He moved toward another human with the speed of his kind, replaying the actions of the female back in his mind. Reaching for the human he thought he would take just a little of the blood into his mouth, and see if it caused a burning before he swallowed it. It might cause some damage to his mouth, and he could spit it out before it caused serious hurt to his throat and stomach. He thought that would probably protect him from the worst as he brought his third victim into his embrace.
* * *
“What the bloody hell is that,” exclaimed Mathers, standing up from his chair when the shots rang out through the night.
There were a few bursts of fire, just like Mason-Smyth had heard in the nights in Belfast. Then more bursts, as the firing ratcheted up into what sounded like a full blown fire fight.
“That’s trouble,” said Captain Johnny Peters as he jumped up from his seat and oriented himself to the sound. “Third platoon’s area. Get your reaction force up, Mathers, and get them over there.”
“I’ll tag along with you, Johnny,” said Paul while he picked up and checked an assault rifle.
“Very good sir,” said the Captain over his shoulder as he left the tent with the large Major on his heels. Men gathered around the tent, including the Company Sergeant and the unit clerks, all armed and pulling on body armor.
“Follow when you’re able, Company Sergeant,” yelled the Captain as he started to trot off into the night with the Major at his side. “But make it quick.”
“Aye sir,” yelled the professional NCO, attaching the quick straps with swift motions.
The firing had intensified, and it was getting louder as they ran toward the perimeter. Several men, their eyes wide with fear, came running toward them, their hands empty of weapons.
“You men,” yelled the Captain at them, waving a hand in the air. “Turn your bloody sorry asses around and get back to your mates.”
A couple of the men stopped in their tracks and looked back, looked at the officer, then turned around to follow their commander. One man shook his head and kept running.
What in the hell could have frightened them so much, thought Mason-Smyth as he checked his weapon once again and ran with the Captain. He knew he could distance the other officer in a heartbeat, but thought it better to arrive in a group, so their fire might actually do some good. While they were running a couple of flares opened up over head, floating down on parachutes as they lent their light to the already bright night.
And then they were on the perimeter and the Major saw what had frightened the soldiers so badly. For there were a half dozen humanoid creatures moving around through the night attacking the British soldiers. The creatures were moving very quickly, and were throwing men around as if they weighed nothing. And as he watched two of the creatures waded through bursts of automatic weapons fire to grapple with soldiers, bringing their mouths up to the men’s necks. Mason-Smyth felt his adrenaline rise in anger and not a little fear as he saw the swath the creatures were cutting through the fighting men of his battalion.
“They’re bloody Vampires,” yelled Peters, raising his rifle to his shoulder and putting a round through the head of one of the monsters. That creature jerked back, looked over at the Captain, then proceeded to continue its attack on the soldier.
Mason-Smyth ran at the closest one, feeling like the rest of the world was slowing down around him, an amazing feeling of power running through him. He reached out with a hand a grabbed the creature by the hair, pulling its head away from the soldier it was savaging. He could feel some resistance for a moment, then the head came free in a splashing flood of red liquid as the teeth tore through the flesh. The creature turned its head in his grip and stared at him with red glowing eyes as it snarled its hate and anger. Paul flung his left arm out while maintaining his grip on the creature’s hair, throwing it out to the side. He released his grip as it swung away, still snarling like a rabid dog.
Vampires, he thought as he pulled his assault rifle up and aimed at the two that were coming at him. Johnny got that one right on the first guess. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the one he had thrown, a Vampire Elf, completing a roll along the ground and coming to its feet. He triggered a burst of rounds into the one approaching to the left, then swung his rifle to service the one to the right. Both jerked slightly from the rounds that tore through their bodies but continued on.
Not very good service, thought the Major as the two creatures came at him. He swung the rifle again to the one on the left. The one on the right, originally a human female as far as he could tell, reached out a claw like hand and grabbed the barrel of the weapon, pulling it up and away as Paul pulled the trigger. He held the weapon hard against the Vampire’s pull and started to push it down against her by main strength. The one on the right, a male that looked like he had started life as one of the orc like creatures they had already encountered, struck at him with a claw that moved with the speed of a striking snake. It hit the Major on the face, slicing through the flesh of his right cheek and grating on the bone.
Paul lost his grip on his weapon as the shock of the strike hit him. He reached a hand to his face while trying to protect himself with the other. Blood flowed through his fingers as he grasped at the wrist of the female. Trying to do two things at once he failed in the hold and missed the grasp. The female struck him on the shoulder, her talons slicing through his uniform shirt like a quartet of razors and sinking into the deltoid muscle. As Paul attempted to bring his right hand back up to defend against a second strike the male hit him with a fist to the chest that knocked the Major back on his heels. Before he could react a second strike rocked him back and he could feel his feet begin to slide out from under him as he fell back.
The officer felt his teeth rattle and tasted blood in his mouth as he landed on his back on the hard ground. Before he could clear his head the male had landed on his chest and was raking claws at his face. Paul grabbed at the wrists, his fingers closing over the leathery skin. The Vampire jerked his hands back, trying to break the grasp of the assumed weaker mortal. But the assumed mortal had clenched his fingers shut with an iron grip that would not release.
Paul was aware of the female moving around him and knew that he only had a moment before she was down at his side striking at his head and eyes. The male was frantically trying to pull his hands away, baring his fangs and growling his anger at the human. To Paul’s amazement the creature was not having any success in pulling free of his grip. He had thought that a Vampire would be stronger than that.
Suddenly the creature pulled back with increased strength and Paul noticed the feet of the female by his head. He knew then that his time was quickly eroding away. Paul pulled back with a surge of power, squeezing hard and feeling the bones of the Orc Vampire’s wrists grate, then crumble under his grip. The creature hissed as anger turned to pain filled fear. Paul twisted his hands and felt the bones give, then pushed away, sending the Vampire up and off of him to fly through the air and land a good twenty meters away.
Paul grabbed at the foot that was aimed toward his head, catching the ankle and stopping it in place. The female grunted as she felt the strength of the hand that had stopped the momentum of her kick, which had the supernatural power of the undead behind it. Then she was hissing in alarm as the leg was pulled out from under her and she fell onto her back.
Paul had always been very strong. But he had never thought of himself as a gymnast, not with his over two meter frame and muscular one hundred and twenty-three kilo body. But he performed the kickback that brought him to his feet effortlessly. His situational awareness seemed to have reached phenomenal levels as well. He was aware of both of the Vampires he had been fighting, as well as the other two who were now focusing on him. Which was taking their focus off of the soldiers they had been attacking. They saw him as the primary threat now, and were all coming in on the attack, two struggling up from the ground while the other two were on their feet running at the Major. Just like I want it, he thought, wondering
at his insanity in the next moment.
Paul looked over at his rifle lying on the ground, shook his head, and pulled the quick release catch on his belt, loosing the ax. He grasped the handle with his right hand and raised the ax to shoulder level, then gave it an energetic swing to get a feel for its weight and resistance. It did not feel weighty enough to him as his unbelievable strength sent it swishing through the air.
The first Vampire came in fast and low, confident of its ability to take down a rather large human. Paul, moving quickly and smoothly, pivoted to the side while he brought the ax down on the back of the creature. The blade cut through flesh and ribs under the force that the Major put into it, pushing the Vampire down into the dirt. The creature attempted to rise but found itself hit again, this time across the lower spine with a strike that severed the vertebrae and took away the use of the monster’s legs.
Paul wrenched the ax loose from the creature and swung it out to the right as he spun on one heel. With perfect awareness the ax came around and caught the next Vampire, a male of the Dwarven variety, in the left arm above the elbow. The blade continued into the side of the creature and the arm fell into the dirt, the flesh turning gray and rotting as soon as it left the body of its owner. The Dwarf cried out in agony as it fell to the side, its remaining hand reaching up to cover the stump of the left arm. Paul pulled the ax from the Vampire’s side, brought it up into the air, and swung it back down swiftly into the monster’s neck. The head leapt into the air with a spray of blood, turning through a loop before it hit the ground, the flesh rotting from it as soon as it left the body. The body crumpled to the ground to land beside the head as the clothing and flesh sloughed away. Within seconds a skeleton lay in rags on the soil, a grinning skull next to it.
The female coming in behind the Dwarf hesitated for a moment, and that was her undoing. The Major turned to face her with the ax coming back above his head over his right shoulder. The blade flashed down as the Vampire attempted to dodge. Aimed at her head, it instead cut into the shoulder and sliced downward into the chest of the former red skinned human. The creature emitted a gurgling scream as she pulled herself off the ax and turned to run. But she was off balance with a third of her chest and an arm hanging from her left side, and she stumbled away with the Major in pursuit. Another swing of the ax and her head was on the dirt, and her quivering body rotted away at the feet of the British officer.
Paul brought his ax back up to a guard position and scanned the brightly lit night. The other two Vampires that had attacked him were nowhere to be seen. He caught a glimpse of another one as it faded into the shadows. The Major looked at the two truly dead undead he had left in the dirt, then at the ax in his hand.
I wonder why it had such an effect on the monsters, thought the officer, fingering the silver inlaid blade that shone under the bright moonlight. His thoughts were pulled away as he felt the dull pain of his lacerated cheek, along with a strange itching that pervaded all of his wounds. Time to see the doc, he thought, hoping that the damned undead didn’t carry some deadly bug like the zombies of the movies. He shook his head as he saw several of the medics bending over the seriously wounded and the dead. We’ve got to figure out how to fight these damned things as well. Maybe issue everyone a blade that we know will hurt them. But he didn’t know why his blade had hurt them in the first place. And that was something they would need to know as soon as possible.
* * *
Breggara hissed as he allowed the shadows he had called up to swallow him, hiding him from the sight of the humans. Something he had not planned on doing when he led his people on the attack. Everything had been going so well until the large human had appeared and started wielding the ax.
What in the hells is he? thought the Vampire Lord. He did not have the feel of the undead and did not radiate the magic of a construct. But he was stronger than the Vampires that had assailed him, and they, the weakest of them, had the strength of five mortals. And he had cut them down with a speed and grace beyond what was possible for a human.
How many more like him are there? thought Breggara, watching the man walk the field, looking down at his fallen comrades. He doesn’t even seem to be injured, and I know Laurenth and Kristol hit him. I saw their strikes land, and blood fly. Does he heal that quickly? He shook his head in disbelief. All the Vampire knew for sure was that he had orders to fulfill that called for him to continue attacking these humans in the night. But he was sure he would avoid the proximity of this one if he could. For he didn’t want his body to lie on the ground decaying into the powder that it should have become a millennia before.
* * *
“Let me have a look at that wound, sir,” said the medic, finally getting around to the ambulatory Major.
“The pains gone away,” said Paul as he removed the cloth he had been holding to his face, allowing the medic access to the wounds.
The medic looked at his face with a puzzled expression, then opened an alcohol wipe and cleaned the area, the puzzlement growing.
“You sure you were wounded, sir,” said the medic, running his fingers over the side of Paul’s face.
“I bloody well felt their claws tear through the flesh,” said Mason-Smyth, his own hand touching his face. He felt puzzled himself when his fingers didn’t encounter deep lacerations, and instead moved over the smooth skin.
“There’s nothing there, sir,” said the medic, looking the Major in the eyes and focusing a light as if looking for brain damage. “Not even a scratch. Here, look for yourself.” The man held a small mirror to the Major, which Paul took quickly and turned to survey his face.
Paul saw that the side of his face had some crusted blood, but where it had been cleaned away there were no wounds whatsoever. That’s impossible, he thought. He had felt the claws rip into his flesh. A feeling he would never forget, unlike anything he had ever felt before. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, he thought, remembering back through his life. He had never been sick or seriously injured. Even the small cuts and bruises he had sustained healed with almost miraculous speed. Nothing like this though. And the strength he had felt fighting the Vampires, creatures he had realistically expected to be much stronger than he was. He had handled them like they were humans of average strength, while he had seen how they had thrown around the other humans they had fought.
Just what the hell am I? he thought. Had he always been like this, or had he changed by coming to this world. Or even worse, he thought, remembering old movies, was he becoming one of the undead after having been injured by one of them. That wasn’t the way it worked in most of the literature, but it had in some examples of it. He watched the lightening sky with some trepidation, wondering if the sunlight would set him on fire and burn him to ashes before he took cover. But I was fast and strong before they ever touched me, he thought, trying to remember if that was really true. It seemed to, but what did that mean?
“Maybe I was mistaken, Sergeant,” he told the man, shaking his head. “Heat of battle and all that, after all.”
“Of course, sir,” said the medic, nodding and standing up, grabbing his bag. “I’ll see to the others now. Maybe the battalion surgeon will come talk with you when he has time, sir.”
Or maybe he’ll refer me for psychiatric attention, thought the Major, watching the man walk away. If any came over with us.
Mason-Smyth sat on the ground, watching the Sun breach the horizon, still wondering if anything terrible was about to happen to him. If he was going the way of the undead he hoped it would, that he would be destroyed before he could become a menace to his own people.
The top of the bright orb crested the horizon, shedding light over the clearing. All of the soldiers breathed a collective sigh of relief that the horrible night, and the horrors it had visited, was over. And Paul Mason-Smyth felt a special wave of relief pass over him as well, as the light of the sun warmed his face and that face did not curl up in heat and flame.
Chapter Thirteen
Major General
Zachary Taylor hauled himself up into the open top of the Humvee and propped his elbows on the windshield supports, bringing his field glasses up to his eyes. He was aware of the long barrel of the .50 caliber machine gun by the side of his head, and hoped that the gunner would not swing the weapon and hit him in the helmet while he was up here. At least not on purpose, he thought with a smile. But as there was nothing moving around the HQ convoy the gunner kept the weapon pointed straight ahead.
Two recon tracks and a tank were leading about a kilometer ahead on the overgrown road, pushing up dust into the otherwise clear morning air. Three Hummers were directly ahead of the General’s vehicle, and a long convoy of trucks and tracks filed behind it. On each of the flanks a couple of Hummers kept security, moving over the rougher terrain and keeping up with the convoy.
A recon company had found the long valley yesterday while it had been scouting the hollows and ridges of this range of mountains. It had sounded too good to be true, a long wide valley with built in defenses that could shelter a large number of people while allowing them to grow their own food. But here it was before his glasses, and the vehicles moved into the valley to meet up with the cavalry.
About time we caught a break, he thought, ducking back into the cab and pulling out his canteen. He took a swig and thought for the millionth time in his life that a beer would taste good. Only one would not be enough and neither would a thousand. He screwed the cap back on the canteen and stood up, positioning himself as an observer again.
Swinging his binoculars to his left he caught the sunlight glinting from the clear mountain river that flowed through the center of the valley, about two kilometers away across scrubland and light forest. The river turned into a large lake, about five by ten kilometers, just a couple of clicks ahead, and a hundred square kilometer stretch of grassland lay on the other side. The ridgeline stood clear about ten kilometers on the far side of the river, and the General thought the highest peak there had to stand about a thousand meters above the valley floor.
Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1 Page 19
