B00M0CSLAM EBOK

by Mason Elliott

  Comfort women and their children would be housed separately in cleaner, much nicer facilities, and have access to good food and medical care.

  The standard contract to become a whore for the mercenaries was for a year and a day. The terms were briefly explained at certain locations in the camp on the hour, for the benefit of all.

  Mason guessed that after the pressure of being in that terrible slave camp for a few days, some might break and sign up out of fear for themselves or their helpless families. Especially if someone they cared about became ill and needed medical help. Camps such as these with bad water, food, and sanitation were perfect breeding grounds for sickness and disease.

  There were no good choices for slaves. It sickened Mason to see slavery returned to his a nation and his people–brought back by outsiders. It made him incredibly angry to see his people treated in such ways.

  “Stay your wrath,” Thulkara said. “We cannot free them. What is it that you have come to do here, Mace?”

  “At least they’re not being outright killed and eaten,” Blondie said.

  Mason snorted. “This isn’t that much better, but you are correct. At least they still live.”

  “There is no chance or rescue from death,” Blondie added.

  “I want to get into the camp and speak with some of them.”

  “You are mad,” Thulkara told him. “What more do you think they can tell you? Most of their stories will be the same: they fled and were taken prisoner by the mercs. And you will risk being killed, or captured, and made a slave yourself–just to be told that?”

  “She’s right,” Blondie said. “What more do you hope to learn?”

  “Wait. Something’s happening,” Mason said.

  The mercs opened up a gate at the back end of the camp, leading southeast. Four wagons left the camp, each of them piled with dead bodies. Mostly the elderly, plus anyone else who died of wounds, infection, or illness.

  In a camp of tens of thousands, there would be casualties each day.

  Behind them came five slave cage wagons with about a hundred able-bodied men total, guarded by a platoon of thirty mercs on very poor horses, but horses nonetheless.

  Mason thought he spotted two militia men from South Bend. Perhaps that was a break. He told Blondie and Thulkara, “Let’s follow these wagons at a distance and see where they go. We might have to free those men, but I’m curious about where our foes are taking the dead bodies.”

  Three miles south, the two groups split off. The slave cages went east, and the dead bodies west.

  “We can catch up to those slave cages later,” Mason said. “I still want to see what they do with the corpses.”

  Less than two miles later, they had their answer.

  A patrol of a hundred mercs guarded the next intersection. They seemed ready for battle and tense, as if they were waiting for something or someone they didn’t trust. Possibly even an attack.

  Then a tall man in tall boots and long black robes rode up, guarded by a score of warriors all dressed in black, much like himself. But the leader wore what looked to be an iron mask, and the eyes of the mask glowed bloodred. His guards simply wore strips of black cloth masking their faces, all except their eyes.

  Behind them came five empty wagons, each pulled by a pair of the larger monsters they had seen. And an assortment of monsters followed behind them.

  Mason couldn’t make out the words they spoke up close, but it was clear what was happening.

  The man in black with the mask had control of the monsters, somehow. The two groups were trading the empty wagons for the full ones.

  They were allies, giving the dead bodies to the monsters to be used as food. It also got rid of the dead and the greater chance of disease.

  Yet this did not seemed to be a perfect alliance.

  Someone among the mercs said something wrong, and one of the monsters lunged forward and tried to gut the merc leader with a jagged sword.

  The dark man in black with the iron mask gestured with one hand.

  A beam of darkness shot out from the masked one’s hand and struck the monster in the back. Mason had never heard any living thing shriek in such agony. The monster stood up on its toes, transfixed by the beam, as its flesh steamed, boiled, and melted off its bones into nothing but goo.

  Then the bones clattered to the ground.

  “Bloody necromancer,” Thulkara muttered under her breath.

  The mage grew angry, stepped forward, and backhanded the merc leader, before waving him and his entire platoon off.

  “The larger monsters are pulling the wagons away,” Blondie said. “Why are the mercs bringing the horses back?”

  Thulkara snorted. “So that the monsters don’t eat them as well.”

  The mercs quickly hooked the horses up to the empty wagons.

  “It must be mages like that necromancer who are in charge of both the monsters and the mercenaries,” Mason noted.

  “That would not be so unusual,” Thulkara said. “Except for the fact that they are controlling so many of them. They must have a new spell or enchantment that allows them to do so.”

  “You said the monsters obey only raw power,” Blondie noted. “We just witnessed a demonstration of such might. Even those dumb brutes would fear power such as that–one that can destroy in such a terrible fashion, at a whim.”

  “Very intriguing,” Mason said. “Now let’s catch up to the slow-moving slave wagons and effect a rescue.”

  “There are thirty mercenaries and three of us,” Blondie said. “That’s ten to one.”

  Thulkara shrugged and grinned, thumbing the edge of one of her battleaxes. “I like those odds. And, we have a sorcerer with us. I think we have a fine chance. But we must surprise them.”

  “Just follow my lead,” Mason said. “No way around it. This is going to require killing, but I also want to capture as many prisoners to take back and interrogate as we can. Thulkara, once I begin the fireworks, do you think you can charge in and knock out the merc leader?”

  At first she almost looked offended. Then she whacked her huge fist into her open palm. “Consider it done.”

  “Blondie, shoot down anyone who tries to run. Anyone I miss.”

  “Will do.” His friend nodded.

  “Now, we just have to find the right place to jump them.”

  About an hour later, Mason jumped out of a tree and onto the top of the third wagon. With guns drawn, he used lesser fire to blast the majority of the thirty guards off their horses. Most of the mercs were down before they even realized they were under attack.

  Thulkara knocked the leader completely off his horse with her shield and laid him out cold.

  Then she proceeded to drag down the drivers from the front two wagons, one after another. She knocked them out as well.

  Mason shot the two drivers behind him, and smashed the third right below him in the face with the butt of his pistol, and then kicked him off the wagon.

  Blondie shot three riders with his crossbow who were trying to get away. Mason and Thulkara went around and counted, finishing off any screamers or those mercs who were already too badly wounded.

  That left fourteen new prisoners, including the merc leader.

  Mason searched the man and found one of the enchanted necklaces. He quickly took it and put it around his own neck. They found three other such medallions around the necks of other mercs. Those would come in handy as well.

  Blondie tried to keep the freed slaves quiet as they clamored to be set free.

  Mason found the keys to the cages while searching the leader. Another backup set was located in the lead wagon, under the driver’s seat.

  He turned to the slaves and tried to explain their situation. But most of them simply clamored to be set free.

  “Shut up and listen to me,” he told them. “How many of you are from the South Bend or Mishawaka militias?”

  About three dozen of the hundred raised their hands.

  Mason handed a set of the keys t
o Blondie. “Get those militia people out first and have them hide the dead bodies nearby. Listen up, people. I can’t just let you all go running off in every direction. We have to make it back out of enemy territory and into friendly hands in Mishawaka. That means that we have to put on a show that everything is cool and normal. The cages will remain open, but held shut by just a piece of string. Most of you can just enjoy the ride, and keep acting like prisoners in a cage. The militia people will don the mercenary uniforms and pretend to be mercs, drive the wagons, and ride their horses. We’ll spread what weapons we have around. If we run into trouble, everyone boils out of the cages and we fight for our lives. Got it? Keep it simple. Play it cool if we encounter any patrols, and keep your mouths shut.”

  “What about the enemy prisoners?” one man said, with murder in his eyes. “These bastards took some of us from our families to go work in the farm fields south of here. To be slaves!”

  “They took my wife to be a whore for them.”

  “They took my daughter, too. I want to gut them all!”

  “Men, if it was up me, I’d hold them down and let you cut their throats right here and now. But we’re at war. These mercs need to be questioned. They might have valuable information. Our leaders need to know whatever these men know about what’s going on. That knowledge could save countless lives. They are worth far more to our cause as prisoners than they are dead. The militia will keep them bound hand and foot and gagged, and they won’t let any harm come to them, either. So keep your distance and don’t try anything stupid. Keep cool and we’ll all get out of this alive.”

  “You’re just a kid. Who are you to order us around?”

  One of the militia people stepped up. “You damn fools. He’s the Pistolero, and unless you forgot, he and his friends just saved all of us. So shut the hell up and do what he says. Hurry up switching into their clothes and let’s go. We’re wasting precious time!”

  They turned the wagons around and headed back toward Mishawaka, taking lesser known roads and skirting fields and patches of forest. A handful of the men knew that area pretty well, and advised them which ways to go.

  Yet by morning, they were still moving through Osceola, and Mishawaka remained hours away.

  When they thought it best, they sent some of their people riding up ahead on a few of their better horses. They already had outriders on their flanks and their rear, half a mile out.

  Mason and Blondie had grabbed a couple of hours’ sleep in the wagons. Thulkara just laughed and said she’d be fine until they made it to their destination safely. She easily strode next to the wagons, keeping up with them and trying to stay out of sight, as much as a giant Amazon could.

  After Mason woke up, he spoke with the militia people as they went along. “It is imperative that we get back to the militias and warn them about this army of mercenaries surrounding Elkhart, and working with the monsters. They have to stop refugees from heading out this way, and then we have to try to liberate those filthy slave camps. Perhaps the fighters in Elkhart can help us.”

  “I’m militia lieutenant Chet Monosso,” a midsized, Stocky man in his late twenties said. “I was in the National Guard. Captain Watkins sent me and my platoon to reach Elkhart. We got in, and spoke to some of the leaders there. They are very well organized and prepared to defend their city and their people, but they’re hampered by being so spread out. That’s a disadvantage for both them and the enemy mercenaries, who’ve been watching the city but not assailing it directly, thus far.

  “At first some of the monsters infiltrated Elkhart and began attacking and burning homes in many places. Then the monster attacks stopped, and the authorities in Elkhart realized that the mercenaries had surrounded them, allowing no one in or out, and refusing to negotiate or answer any questions. Overall, the mercs seem more bent on seizing much of the rich farmland in the area and trying to organize enough slaves to plant it than anything else. But now they are on the move again.”

  Mason snarled. “I think their strategy is one of containment. After the monsters finish off South Bend and Mishawaka, I’m sure they’ll attack Elkhart next–with the help of these mercs who are currently containing the latter and keeping it from sending any help to the rest of Michiana. They’re keeping us all divided so that they can defeat one, and then the next. Classic divide and conquer.”

  “What do the monsters have to do with all of this?” Chet asked. “All we’ve seen are the mercs.”

  Mason explained what they had witnessed.

  It was hard for many to believe. “And you say they’re all being led by these dark wizards?” Chet asked. “It sounds like a kid’s fantasy story.”

  “Necromancers,” Thulkara corrected. “And where there is one, there will be many.”

  “I know it sounds crazy,” Mason told them, “but the people from the other side use magic the same way we used technology. And their magic can be just as powerful and destructive–like my guns. But our tech doesn’t work anymore.”

  “Mr. Pistolero, why is that? Why doesn’t our stuff work any longer? How did all of that happen? Why are we so damn helpless?”

  Mason shook his head. “Lieutenant, we don’t know all of the reasons for that yet. Perhaps some of these prisoners can tell us, but I think we’ll need to capture one of their leaders, who all seem to be mages. I’m guessing that they know. But we can still resist and fight. We are fighting back. We’re not helpless.”

  “Sir,” Chet added, “for your personal information, Captain Watkins sent us to an address in Elkhart, looking for a young woman named Tori Nelson, with red hair and brown eyes.”

  Mason snapped his head up. “Did you locate her? What did you find?”

  “Sir, we located the address and the house and searched it. The monsters had attacked in that block, I’m sorry to say. We found many old, bloody signs of fighting and death nearby. Neighbors still in that area said that no one has lived in that house since the attack. They said that agents from the militia came through directly thereafter and made records and descriptions of everyone wounded or killed, before the casualties were taken away for medical treatment…or burial.”

  “And?” Mason asked. “What did those records say? What happened to Tori and her family?”

  Chet shook his head. “Our findings were inconclusive at best. There wasn’t time to track down the actual records of the casualties that were made that next day. And many people had left that area entirely and became refugees. But many other locals also remembered seeing the body of dismembered, red-haired young woman near that house.”

  “Her eyes. What color were the dead girl’s eyes?” Mason demanded.

  “Sir, we just don’t know. Once all of this is over, it might be possible to track down those actual records that were made. They could probably tell us for certain. But I’m sorry–we just don’t know any more than that.”

  Mason gasped and bit his right hand.

  So damn frustrating. Without a positive identification, that dead girl might have been Tori, or her sister Tanya, or someone else entirely. No word of Tori’s parents either way.

  She could still be out there. She could be in one of the slave camps. Tori could even be on the same side with David and the Blackwoods. There was hope that she still might be alive, and he was going to cling to that hope, until he learned otherwise.

  But for now, they had to reach Mishawaka, and expose what they had learned about their foes, and bring the captured mercs in for questioning.

  Three hours later, their outriders rode back in a panic.

  Four to five hundred mercenaries were moving to intercept them on the road, and the chase was on.

  They bounced those wagons down the road and across fields until everyone in them was sore and the horses were pooped.

  But about a hundred enemy cavalry on faster horses and no wagons raced ahead to cut them off before Capital Avenue. The mercs waited there, watching, while their troops on foot struggled to catch up.

  Then word came.
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  The horse messengers Mason sent forth had gotten through. Several hundred militia from Mishawaka were also hustling that way, even now, to engage the mercs. The escapees simply had to avoid being recaptured or killed.

  Mason did his best to evade.

  The enemy rode straight at them to intercept.

  The mercs spread out to encircle the slave wagons in a wide arc, to limit the effectiveness of Mason’s mass attacks. Even if he fired every round he had loaded up, he would only take out a few of them with each blast.

  Arrows began to whistle in from the enemy horse bows, fired from extreme range while the riders closed in.

  “Take the wagons into the trees,” Mason said.

  “We’ll have better cover in the forest,” Thulkara noted. But their situation looked bad.

  Worse yet, enemy infantry came in from two directions in the distance.

  Mason and his group prepared to make their stand.

  “Don’t dismount,” Mason warned them. “Fight around the cages and wagons, using them for cover. We still might have to break out and make a run for it. Fight on horseback and the wagons for as long as we can. Steady your mounts!”

  Several of the horses were terrified and ready to bolt as it was, if they had not been so tired. Others were not used to the roaring blasts of Mason’s guns, but he couldn’t do anything about that, either.

  Mason did his best to pick off cavalry as they raced in, but he mostly held his fire. In a minute or so, the cavalry would be forced to bunch in more up close, in order to press their attack, and then he could use his loaded weapons on them.

  The defenders only had a few arrows and bows. They waited and stayed under the cover of the trees, holding their fire.

  The cavalry came in to encircle, and then stopped, dismounted, and advanced in good order on foot, behind light shields.

  The defenders spent what arrows they had, taking several mercs down. The mercs closed in for hand-to-hand combat.

  Mason cut loose with his guns, sweeping batches of them away in waves of flame. Blondie fired his crossbow quickly and coldly. Thulkara tossed two throwing axes and two daggers. Each weapon found a target.