by J. F. Holmes
“Hey Major, some people outside here to see you,” came a voice over the radio.
“Time to go,” I said to Hollis and she handed me the rifle, now broken down and put in a hard case that was marked BUREAU OF WASTEWATER MANAGEMENT PRESSURE TESTING KIT - CALIBRATED- ONLY OPEN ON SITE. Clark was already in midtown Manhattan, keeping an eye on things. Since our hit on the mayor, things had gotten hot, but we planned on knocking off the deputy mayor next. I handed it to Tor, who was strong enough to manhandle, uh, dwarfhandle it. Outside the sun was hot and the humidity brutal and the three guards stood there, looking up and down the street. I had the sword in a gym bag in my left hand and my right hand free. One of the men nodded to me and waved towards the waiting van.
Hollis’ gun went off with a CRACK just behind me and the side window of the van shattered, the driver’s head erupting with a splash of blood. I was already moving to my left as another shot hit the back of the head of the man who had waved me forward. I heard Tor bellow a challenge of combat and, instead of reaching for my gun in my appendix holster, my right hand dipped into the gym bag and whipped out the Gladius. A flicker of motion to my left and I spun, holding it up awkwardly, and another blade, slim like a rapier, shattered on the edge. In front of me, all glamour and illusion gone, stood a young Elf noble staring stupidly at the remnants of his blade. I reversed the gladius and smashed him in the temple with the heavy pommel, pulling my swing at the last second. He went down like a stepped-on tin can.
“In the van!” shouted Hollis, and I hauled the cargo door open, pistol up, then tossed the sword and duffle bag into the emptiness. I saw Hooms shyly stick his head out the door and I made a GTFO motion to him. He nodded and ducked back in. Then I grabbed the slim Elf by the shirt and, with Tor’s help, literally threw him into the van. We piled in and Hollis hit the gas, tearing off towards the Bronx River Parkway.
“What gave it away?” I asked, pulling the still twitching corpse into the back and wrapping a rag around his head. This one, at least, was human.
“I heard the AC compressor kick in on the engine, but he was sweating his ass off and staring at you,” she shouted back over the squeal of tires. We hammered onto the Cross Bronx Expressway and then slowed to a normal speed.
“Good call, you get a bonus this pay period,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. She was shaking like a leaf, and I squeezed hard. “Good job, and we got a prisoner.”
I felt her relax, then she said, “Oh boy, torture?”
“Maybe. Let’s see. Take us back to Queens if you can.”
Chapter 43
From the war journals of Lord Thar Tavan, Head of House Tavor, Commander of the Third Legion.
Tavan started to write in his war journal but stopped without putting anything down. His efforts to corner the leadership of this ‘insurgency’ had come to naught, and the reprisals he had ordered did nothing except turn the people against them. He sorely missed Ellarissa’s council, and somehow the human Kincaid had escaped the destruction of the bridge. He looked at the printout that one of his human slaves had obtained from him, someone who was a “hacker” of the “internet”. He smiled cruelly at the memory of taking the paper and then cutting the man’s throat. Arrogance must be punished. The paper showed a picture of Kincaid in his “dress” uniform, taken from a military communications system. The concept of the Internet was a bit hard for Tavan to grasp.
The death of the Mayor and the loss of another dragon had been a severe blow to his hopes for a quick peace. The Council demanded he give more to the war effort in the mountains to the far west, and his place as their senior member was threatened by his failures. To emphasize that point, a small image of Lady Marit appeared in the table in front of him. She wore battle armor and behind her was the image of a smoking, burning city. Boston, in the barbaric human tongue.
“Lord Tavan,” she said, with no formality, “your son has asked the use of a team of Shen’tin. I assume this is with your guidance?” The Elvin hunter killer team was a rare commodity, knights who fought only for the thrill of battle and sought out the most desperate of targets. One human prisoner had called them ‘special forces’ as they tortured him to learn their weaknesses.
“Yes,” he said, knowing that she was probing for a weakness in his family. “I have laid a trap for this Kincaid, and he has taken the bait. It will require a small sacrifice, but once he and his soldiers are eliminated, I will be able to free up more troops and assets. As you know, the loss of my northern army to their ‘nuclear’ weapon was hard to bear, and my own Shen’tin perished.”
She nodded; that had come as a surprise to all of the Council, despite the warnings of infiltrators. “They are on their way. I will consider their use repayment for the debt I incurred to you at the Battle of Shayt against the Red Arrow. We are even now.”
“I hardly call the loan of a few troops repayment for saving your life,” he said.
She swept her arms out and bowed; House Regth always produced incredibly beautiful and graceful women, but she was all steel underneath. “Call it what you will. I expect them back in one piece. My condolences on Lady Ellarissa, she was a better Elf than you.”
The image blinked out and Tavan howled with rage and grief, slamming his hand down on the desk, energy crackling. With an effort of will he mastered himself and sat back to wait for the results of his trap.
Chapter 44
US Army Special Forces (Delta) - Team Gulf Three
Torture isn’t really the most effective way to get information. If you have time, there are plenty of methods to get more accurate intel. A tortured person often tells you what they think you want to hear, anything to make it stop. Sometimes, though, it isn’t all about who is being tortured. Sometimes it’s about the torturer and the satisfaction derived from vengeance. I’m not always a good man. Sometimes, I’ll admit, it’s a bit of revenge. Up to a point, though. Deciding where that point is speaks a lot to who you are, I guess, and I’m not always a good man.
“Stop,” I ordered, and Clark lifted the Elf’s head out of the toilet. He came up gasping and yelling things that were obviously curses.
“Put him in.” The curses were cut short.
“Take him out. Sit him down.” Clark and Jones, who I had asked to come by, held the slim figure in an iron grip and they roughly pushed him down into a chair and tied his legs to it. The Elf was only wearing a loincloth and his ribs stood out starkly, as did the bruise marks. His skin was milky white and, where not bruised, flawless. Hell, even after getting tortured he was pretty, his wet hair making him look like a K-pop singer. His fingers were wrapped in duct tape and his mouth had a gag in it. Not taking any chances on him using magic.
“If I see your lips move in anything other than an answer, my man will twist your head off. Understood?” My voice was cool and clear, and Tor stood behind him, out of sight, listening. If he heard anything suspicious, he would tell me. The Elf nodded. He was young and honestly terrified. Too bad; I was sure that if the situation were reversed, there would be zero compassion in his eyes. I’d probably let him go, eventually, since we had no capacity for keeping prisoners. Or hang him from a streetlight, more likely.
“What is your House?’ I asked.
He sat silent for a moment and Jones smacked his head, hard enough to ring his bell. “House … my house is ... my liege is Lord Tavan. I am a retainer and only of minor nobility.”
Well shit, not too valuable of a hostage, and this kid broke too easy. “What can you tell me about the future plans of your liege?”
“Future plans? I don’t understand. We have conquered you, and now we will enjoy the spoils. Slaves, treasure, women, lands. I was promised rule of the city called Watertown in the far north of this territory.”
“Haha sucker,” said Clark. He had spent plenty of time at Fort Drum.
“What do …” he started to say then his face changed. It became still, peaceful and slack, then his mouth began to move. What came out was the same voice, bu
t a different person speaking. I knew who it was instantly.
“David, of Clan Kincaid,” said Lord Tavan, “I challenge you under your Code Duello, name the time, weapons and place of your choosing. Send a second under truce to the Waldorf Astoria. I await your reply and until then, the hunt continues.” Then our prisoner went slack, head rolling.
Clark started to check his pulse but he was interrupted by Tor, who bellowed “TIME TO GO!” and started for the escape tunnel. Upstairs there was a rattle of gunfire then a tremendous ringing CRACK that shook the entire house. That was one of our claymores going off. Shit. I started to move towards the stairs but crashed into Hollis coming down. She was silhouetted by bright flashes of light from elven magic and I caught her as she stumbled and cried out. She fell limp in my arms and I almost threw her to Clark.
“TAKE HER! “I yelled, raised my rifle and fired at the massive figure at the top of the stairs. Fuck your magic ass skin, an entire magazine of armor piercing 7.62 was dumped into the troll that suddenly appeared and green blood sprayed along with chunks of flesh. With a groan it collapsed and blocked the doorway. I spun and ran for the tunnel. my ears ringing from the gunfire in the enclosed space. I caught up with Jones, who was struggling to fit into the small entrance. With a shove I pushed on his back and he popped forward, scrambling forward and then running in a duck walk. I dove in after him, pulled a frag and tossed it back into the room, off to one side. Overpressure in a little tunnel like this would fuck us up, and I dove around the corner that Tor had put in, clapping my hands over my ears and it went off a split second later. I could barely hear screams and yells from the room and I followed it with a Willy Pete. Let them chew on that. Sandy dirt was falling on me as I caught up with Jones, who was helping push Hollis forward while Clark pulled. There was a trail of blood along the floor, sticking to my hands. God fucking dammit. The tunnel was longer than you would expect, detouring around the basements of houses and large rocks, and I started to feel it close in around me. Behind I heard the sounds of pursuit starting, the barking of some kind of dog from hell.
I finally fell out into another basement, this one in an empty pizzeria a block away. Rolling right, Jones grabbed the clacker attached to a wire leading back into the tunnel. “FIRE IN THE HOLE!” I yelled, barely able to hear myself. The ground shook and an instant later there was a glass shattering BOOM. The tunnel erupted in dust and the body of a fierce looking creature shot out, mixed with the remains of a small orc. Tor hacked them to pieces with his axe and followed us up the stairs and into the kitchen, then out the delivery door. Moving smoothly we placed Hollis in the back of the van sitting there and I ran around to the driver's seat.
“I had a team out in the street!” said Jonesy. “My goddamned nephew! Those fuckers gonna PAY!” The look of thunder on his face scared me, even as I shook from our close escape. Down the block houses were burning and I heard sirens starting to wail. The light reflected on the wings of an enormous silver dragon hovering two hundred feet over the scene, struggling to stay aloft. With a screech a wing folded and it started to fall, a small figure on its back pulling furiously on the reins. It fell with a crash into the flames, sending showers of sparks up in the air. Jones yelled, “HELL YEAH!” then turned to me. “I’ll catch you later, Major,” he said and disappeared into the darkness. Then lances of fire started coming down from the sky and torching houses, ripping the block as a half dozen smaller dragons flew overhead. I picked up a cell phone, dialed a number and grinned with satisfaction as a derelict car blew up on the Cross Island Parkway, our diversion. I started the van, slipped on NVGs, and wove my way down the side streets slowly, mixing in with the dozens of other cars of people trying to leave the area.
Chapter 45
“How is she?” I asked Clark. The van was parked inside the Freeport National Guard Armory, which was deserted. The troops had all left for the battle at the Brooklyn Bridge and never returned.
“Nasty head wound, bleeder, but she’ll be OK. Concussion, she’s going to be laid up for a few days.” His voice was gruff but he sat with her head in his lap, careful not to touch the bandage. “I sewed the vein, but she’s going to have a nasty scar on her scalp. Should wake up soon, but she’s got a bunch of morphine in her. I’m worried more about her face.”
I crouched down next to him and looked at her. Her right cheekbone was swollen under the dark skin. “Possible fracture,” I said. Like all Delta I had an extensive emergency medicine education, but Clark had been a Special Forces medic before coming to the Unit.
“Yeah, I’m going to have to take her to a hospital. Maybe,” he finished, and he looked worn. We had lost people, hell a lot of people, but this injury was hitting close to home for him. AS their CO, of course I had known that Clark and Hollis were a thing, but they had never, ever let it interfere with their work. Now, well, they were worn out. I could see it. The last few weeks had been hard, ridiculously hard, and though we were the best the US military had to offer, well, there is always a price.
“I’m going to take him up on his offer,” I stated simply.
Clark nodded but said nothing for a long minute. Finally, “That’s suicide, you know.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.”
He looked at my hand resting on the hilt of the gladius. “It talks to you, right?” he asked.
“Sort of. More like feelings. Aggression. Joy of battle. That kind of stuff.” I didn’t tell him about the darker things, the dreams I had when it wasn’t locked away. The legions marching to my banner. The urge to conquer, to win at all costs, to rule.
“He could fry you with one blast, you know that,” he pointed out.
I nodded. “He could, but he won’t. He wants to beat me, and he mentioned the Code Duello. So there’s some kind of rules to it, like no stabbing below the belt or whatever. As the challenged, I get to pick the location and weapons.”
“You’re going to cheat, aren’t you?” asked Hollis weakly, eyes still closed.
I smiled down at her and said, “If you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying.”
“Don’t!” she said quietly. “We’re gonna need allies, and if word gets out that you fought honorably, well, you honorably dead might help us more than you cheating and alive.”
“Is my military mind not worth enough?” I laughed, but it did sting a bit.
“She’s right, Dave. First off, I doubt you’ll win even if you cheat. Second, if you CAN win in a straight up duel, his house will lose great face and then his inexperienced son will be in charge, dealing with the other nobles. Third, well, a full division of Orcs is far more valuable than one crappy field grade.” Clark smiled when he said it, but they were both right.
“Well, fuck me then. I might die, but he can’t eat me.” Yeah, I was scared.
“The Orcs will,” said Tor, who had been listening the whole time.
I turned to him and said, “It’s an expression.”
“Aye. but still true. They’re right, you know. If ye cheat, you lose, even if it’s the human way. I kin understand in regular war, maybe, but this is a duel. Cheat and ALL the houses will join to raze your city, all of it, to the ground. Win, and they will think Lord Tavan and his house, fools and will back them no more.”
At my side the sword growled, a fierce exaltation that tore through my mind and made my heart pound. I wanted this duel, the one-on-one combat to see who lived and who died. With a struggle of will I forced the urge back down.
Chapter 46
We headed towards one of our safe houses as soon as we could transfer to the Jeep, at a place far out on Long Island, one of the estates on the North Shore. Old money, and the man who owned it was a patriot, that’s all I’ll say about him. Word had come to us, through Jones of all people, that it was a safe place to hide out and rest.
We made our way cautiously across Queens and then Nassau County, avoiding the expressways and highways. Those were being patrolled now by Orcs riding wolves and commanded by
Elves on saber tooth tiger looking things, and they were fast. Each food convoy was escorted by a company of them and they had air cover, dragons flitting about overhead. They were reacting to our attacks, which made me feel better. I felt even better when we were driving parallel to the Southern State Parkway, which they had taken over and bared to human traffic, and about a half mile ahead a huge mushroom cloud erupted. I knew what that was and so did my guys.
“That’s a fucking big one,” said Clark. “Couple thousand gallons of ammonium nitrate, probably. I wonder who is working out here?”
“Remember that LT from the Brooklyn Bridge? Wells and his platoon sergeant, Kowalski?” I said as I turned the wheel north, away from the slowly rising mushroom. “I met with them the other day while you were in the city, taking out the Mayor.”
“No shit,” said Clark. He knew that I had good reason not to tell him before an op like that, with a good likelihood of getting captured, but I felt he needed to know now. Things were coming to a head.
The streets we drove through were weird. The supermarkets were open, with trucks and bad guys delivering food to suburbanites. There were a fair number of cars, and we were mixed in with traffic at around five in the evening. The more the merrier and you’d be surprised how much people could ignore in a desperate attempt at normality. A lot of the retail stores were close, but we passed though one upscale area where there were Elves apparently, uh, shopping? Clothes stores, jewelry, even a gun shop of all things, not that there were many in this state.
“I think … we’re on the wrong side of the tracks,” said Clark and he was right. I stepped on the gas, looking at our fuel gauge. Quarter tank had to be enough to get us up there. They were rationing it out, even though I knew the Elves could make as much as they want, so it was just a way to control us.
