The Men of War

by Damon Alan

  If Ernst wasn’t mistaken, he detected a bit of anger or distaste in the dragon’s words. At least from his point of view. Was the dragon an ally of the wizard or a slave? If the latter, that would explain some of the tone and inflection. And it might mean the dragon bore extra animosity for the passengers of this aircraft.

  Whatever Rodimikari’s feelings, he did as instructed. He led them, during the next few hours, over terrain that slowly grew lusher. Deciduous trees grew below in vast forests.

  “The lands of my cousins, the Askranna’li’anar,” Elianna informed him. “The Wood Elves are a primitive and sometimes violent people. Even Hagirr has left them mostly alone.”

  Ernst filed the information away. If for some reason they found themselves on the ground, circumvent the forests between Jangik and home.

  Trees gave way to a verdant grassy plain, with wide slow-moving rivers. To the north a brilliant blue sky reflected off what appeared to be a sea or ocean. And, in time, a walled city as expansive as he’d expected appeared at the joining of two rivers.

  Perfect places to land if this was Jangik.

  Elianna confirmed his suspicions.

  Ernst watched the city on approach. A horde of people, if that’s what they were, noticed the plane. Many surged toward the walls nearest the river.

  Great pyramids rose from within the city, as well as extensive stone buildings more beautiful than anything in Berlin. The city glowed white in the sunlight.

  The landing was smooth, the river had no rocks breaking the surface, fallen trees didn’t litter the currents. The BV-138 pulled up to a shoreline set with square hewn rocks large enough to fish from if locals so wished. Either nobody wished to do so today, or the area was cleared for their arrival. The rocks formed a wall that rose twenty centimeters from the water. The left side wing stretched over the wall as the pilots expertly steered the plane to a spot. To the passengers could step from the plane to the wall without difficulty, making disembarking easy.

  After disembarking Ernst took pause as a group of fifty horsemen rode up, all on white horses, pennants raised high. The symbology meant nothing to him. The noise from the plane engines finally died away and Ernst heard the crew preparing to disembark as well.

  A single rider dismounted and approached Elianna. An elf, and from what Ernst could tell, of the same race as Elianna. For the first time he heard her speak in her native tongue, with no translation.

  It was beautiful. Herta gasped and clutched his hand. Without Ernst or Herta understanding the words, the language struck them like the finest poetry or opera verse.

  The two hugged for a long time, the rider was clearly ecstatic to see the sorceress. Something Ernst doubted happened too often.

  Elianna turned to the Germans. “Trisari, these are humans from Earth and my guests. Your warriors are to treat them with the same respect they’d give me.”

  “It is my honor to serve,” the male elf said, bowing. “I am Trisari Maltathi Sukihnopinar, Regent of the Guard and Commander of the Jangik Legions.”

  Ernst grinned a little inside but kept his face stoic. Posturing was the same everywhere. “I am Ernst Haufmann, Director of Ahnenerbe, loyal servant and trusted adviser to Herr Lutz Schwerin von Krosigk.”

  “Impressive,” Trisari said, although he probably had no idea what Ernst was talking about. “Are you a military man?”

  “I was until selected for my current position,” Ernst replied.

  “Excellent. We must talk later over dinner and wine.” Trisari turned to Herta. “And you? You have the look of importance on your face. Are you a wizard?”

  Herta laughed. “What? Oh, lord no, sir. I am the wife of Ernst, and assistant Director of Ahnenerbe. I am a loyal citizen of Deutscshland and servant of the Führer.”

  “I see,” Trisari replied. He waved back to the riders. “We have horses for you, such important people should not have to walk.” He extended a hand toward Herta. “May I assist you to yours, gracious lady?”

  Herta giggled, to Ernst’s embarrassment. “I would be honored, sir,” she crooned as she took Trisari’s offered hand.

  Elianna grinned at Ernst and stepped closer. “You might not be the only German sleeping with an elf soon,” she said quietly, taunting him.

  Ernst considered what she said. “Honestly, Elianna, if it makes her happy I don’t even care.”

  “My Ernst is growing up,” Elianna said gleefully. She pointed at the city walls nearest them. “Welcome to Jangik, the city of a thousand pleasures.”

  “I can’t wait,” Ernst sighed.

  Chapter 15 - Étables-sur-Mer

  July 18, 1940

  Sergeant Nelson rested on a beach. He, and the five men with him, walked two days north to get to the sheltered cove. White sand and a blue sea gently greeted them. Boats bobbed enticingly behind a breakwater. He scanned the sea for signs of shipping, but nothing caught his eye.

  He wondered why there were boats still in the marina. Why hadn’t the French taken them to seek refuge in England when the dead came?

  McKinney plopped down on the sand next to him, for a moment creating a shadow over Nelson. “Sarge, you’re going to need to see what we found.”

  “What did you find, McKinney?” He pointed at the marina and adopted a sarcastic tone. “Dead sailors walking out of the sea?”

  “I reckon you could put it that way.”

  Nelson jerked his head toward the kid. McKinney wasn’t joking.

  “Really? Dead sailors? I’m tired, and we need to find some food and rest. This ain’t no time for jokes.”

  “We might be fine resting here, I don’t know,” McKinney said. “That’s why I want you to see what we found. Resting here… that’s your call, you’re the sergeant.”

  “Show me,” Nelson replied, gruffly. He had walked enough, and in two days the only food they’d had were two raw rabbits they’d managed to catch. They didn’t dare light a fire to cook it. Maybe now, in some of the houses of this small commune, they’d be able to cook some good food. Maybe fish a little out on the piers.

  McKinney led him east on the beach, then he followed up a trail that climbed the steep cliffs bordering the white sands and blue waters.

  “It’s one cove over,” the private told him.

  When they got to the top of the ridge that separated the coves, five of his new squad mates lay prone on the rocky outcrop. They peeked over into the sea and beach northeast of them.

  Nelson dropped to the rock and peeked with them. “What’re we lookin’ at?”

  Two ships lay broken on the sand, a British destroyer still flying the flag of the UK, and a submarine of some kind. Both ships were bow first from the sea, plowed deeply into the shore. They were at least halfway out of the water although Nelson had no idea what the tides were like here, so maybe they were lifted to their current location by higher water.

  The submarine was lethal looking. The red bottom drew the eye, a visual insult to the white sand of the beach. A long sucker, probably fifty yards long at least. He didn’t know the first thing about subs. It might be German, British, or American. Or Japanese for all he knew. It didn’t have any markings except some sort of fish painted on the tower in the middle of the ship.

  But it was missing a large part of the side. Nelson peered into the decking. Something had torn the ship open lengthwise and it didn’t look like an explosion. The opening wasn’t round enough. So probably not a torpedo or a mine. Streaks on the metal of the hull looked like claw marks, to his eyes.

  The decks inside were mangled, as if something worked hard to get inside for some reason.

  “What could do that to a metal ship?” Nelson asked.

  “I don’t know,” McKinney said, “but the Brit ship is in the exact same shape except the other side is torn open.”

  “You saw it?” Nelson asked.

  McKinney nodded.

  “There might be supplies we can use on those boats,” Nelson said, starting to stand up.

  “You mig
ht want to rethink that,” McKinney said, grabbing Nelson’s sleeve and dragging him back down to the rock.

  “Why?” Nelson asked, his tone suspicious. He didn’t need more trouble.

  “Give it a few minutes. Watch the ship, not the sub.”

  The ship was British for sure, it still had a remnant of the flag flying. The designator D-48 adorned the side. Most of the superstructure was forward leaving the back two-thirds of the deck flat for guns and other weapons.

  A few quiet minutes passed, but finally the destroyer started shimmying. It rolled slightly on the bottom of the hull, then the sound of tearing metal reached his ears. Something big crawled out of the wreck.

  A frog-bear-lizard.

  For lack of a better descriptor.

  It had four splayed legs, some areas of fur on its back, its head was wide but the face looked more like a bear, other than the huge mouth. The mouth looked like a ‘gators, if Nelson had to choose, but it was shorter and wide. A reptilian tail stretched several yards behind it, vertical as if it was also designed to swim like a ‘gator.

  The body was round and seemingly engorged.

  The beast dropped a sailor’s body on the sand, then lunged back into the structure of the ship. The cove grew quiet once more.

  Nelson’s blood ran cold. This one creature, as far as he knew, was responsible for the death and destruction he saw below. It was harvesting the fruits of its foul work to feed, judging by the waste piles scattered around.

  The presence of the beast explained why Nelson didn’t see any shipping in the Channel. He’d hoped to signal a ship and make an escape from Brittany. But the only option now, if beasts like that patrolled the waters, was to leave by aircraft and hope a dragon didn’t see them.

  “Any of you boys know how to fly a plane?” Nelson asked.

  Nobody answered.

  “Great,” he muttered. “Let’s get back to town. We’ll scavenge what we can, then we’re headin’ west toward the original US beachheads. Maybe someone’s still alive back that way.”

  They climbed down to the safer cove, across to the French town, and searched for useful materials until dark. The next morning, they set out once more.

  “Wonder why we’re not seeing any dead trying to get to us?” Wilcox asked.

  Nelson shook his head and kept putting one boot in front of the other as he walked away from the beauty of Étables-sur-Mer. “Shut up, Corporal.”

  “There’s got to—”

  “Wilcox, you say another word and I’ll make you leave the squad.”

  Fifteen minutes of silence later they marched northwest on a two-lane road. A road sign said it was fifteen kilometers to Lanloup.

  “We’ll scavenge again there. That’s our goal for today,” Nelson told his men. “We’ll probably be in Brest in a few days, hopefully our boys still hold it.”

  If, for any reason it wasn’t safe toward the west, they were dead men walking.

  Chapter 16 - Travel

  The four crossbows Harry’s squad owned were fantastic. The only problem was that the weapons shot the bolts too hard, and the ammo either sailed into the distance not to be found or embedded in a tree so deep it couldn’t be recovered.

  But it was a good thing they had the weapons. They shot much like a rifle, and because of that, they were able to learn to use them quickly. Otherwise they wouldn’t eat meat. Watching the men use the longbows was like watching boys use a slingshot for the first time. Within three days they were out of arrows from practice. Any attempt at hunting with the longbow was guaranteed to fail, so they didn’t even try.

  He watched the last arrow sail over a tree and disappear into the blue of the sky.

  “Parker, that’s the worst shot I’ve seen yet,” Harry chided.

  “Give me a rifle any day,” the infantryman grumbled back. “This is barbaric.”

  “You say that because you’re the worst at using a bow. And not slightly worse. When you shoot, people behind you are terrified for the sake of their vital organs.”

  The other men laughed. At least their pauses to practice the weapons kept spirits up. Even Cylethe was amused. “If dek hunters shot bows like that, the tribe wouldn’t eat.”

  “And if humans hadn’t invented guns, a large number of the Undek would have been eaten,” Miller said.

  She glared coldly at her apprentice. “You have done the exercises I gave you, Elementalist?”

  “I have.”

  “Then you start the campfire for this night,” she ordered him. “And if you fail, you will eat your rations raw.”

  Miller frowned but turned around to face the fire ring that several of the squad had just finished.

  “Stack the wood,” Harry ordered, eager to see where Miller was in his training.

  The men quickly filled the ring with fresh cut deadfall. They were as eager for the fire as anyone else, as the last three days had seen a rise in altitude of at least a few thousand feet. Frost was on the ground that last morning as they woke up. The terrain, still wooded, thinned ahead further up the trail into the Aldikki mountain range. Each night would be colder, and each morning more miserable as they climbed. That difficulty would be multiplied by a dozen times once winter came on full bore. A miserable journey to reach them was part of the defense the Dek counted on.

  “Light it,” Cylethe demanded. “Use the words.”

  “Sagunichallus nal victus segor,” Miller said in a language that sounded ancient. The radioman’s hands, outstretched toward the waiting woodpile, twitched with nerves.

  Smoke rolled from the cone created by Miller’s fingers, rising quickly into the sky. Miller tore his palms apart and exclaimed his surprise.

  “Wrong word,” Cylethe said, laughing. “You summoned smoke, a combination of elemental air and elemental fire. Your words were ‘summoning the offspring of minor fire’. You want the qualifier vin. You can make a great fire, but the test of control is to make a small one. Do it now.”

  Miller, to his credit, bowed to his teacher. Then took up his casting stance once again. “Sagunichallus vin victus segor,” he growled out, and a small globe of fire appeared in the center of his outstretched fingers.

  “Sagunimallutik nal segroni,” he added to his chant. The bead of fire shot straight out from his hands, into the fire pit. The wood caught immediately from the intense heat of magical flame.

  Harry wondered how it was that Miller didn’t seem affected by the heat he summoned.

  The men cheered and took out burning sticks to start two more fire pits with. Enough for everyone to have a warm seat.

  “Well done, Miller!” Harry encouraged. “You’re a right magician!”

  “It’s something I never imagined,” Miller said. “I had no idea.”

  “You know a few tricks a child might know. Elementalists are rare,” Cylethe said, “no matter what the race. Hagirr will want you so he can corrupt you to his side. It’s up to this group to keep you from him.”

  “How do we do that?” Harry asked. “You say he’s the most powerful wizard on this world.”

  “Everything has limits, Harry,” Cylethe said. “I am limited, and so is Hagirr.”

  “Why?” Miller asked her. “How do you know what your limits are?”

  “Each magician is a conduit. As your training starts, you will be limited by your ability to control magic. Later, your limitation will be how much magic you can focus and use from the universe around us. Think of yourself as a valve,” Cylethe told him. “Every mage has a different limit as to how far the valve can open.”

  “That makes sense,” Miller said. “I can feel the flow.”

  “I’m glad it makes sense to you,” Parker quipped.

  Harry frowned. “That’s what’s important. I don’t see you starting any campfires in the chill, so I’m not too worked up about it not making sense to you.” He turned to face the outspoken private. “In fact, Parker, after seeing you shoot today, you should probably learn at least one useful skill sometime soon, you l
azy sot.”

  The rest of the men laughed.

  “You laughing sorts think you’re any better? We need to learn the skills our ancestors had a thousand years ago.”

  “You going to learn magic then, Lieutenant?” Parker shot back.

  Harry laughed. The men weren’t afraid to give it back to him. “It doesn’t make any sense to me either.” He touched his sword. “But guard duty does, and we all know how to do that. We’ll do our standard roster, rotating one spot. Three on first are now on second, and so on. Third watch last night sleeps all night tonight.”

  Groans from a few of his soldiers.

  “None of that, we have our duty. Except last night’s third… oh, is that me?” he asked, mockingly. “I should turn in then while you lads watch my back and listen to my snores.”

  Ten minutes later exhaustion claimed him. Even leaders needed to refresh from time to time.

  He dreamed of Miller erupting into a firestorm that swept all their enemies into ash.

  * * *

  The next days passed, and Harry’s team climbed ever higher. Crossing what had to be ten thousand meters above where they’d entered this world, the Aldikki peaks still towered much higher. Harry was always told that breathing at such an altitude was a task for only the most fit, but the air of Aerth seemed as abundant to him at their current height as it did when they spent the summer below.

  Another bit of knowledge to add to his list of misunderstood things.

  An airship approached the party from the west, rising along with the grade of the mountains. A dirigible, much like the Hindenburg had been, but this one looked more haphazard. A steam engine belched smoke into the sky, spinning a lazy blade that propelled the monstrosity.

  “What in the name of the Father is that?” Jenkins asked.

  Cylethe landed just ahead of the marching squad, in six inches of snow. She dismounted quickly, then ran to Harry. “Gnomes. Whether there is violence or not depends on what clan.”

  “Should we hide?” Harry asked. “Prepare our guns?”

  “You and I will stay here. The rest of your men should prepare as you did to kill the half-horses.”