by Lucas Marcum
Next to Durok, Furo parried a blow from an attacker’s shortsword, then froze. He looked down at his chest armor, which had sprouted a dark-feathered quarrel, the tip buried deep in his chest. He looked up, roared in fury, and used the edge of his shield to strike his foe in the face. As his opponent reeled backward with his face crushed, Furo swept his blade behind the orc’s knee and ripped it out. As the orc fell backwards, the warrior pounced and drove his blade into his attacker’s neck. As he withdrew the blade, three more quarrels struck him, all penetrating the armor. Looking curiously down at them again, he muttered something in Orcish, then collapsed.
Having dispatched the wounded orc in front of him, Durok turned. Seeing his fallen comrade, his grotesque face scrunched up, and he turned and roared again, beating his sword hilt against his armored chest.
Three more orcs stepped out of the shadows of the tree line, holding crossbows. Trading a glance, they dropped their crossbows, drew their swords, and charged. Durok dropped his sword, took a step towards a nearby pile of equipment, and came up with the .50-caliber machine gun.
Dropping to a knee, he gripped the barrel in one armored hand, braced it on his knee, and held the trigger down with the other. The massive weapon barked, its familiar deep, throaty, shots punctuated only by the metallic sounds of the heavy rounds rending the charging orcs’ armor. Holding the trigger down, the heavy machine gun tore through two of the orcs, throwing them backwards, their armor holed and smoking. The belt snapped and went empty just as the third orc reached Durok. Without pausing, he reversed his grip on the machine gun and swung it by the barrel, the solid receiver of the weapon catching the other orc under the chin as it raised its sword to strike. The impact shattered the orc’s jaw, and he fell backwards. Durok followed it up by bringing the heavy weapon down on the orc’s head several times, each time sending a meaty thump as it struck. Durok stood for a moment, then dropped the ruined machine gun and picked up his sword. He turned to Furo, who lay nearby, and knelt next to him.
O’Malley could hear quiet whispering in Orcish but couldn’t make it out. “Acevedo. Are we clear?” he called, keeping his eyes on the forest.
“I…hang on.” She scrambled to her feet and approached the two orcs. Durok was kneeling next to Furo, who was laboring to breathe. “Shit,” Acevedo muttered. “DOC! We got wounded!” she yelled, then she turned to O’Malley. “Get the doc!”
“Little Warrior,” Furo interrupted. His voice was weak and gurgled as he spoke, but his unbandaged eye shone brightly. “Do not spend your healer’s magic on me. I go to join Ma’Krosh in battle.” He tapped his armored chest gently. Acevedo could see bright scratches in the armor. She could make out a stylized starfield, adjoined by 13 alternating stripes. “A death for the clan is an honorable one.” Furo coughed, dark blood trickling from the edge of his mouth. “Durok.”
“Legionary Furo,” Durok replied solemnly.
“Make sure when they sing of me, they say I died at the side of the Little Warrior with my blade in my hand.”
“So it shall be sung,” the bigger orc replied. “E pluribus unum, Legionary Furo.”
“E pluribus unum, Warleader Durok.” Furo grinned, his teeth and tusks stained with blood. “Kill many elves alongside the Little Warrior for me.”
“A thousand times a thousand, clan brother.” Durok picked up Furo’s massive, barbed sword and placed the hilt in his hand. Furo gripped it tightly and clasped it to his chest. “Go. We will meet again.”
Furo nodded once as if satisfied, took a final breath, and died. Durok sighed deeply and laid his hand on Furo’s chest, then tuned to Acevedo. “He thought very highly of you, Sergeant Olivia Acevedo,” the orc rumbled. “He and I fought together before, during the Winter War. He always thought the only way out was death and subsequent glory alongside Ma’Krosh.” Durok reached over and removed Furo’s small belt pouch. “You changed that.”
Acevedo stood, staring at the orc’s body. After a long moment, she asked, “How? He’s still dead. We did nothing. His death was for nothing. He wasn’t even fighting elves.”
“There is where you err, Sergeant.” Durok crouched so he was near eye level. “He had a glimpse of freedom. For himself, perhaps not…but for his people.” He turned to regard the fallen orc soldier. “He saw a glimpse of a free Uruk-ki. Maybe not now. Maybe not in 10 years. Maybe not in 100 or 1,000, but he saw that together we,”—the orc’s massive, armored finger tapped his armored chest, then gently touched Acevedo’s plate carrier—“we can form alliances, and when human and Uruk lock shields as they did millennia ago, the elven empire will fall.” He stared at her for a moment, nodded once, then stood, again towering over Acevedo. He spoke to O’Malley. “The outriders will be missed soon. We must go. Do what rituals of death your soldier requires.”
O’Malley nodded silently, then said, his voice formal, “Warleader, please accept my condolences on the loss of your man.”
Durok regarded the officer for a moment, then nodded and placed an armored fist on his chest. “To fall in battle is a fine death. To fall defending your clan brothers is the ultimate honor. Let us lay our warriors to rest together.”
Durok looked up when Sergeant Jones came around the side of the furnace, his rifle at the ready. His eyes rapidly swept the scene, then he lowered his rifle and called, “Clear!”
The two airborne behind him lowered their weapons and stared at the carnage.
One of them muttered, “Shit. Spuds got it.”
“Better than being burned alive,” Jones snapped. “Pull security. The rest of you, pack this shit up. We gotta go. They clearly know we’re here.” The paratroopers made their way gingerly past the heap of corpses.
“Holy SHIT! Sergeant! This one is still alive!” one of the troopers yelled, pointing his rifle down.
Acevedo looked at Durok, who shrugged. “Do what you will. He is defeated.”
With a frown, Acevedo replied, “Maybe he can tell us where the rest of them are, or how far the elven units are away.”
With another shrug, Durok replied, “Unlikely, but we can try.” The big orc made his way to where the paratroopers were pointing their rifles at one of the orcs who’d been struck earlier. The creature lay on the ground, a hand clamped tightly to his side, a slick of dark blood pouring from where one of the big .50-caliber bullets had struck his armor.
Durok knelt and spoke to Acevedo without looking at her. “What do you wish to know?”
“Where’s the bulk of their forces in this area?” O’Malley replied before Acevedo could answer. “In as much detail as possible.”
With a nod, the big orc knelt and spoke to the wounded outrider on the ground. “Where are the elves?”
The injured orc replied with a bitter laugh that turned into a wracking cough. After a moment, he spoke, fighting for each breath.
“The El’dori are planning to capture an energy source on the river. Then they will destroy the regional capital, once the energy is deactivated and the people are in the dark.” The orc coughed again, dark blood coming from his mouth. He grimaced, his grotesque features twisting with pain, and continued, “They do not intend to engage the human warriors on the ground in the mountains. Too many casualties, with the human warriors resisting fiercely. No, they send us Uruks, and occasionally the Shen’tin, for special targets.”
With a twist of his lips, he glanced at the humans who stood nearby, listening intently, then looked up at Durok. “Use caution, brother. The Shen’tin are hunting for a missing elf lordling as we speak.” He broke into the blood-splattered cough again, then added ominously, “They are coming.” Durok nodded somberly. The wounded orc continued, “If you are to survive, make haste. They bring the dragonship Silverwing to subjugate the area.”
“Why are you helping us?” Acevedo demanded, shoving her way past O’Malley. “You just killed three of our men.” She knelt next to the injured orc. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”
The orc regarded her for a moment, his breat
hing labored, then answered, “The Uruk-ki do not lie. Lying is for elves.” The contempt in his tone was clear.
“He speaks the truth,” Durok rumbled. “It is not our way.” He regarded the fallen orc for another moment and added, “Plus, he goes to fight alongside Ma’Krosh with his brothers. There is no need to lie.”
The fallen orc coughed again, then took a sharp breath. He reached up and grabbed Durok’s chest armor, leaving a smear of black blood on the dark metal. “We heard rumors of the humans forming alliances. That their warriors accept us.” He stared intently at Durok as he spoke. “I see now, this is truth.” Durok nodded silently and tapped the crudely scratched American flag on his chest armor.
“Wait a goddamn minute.” Jones moved forward and knelt. “He mentioned a dragonship. What is that? Where are the elven forces? We need to know. Now.”
The orc on the ground closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and said to Durok, “Send me, brother.”
With a somber nod, Durok pulled his massive dagger, rested his armored hand on the other orc’s chest, and nodded. The orc looked around at the humans and laughed weakly. “They are the warriors of legend, aren’t they, brother?”
“They are indeed, Outrider.” The orc on the ground grinned, his tusks glinting, then nodded once. The dagger flashed and fell. The orc bucked once and breathed no more.
“You son of a bitch!” Jones leveled his rifle at Durok, who stood slowly and sheathed his dripping dagger. “We needed him!”
“I will tell you all you need,” Durok replied calmly. He looked at Acevedo. “Little Warrior, I require a map. If the El’dori are bringing a dragonship, the end is near.”
“What the fuck is a dragonship?” Acevedo demanded, her voice rising. “What do you mean, ‘The end is near’? Who did he say is coming? What is the Silverwing?”
Gently pushing the barrel of Jones’s M4 down, O’Malley replied, “She’s right. We need answers.”
“No. We need to move,” Durok replied. Reaching down to Furo’s body, he picked up the large sword and held it out hilt first to Ewart, who stood nearby. The specialist looked startled, then accepted it. Durok continued, “The Shen’tin are El’dori warriors who specialize in the hunting of dangerous targets. They train harder and have better weapons and equipment. Their tactics are unusual and clever.” Durok picked up equipment from the ground as he spoke. “They are fast and quiet. They strike out of the shadows with no warning.” He paused and looked at Jones, Acevedo, and O’Malley. “I do not use the term ‘warriors’ to describe the elfkin often, but these elves are very, very dangerous.” He glanced at the sky and added, “And if they are coming, we should be leaving.”
O’Malley, Jones and Acevedo traded a look, then Jones muttered, “They sound like elven special forces. Fuck.”
“I will tell you of dragonships, elfkin lords, and their fascination with nexuses of power as we travel.” He shouldered the massive pile of equipment and again glanced at the sky. “We must move or meet the Shen’tin in battle.”
Staring at the hulking armored figure of the orc for a moment, Jones suddenly said, “If whatever’s coming scares this massive motherfucker, I vote we get the hell out of here.”
“Agreed,” O’Malley replied. “Sergeant, get your paratroopers taken care of. We leave in 10.”
-8-
“Change of Plans”
Lykens, Pennsylvania
“Roadblock.” Acevedo slowed the Humvee to a crawl and gestured at the two garbage trucks that blocked the road in front of them. “What now?”
“Stop here,” Jones ordered, indicating a parking lot to the right of the Humvee. Acevedo nodded and pulled the Humvee over. The five ton the airborne had provided followed behind. They’d abandoned the second Humvee in the hills, as they no longer needed it, and it was nearly out of fuel anyway. Their band of soldiers had dwindled to three remaining paratroopers, Acevedo, O’Malley, Ewart, the two mechanics, and Colonel Suarez. Their prisoner was bound and stuffed into one of the rear compartments of the Humvee.
Putting the Humvee in park and shutting off the engine, Acevedo announced, “Sir, Sergeant, we’re about out of gas.”
With a sigh, Jones replied, “Yeah. I know.” He twisted around in the passenger seat and handed a map to O’Malley, who was in the rear of the Humvee with Durok. “We’re here, Lykens. Not that big a town, so there shouldn’t be any of them there. We can see if we can get some gas and food, then figure out what to do from there.”
“Ammo, too, if we can find it. I’m down to a single magazine,” O’Malley replied. “I don’t think anyone has much more than that.”
“Nope. My guys have a couple mags each and a pouch for the SAW. After that…” Jones’s voice trailed off, and he shrugged. “I guess we improvise.”
“Sir, we got company.” Acevedo pointed out the driver’s window. A single man dressed in rough clothing was approaching the vehicles.
“I got this.” O’Malley opened his door and stepped out. “Good afternoon, sir. I’m Captain Zachary O’Malley, United States Army.”
“We can see who you are.” The man looked weary, with dark circles under his eyes. He held both hands at his sides. “You can keep on going, soldier. Ain’t nothing for you here.”
Astonished, O’Malley replied, “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. Ain’t nothing for you here. The last Army guys through took everything we had to spare and drew the elves onto us.” The man paused for a beat, then continued, “No, sir. You get back in your trucks and go around. We got nothing for you here.”
The man’s eyes scanned the Humvee and the five-ton truck for a moment, then he added, “In case you got some idea that you can intimidate us or try to shoot your way through, I wouldn’t even try. There’s about a half dozen men with scoped rifles where you can’t see them. If I raise my right hand, you lose half your people.” Seeing O’Malley’s shocked expression, the man added in a hard voice, “These ain’t city boys, either. These men been hunting since they was in jumpers. It won’t end the way you think.”
O’Malley nodded cautiously. After a moment, he said, “We need gas to rejoin our forces. Can you spare anything?”
“No.” The man turned to leave. “The last guys left us with barely enough for ourselves. Now leave, before there’s trouble.”
Feeling his temper surge, O’Malley snapped, “Wait just a goddamn minute. We’re Americans, too, you son of a bitch.” The man stopped but didn’t turn. Continuing, O’Malley felt the words flying out of him in anger but didn’t care. “We mustered outside Philly and got hit before we even saw the enemy.” His voice rose to a near yell. “I lost a hundred soldiers in 15 minutes. People I’ve known for years. I knew their families and went to cookouts at their houses. I watched them as they were burned alive. As my friends were burned alive.” O’Malley stopped, breathing heavily and glaring at the man’s back.
The man turned, his hard face now unreadable. Taking a deep breath, O’Malley continued, the words surging out of him, “We tried to set up a defensive line outside Lancaster. They hit us again as we were trying to reform the lines, and hit our convoys over and over as we fled, trying to get to safety at the Gap. When we got there, I watched them burn a hospital with hundreds of soldiers in it. We could hear the screaming and smell the burning flesh for hours.” O’Malley’s voice was cold and angry. He detached the pouch filled with dog tags from his body armor and threw it at the man, who caught it by reflex. “When I took command of my company, we had 236 assigned soldiers. There are three of us left.”
The man opened the pouch and looked at the hundreds of tags inside, some blackened by fire, some still stained dark with blood. O’Malley continued, the anger clear in his voice, “I’ve had to leave bodies out in the open. Bodies of my friends. Bodies of soldiers under my command. People I was responsible for. I’ve had to move out when soldiers didn’t make rally points and leave them behind. I’ll never know what happened to them, so what do I write to their famil
ies?” Bitterly, he turned back to the Humvee and spat over his shoulder. “I’m sorry the other units coming through didn’t do right by you, but we’re Americans, too, goddammit, and we’ve been fighting and dying by the thousands for a week.” He jerked the door open and said to Acevedo, “There’s nothing for us here. Let’s go.”
“Hold on.” The man was staring at the dog tags as he spoke. “My nephew was in a Guard unit. He was somewhere outside of Philly.” He zipped up the pouch, stepped forward, and held it out to O’Malley. “I’m sorry, Captain. I really am.” He hesitated, then sighed. “I’m gonna get shit on for this, but fuck it. If you lose, we all lose.” He reached up with his left hand and patted his head. In his peripheral vision, O’Malley could see several bushes move. The man examined him closely, then asked bluntly, “What do you need?”
“Everything. Food, ammunition—if you have it to spare—and gas. We’re almost out.” O’Malley blew out a breath. “Sorry for getting angry. It’s…well. It’s been a nightmare.” He turned and motioned for the soldiers in the vehicles to stand down, having noticed the tense posture they’d held while watching the conversation. O’Malley continued, “We’re all on the same side. I guess not everyone feels that way anymore.”
“We was on the same side, until your friends came through, takin’ our food and gas at gunpoint,” the man in front snapped. “We expected more from you, Army.”
“That…” O’Malley looked down for a moment, then back up at the man. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well. Sorry don’t feed our kids, Captain,” the man replied bitterly. He regarded the battered vehicles for a moment, then sighed and asked, “How many people do you got, Captain? We can feed you and maybe scrape you up some gas. You’ll have to stay out of sight, though. That way if those bastards come back, we don’t give them a reason to burn our town.”
