"Jesus, Captain," Walker shouted, "there're hundreds of them coming up. They're swarming out on either side of the path."
"What about the other Japs―they get back?"
"Yeah, that bastard lieutenant made it," Giorgini growled, "but one of the scum bit it."
"We're going into the tunnel. There's a hell of a fort back in there. We can hold 'em off for days."
"And then what?" Younger cried. "We're dead anyhow!"
"Shut up and get moving," Mark said softly, but with a definite chill in his voice. Crouching low, he started back into the passage.
Suddenly the Japanese lieutenant was before him, shouting wildly and pointing a pistol straight at Mark.
This is it, Mark thought. He could see the finger on the trigger getting set to squeeze.
"Mokaoto!" It was Ikawa.
The lieutenant looked up.
"The American is right. We move in here."
Mokaoto didn't lower his gun.
"Mokaoto, move! The rest of you follow me!"
Mokaoto looked back at his soldiers, evidently sensing the quiet contempt from his men for his losing the argument.
He spit on the ground in front of Mark, and turning away, called for the rest to follow him. Within seconds the Chinese could see the pullback, and they started to rush forward.
Pushing and jostling, the Americans and Japanese ran down the narrow corridor, turned the corner, and raced for the temple. Bursting into the building, the Japanese soldiers fanned out, covering the window slits. Mark and Ikawa put their shoulders to the temple door and swung it shut. There was a heavy wooden beam resting to one side.
"Shigeru, Uraga, help lift this," Ikawa called.
Shigeru, the sumo wrestler of the company, and Uraga, the muscular farmer, came over to their commander and along with Mark they lifted the bar into place.
Mark watched as the Japanese secured the temple and saw his men standing in one corner. He could well imagine what was going to happen shortly.
Nerving himself he approached Ikawa.
"We want our weapons back," he said evenly.
The Japanese officer turned and looked at him.
"You know as well as I do that the Chinese will be on us in minutes. Chances are we'll die. I want my men to die fighting."
"Out of the question," Ikawa snapped, and turned away. Mark grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Either we fight by your side or my men will rush yours and you'll have to kill us―but at least we'll take one or two of you with us."
Ikawa stopped and looked at Mark. The American captain was now as dusty and sweaty as the rest, but he stood straight and hid his fatigue. He was tall and well built, with short brown hair and steel-blue eyes. Typical American, Ikawa thought. Still, the man had determination and guts―confronting him like this when a wave of his hand would suffice to have them all killed. Courage was always admired, even in an enemy. But should he take the chance?
"We can fight by your side," Mark argued. "At least to make those bastards out there pay for this place."
"You give your pledge that your men will fight under my command?"
"Yes."
"That when we escape here, you'll give your weapons back?"
"Do you really believe we'll get out of this?" Mark asked quietly.
A sad smile crossed Ikawa's features. "You have Bushido, Captain..."
"Phillips, Mark Phillips," and he extended his hand.
"Captain Ikawa Yoshio." He shook the American's hand; then as if embarrassed by the ritual, he released it and turned away.
"Sergeant Saito." Ikawa explained to the old soldier what was to be done.
There was an angry murmur from a couple of his men, but a cold look from Ikawa suppressed it, at least for the moment, and he could see where several of them actually seemed glad to have the additional firepower brought in on their side.
The Americans settled in around several of the window slits. Soon the only sound in the temple was the nervous breathing and softly muttered comments of soldiers waiting for a fight.
"Here they come," Walker shouted, and he opened up with one of the Thompsons.
The Chinese came around the corner four abreast. The Japanese machine gun stitched into them, halting their rush. With wild shouts the Chinese fell back. From down the corridor, more shouts echoed into the courtyard. The men listened silently, tensely; then heard a burst of gunshots, and the sound of the argument drifted away.
"Captain."
Ikawa turned to face Nobuaki. "Yes, Sergeant."
"I could hear what they were saying."
Sergeant Nobuaki was an old China hand, serving in the army since 1933. Of them all, he knew the language of this region the best.
"Go on."
"They're frightened of this place. One of them said that it was death to come here. I think they turned on one of their officers and shot him."
Ikawa could feel the fear coming up in some of his own men.
"Peasant superstition, but it serves our purpose. Maybe they'll pull back and we can still get out of this."
He knew the Americans couldn't understand what he was saying, and it was just as well. As long as they were desperate they were allies, but the moment survival seemed possible the old animosities would be back.
Mark stepped up to Ikawa's side. "Why did they pull back?"
"We're too strong in here."
"They're afraid of something. You could hear them arguing, and they sounded frightened to me."
"Let's explore this place," Ikawa said, changing the topic. "Do you have a light?"
Mark fumbled in his pockets and pulled out an old, battered Zippo. Striking a light, he held it aloft.
"There, along the wall: torches."
Soon the five-sided room was filled with a soft glow. Ikawa posted guards at the window slits and the rest of the men settled down in exhaustion.
Kochanski joined Mark and Ikawa as they quietly surveyed the room.
"Looks Tang period to me. This place is a hell of a find."
"How do you know that?" Ikawa asked in surprise.
"Studied it in college," Kochanski said. "I was a history major at Yale before the war."
Ikawa smiled. "Yes, I was there once. I was at MIT studying engineering."
"Yeah, I would have graduated by now, but then you folks started this little mess."
Ikawa shook his head.
"Let's not argue. I did not start it, nor did you. We simply are following our orders. I would rather have finished my schooling, as well!"
"Okay, Kochanski," Mark interrupted, "enough of the homecoming routine. Check the rest of this place out. See if you can find a back door or tunnel, that's our main concern. And stop worrying about the history."
Mark had been staring out the narrow window when he heard a moan. It was Jose Laurel―conscious but obviously in great pain.
"How you doing, buddy?"
"Arm hurts like a bitch, Captain." His voice was weak and slightly slurred.
Mark leaned over and gently pulled back Josl's flight jacket. It was soaked in blood. He looked up at Goldberg, who had been caring for his friend.
"It's badly broken," he whispered, moving Mark over to one side. "That flak burst nearly tore it off. If we don't get help soon, he'll die."
"Have you shot him up?"
"I've used the medic pack aboard Dragon Fire. There's some more morphine in the survival gear."
"Use it."
Mark looked up at Ikawa.
"Captain Ikawa, do you have a medic with your men?"
"Private Koki was a medical assistant. As soon as he's done with my wounded man, he'll take care of yours. Do you have any medical supplies?"
Mark shot a quick glance back to Goldberg. What they had was limited.
"Captain Phillips, if you don't share your supplies, I will not share my medic."
"All right, have him go through the equipment with Lieutenant Goldberg."
"Captain Phillips, we're in this togeth
er. I propose that we pool what we have, and share accordingly."
"Captain, all those Japs have are their weapons and ammo," Giorgini shouted. "Let the bastards starve."
"When I want your advice, Giorgini," Mark snarled, "I'll ask for it."
Mark looked at his men and could see that they agreed with Giorgini. He turned back to face Ikawa.
"Captain Phillips, my men would undoubtedly agree with your sergeant," Ikawa whispered softly. "I have an officer who would shoot me this minute if he thought he could get away with it." Ikawa made a subtle gesture toward Lieutenant Mokaoto.
Ikawa turned away from Mark for a moment and looked over his men. "Where's Kurosawa?"
"Dead, Captain," Takeo replied. "He was hit by a shell."
"I see. Captain Phillips," Ikawa continued, "I have fifteen men under me, you nine. We have a light Nambu machine gun; the rest rifles. Our ammunition is enough for the moment. You have several carbines, two Thompsons, and the rest .45s. What else do you have in your survival gear?"
Mark looked back over at his men. There was no sense in lying or holding back now.
"A first aid kit, signal flares―the usual survival pack gear―and rations for my crew to last three days."
"Or all of us for a day and a half."
"Yes."
"Good, then it is settled."
"I guess so."
* * * *
A few moments later, Ikawa saw Kochanski come out from the back of the chamber. He stopped for a moment in the middle of the floor and scuffed at the dust with his feet. After a quick examination he backed away from the middle of the room and came up to where Ikawa and Mark were standing together.
"No way out, but there's a spring in the back of the temple―all the water we need. This place is weird," Kochanski continued. "It looks like it hasn't been touched in centuries, yet the building seems well maintained. There're even those fresh torches. It's obviously a temple, but for what? Just look at the carvings!"
Ikawa looked to where Kochanski was pointing. Tortuous carvings of interlocking dragons and demons covered the wall.
"And there's a pentagram inlaid into the floor. Strange, I thought the pentagram was a western symbol of the occult."
Kochanski walked back to the center of the room and several of the men followed him. With his foot he brushed aside the dust and pointed out the design. Kraut came over and examined the inlaid work, then went over to the altar that dominated one side of the temple.
"Holy Christ, this altar has bloodstains all over it!"
Kraut's words sent a faint prickling up the back of Ikawa's neck. It was as if a hidden door was slowly opening to reveal a coiling, insidious terror from beyond.
"Something moving outside," Walker said, still guarding the window slit with Smithie, the waist gunner, at his side.
"Open up on it," Mark told him.
Walker squeezed off a short burst. There was a sharp cry, then a rising babble of voices.
Mark and Ikawa went to the nearest slit and looked out. In the shadows of the pathway something large was moving.
"Goldberg, get me the flare pistol."
Goldberg loaded a charge in and tossed it over to Mark. He aimed it through the slit and fired. The round slammed down the narrow path, exploding with a brilliant flash.
"My God, they brought up the 37mm!" Mark exclaimed. "How the hell did they do that?"
In the white magnesium light Ikawa could see the cannon positioned in the pathway, its front armor skirting protecting the crew which was feverishly at work.
The Japanese machine gun opened up again, bullets bouncing off the gun's armor.
"The bastards must have manhandled it all the way up the trail," Giorgroi cried. "We're trapped!"
"All right, everybody get ready. They'll blow the door. Once that's gone, they'll charge."
Even as Mark barked the commands, the cannon spat a thundering flash.
The doorway exploded.
"Hold your fire," Ikawa yelled. "Wait for the rush!"
Another round barked out, and then another. Over the ringing in their ears from the explosion came a roar as the Chinese, screaming with fury, braced themselves for the attack.
Ikawa came over to Mark's side. In spite of his fear of approaching death, there was a terror that was far worse, and growing stronger with each passing second. It was like an electric charge running through his body, triggering some primordial dread. Something was horribly wrong with this room.
"I'm getting out of here!" Ikawa shouted above the roar of battle.
"You're crazy!" Mark cried. "You'll get cut down the moment you step out the door."
"I don't care. It's worse in here. There's an evil here―it's a nightmare." His words were edged with hysteria.
Another shot barked out and the remains of the door crashed in with a thundering boom.
The bugles brayed triumphantly. The Chinese were preparing to charge. But Ikawa and the others did not hear them. A louder, howling roar suddenly drowned out all other sound, all other thoughts, all sense of place and time―and the room was suffused with a white, pulsing glow.
Ikawa drew his sword, and with a cry, rushed for the door.
Kochanski was in front of him looking back towards the altar and pentagram, his mouth wide open, screaming, his eyes wild with terror. So riveted was that gaze that in spite of his own fear, Ikawa stopped and looked back into the room, now awash in a ball of pure crystalline light that shimmered and grew, lapping over them with a strange pressure they could actually feel.
Ikawa screamed. The 37mm gun barked one more time. The shell howled past him, merging with the ball of light and the nightmare image from beyond. Ikawa screamed even as he fell towards the light, drawn in by a hurricane roar that sounded as if the universe were being ripped asunder.
Chapter 3
The center of the pentagram swirled in a maelstrom of arcing flames. Flickers of lightning crackled over her head, and Mornan looked to Danuth, The other two sorcerers were useless, their powers nearly spent. Mornan felt a ripple of fear, knowing that just Danuth and she might not have sufficient control over whomever it was that Danuth and the apprentice were bringing through.
A bolt of lightning slashed out from the center, booming with a deafening roar that caused Mornan to stagger. There was tremendous power here, she thought. What had Danuth and that damn fool apprentice locked on to? There was another surge of power, and then the first portal worked by the exhausted sorcerers opened wide.
For a brief nicker of time she could see into the realm beyond. She saw the winged demons and started to form her words of command, but there was something wrong―
The other portal was opening too soon! The two should never have opened together. Danuth had fouled up and let the power they were generating get out of control!
Fascinated, she gazed through the opening. This was a place she had never seen before, and to her amazement she saw that this was a realm of men, not demons. Something had gone wrong.
What was this? She screamed with rage as the demons escaped the sorcerers, fleeing through the other portal to the land of men. She turned to Danuth but before she could even voice her anger, it ended.
A 37mm shell, fired by the Chinese, burst through the mysterious portal and exploded. Mornan was cut in half without ever knowing how or why.
* * * *
Mark felt as though he had been sucked into the heart of a tornado that was the pathway to death. He was falling, tumbling through an endless corridor in which time seemed to have no meaning. Memories of Dante came to him and he remembered how some of the condemned souls―was it for adultery?―were forced to tumble forever in the middle of a maelstrom. Seized by panic, he wondered if this was Hell. And the despair of such a thought caused him to cry out.
Even as he screamed he hit the ground. A body landed on top of him and he heard Goldberg swearing.
So Goldberg was down here as well. Opening his eyes, Mark dared to look around. In front of him was a swirl
ing cloud of light, and he saw bodies hurled out of it like riders tossed off a merry-go-round gone berserk.
He rolled away from the cloud and came up against something warm and sticky―the shattered body of a woman. Mark recoiled and stood up. Other forms were standing up around him: his men and the Japanese. Ikawa was already standing to one side, surrounded by some of his soldiers.
The whirlwind was starting to lose power; its light was growing dim. It pulled in on itself, and with a faint hissing pop, disappeared.
"Has nalarn, Kulmica!"
Mark turned. A shrouded figure stood in the shadows that surrounded them, its arm raised like the hand of death.
"What the hell is this?" Goldberg whispered to Mark.
"Has nalarn, Kulmica Sarnak. Juikal!"
A lightning bolt snaked from the shadowy figure's hand and slammed into a Japanese soldier. He disintegrated into a vaporized mist.
"You bastard!" Walker screamed. Leveling his Thompson, he fired a quick burst. The bullets stitched into Danuth, knocking him off his feet.
Danuth tried to get up and point in Walker's direction. There was another bolt, but it went high, arching over Walker's head.
A fusillade snapped out from the Japanese and American guns. Within seconds Danuth was torn apart, his body bleeding from a score of wounds.
"Jesus, Captain," Goldberg asked, "what the hell was that?"
Mark shook his head. He struggled for control, trying to decide what his next action should be. Were they dead? Was this Hell or a nightmare that he would awake from, screaming? Hell or not, they had just offed some of the residents, and he was certain that someone would be around to check up on the mess.
He could hear his men, some crying, others shouting, their voices trembling with panic. The years of training took over like an instinct, restoring his control.
"Damn it, let's have some discipline here. Everybody shut the fuck up."
Even as he barked out his command he heard Ikawa's voice rise up in a sharp volley of Japanese, and Mark knew that his counterpart was echoing his own actions.
* * * *
Torn from his dreams by an inner sense of warning, Allic, Lord of Landra, sat up in his bed and turned his thoughts outward, probing for the source of the disturbance. He could feel an imbalance, as though the proper order of things had suddenly been shifted.
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