sergeant?" Alex rose and peered into the corpse-filled gorge.

  "I think," the other man said, placing a meaty hand on Alex's shoulder and shoving him down, "that you'd best keep your head down, sir. That Tac helmet ain't gonna stop a high-caliber sniper round."

  Alex snorted but stayed low. "Fair enough."

  "What orders, sir?"

  "Let the survivors go. If they come for their wounded, let them. Let's take care of our own. Get me an ammo count, and make sure everyone eats and drinks. They'll be back, and they'll try something different."

  "Yes, sir." Martinez paused, watching Alex.

  "What?"

  "You did good, sir—for an entitled Special Forces candy-ass."

  Alex laughed, his pulse still racing. "You've got me all wrong, First Sergeant. I'm a ranger now."

  Leela paced as Ylra lay on her back, examining the internal workings of a control console. She had removed several of the console's copper side panels, exposing wiring, tubes, and gears. The machine looked like a combination of clockwork gears blended with dwarven technology and magic, like the war wagons. Veraxia sat cross-legged nearby, watching Ylra as she worked. They had heard the muffled explosions earlier but nothing since then. Without radio reception, Alex had had to send runners, but the last had been more than an hour ago. It seemed everything was under control—if being outnumbered fifty to one could be under control. The frustration was killing Leela. She stopped behind Ylra, her head now within the opened control console as she followed the wiring. "Can't you… I don't know, turn it off?"

  Ylra grunted. "Course I could, but to what end?"

  "I would not recommend such a course of action," Veraxia said. "Turning the machine off may leave the inhabitants of this settlement trapped wherever they may be."

  "She's right," said Ylra. "Although I don't understand how a fae-seelie Grandfather priestess understands dwarven technology."

  "I do not speak of dwarven technology but inter-dimensional variances. We priestesses of the Benevolent Grandfather have some understanding of the esoteric disciplines, gained through arduous mystical spirit-walking in the astral planes."

  Ylra snorted. "Oh, okay, then."

  "I mean no offense, Ylra the technomancer, but I'm sure there is much you don't understand of our worship."

  "I do not understand what you're saying," said Leela with mounting frustration.

  Veraxia tilted her head and considered Leela. "Odd, considering you and your friends traveled to this world through astral projection."

  "We jumped through a hole in the sky. This is different."

  "Not so, Leela the Mage. There are many realities, and all are influenced by magic and stretched by time. I do not understand what the dwarves have done with this machine, but I suspect to them it may appear a single moment has passed—or it may be as though they have been trapped for eons. We may free them only to find them driven mad by the passage of time. They may even set themselves upon us." Veraxia's eyes seemed to flash crimson. "How exciting!"

  "You and I have different concepts of exciting," said Leela.

  "And I thought the fae who worshipped spiders were weird," said Ylra. "Trust me. The last thing we want is thousands of insane dwarves." Ylra swore then pounded her fist against the inside of the console before sliding out again and sitting up, oil on her face. "I'm wasting my time. Without understanding what's happened here, trying to reverse it is impossible. I wish Kargin were here."

  Leela sighed, placing her hand atop Ylra's shoulder. "My husband would say some ridiculous Newfoundland slang like 'Don't wish for horses' or something just as dumb. But I'm not my husband, and you're not Kargin. I have faith in you."

  "As do I," said Veraxia. "Besides, you can't make it worse—probably."

  Ylra snorted, wiping the oil from her face. "Thanks… I guess." She moved to a second control console and removed the side plating.

  Leela, hoping to learn something from the ghostly whisperings of the trapped dwarves, had put the Brace back on, and now she heard their murmuring again, too indistinct to make out but pleading in tone. In the center of the arena, the meteorite spun, floating above the giant hand. "What are you trying to tell me?" she whispered.

  Then the Brace tightened on her hand. She heard one more whisper, so faint she almost missed it, but this time she understood. It was in English, a woman's voice whispering in her ear. "Snowbird."

  Another explosion shook the cavern, followed by a series of others. Dust and debris drifted down on them. The fighting had started again.

  Alex ha
d been right: when the dark elves attacked again, they tried something different. At first, it seemed they were attempting another death charge up the gorge. Hundreds of boggarts marched through the path, slowed by the corpses of those killed in the first attack. Alex waited to give the fire order, letting them march back into the kill zone. Then a series of mortar rounds landed atop the mesa, followed by consistent sniper fire. This time, Valentin wasn't conserving ammo, likely to suppress the defenders while the boggarts surged forward. It wouldn't work. The Strike Force soldiers were well dug in, with rocks piled up around them. Their MR suits absorbed most of the shrapnel, stopping everything but a direct hit by a mortar round or sniper bullet. Injuries were minor, and Alex gave the fire order as the boggarts came within a hundred meters.

  The volley of aimed shots was just as devastating the second time. In moments, the enemy charge had faltered, and the screams of the dying carried over the gunfire. The acrid stench of death, blood, and gun smoke filled Alex's nostrils. This wasn't battle—it was butchery. But that was what war was.

  The mortar fire intensified, forcing the defenders to take cover, but there was no way Valentin could suppress them long enough for the boggarts to recover their momentum, not while the Strike Force soldiers held the high ground. When Alex heard a wyvern cry out behind them, he realized what Valentin was really doing—distracting them.

  A dozen wyverns appeared out of the air on the other side of the mesa, flying in formation as they swept over the summit. Each wyvern carried at least four boggarts hanging from netting in the same way they had escaped the fortress with Veraxia—an airborne insertion into their rear.

  "Behind us, shoot, shoot!" Alex yelled and brought his weapon around. He opened up with a burst of automatic fire.