Dark Wolves

by J A Deriu

  They reached the group. Kani Minamoto stepped forward. “I like the sound of that. Is there to be action?”

  “That is unclear,” Clavdia answered.

  Captain Jodi was among the group. “First of the scouts has reported, Lord Commander, while you were up there. Not much to say. He could not see any defenses. As instructed, he kept his distance and did not venture into the town itself. He spotted burnt-out buildings. Hard to tell more he said.” She scratched at her jaw.

  Clavdia nodded and turned to Fulke and Richord. “Once all of the scouts have returned, let’s put a thousand through the main road. And a thousand each through two other routes as an initial advance.”

  They had set up a command post in the cellar of an abandoned farmhouse. Whether it had been abandoned because of them or for other reasons, it was unclear. It had been well abandoned. There was not a stick of furniture. The curtains had been pulled and the carpets lifted. It could have been a house that no one wanted to live in. The paint had peeled from the walls, and it stank of mold. Yet it was large and roomy. Templars had filled it to be out of the harsh sun and sleep for a night under a roof.

  A large crack crossed the wall of her temporary office. She sat on a collapsible chair at the fold-out desk that had been set up for her. She read from her notebook under the light of a desk lamp. Scattered around it were dozens of pieces of paper. They were supposed to be in order, but they had been messed by a draft from the broken sunken-basement window. She was alone. She could hear Templars above shouting from room to room, and the waft of cooking came down to her. She closed her eyes for a moment to think. She had used the time on the ship to reorganize the command and operations. She had lost sixty-five in the chain of command – most of them in the Battle of the Arks, but also ten of them to disease, one by his own hand, three in accidents, and two who had left without explanation. In spite of this, they had arrived in better order than she would have prayed for if she prayed about such things as the fortunes of war.

  The old man and benefactor, Carsten Cheval, had not failed them. She remembered the first time they had met and what she had expected to think, that he was a crank. From the moment of the first meeting in his tower, she had known that was not true. Instead, it was as though the hand of destiny had swept them up together and placed them on the chessboard. They had been stranded in Cairo, at a loss as to how to keep moving. It had been decided that going by ship was the optimum way to get to the Holy Land. They had no funds to pay the cost. The mercenaries could not be recontracted, and the army payroll was only good for days.

  A clerk had arrived at the hotel. He had waited patiently in the lobby. No one knew who he was. A sentry got tired of looking at his nervous fidgets and started interrogating the young man. He was actually a New European from the long island of Zealand. He was employed as an international banker with the global Habsburg Bank. He had received wire instructions that morning to prepare a promissory note in favor of the Templar Command. He insisted that it could only be handed to the Lord Commander, and nothing else could be said. Clavdia was interrupted while in a meeting trying to make a deal with a local food merchant. She hurried to the hotel. The clerk opened an envelope and slid the note across the table to her. “Carsten Cheval sends his regards,” he said matter-of-factly. “It is a promissory note. The sum of the payment is shown in sterling. It can be redeemed for local currency at any bank. In fact, given the size, it will need to be many banks. The House of Habsburg Cairo will guarantee the full value.” She looked at the amount and knew that for the time being, their money problems were behind them.

  There was a knock at the door. She looked across the room. Gondemar was coming down the steps. He was the replacement for Marco. He had a wad of papers. “The last of the promotions, redeployments, and enlistments, Lord Commander,” he said, holding up the papers. He placed them neatly on the desk. He had a boyish face, probably because he was not much older than a boy, and a youthful outlook, which meant that he did not question that the last two in his role had died in battle.

  “Anything interesting, Captain?”

  “Yes, certainly, Lord Commander. The big fellow, the one they call Babyman, has enlisted as a Templar. He took his oaths, and his paper is among this lot for you to sign. He will be good for the wrestling team.”

  “Anything else?” she asked. Gondemar had an impish look on his face.

  “Oh, and the one at the very bottom you will want to look at closely, Lord Commander.”

  She immediately upturned the pile and pulled out the last paper. She read it and then stared at it for a long moment. She looked up. “How many have seen this?”

  “Myself, Lord Commander. No one else that is authorized to speak of it. It came over the wire twenty minutes ago.”

  She sighed. “I am not going to make an announcement on this. I want it to rest for a while. Don’t say anything.”

  “Yes, Lord Commander, but it is directly from the Grand Master. I mean … congratulations. The Grand Master has promoted you to Marshall. That is – Supreme Military Commander. When was the last time the Templars had one of these?”

  “I know, Captain, and thank you, but I need time to think. I am fond of my existing title and … I don’t know … I am superstitious about changing … Lord Commander has been good luck for me.”

  “Hmm – as you command, Lord Commander. I will leave you to review the rest.”

  She watched him go and then leaned back against the wall. Marshall. She was not worthy of this. The last one had been over a hundred years ago. And he had been captured by the Ottomans and paraded bare-chested in Roma to be hanged from the Ponte Sisto. She folded the message tightly and buried it deep in her trouser pocket. She stared at the papers and then the lamp. Her eyes were tired. She leaned her elbows onto the table and clamped her hands over her eyes.

  She looked up. There was someone standing in front of her. He had made no noise. She reached for her pistol and then eased. Kani bowed from the hips. “I am sorry.”

  “You made no noise.”

  “I made plenty of noise,” he said. “You were deep in your thoughts. I apologize for the interruption.”

  “No, it is all right. Have the scouts returned?”

  “Not all of them. Those that have say the same. That they cannot see any enemy. Not any enemy formations. Not any enemy at all. Not a donkey with an Ottoman flag.”

  “It is strange.”

  “Strange but threatening like dark clouds. That is why I wanted to request that the Two-Headed Wolves ride in your vanguard.”

  “My vanguard?”

  “Yes, I know you now, Lord Commander. You will be intending to lead the assault yourself. It has been confirmed in talk.”

  “All right, but why? Your contract will not be affected.”

  “Ah, many reasons. We in the Samurai have a history as Christian soldiers. Did you know that? We are warrior class and do not enjoy watching. Yes, we have a worship of battle but also do not like the modern battlefield and the lack of skills required. This will be close-quarter combat. Old-fashioned. Like your people, we do not like progress and prefer the old ways.”

  “There is enough reason there, I suppose. Get your men ready.”

  Gondemar returned to advise. “Lord Commander, the last scouts have come back. Captain Fulke has ordered to be ready for the attack.”

  Acre. The city lay in front of Clavdia. It would soon be the middle of the day, yet it looked asleep. The sun was burning hot – that was true – and the sea breeze was muted, but there should be some industry. The last time Templars held the city, it was the year of our Lord twelve hundred and ninety-one. It was the Mamluks who had defeated them that year, continuing a spiral of defeats. This time it was the Mamluks who had given them passage through the Grand Canal on shipping registered to their ports. For a week, the Templars had been on the flotilla of boats with tense jaws waiting and expecti
ng an attack. They passed the steep battlements of the Canal. They would be easy prey and kept their weapons close. No attack came. Once in the open sea, they expected the Ottoman Navy. Its battleships were the largest that had ever sailed. They had destroyed cities with their huge cannons. The naval base on the island of Kibris was thought to be vast. The Templars constantly scanned the horizon. Binoculars were warm to touch from the constant handling. The navy did not come. Land was seen. It was the Holy Land. The Templars rejoiced with clenched hands. The landing boats were lowered, and they swept to an empty shore under the cover of night. Templars fell to their knees, crossed themselves, and felt the sand. Clavdia did the same. It took until the morning to land all of the expeditionary force. If nothing else they had fulfilled the promise of Templars returning to the Holy Land. They had been a day’s hike from Acre.

  She walked to the front of the army. The Templars saluted her as she passed. They were hidden from the city by the orchards. Kani Minamoto and the Two-Headed Wolves readied themselves with contented smiles. Frank Paulus strode to her side. He wore the uniform of the Montgisard Militia. It was a dark-blue, tightly buttoned jacket with the letter M in white above the breast. The pants were faded black with leg wraps from the boots to below the knee. “The pants don’t match,” she said.

  “That’s your opinion. Others say that they do. Anyway, it is what arrived to complete the order.” He looked at the forming ranks with concerned eyes.

  “There are no motor vehicles. You know that. They are all with Captain Miles, who is miles away, coming across the desert with our new Coptic allies. We will do this on foot.”

  “I know, Lord Commander. I am only watching. The militia is in reserve. I have seen that they are ready in need. The others – the Volunteers and other Orders – I am not sure.”

  “You can join my group. Make sure you carry a rifle – with bayonet fixed. Attach yourself to Captain Gondemar and watch his back. Keep your head low. We have no clue as to what we face here.”

  The front of the force was at the edge of the orchards. Fulke the Bear was crouched with his binoculars in his hands. “All is ready, Lord Commander. We await your order.”

  She lifted her gloved hand, clenched her fist for a moment, and signaled them forward. “Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.”

  They moved stealthily through the undergrowth with the main body of the attacking force on the edges of the road. Scouts darted ahead to check for any traps. The Two-Headed Wolves moved with graceful exactness. Clavdia held her rifle forward. The bayonet cut the heavy atmosphere. Her bow was strapped to her back and the quiver full. The rosary beads hung around her neck and under her shirt.

  These lands were a backward, little-cared-about part of the empire. There was no expectation that there would be great fortifications. The walls ahead looked as though they had not changed since the times of the first Crusades, other than to be weathered with blocks missing. She watched a scout come out of an outbuilding. He signaled that there was no one.

  Acre was needed for more than symbolic reasons. Like the times of the past, it would be a northern bulwark and a strategic supply port for the rebirthed kingdom. This was the endgame. If the Templars retook the Holy Land for Christendom, they would have validated the reason they existed. Then it would be reinforcement and consolidation to protect the pilgrims and free the non-Mohammedans from the tax.

  The first of the scouts passed through the main gate. A stray cat ran in front of them. Her group made it to the gate shortly after. Fulke signaled for squads to check nearby buildings. Shops and offices clustered around a deep square with breaks for streets that twisted farther into the city. Awnings and shutters caught the breeze. It looked normal except that there were no people. She wondered if the city had been surrendered. But there would be people if it were surrendered. The local populace would be left to go about their business. The Battle of Umm Qasr was often cited in the textbooks, so much so that it was notorious. The commander had taken the city without opposition. His forces strolled inside without a shot being fired. He sent a message to high command that the city was captured. He had relaxed with his soldiers. The enemy had hidden thousands inside, and at nightfall they attacked, killing or capturing all of the commander’s men.

  She signaled for Fulke and Jodi to gather for a conference.

  “Damn quiet, isn’t it, Lord Commander?” Fulke the Bear grumbled.

  “I don’t like this sneaking about,” she said. “I’m going to order an assault. Send a message to the flanking formations to execute their movements. By the head of Saint Euphemia, let’s flush them out.”

  There was a churn of action. The Templars surged into the town, separated themselves into groups, and began looking in windows and forcing open doors. The arrival of the separate offensives could be heard. Now that they had been released from stealth mode, there was an inclination to shout.

  The Two-Headed Wolves scaled walls and peeked into windows. Kani kept a grin on his face as he conducted them. Pedro and Greta had their weapons ready and were either side of her. The buildings were two or three stories, and they kept their eyes on the high windows. Frank Paulus and Gondemar joined her group as they moved farther into the city. Clotheslines strung between buildings were bare, and dogs picked at rubbish strewn on the street.

  She slung her rifle next to the bow and took off her gloves. Locals had been found. They were standing at the front doors of their houses as if they had been woken from a stupor and gaped at the Templars. They were mostly old people and some young children who called to the soldiers and lifted their hands as if asking for something. The Templars eased, as the population seemed passive.

  “Look at them,” Frank said. “They were cowered at first. They have seen who we are, or more likely, who we are not, and they have calmed.”

  Fulke shouted to her from across the street. “Lord Commander, the town center has been secured. There is no one but old people.”

  “Captain, send instructions to check thoroughly,” she called back.

  Kani shook his head in a foreboding way and led his men down an avenue. Her group crossed into another square. Scouts were sitting at outdoor chairs. Jodi was talking to them. She turned to Clavdia. “They have been to the police station and military garrison, Lord Commander.”

  “What did you see, Sergeant?”

  “Carnage, Lord Commander, like nothing I’ve ever seen.” He was panting and wiped sweat from his forehead using his cap. “A bloodbath. Bodies everywhere. More than we could count. Made into piles. Killed in all kinds of ways. Shot, stabbed, some hanging, and some with no heads.”

  “Were they Ottomans?”

  “Ottomans, all right. They had the uniforms, Lord Commander.”

  She turned to Jodi. “We can see why there are no defenders. Any idea what happened?”

  Jodi shrugged. “Not yet, Lord Commander.”

  Gondemar was with an old man. He had one leg and a crutch. His face was shriveled. He squeezed his eyes to look at her. “He wants to tell us what happened, Lord Commander,” Gondemar said.

  “You can speak to him? What language, Captain?”

  “They mostly speak Arabic. This chap speaks Turkish, which I can speak.” She watched as they started to talk. The old man spoke as if he were being thoughtfully descriptive. “He says that they came during the night. He believes that there were thousands of them. They snuck in like the wind. Made no noise. But he heard them. He has bad eyes and good ears.” He exchanged more words with the old man, who moved his free arm violently. “They knew where to go. The police were killed in their beds. The soldiers fought for hours, but there were too many against them. He was told that the way they attacked was without fear. He could hear their war cries – ‘like demons from hell,’ he said.” Gondemar nodded at the old man, and they spoke more. “They spared no soldiers. The shooting and screams lasted until the morning. He left his house.
He said that he is an old man – he does not fear death. The devils were roaming the streets and banging at doors. Breaking them if they did not open. They did not bother him, other than to laugh and spit. They wore black, all black, with scarves worn tight on their heads. They took the young men and women, tied them together, and herded them like livestock. They greedily wanted any wealth. Beating anyone that did not hand over even the ugliest piece of crockery. He was sure that they killed many others at the water. The shooting and screaming could be heard throughout the day.”

  “Who were they? Does he know that?”

  Gondemar questioned the old man. “He said that his eyes are no good, but he could see that they were under the black flag of death.”

  Clavdia tensed, as did the others that were listening.

  “They have gone. They left as quickly as they came. They only left the old or the youngsters.” Gondemar finished the old man’s story. “What is this, Lord Commander? Who are they?”

  She considered for a moment. “There is not much doubt who they are,” she said. “They are the End-of-Days Army. They come out of the Arabian desert. I have not read that they have ever come this far.” The faces around her were worried. “They are a Mohammedan sect. They believe in the secret Mahdi – the redeemer – that Judgement Day is coming, and those that don’t agree with them must be punished. They despise progress and want to return the world to the seventh century. The Ottomans have always contained them. The empire must truly be in a weakened way for the sect to be here.” She eased her stance. “It seems that we may not be fighting the Ottoman army – we may be fighting something far worse.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Krass sat with his scuffed shoes resting on her desk. She did not think to rebuke him. His usual swagger was tenfold. He read from a sheet. “The final result for the election is that you won by twenty-three thousand.” He sniggered. “I could get used to this. I made that number sing.”