Saul looked across to his second-in-command. “What about it? You’ve had a chance to interview Specialist Webb in person and go through the data with him.”
“I’ve got to admit, it has an alarming ring of truth to it,” Mohammed replied. “The ANS-1X system digitally records everything its operator witnesses. I’ve been through the footage repeatedly, and had various facets explained to me in detail by Andy himself. Although we couldn’t record exactly which Horde entities were congregated on the mountainside, they were definitely there. Watching us. Assessing us. Adopting alternatives to try and counter the new obstacles presented to them. If that’s not evidence of a hierarchy, I don’t know what is.”
Mohammed noticed Mac was eager to speak. “Lieutenant? You want to add something?”
“Yes, thank you.” Mac got to his feet. “Sorry to interrupt, but I feel it necessary to stress something here. Don’t forget what my team and I do. Although we’re very good at removing problems, we don’t just kill. We’re trained to keep our heads when the shit is flying around us thick and fast. We keep our focus. We observe. There is no doubt the Horde are petrified of iron. Look at the way they reacted the first time they encountered it. Two little bullets, you said. And they fled. Not only that, they then did something unheard of, and kept their heads down for two months. Until we turned up, that is.
“I don’t think they responded so much to our arrival as to the presence of the iron we possessed. They know what it can do. What it means. And yet, look how they acted yesterday. It’s anathema to them, but they still attempted to take us down. Yet not in the usual let’s just charge right in and swarm them kind of way. Oh no. They did something else they’ve never done before. They laid in wait, muting their energy fields in an attempt to avoid detection. They set deliberate ambushes. They even tried to rush us from several different directions at once. Both missions encountered similar tactics. New tactics.”
“They were being directed,” Mohammed stated. “Told what to do, and when.”
“Exactly. Which leads me back to my earlier suspicions. How do they see us? How do they see each other, for that matter? And communicate? Because you can bet the command post they positioned on Boleni Heights didn’t use mobile phones to text each other the latest battle updates.”
“Mobile what?” Ephraim asked, confused by the term.
“A rechargeable handheld communication device from the twenty-first century,” Mohammed explained. “In use until twenty-one seventy-seven. That’s when the first generation micro-com implants, powered by the body’s own electrical field came out.” He paused, directing his next question back to Mac. “What are you suggesting?”
“Simply this. The motto of the SBS is ‘by strength and guile.’ One of our basic combat tenets is ‘be prepared.’ Despite the apparent breakthroughs we’ve achieved, we can’t afford to rest on our laurels. After the Ardenese ran into these monsters, they were surprised again and again by their tenacity. We know the Horde is strong. We mustn’t forget how cunning they are, either. It’s obvious they’re prepared, and so must we be. Until we know for sure what they can do, we’ve got to walk on eggshells. So far, there’s only one definite to emerge from all this. The iron works. Let’s base any plans we make on that.”
Mohammed nodded. “A sound premise. Ephraim? How are you progressing on that?”
“Very well, actually. While I’ve been working on the adaptation of the null-point energy, my deputy has achieved some remarkable results.” He searched through the people seated below. “Brent? Would you care to elaborate what you’ve accomplished?”
Brent Wyatt, an engineer by trade from the year 2202, and a member of the eighth intake, got to his feet. Flicking through his notes on a handheld pad, he said, “Okay. First, something you already know. Iron works.” He grinned and nodded at Mac. “It works so well we now know less than half a gram of the stuff will destroy your average ogre. A little bit less will still shred their essence enough to trigger self-immolation.”
“And how do you know this?” Mohammed asked.
“Because yesterday several Native American braves assisted us with a little experiment. We issued them arrows without heads. Half of the shafts were dipped in molten metal with a fifty-fifty mix, the other in a smaller amount of pure iron. Doing so reduced range and penetration, but they weren’t firing at solid objects. The only requirement was that they break the Horde’s esoteric thresholds. They did that just fine.”
“I see. For those of us who aren’t so technical, what will this mean?”
“It means we have a head start. We’ve established two viable sites for iron ore extraction. The nearest deposits are thirty-five miles away in the Erásan Mountains. Records indicate its poor quality, but it’ll do until we can get the flyers into commission. We’ll need those other craft, because by far the richest veins are located a hundred and twenty miles out into the Abyssal Plain. That’s going to take a little time, so we have to make the best use of what we already have. We’ve adapted the replicators to fashion replacement arrowheads and bullets out of Ardenese crystal. Once we’ve smelted down our existing supply of steel, we can coat the new tips in a strong enough solution to ensure they get the job done. A proper weight-to-balance ratio will be restored, so accuracy won’t suffer.”
Mohammed deferred the decision to Saul.
The commander ruminated for a moment. “I like it. But do we have enough to get by on?” He glanced across to Mac. “Won’t that reduce your ability to operate?”
Mac shrugged. “Not necessarily. We’re fortunate in that the vortex bringing us here scooped large portions of the rig through with us. Not only was the platform itself made of steel, but it was protected by several rings of .50 robot cannons. Fourteen, to be exact.”
“And how many arrived here?”
“Five. Each of them has a double box of ten thousand rounds. I asked Shannon to deploy a system above the site of each gate. That leaves one spare. All those rounds and scrap metal will make a mighty fine source to supplement our existing stock until we can start manufacturing our own bullets. I’ve already spoken with Brent about your replication technology, and how you need a base template to work with. While that’s great for solving our short-term deficit, we need to think long-term, and establish our ability to replenish supplies on a source entirely separate from the Architect.”
“What do you envisage?”
“We manufacture our own bullets. It’s fortunate that the vast majority of our weapons take nine millimeter rounds. The G40s, 420s, and the Sig Sauer p230s. Even if we create basic handheld casts and molds, we can produce in excess of three hundred units a day. More than enough for our needs. That leaves the heavy duty and specialized stuff—the shotgun cartridges, the .338 magnum sniper rounds, the 7.62s for the AK-48-GMR assault rifles—to the finesse of Ardenese technology. And the .50 cannon shells, of course. We’ll need a massive amount of those to ensure we can maintain the devastating cover they provide.”
Saul shifted his attention back to Brent. “How viable is all this?”
“Very, Sir. Mac and his team have kindly loaned us an example of each weapon and its corresponding bullet. The Architect is scanning their specifications into the matrix as we speak. Obviously, with power reserves as they are, we can’t go into full-scale production. However, if we’re willing to make some sacrifices, we can divert a limited supply of energy on a temporary basis, and ensure everyone gets a handgun and a few magazines of ammo. For personal protection, of course. Then we’ll switch templates for the production of three basic forge-casts. Each will be capable of producing jacket casings and bullet heads. Once we’ve built up a reserve, we’ll delete the program and do things the old fashioned way. By hand.”
The mood within the chamber improved considerably.
Saul beamed. “This is good news, and will definitely help us out with our current problem.” He craned his neck to get a better look at Marcus who was sitting quietly at the back of the auditorium, listening
attentively. “Marcus, you and your men have been familiarizing yourselves with the wall. You told me yesterday you’d noticed something odd. Would you please share that with us?”
Marcus made his way down the steps to the speaking area. Once there, he addressed the table. “Although this talk of technology, replicators, and strange weaponry confuses me, I am still a soldier. It’s the simple things we overlook that can often make the most difference. For example, you say the Horde has besieged this city for a number of years, and for the most part has concentrated its efforts on one particular point. A sound strategy. Yet when I saw the gates in action, I was stunned. That a solid edifice can be manipulated to allow objects to pass through it is . . . well . . . incredible. Magic, we would have called it in my day. And to a military man, an obvious weak point. Yet the Horde does not focus there, nor indeed on any of the other entrances. Why?”
An elderly woman sitting at the high table cleared her throat. Smiling, she inclined her head, first toward Marcus and then the rest of the room. “Hello. For those who don’t know me yet, my name’s Rosa Sophia, and I am responsible for the administration of this once great city. While this can be a burdensome chore, it has the benefit of allowing me to spend considerable time in the library. Marcus came to see me yesterday, and I was intrigued by his question. So I did some digging. I think I know exactly why the Horde ignores the gates. Here, let me share this with you.”
She paused to pick up a handheld tablet. After tapping away for a moment, the air above the central dais began to shimmer. “I’m just loading a news report into the holo-display. It relates to an event that occurred in Rhomane some one hundred years before any of those monsters ever arrived. It’s quite revealing.”
An image clarified to show a small dart-shaped object impacting against a southeast quadrant of the wall. A blinding flash ensued, followed by a shockwave that encroached upon a suddenly visible shield. As the glare died down, a reporter’s voice could be heard in the background:
“That was the awful moment when the Shivan-Estre met her end. For reasons as yet unknown, her navigational beacon malfunctioned. Appearing from rip-space only seventy decans from the city wall, its pilots were helpless to prevent the inevitable catastrophe.
As with all such vessels, the Shivan-Estre was constructed of super-dense lydium. If not for the fact that Rhomane’s own precincts are made of that same fermionic matter, the results would have been far worse than the death of the two crewmen on board and a bright light in the sky. We are going live now to. . .”
The scene paused, and Rosa replayed the moment of the crash several times. “What you are seeing might explain the reason for their interest in that spot. Remember, lydium is incredibly compact. The Horde cannot interpenetrate it. Nothing can. Unless, perhaps, it has already been weakened by something else made of the same material traveling at super-high velocity. As has been highlighted today, we’re not exactly sure how they see or sense things. Do they perceive a minute weakness in an otherwise unblemished obstruction and view it as an opportunity?”
Saul was delighted. “But that’s fantastic news. Not only does it fit with what we’ve been discussing today, but it gives us an opportunity to prepare for a possible breach.” He turned to Marcus. “The southeast sector is comprised of disused utility buildings. In fact, the environs are totally uninhabited now, and have been turned over to farming. As a defender of our walls, how would you address this problem?”
Marcus thought for a moment. “Speaking plainly, Commander, I would need to view the area in question to give you a definitive answer. But as a soldier, I think the solution is quite straightforward. Ensure this chink in the armor is saturated in iron. Smelt it. Paint it all over the place if you have to. Use the wonders of the technology at your command to fabricate all manner of traps. Just make sure that if those beasts are successful in breaching the flaw, they cannot avoid walking face-first into the bane of their existence.”
“Succinctly put, Marcus. Thank you. I like the way you think. I’ll arrange for Mohammed or Shannon to give you a guided tour of the facility later today. Then you can give us your recommendations.”
As Marcus made his way back to his seat, Saul drew the attention of each member of the top table. “Any other issues before we get onto the distasteful part of today’s proceedings?”
Each high council member shook their head.
Saul then asked the same question of the department heads within the auditorium. Again, the answers came back negative.
The mood darkened, and Saul noted the looks of disgust among the Caledonian clan leaders who sat together in a tight knot, halfway down the steps.
Depressing a button on the console in front of him, he said, “You may bring Captain Houston and Lieutenant Smith in now.”
A door opened in the opposite wall. The two men, covered in a multitude of bruises, walked inside, flanked by a pair of sentinels. Once they reached the circle, they halted.
As chilly as the atmosphere was, it got a whole lot colder as Saul made eye contact with the accused. He allowed them to stew in silence for a full minute before speaking.
“Captain Houston. Lieutenant Smith. You both know why you’re here, so I won’t labor the point. We had hoped the divide that existed between First and Second Platoons had been left behind on Earth. I know for a fact several of my officers went to great lengths to emphasize to you why the affiliations you had there do not exist here. I was hoping to see a superior level of maturity, as demonstrated by your fellow travelers from the legionnaire and highland contingents. Sadly, tragically, that doesn’t appear to be the case.
“We have listened to the evidence of the officers and men of First Platoon, and have spoken for many hours with the warriors of Clans Buchan and Calhoun. While it cannot be established for certain who among your faction pulled the trigger, we have no doubt that Lexington Fox’s death was not accidental. The joint maneuvers performed by him that day were textbook. He acquitted himself with a degree of professionalism and honor that is sorely lacking in the pair of you. Everyone should have made it home safely.”
Saul stood made his way to the speakers’ circle.
Maintaining eye contact with the two disgraced cavalry officers, he growled, “We are no fools. Although we cannot prove conclusively his death was murder, we know it was. You know it was. This is Arden. We will not tolerate your petty mentality here. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”Saul bellowed so suddenly that the two men staggered back in surprise.
“Yes, Sir.” they repeated in unison.
“I really hope you do, gentlemen.” Saul came up and stood almost toe to toe with them. “Because we can’t afford to waste a single life. That’s the only reason you are still breathing on this occasion. Now listen very carefully, because I’m only going to say this once.”
Saul took a step away, the better to hold their attention. “It has always been the case that an officer is responsible for the actions of those under his command. That tenet will apply to you in a very literal sense from now on. Your men had better learn to walk on eggshells, because if an ‘accident’ like this ever happens again, be in no doubt, you will be held directly responsible. There will be no debate, no trial, no appeal. We won’t waste a bullet on you. You’re either a part of our family, or you belong to the Horde. Have you heard what I said and understood its implications fully?”
“Yes, Sir,” they snapped.
“Let it be recorded as such within the minutes of today’s meeting.” Saul’s face grew darker. “Custodians? Please escort these men back to their rooms. They are to be stripped of their weapons and held in confinement until we determine what other restrictions to place on them. The same goes for every soldier within Second Platoon. No arguments.”
“Certainly, Commander,” chirped the nearest of the constructs. “We will facilitate your instructions immediately.”
Before Houston or Smith had the opportunity to turn, Saul added, “
While we’d never send you out on a mission unarmed, you’ll have to earn the right to carry any form of firearm within these walls again. And don’t worry, with what I’ve got planned for you, there’ll be plenty of opportunity to show what you’re really made of.”
He turned his back and dismissed them.
*
“What do you make of that, lads?” Cathal MacNoimhin hissed. “A case of their hand being forced, or what?”
“Och, Cameron’s no fool,” Searc whispered. “He knows there wasn’t enough to pin it on either of those skelpies, even though it must have been carried out under the ass-wipe’s instructions. You saw the way he had it in for the lad ever since they arrived.”
“Do you think he’d do it, though?” Cathal said. “Cameron? Would he actually feed them to the devils?”
“I’ve got no doubt the man has balls of steel,” Kohrk Underwood replied. He watched the commander resume his seat at the high table. “Now he’s involved his own honor, he has to show himself strong. And from what I’ve heard, he’d tip them over the bloody wall himself.”
“Doesn’t stop us from making a plan or two, though, does it?” Searc suggested.
Cathal ushered his men closer and lowered his voice even further. “What did you have in mind, Searc?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gelling Together
“If you could try to keep together,” Mohammed called, “we’ve still got a way to go yet, and I wouldn’t want you missing out on your evening meal.”
He glanced back to see how the small party was faring. Marcus Brutus, together with two of his centurions, Decimus Martinas and Tiberius Tacitus, appeared as fresh as daisies. This didn’t surprise Mohammed. From what he remembered, legionnaires were renowned for marching countless miles through all sorts of terrain. It wouldn’t have surprised him if they viewed this excursion as nothing more than a brief stroll, something to be taken by all their members before the real day’s work began. Cathal MacNoimhin and Stained-With-Blood also appeared relaxed. Mohammed listened in to snippets of their conversation as they whiled away the miles, chatting about their respective lives and tribes back home.
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