by J. F. Holmes
“WHAT DO YOU KNOW!” shouted Clark, “STICKS TO KIDS AND ORCS!”
We wove back through the barricades and men drove and pushed cars and trucks across the roadway, blocking it completely. Jumping out as we pulled up in front of the building that housed our temporary CP, what I expected happened. The fires froze solid, just as they had done south of Central Park. Too late for the little guys, but I suspected that their commander, Lord Tavan the shithead, couldn’t care less about his minions.
Winning a battle, or a war, or a negotiation, whatever, is only done by knowing your enemy. I had been cataloguing information about these guys for the last two days straight, and thought I had some things figured out. One, he was an arrogant little shit. Two, there were limits to his power, and if we sapped enough of it, then we might be able to get through his magic juju. So I had laid out a defense that encouraged him to step out early. Two thousand gallons of napalm put out some serious energy and the explosion had spread it across both lanes of the bridge. If he wanted his troops to cross it, he had to put it out.
A dragon rose from the top of one of the buildings, accompanied by half a dozen others, and I waited to give my orders. Along with all the other crap that Zivcovic had brought, he had three ‘Verba’ SA-25 Man Portable Surface to Air Missiles. They were just fielded last year to the Russian Army, front line units in Donbass. How the hell he got them, I didn’t ask, and I hoped this would work.
I took a second to look over the Manhattan Bridge, to where Charlie Company from the 69th was fighting their own fight. Tracers arched across and flashes of light were followed an instant later by cracks and booms. Not my problem, and I looked back to see the frozen flames sparkle and shatter to blow away in the wind.
“NOW!” I yelled, and a red flag ran up our makeshift line. Half a dozen high powered rifles barked and three fifty caliber machine guns hammered out, all aiming for the biggest dragon. Blue sparks flew off in concentric circles from the hits, not a ton, but enough I hoped. When I saw them start to dim, I ordered the red flag lowered.
From the tops of three taller buildings behind me there were puffs of smoke as rocket motors ignited, slow flames at first that whipped forward toward the dragons. A smaller creature dove in front of the large one, figuring out what was happening, but the first missile blew him out of the sky, no flash of magic at all. The second two detonated CRACK CRACK, right on target. A great wash of blue, almost blindingly bright, then the animal wobbled down onto the bridge deck and collapsed. I watched through binos as Lord Shithead fell and landed a hundred feet below in the East River. I laughed. Drown in that fancy armor, fucker.
Then the real attack began, thousands of orcs pushing across the bridge, down both roadways and the pedestrian path. I wasn’t too worried yet; the orcs’ armor was good, but against .50’s and 240B’s? Just kill enough of them and they would block the way, plus we had some surprises waiting for them. We could ignore them until they got within hand to hand. It was the archers and the magic dudes I was worried about. I’d kill for an MLRS right now, magic shields or no. Far behind came the magic users, and they started throwing bolts of fire that arched down onto the buildings with the machine guns. One got a direct hit on the firing slit of a gun and I heard the screams, the 240 falling silent.
The roar of the orcs charging was nothing compared to the concentrated fire of the machine guns but … we only had so much ammo, and they seemed limitless, and the MG positions would be hit, one by one. The archers were protected by even better armor, and I saw some get knocked down by heavy rounds and get back up. They were approaching the barricades and still only our machine guns fired. The dragons and their riders held back, though, perhaps afraid now that their big dude was out of the action.
Another flag ran up, and the MG’s stopped, their crews unassing the buildings and hauling the guns to secondary positions. There was a roar and the orcs charged forward, covered by flights of arrows. They spilled down across the barricade, hundreds of them, and I personally slapped the firing board of the twenty claymores we had strung in an L shaped ambush. I had been taking a chance on that, since somehow the Elves had been setting off demo charges as the engineers placed them on the bridges, but these were set back from the actual bridge, right where the ramp reached up from the land. The detonation of the directional mines was like a huge multiple thunderclap that echoed off the tall buildings.
The orcs broke, well, the ones that were behind the first companies, which had pretty much disintegrated. They piled backwards into the elven archers, cutting them down with swords and axes until one of the trolls bellowed and cleared them out.
“Got more than a hundred!” shouted Hollis with glee. I was a lot more sober in my assessment, seeing how quickly the Elves reestablished control. They formed up behind the eastern tower and my snipers opened up again, trying to hit anyone who looked important. We had gained some time, but that was it.
I glanced over at the Manhattan Bridge and saw that the fighting had progressed down towards the off ramps. Even if we held here, we might get flanked. Not my problem right now. “OK, you two head over to your companies. You know the plan.”
Clark simply nodded, but Hollis stopped. “Dave,” she said, holding out her hand, “been a pleasure serving with you.”
I took her hand and then pulled her into a quick hug then stood back. “Same. Hold as long as you can until you think it’s unreasonable. This is going to be a long war, and people like us are going to be in high demand.”
Clark grinned and said, “You really think we can win?”
“Not right now. Maybe a long time from now, maybe generations. But they fucked with the wrong people. Remember what I said to the dwarf? Live free...”
They both answered, “… or die.”
I wished them both Godspeed then turned to the kid with the MP-3 player hooked to the speakers. “Got any Dropkick Murphys?” I asked him.
“Of fucking course, Sir. But I can do you one better. Demon of Carbonium, Celtica version.”
I nodded and said, “Just keep ‘em coming, specialist. No matter what.”
Chapter 21
From the war journals of Lord Thar Tavan, Head of House Tavor, Commander of the Third Legion.
The arrogance of these humans! But then I remember fighting the Romans and the wild Celts. Madmen who never knew when they were defeated. Our first push, as expected, was stopped, but those were mostly Yrch of the Red Arrow. We will merely bring in more from the slave pens. More concerning was the loss of several of our dragons.
Tavan thought for a moment about adding a line about falling into the East River, but this was a historical record. No need to embarrass himself, things happen in combat. The guided projectiles had been a surprise, but he had brought in servants of the Way from up north to keep watch and attack those positions.
We are ready now for the next attack. Ellarissa has advised me to push the “Manhattan” bridge and flank the defenders of this one, but this smaller one seems to have some symbolic value. They have staked their ancient symbol of the Harp above a tower, which means the Celts are here. I cannot avoid that challenge. I have given her permission to lead the attack, though.
It was a bitter fight between he and his daughter. His son would have knelt and obeyed his orders without question. flinging himself headlong into the fight, but she had always had greater wisdom and more caution than he. Still, the challenge of the flag couldn’t be ignored. Sometimes war was that way, and if they could, no, WHEN they did crush the defenders of this bridge, the way to millions of slaves and the whole of “Long Island”, which he had promised to her as an estate.
He set the quill down and stepped out of the now windowless ground floor of the building just off the approaches to the bridge, stepping up onto the saddle of his newest mount to stand above the troops gathering there.
In the front, of course, were the Yrch of the Red Arrow. They stood sullenly, their enthusiasm for the fight not as evident now after taking so many casualties.
He was tempted to order them slain for their failure, but what was about to happen was tantamount to the same thing. Instead he turned to the troops of the White Hand. For four centuries they had been his personal shock troops, bread for ferocity if not for cunning. He raised his hand they all fell still. Behind them the retainers of his house, the bowmen and knights of his own lands, stood rock steady and disciplined.
“You have done so far, in the face of unexpected and terrible weapons, and I am proud of you.” He spoke to the Yrch as if they were children, and in a way they were. “Once we break through this final barrier, you are free to advance one league forward and destroy everything in your path. TONIGHT YOU WILL FEAST ON HUMAN FLESH!” There was a roar from the slaves; they had little else to live for than war and the occasional spoils.
Across from him his daughter sat atop her mount and listened to his words, face set in a stony mask. Her people followed her out of love, even the slaves. She treated them well, better than he would have, and he often warned her of how the weak hand would eventually get bitten. It had been a long standing disagreement between them, one that he tolerated out of love for her.
He sat down in the saddle and the troops passed in review. First the slaves, the Red Arrow Yrch walking grimly forward to their probable deaths. They carried long stabbing sword and spears with heavy shields but that would do no good until they closed with the enemy. Then more slaves, these prouder, the White Hand, throwing insults at their brothers in front of them. Tavan had often played the clans against each other to keep both subservient. If they ever united…
Next the bowmen of his fief. Two thousand commoner Elves who had spent centuries honing their craft, their arrows imbued with magic and their bows spell enchanted. Behind them, ready for the final slaughter, were the men at arms and knights of his house, five hundred in all. Almost a third of his remaining available strength, more than half away north with his son, most of his mages there too. A token force at the next bridge to press the defenders, btu this was his main push. For now.
Ellarissa passed him by, following her host. His daughter looked at him with a stony glare; she thought this was a mistake. He agreed with her tactically; the Manhattan bridge could easily be taken and the defenders flanked. Her voice sounded in his head, expressing her displeasure. “How many will die for a glorious fight, Father? They are prepared in fixed defenses, and although we shall triumph, how many will never see their fields again or hear the song sung?”
He gave no answer. There were some things that she just didn’t understand. The People lived on those tales of victory, the harder the better, and they had carried them through all the long years of exile. The Humans needed to understand that they were defeated. If some gave up their lives to do so, well, such is war. His son should be here instead, he would understand.
Even though he didn’t voice it, she felt his rebuke and turned her eyes forward. They would talk afterwards, and he knew that she would be delighted to walk the beaches of her new fiefdom.
Chapter 22
First Brooklyn Volunteers
At that moment the radio broke into frantic calls and screams for help. I ignored it, the plan was set and, if anything, it told me that the big guns were being broken out for a push. Only so much magic to go around, I supposed. Then it cut out again. Oh well.
My big concern was the Manhattan Bridge; the off ramps emptied out behind our position. I had talked to the company commander there and he came off as a pompous ass who dismissed everything I had to say. Not outright, but a roll of the eyes. In my haste to organize our defense, I had to trust that they would hold their position, and I had dismissed their fight from my mind while we were engaged.
“Sergeant, send a runner over to B Company, see how their defense is going. If he can’t make it, well, we’re screwed anyway.” The kid left even before I finished saying it. Our CP was on the third floor of a building with a good view of the approaches and the bridge deck itself. I would kill for a drone, but there was no way for them to transmit, even if we had some. I moved down to where we had set up the one MK-19 automatic grenade launcher and some 240-B’s. The Javelins I had left with the Russians, and had a plan, if we could work it. The MK-19 was for the ambush I wanted to spring. I crouched down next to the young sergeant who was commanding the heavy weapons team from Delta Company.
“Son, the minute they step into this fire sack, I want you to pour down hell on them, got it?” I asked.
“Hey sir, nobody steps on a church in my town,” he said, his Puerto Rican accent slight.
I laughed, “There’s no way you’re old enough to know that movie.”
“I watch a lot of TV!” he said, not stopping making notes on his range card.
“How many rounds do you have?” I asked. I was hoping he would say something like two thousand.
“Ninety eight, all HE.”
“OK, then. How good are you guys with it?” I asked, seeing his 101st Airborne combat patch.
“Uh, well, PFC Cardenas qualified on it at AT last year. I was light infantry in the 101st, I familiarized with it in OSUT.” Cardenas grinned, he was missing both front teeth.
“Well, no pressure, but I’m counting on you. Got it? Go for the heavies.”
“Tom Clancy, Red Storm Rising!” said Rivera, still watching downrange.
I smacked his back and said, “There’s hope for you yet, kid.”
Then I made my way over to where the Russians were set up. They had been busy barricading the building with everything they could get their hands on. Zivcovic was on the second floor, sitting on an office chair, smoking a cigar and reading a copy of Hustler. “You’re taking this very seriously, I see.”
He opened the centerfold, letting it drop down. “My niece! Hot, yes?”
“You’re a sick bastard, but I’d hit it.” I would, too. Blonde and all the right curves.
His boots hit the floor with a thump. “Come, I must show you something,” and without seeing if I followed, he bounded up a stairwell. We came out onto the fourth floor where most of his men were stationed. I wasn’t sure if they were filling Molotov cocktails or getting shitfaced, but we both ignored them. He handed me a small device similar to an iPhone and pointed, being careful not to silhouette himself in the window.
“What am I looking at?” I asked, aiming the device to where he pointed. On the screen the bridge showed up in various colors. Handheld infrared optic. Nice.
“Up,” he said, “sitting on the tower.”
I did, and there, plain as day in my optics, sat half a dozen figures hunched on top, wings folded around themselves. It was too far to make out details, but I instantly recognized them. “You gotta be shitting me. Gargoyles?” Then I took the scanner down and raised my binoculars. Nothing. Back to the IR device. Sitting there, watching. “Invisible gargoyles. Nice.”
“I am thinking their plan is to wait until we are engaged, then do a vertical envelopment onto the top of the buildings. How did John McLane say it? SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKER! Yippee Ki-yay!” He laughed to himself, then said, “How I love America.”
“Well,” I wondered out loud, “what do we do about it?”
“No problem, Anatoli will take care of it.” Then he turned and said, “Strelyay svoim oruzhiyem,”
I turned to see a young man, lying flat on a desk, peering down the barrel of a weapon I recognized as a VKS 12.7mm sniper rifle. Mounted on a rail system was a similar device to the IR camera in my hand. How the hell he would zero it to the weapon I had no idea, but whatever worked.
“Watch, back to front,” said Zivcovic simply. I put the camera up once more and studied the creatures. There was a very loud COUGH behind me and the rear most creature exploded in a burst of crimson on the screen, hot blood splashing out from it. Click Clack as Anatoli cycled the bolt, COUGH.
Three were down by the time the others noticed, and they immediately unfolded their wings and jumped, heading straight down to gather speed. Another tumbled backwards as the sniper’s fourth sh
ot hit, and the remaining two split, one disappearing off my screen. I followed the one closest to us as it turned to wing its way back across the river, and the fifth bullet hit it in the ass and erupted out of its head. I scanned for the last one and caught a glimpse of a hot spot twisting desperately through the wires. A bullet drew sparks from one of the steel cables, a muttered curse as the monster drew further away and started to dim, then COUGH and a wing blew off, causing it to tumble into the river just shy of the western tower.
“You see that?” bragged Zivcovic. “Russian rifle much better than Barrett.”
I shook my head, nodded to the sniper in acknowledgement of his feat, and looked at my watch. 22:51. I didn’t know why, but I had a creepy feeling that the next assault would start precisely at midnight. Magic power shit reaching out to my inner fears.
“We have about an hour or so,” said the Serb. He felt it too. “My boys will be ready.”
“You have to hold, it’s your people too who are being evacuated.”
He made a dismissive sound, then said, “I will run after the stupid Jews run, and I don’t think they will. I despise them, but they are stubborn bastards.”
I went to check on those stubborn bastards, who were situated in a building just north of the off ramps. The sound of gunfire at the Manhattan Bridge had died out, but I didn’t know if that was bad or good. It still rumbled and echoed further in the distance where two companies of the 69th were contesting the Williamsburg Bridge; that and the Triboro were the priority of fire and I actually heard, way off in the distance, the CRACK of tank fire from the north. I had no idea that the Marines had put together a scratch expeditionary force out of LeJeune and made a landing in the Bronx, not trying to force New York Harbor but doing an end run through Long Island Sound. For all the good it eventually did them, or us.
Gulf Company was done with their preparations, and I found them gathered in prayer. When Rabbi Friedman saw me he broke it off and came over. “We are as ready as we will ever be, Major Kincaid.”
