The Men of War

by Damon Alan

  “Trust me, Rodi, he’s seen some things from me that would make Desert Elves weep into the sand. He’s stood tall, if not a bit paler.”

  “He’s somewhat pale now.”

  “His color will return,” she answered. “I summoned you here for a few things. First, to show him what Aerth brings to the table of war. Second, I want you to escort us when we use one of the human flying machines to get to Jangik.”

  “Jangik is a long flight even for a dragon. These machines can go this far?”

  Elianna looked at Ernst.

  “Verdammt. How am I supposed to know?”

  “It is twice as far past the gate as the last time you were seen,” Rodimikari told him. “In the window at the bottom of one of your air machines.”

  “That wasn’t you!” Ernst protested. “You’re gold colored, that dragon was red.”

  The creature laughed. “I am the King of Dragons. I see everything, human. I know you watched Koradimarin die over your capital city.”

  “The purple dragon,” Ernst said.

  “Yes…” Rodimikari said in such a way that Ernst could tell he was suppressing anger. “Koradimarin. My nephew’s mate.”

  “We defended our cities. What would you expect?”

  The dragon was quiet for a while before replying. “You’re right, sorceress. This one is braver than most.”

  “Ernst, can you get us an air machine that can go that far?” Elianna demanded to know.

  “The aircraft your friend saw me in before… or another recon aircraft. That is what will have the range to get that far, but maybe not back. That might not matter anyway. There probably isn’t a landing strip where you want to go.”

  “What does that mean?” Elianna asked.

  “The plane can land if we can find a flat enough area. Taking off again may be a problem if the ground is too rough.”

  “I see,” she replied. “We will make do.”

  “I have an idea,” Ernst added. “When do we need to travel?”

  “I wish to meet Rodi in three days at the gate,” Elianna said. “Can we do that?”

  “I’m the Director of Ahnenerbe still, since Himmler saw what you are capable of. I should be able to requisition one aircraft on short notice.”

  “Very well done, Ernst,” Elianna praised. “You are making me quite happy that I didn’t do something terrible to you when we met.”

  Ernst swallowed. “Good to know.”

  “Rodi, meet us at the gate when the sun is high in three days,” Elianna told the dragon. “Is that satisfactory? Or do you need more time?”

  “There is nothing I cannot do,” the dragon bragged. “The question is whether or not I want to do that. I have another task the high elves have asked of me.”

  “Hagirr will punish your kind again if you fail me,” Elianna warned, her voice turning darker.

  The wind blowing through the nearby trees was the only sound Ernst heard for several minutes. The hate summoned into the dragon’s eyes was hard to mistake for anything else.

  Finally, as wings swept upward for the beast to take off, the creature answered. “I will be there.”

  A howl of wind and the snap of leathery membranes told Ernst the dragon had taken off. He’d closed his eyes a few seconds earlier, in case the dragon chose to instill fear in him again. Elianna would bring out the worst in anyone. There was no reason a dragon should be an exception.

  A full minute later he opened his eyes to look around. Elianna was staring at him scornfully. “You stink.”

  “Thanks to you,” Ernst said.

  She laughed at his accusation. “I will summon a water elemental to restore some of your dignity.”

  For a ten-minute period he got to learn what it was like to nearly drown. Repeatedly. But at least he and his clothes were clean when he got back to the car.

  The driver was gone, probably affected by the dragon as Ernst had been. The creature was too big not to see from here.

  “Can you manipulate this thing?” Elianna asked him.

  “I can.”

  She laughed her childish laugh. “Then teach me!”

  And so a day full of torture that started when Ernst met a dragon continued to torment him as his primary tormentor drove him forty kilometers to Berlin in fits and starts.

  Surprisingly, they arrived intact. Or sadly. He wasn’t certain.

  Elianna returned to her apartment, and Ernst, relieved to have some time apart from her, set to work acquiring one of the seaplanes he’d seen in Hamburg when the Admiral Hipper was launched. A seaplane could land on the nearest water to this city Elianna wanted to visit, and then takeoff to come home.

  A perfect solution.

  Chapter 11 - A Day of Loss

  July 16, 1940

  The day started much like any other. Sergeant Johnny Nelson sat in the mess tent with his men. His squad and two other squads were in the third rotation for chow, which meant they’d get out on the front to put wire in place over an hour after the first group of squads. The food generally started to turn into pig slop by the time the third rotation ate, and it was even worse on fourth rotation which was tomorrow. But since everyone returned to the safe zone at sunset, it meant an hour less work.

  One of life’s many trade-offs.

  “How’d you sleep, sarge?” Private McKinney asked, sitting down across from him.

  “Like one of God’s blessed children,” Nelson replied. If by blessed he meant with a restless soul that hadn’t slept a full night since leaving the family farm.

  “Wilcox says you don’t sleep much.”

  “Corporal Wilcox should mind his own business,” Nelson said as he bit into a slice of limp bacon.

  “I told him I think it’s because you like us more than you let on and worry we’re going to be deader food.”

  Nelson scowled at McKinney. “Private McKinney should see to his own business too.”

  The kid shrugged and shoved some gelatinous scrambled eggs onto a piece of toast.

  The bite never made it to his mouth. Sirens went off.

  “Squad, get your rifles,” Nelson ordered. “Form up in front of our tent. Grab something to eat and bring it with you.”

  The men scrambled. Nelson grabbed the four remaining strips of bacon on his plate, put on his hat, and headed for the door.

  Outside the camp was in chaos. Smoke streaked across the sky, and gunfire erupted from the barrier wall that kept the deaders away. The strong pulse of .50 cal machine guns tapped at his ears.

  “Somethin’s mighty wrong,” he muttered as he shouldered his M1. He’d sent off some letters to his family yesterday. At least they’d get a final word if this was it for him.

  A whistling sound overhead caught his attention and he looked up. An M2 tank tumbled downward toward the ground. As he watched a body flew out from the main section of the tank. Probably the driver slipping out of his viewport hatch.

  The tank slammed into the ground and rolled, obliterating a line of tents that included Nelson’s squad.

  “No!” he growled as he ran toward the carnage.

  In the distance, from the other side of the barrier wall something growled back, a deep rumble that stirred a sense of doom in Nelson’s heart.

  A second tank, whistling and shrieking as it sliced through the air the same as the first, flew in a ballistic arc before it slammed into a different part of the camp a few hundred yards away. There weren’t any tanks deployed with Nelson’s section of the line, so he had no idea where they were coming from. Or what sort of enemy could hurl a tank into the US defensive lines.

  Nelson arrived where his tent used to be. McKinney and Wilcox stared blankly at the torn fabric and smashed bodies of their comrades. A huge divot in the ground reeked of fuel, likely from the tank which now lay another six tents down on its side. Blood seeped from the downward facing machine gun port on the turret, the main gun buried in the soil.

  “Was everyone in there?” Nelson asked.

  “Everyone sarge,�
�� McKinney said, “except me and the Corporal. After you said to get moving, we moved. The others were slower.”

  “They were still in the tent gearing up,” Nelson finished. “Dammit,” he said then spat on the ground.

  Where were the officers with a plan?

  The guns on the barrier were still firing, but less of them now. Even as Nelson finished the thought an explosion rocked the wall, opening up a section.

  “We are screwed,” Wilcox said.

  Nobody was directing the men. Nelson needed to think of something. “Both of you are with me. We’re going to gather up the lost souls around here and get ourselves into a fighting force once more.”

  “What do you want us to do?” McKinney asked.

  Nelson looked at the tent. If there was rifle and ammo in there, the rifles were probably mangled, and the ammo scattered.

  “First thing is, if we see anyone that looks lost, get them with us. I’ll do the same. The second is we grab every weapon and ammo pile we see, even if it’s just one bullet.”

  “Got it,” Wilcox said. “Where are we going to go?”

  “We’ll head away from the line at first. Us three can’t fight something that’s tossing tanks at us. If we get enough men together, we’ll make a stand.”

  Two Curtiss P-36s roared overhead, flying toward the dead zone. Nelson doubted they’d return if what was going on in the encampment was any indication.

  “I found a box of bullets!” McKinney exclaimed.

  “Just stuff ‘em in your pockets,” Nelson ordered. “We’ll count them later and the last thing I need is a running report.” He noticed a young man standing, in his underclothes. “Where’s your tent, kid?”

  “Smashed. I was at the showers,” he answered.

  “Bad day for your shower day,” Nelson said. “Grab some clothes and follow us. It looks like a total loss here.”

  Equipment rained down on the camp. Tanks, the trucks that carry the wire laying troops to their duties, and even a few old French cars. Part of a house and some furniture. Then a tree.

  What would fight like that?

  “What’s your name?” Nelson asked the kid.

  “Lieutenant Eads. Terrance Eads.”

  Great. An officer.

  “I see what you’re thinking, sergeant,” Eads said. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re in charge. I have no idea what’s going on here.”

  “Good man, sir. I don’t either, but I might have a few years on you.” Nelson waved at his two remaining troops. “Boys, let’s find the L-T some clothes if we can. Don’t be picky.”

  Ten minutes later the group had grown to eight, and the lieutenant was dressed in a mix of clothes found scattered from destroyed tents.

  “You, what’s your name?” Nelson demanded of one of the new guys, a red headed boy who looked like he could carry a tractor.

  “Billy.”

  Apparently, Billy didn’t have a rank anymore, but Nelson didn’t have time to care. “Billy, you’re my mule. We’re going to stack you up with things we might need once we decide we’re going to fight.”

  The big man just nodded.

  A sound overhead told him there was incoming. Three of the new guys were smashed under a flying tree trunk. The L-T was one of them. Billy screamed like a seven-year-old girl.

  The sheer volume of material raining into the American lines was making it hard to stay alive. Vehicles weren’t dropping in anymore, but now it was rocks that looked as if they’d been pulled from the very ground under the French fields.

  “We need to move faster,” Nelson ordered. “Finding materials is secondary, I want us double timing away from the line. If we stay here, we’re all dead.”

  “Isn’t that desertion?” some kid Nelson didn’t know asked.

  “You can stay if that suits you,” Nelson told him. “I don’t have time to make you follow my orders. But I’m US Army property and I’m no good to anyone dead.”

  To punctuate Nelson’s point a scream so loud it was audible over the gunfire and carnage pierced the air.

  The kid looked toward the scream, then with a panicked face back at Nelson. “I am US Army property too, sergeant. I should probably come along.”

  “Good. Now keep your eyes open, and grab what we can use.”

  A thumping sound was the next nightmare. A rhythmic cadence of deep wingbeats that kicked Nelson’s sense of dread into overdrive. Fearing what he’d see, he looked back toward the line. A dozen dragons, still distant, dotted the sky.

  “We need to get to cover,” Nelson barked. “I know the place, follow me.”

  He led the ragtag squad to a road that ran southwest, weaving from town to town along the peninsula. A quarter mile ahead was a bridge, made of concrete and solid. If they could get that far, they might have cover from the sky.

  “Run.” Nelson picked up the pace, and even Billy seemed to understand the urgency as they ran. The giant kid clattered like a drumset as he ran along, bags and ammo draped across his person.

  Two minutes later they were climbing off the road into a small ravine and up under the bridge. Just as the dragons crossed the barrier wall.

  Nelson’s head barely poked above the grass as he looked back east. The creatures dove lower and began strafing the American line. Fire he recognized, but some of the dragons seemed to use different weapons as they shot death from their mouths. One had a cone of electricity. A line of men shooting at the beast convulsed, turned black, then died as their skin burned.

  He felt a sense of shame inside, along with a sense of relief. Those men had stayed to fight, but, on the other hand, Nelson and the young men he had under the bridge with him were alive to fight another day. He wasn’t sure anyone else would be after the mauling he was observing.

  Near the wall, almost two miles away now, Nelson saw a host of men on horses. White horses, with pennants flapping in the wind on long poles. The dragons left them be. They might look angelic on their white horses, with their long hair and elegant weapons… but Nelson saw them for who they were… agents of Satan. He climbed a bit higher above the grass to get a better view. He counted them. Twelve. Of course there were twelve.

  “Sarge, they’ll see you!” McKinney complained, fear dripping from his voice.

  He was right. Nelson dropped a bit lower. If he could see the horsemen, they could potentially see him.

  “We need to know how they fight,” Nelson explained. “Get back under the bridge and stay there. I’ll observe, and if they look to be heading this way, I’ll be right there with you.”

  Normally Nelson would have told him to shut up and do his job for questioning orders, but today was rife with special circumstances. The kid deserved to know why Nelson was taking a risk.

  The dragons strafed the American line with incessant fury. Fuel dumps exploded, tents burned, vehicles melted into slag. He was glad he and the other survivors didn’t grab a truck to make their escape.

  It was over in minutes, at least along this section of the barrier wall. Smoking ruin and slowly dying fire was all that was left of the US Army. The dragons flew wider from the barrier and Nelson took refuge with his new squad.

  “What did you see?” some kid asked.

  Nelson didn’t want to demoralize them to the point they wouldn’t act, but they needed to know where they stood.

  “I just saw us lose this battle,” he told them. “We’re not falling back to make a new line and fight. After what I just saw, we might be all that remains alive. Our goal is, God willing, to stay that way.”

  “The deaders will get us,” one lamented.

  “Maybe they will.” Nelson pulled his Bible from his holster. “But this guy has always been on America’s side. When evil seems to have the upper hand, that’s us being tested. Rise to the call, fight for what’s right, and we will win.”

  Three of the men reached out and touched the Bible, and Nelson could see the tension pour from them like water from a pitcher. He extended it closer to the others, and they too, e
ven if they had doubt in their souls, caressed the cover.

  “This,” Nelson said, waving the Bible in his hands, “is the core of our unit now. We fight for God and country to survive, to get somewhere to tell our tale so the leaders of our country can find a way to defeat the evil that has set upon us.”

  “Amen,” the men said.

  Chapter 12 – Migration

  The Undek were kind in showing their appreciation for the efforts of Harry’s squad. After the battle with the half-horses, they were out of ammunition except for a few rounds. He needed to send a team to the Matador to recover all the remaining ammunition and supplies. The dek had given them pack horses for the purpose, along with a host of supplies they could probably not actually spare. But gratitude was gratitude, and if tomorrow is tough that’s acceptable if one survived today.

  All it had cost the infantrymen was half their ammo supply.

  “We’re going to need to learn to use the traditional weapons of this place,” Harry told Miller. “I’m putting you in charge of the resupply run. Make sure you grab the dwarven weapons we recovered and the ammunition for them.”

  Miller looked woozy, not having fully recovered from his experience as a giant. Cylethe told Harry it would take a few days, but they didn’t have days. He’d given Miller a few hours instead.

  “Lars, keep an eye on Miller, and if he can’t get the job done then you’re in charge.”

  “Ye kin count oan me,” Lars promised.

  “Smart move,” Miller agreed. “We’ll be back in a few hours with the materials.”

  Harry kept three soldiers with him as well as two of the pack horses. They needed to pack up their yoglik and get on with the task at hand. When Miller returned, they’d get on the trail with the still mysterious Cylethe with them.

  Packing horses isn’t as easy as he thought it would be. And he was a farmer. The balance of the dek pack saddles seemed critical, and the saddles couldn’t be overloaded, or the hard leather platform of the saddle would slip off the center of the horse’s back. Harry thought of a number of designs that would improve the functionality.

  There was no time for improvements, however, and two hours later when Miller returned a quarter of the squad’s supplies were on the backs of the men. At least there were six more to share the load with, although many of them were carrying goods from the lorry.