Once he strapped on his steel and iron, and put on his outlaw hat, he felt like himself again.
He felt healthy. He felt good once more. No stiffness, no weakness–ready for duty.
Ready to do battle.
He checked the locations of his wounds.
Not even any scars.
He went directly to Major Avery, even though he wanted to hit the nearest mess hall and eat everything in sight.
At that moment, he could probably even out-eat Thulkara.
Bill stood up when the Pistolero walked in.
“It worked,” Mason told him. “I’m back. I’m fit and ready to return to the lines–right now, if need be.”
Major Avery nodded. “Good. We need you.”
Mason looked around. “Is Miss Marisol here? I…I’d like to thank her.”
“That’s not necessary, Mace. I’ve already done so, and in any case, she already departed–over an hour ago. She said that from her experience, that was best for everyone.”
Mason nodded. “Perhaps she was right. I didn’t know until just now, if I was going to thank her, or attack her.”
“She said that she was as anxious to return home as you were.”
“Home?” Mason said quizzically.
“The battle, Mace. The front lines are your home.”
“No, I wouldn’t call it that, exactly. The war is not my home, but you, my friends, and our unit are my family. So, I guess it’s not that far off. But there’s a pretty, red-haired girl out there somewhere. She’s my home. And I won’t be home again until I find her. I just hope she’s still alive…somewhere.”
Bill clapped him on the back. “I hope she is, too, Mace. And if we can find a way out of this mess, I hope you do find her.”
“Tell me how the fight is going, Bill. Get me up to speed.”
Avery sighed as they paced side by side down the hallway to the stairs. “Not very good, Mace.”
“Oh, I was guessing not. What else is new?”
“We’ve had to drop back to the eleventh line of defense once more.”
“Back to the eleventh…already?”
“On a better note, we now have four reloading teams again. And, we want to try out some new experimental loads mixed with gemstones…and uranium.”
Mason sucked in a breath. “Atomic bullets, Bill? We don’t want to blow up the enemy and all of us with them.”
“Why do you think we need to test them? Oh, and something else. We’ve fashioned a suit of armor for your to wear that will protect your torso and your extremities–even your neck and head. There’s even an insert cap for your hat.”
“I appreciate the thought, Bill. But my guns are heavy enough. I still need to be able to move around. I can’t wear fifty or sixty pounds of armor.”
“Try twenty-two pounds, and it’s coated with silver and a mix of diamond and crystal dust to resist magic.”
“Seriously?” Mason said. “How did you make it so light?”
“Our main threat seems to be crossbow bolts and arrows, so we’re using protective plates made of a light, high-strength plastic. We’ve already tested it. Crossbow bolts and arrows mostly bounce right off the padded plates.”
“All right. Suit me up and I’ll try it.”
“We have troops testing the plastic armor as well. It’s a lot lighter than metal, it protects almost ninety percent of the body, and we don’t have to worry about stopping bullets–just arrows and spears and such.”
By the time he had the armor on under his clothing and rigs, the sun had set.
The Pistolero returned to the front lines. There was even some cheering.
Then the monsters began to advance on the western line, just like old times. The night shift had arrived.
Mason turned to Major Avery. “Bring me some of those new uranium rounds. What do they have them in?”
“Your 1858 carbine.”
“Ooh…good choice.”
The runners handed it up.
Mason took aim at the center of the mass of shadowspawn marching toward the front lines.
The single shot lobbed up into the sky like a bright star or flare, illuminating the sky and the area so brightly that the monsters hissed and would not look at the bright, blinding light.
Then the round detonated thirty feet above the ground as the star arced down more than a quarter mile away.
A ball of fire erupted, enveloping the monsters in a dome of destruction, a hundred and fifty yards in diameter.
All that remained within the fiery crater were a bunch of glowing skeletons, reducing to ash.
The blast wave flattened friend and foe on their backs within a mile, and took down weakened trees and buildings, setting anything flammable on fire.
Mason swallowed, and turned to Major Avery.
“I think the team got that load just right,” he said. “I sure as hell wouldn’t make it any more powerful. I don’t have anything that will shoot much farther away. We sure can’t use those rounds up close.”
He checked his carbine.
The steel barrel was still red-hot in places. “Check it. That’s not good. It’ll be a while before we can fire another one of those rounds with this weapon, and eventually, those shots are going to wear out the barrels we shoot them through. If we can only shoot one round at a time, maybe we should try the St. Louis rifle, or the shotguns with slugs. We might be able to use the shotguns like mortars.”
“They really would be like artillery, then,” Avery noted.
That one blast and the losses inflicted by it staggered even the brutes, and caused them to withdraw in terror, at least for the moment.
“Saddle up,” Avery told Mason. “We need to unleash another of those surprises on the mercs at the southern line. Give them something to think about. Blondie and Thulkara will join up with us.”
Mason smiled. It was good to be back. And it would be good to ride Winger again and fight beside his friends. Avery had even made armored plates for their horses out of the same plastic.
They held the eleventh line of defense throughout that night, and for hours into the next day.
The enemy adjusted their tactics and no longer exposed large numbers of their forces in the distant killing fields.
Now the Pistolero rode again.
55
Sergeant Blaylock staggered up front. He moved sluggishly and looked bewildered. “Major. Half of the platoon has...wandered off, sir. We’re having trouble getting the other half to go forward. The troops are pretty scared. Some of them even terrified.”
David nodded. “I feel it, too. We all do.” He looked to Jerriel and the holy men.
“An aura of fear and confusion,” Jerriel said. “It will get woorse as we go closer. We will need blessings and prayers to bolster our spirits. Positive energy. Good will. That is all that can counter such evil.”
Father Mike and the others went among the remaining troops, blessing, praying, and encouraging. Even David felt the pall of terror and its oppressing weight lift to a great degree. It was encouraging.
The troops could focus and take orders once more.
“Who says prayer doesn’t work? I want that damn house encircled,” David said. “We’re going in. After we do, nothing comes out without getting doused with holy water and destroyed if need be. This thing we’re after must not escape, even if it takes all of us to drag it down and rip it apart. Do you understand?”
They nodded. “We do,” Blaylock said. “Good luck, sir.” The militia troops held their ground, but they looked happy that they could stay outside.
Jerriel reached over and took David’s hand for a moment. Even she trembled slightly–she who had never shown any fear. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. The darkness and the fear oppressing them lessened greatly.
She smiled at him. “Love works, too, sometimes. Evil can neither understand nor withstand it.”
The holy men flanked them, two on either side.
“We will try to slip inside quiet
ly,” Jerriel said. “If the demon is at work, as they usually are, it will be committing some deviltry. It may become completely absorbed in its dark work, unaware of our pres-hence until we attack or make ourselves known. That would be moost fortunate. But even its passive defenses can be very formidable, as we have already seen. Prepare yourselves. Shield and boolster your mind and spirit as best you can.”
They entered the house through the open front door. It was even darker inside, if that were at all possible. Only the weird light from the soulstone and David’s blade guided them.
Then that light went out as well.
To plunge into that darkness, that nest of palpable fear and terror, took every ounce of courage David had. He didn’t know if he could have done so on his own.
He quickly felt as if he sleepwalked into those deep shadows. He did not know for how long. At first he wondered where the others were in the darkness. Then he even had trouble recalling who the others were.
Jerriel. He knew she was there.
Something powerful affected him–disorientation, grogginess, and a mindless stupor. If it affected him, the others suffered from it, too.
Jerriel. Where was she? He struggled to clear and shield his mind, just as he had when talking to the dragon. Yes. Shield his mind. That’s what the dragon said. Jerriel said something similar. He needed to shield his mind from the evil influences around him.
A barrier of clear steel. He pictured it in his mind and made it real once more.
He took in deep breaths, he emptied his thoughts. He remembered a trick from martial arts and kendo: the concept of no mind.
No mind. No thoughts.
No mind that another could control or deceive.
His efforts paid off. His head cleared somewhat.
David reached out into the darkness. His sword. It glimmered faintly at his touch, ringing an electric chord of energy throughout his body like a jolt that shook him, made him gasp and stare, wide-eyed.
His sword knew his touch. He sensed it. It knew him somehow. He had been around blade weapons all his life. Instinctively he avoided cutting himself, despite the perfectly honed edges.
He could bleed if he forced himself to be cut.
It was all his choice.
That was the key. He had to focus on his choices, instead of stumbling through all of the distractions and illusions, the psychic miasma they moved in.
Light.
They needed light. Darksight did not work. Not in this evil place. He focused on his sword.
Something ignited within him, like an inner fire.
Instead of his sword, his skin began to glow. Just barely, but enough light to see by.
Pastor Doran, Jason Inada, Rabbi Bergman, and Father Petrowski. They all followed Jerriel, struggling against the invisible forces all around them, trying to hold them back.
They headed upstairs into the house.
David checked his sword.
According to that, they should go downstairs–not up. The demon was downstairs. He tried to open his mouth to tell them, but no sound came out. He tried to move, but it became a struggle to go after them. Exhausting.
Just as they exhausted themselves trying to climb the stairs.
They were going the wrong way.
The demon’s power deluded everyone. It was winning.
He managed to reach Pastor Doran and had to catch his breath.
He grabbed at the big man’s armored forearm, and finally got it.
Slowly, Bryan turned and blinked at him.
Why did they all feel so weak? His hand dropped to his belt, and rested on a small plastic bottle filled with holy water.
It couldn’t hurt to try that.
With effort, he poured some in his hand and splashed it in his face. The water was ice cold and tingly.
It did help. His mind cleared. He moved more freely.
David rubbed his eyes, his chapped lips. He wetted his fingers and unplugged his ears. Outside, he heard the howling wind again.
He splashed some in Pastor Doran’s face. The big man spluttered and shook himself.
“What? Upstairs...the demon.”
“Wrong way,” David told him. “We’re in...some kind of delusion. Splash holy water in the face of the others. Snap them out of it.” He pointed at the stairs going down into the dark basement. “The demon’s down there. Not up.”
Pastor Doran nodded. “Got it. Will do.” He moved a little faster, pulling out a canteen of holy water to douse the others with. They still floundered on the stairs. David poured the rest of his bottle of holy water on his sword.
Time to confront this thing. Time to put an end to the threat.
He crept downstairs, every hair on his body tingling. Like struggling to walk through a high surf. Yet the breakers weren’t water, but raw, intense waves of solid fear.
Eerie lights flashed below out of the basement’s pitch darkness.
An oily voice echoed and shifted, changing in both pattern and manner of speech every so often. He’d heard that inhuman voice before. It creeped him out exactly the same way.
He reached the floor of the basement. He spotted bones, pieces of shredded, rotting bodies–there was filth everywhere. David looked up.
Before him were chairs, crates, small desks, nightstands, and boxes that ringed the basement.
Propped up on all of them was a multitude of shining mirrors of various shapes and sizes. Images of people’s faces flashed in and out of the mirrors. Every age and race, men and women, even children.
In the center of that morass, a dark, shifting form moved.
A vile and hideous thing.
56
The dark, cloudy night turned warmer and the air grew very still. Everything around Mason and his friends seemed too quiet. That wasn’t normal.
“Something is wrong,” Thulkara said aloud.
“I agree,” Blondie added.
Mason felt it, too. But what could it be?
They had just held off the enemy for another eight-hour shift at the front. But this time, they didn’t even have to resort to any of the new uranium-laced rounds.
They never had an opportunity to use one, and they didn’t want to level another part of their own town and its buildings for no reason.
That was only worth doing it if they could take down a thousand or more of the enemy all at once, from a safe distance. Those deadly rounds weren’t safe to use up close. They’d take out themselves and their own people as well.
The monsters still gathered to attack, but they filtered in along multiple attack lines in the dark and came together up close. Very clever.
The three friends reported their gut misgivings to Major Avery.
Where were the mercs and the mages? What were they doing?
Why had the enemy attacks decreased in this manner?
All of that remained a major concern.
“All of you get some rest for the next shift,” Avery told them. “Your current shift is over as of right now. Unless you have something specific to tell me or warn me about, there’s nothing for any of us to consider further or act upon.”
“How about this,” Blondie said. “Their mages haven’t hit us for three days in a row. Now the mercs fall back.”
“We don’t know,” Avery said. “The spotters can’t see anything. Maybe they heard the Pistolero’s back, with new abilities. Maybe they’re plotting how to counter them. I wish we knew. But until we know something definite, we will follow orders and keep doing what we are doing. Your unit is dismissed, so get the hell off the line.”
All of them were tired.
All of them could use the rest.
Three hours later, Bill woke them up in a hurry once more.
“Suit up. All available reserves are to race to reinforce Mishawaka along their southern defensive lines.”
“What’s happening?” Mason asked.
“The enemy has gone for broke, Mace. All of their mages and most of their reserves are apparently pounding M
ishawaka as we speak. The defenders there don’t have anyone like you or the Shooting Stars, yet. It’s a goddam bloodbath.”
“How bad?” Blondie asked.
“Very bad. The enemy’s all out-attack in that area came as a complete surprise. No one can stop the enemy right now, and with the explosion of panicked refugees, almost no one can maneuver or get in there, either. Anyone who tries to get in the enemy’s way and stop them, gets taken down by the concentrated firepower of the enemy mages. If the enemy keeps driving like this, they can destroy all of Mishawaka in a few days or less. Our allies will be crushed, and South Bend will be cut off and surrounded by superior numbers.”
Mason blinked. “Then I guess we’d better hump it over there; good thing it’s not far.”
It took them slightly over an hour to make contact with the enemy on the west side of Mishawaka around River Park.
Forward scouts and spotters from the rooftops and other vantage points reported that most of the enemy mages were still about a mile and half away, spread out on a line, supporting the main thrust of the enemy advance at the center.
Major Avery sent word to have that entire area of the battlefield evacuated.
The Pistolero and his unit rode hard all that way, guns blazing, in an attempt to cut off the foe.
When they barely got close enough for Mason to engage, the spotters reported that the enemy mages were already scattering in all directions.
A catapult canister of silver and sulfur dust exposed many of the fleeing mages, glowing like beacons in the night.
“Gotta chance it now,” Mason said, from up on a high rooftop, three stories up. “Before they all get out of range.”
His runner handed him his carbine.
The Pistolero aimed his arc of fire for the best trajectory he could manage.
The star shot out, leaving the barrel red-hot.
A bright dome of destruction blasted everything within a hundred and fifty yards, including the enemy mercs and numerous enemy mages who didn’t move fast enough.
Mason knew that was his only shot like that. They couldn’t use any more of those annihilator rounds on the local Mishawaka population. All of the other areas were far too populated.
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