Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1

by Doug Dandridge

  Jordan felt a rage grip him on the death of his man, banishing the fear. Sure, the specialist had brought this about, but he still didn’t deserve death for a stupid transgression that really hadn’t harmed anyone. He aimed over his sights and squeezed off several rounds into the monster’s head. It recoiled back for an instant, then pulled the spear from the young man and started tracking on another target.

  “Shoot the legs,” yelled the Sergeant, his rifle chattering on full auto as he blasted the leg bones from one of the skeletons, while another crawled along the floor trailing the stumps of its femurs. The Sergeant was blasting the legs off of a third skeleton when the crawling travesty grabbed his left calf and dug its talon like nails through the clothing and into the flesh. The man howled, fired down at the skeleton, and failed to note the second monster grab his other leg. The man went down to the floor, the skeletons crawling over his body to attack the arms he had flung up to protect his throat.

  Jordan glanced around and saw a large, spiked mace lying on the floor. The skeleton near it was starting to get to its feet, and the Captain, stealing up his courage, ran over, kicking the monster in its bony face with a combat boot and knocking it over on its back. He snatched the mace up by its handle, swinging it through the air a couple of times to get a feel for it, then swung it overhead with two hands and brought it down on the bare skull of the skeleton as it scrambled back to its feet. Putting all the strength of his one hundred ninety-two centimeter, one hundred and two kilogram frame into the swing, the officer, a long time martial artist, connected perfectly with his target. The skull shattered and broke off the neck, falling in pieces to the floor.

  The Captain felt a chill run up his spine as the monster reached out with sharp talons for his face. He realized that it was a spirit animation, and that it really didn’t have a brain or sensory organs. He stepped back and swung the mace in from the side, hitting one arm and, pulling the mace overhead and striking at the other, shattering the humerus bones. The creature almost fell, off balanced from the loss of its arms. Jordan swung the mace backhanded into the exposed ribs, shattering them and breaking the spine. The creature fell to the floor in the clatter of dried bones, unmoving.

  “Shatter them,” he yelled to his men. “Shatter the spine and they’ll go down.”

  He took a quick appraisal of the room, his breath catching in his throat. Two more of his men were down, and there were over a dozen of the skeletons, half of them with armor, attacking the men still on their feet. Three of his men stood in a group against the wall, firing on full auto at a half dozen advancing skeletons and knocking several from their feet. One man sprayed a burst of bullets down the spine of one of the monsters, which fell unmoving to the floor. He then took out a second monster and switched magazines while one of the other men destroyed a third.

  The other men were separated and dealing with multiple skeletons on their own. As he watched one man went down under two skeletons. He ran over, knocking the head of one monster off with his mace, then shattering the spine of the second. The trooper pushed the headless skeleton off of himself, scrambled to his feet, and stomped on the spine of the surviving monster.

  Jordan moved about the room, dispatching monsters, while several other men, grasping ancient weapons in their hands, joined him. Soon it was over, and more than two dozen of the monsters were destroyed, at the cost of three men dead and two wounded.

  “That is why you don’t desecrate the dead,” he said in a loud voice to those who could still listen, as a fire team from outside finally came rushing in, concerned about the noise and ready for action. Too late.

  * * *

  “So it’s your considered opinion that we need to be careful in any and all of these ruins, Captain?” asked General Taylor over the radio. The General was sitting in his vehicle, his legs swung out and feet on the ground, while the rear echelon personnel put up the tents of the division headquarters. Trucks and tracks were constantly pulling up and being directed off to assembly areas by military police with white helmets and armbands. As Taylor watched a pair of fuel trucks were waved toward an area well away from the central command. The General wondered who had let them come up this close in the first place, then shrugged it off. The men and women were acting well enough as it was, when it was obvious they were completely stressed out, if not in complete fear for their lives.

  “Yes sir,” said the officer over the static of the link. “When the remains were disturbed here they got up and walked. And I have casualties because we were not prepared for that.”

  The line hissed with static, and for not the first time the commander wondered about his communications on this new world. All the transmissions were distorted to some extent, but the Captain was less than ten kilometers away using state of the art communications equipment.

  He could tell though that the Captain felt guilty for not being prepared for something unexpected. Well good, he thought. Maybe next time he’ll be ready for the unexpected, and it will save his men’s lives, as well as his own. Still his heart went out to the boy, but he and the Captain didn’t need that now.

  “So we have a potential Indiana Jones situation whenever we enter any of these ruins?” said the General, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  “I’m afraid so, sir,” said the Captain. “I doubt that this is the only place this will happen in this valley. And I’ve still not searched a fraction of this place up here. I’m afraid I’m going to need more men.”

  And in the abandoned river city, and the mountain castles, thought the General officer, shaking his head. And especially in those damned pyramids.

  “I’ll get you another company of men up there,” said the General, scowling. “They’ll probably be a mixed group, a platoon of infantry, a couple of squads of engineers, and some REMFs. But that’s about all I have to offer. This is a big valley, and we’ve got to get organized if we’re going to make it.”

  The radio squelched with static for a moment, and the General watched a Roland Marder antiaircraft track, subdued Bundeswehr markings on its sides, roll into a spot about fifty meters from the edge of the command area. The instant it was stopped the Germans were out and setting up.

  Glad to have them with us, thought the General, waiting for the static to lift. My men are very good, but these boys have quite a tradition behind them, and that counts for a lot also.

  “General,” came the voice back on the radio. “You there sir?”

  “I’m here, Jordan. We’re having trouble with the communications, and I’ve been told it will get worse before we finally lose them altogether.”

  “Yes sir. Anything you can send us will be appreciated. I advise that everyone get themselves a good old fashioned sword or blunt weapon. They worked better against these things than bullets did.”

  “I’ll take that under consideration, Captain,” said Taylor with a smile, imagining the United States flag flying over a mass of pike and sword carrying soldiers. Somehow that thought didn’t seem so strange in the here and now. “You just sit tight there until your reinforcements arrive. I’m passing you off to Division Com so you can get your wounded out of there. Taylor out.”

  The General stood up and walked around his vehicle, looking again at the activity going on about him and again wondering if he was going to wake up in bed, at home. Or regain consciousness in an asylum somewhere, drugged out of his mind. But the world refused to change back, and he thought that this had to be reality of sorts. And that scared the hell out of him as well. He was responsible here, as far as he knew. The buck stopped with him, and he was responsible for all of the troops and civilians who had been transported to this world with him. It was more responsibility than he wanted. But it was his.

  More trucks pulled up and were waved into parking areas, the men aboard swarming out of them and starting to unload what they needed to set up their stations and perform their jobs. Taylor stayed away from the men, keeping near to his vehicle. The last thing they needed w
as some asshole with stars on his collar bothering them. As long as they had something to do, they were fine.

  I need a drink, he thought, then dispelled the thought from his mind. The last thing this group needed was a drunk for a commander. And one drink would make him that drunk again. They don’t need a whiner either. And they’re not going to get one. He walked a little further, trying to clear his mind, saying the Serenity Prayer a couple of times.

  I wonder how Ruthy, Andrew and the grandchildren are? he thought, looking up the ancient road at the seemingly endless convoy of military and civilian vehicles moving along it. The first time this world had seen such a sight, and probably the last. And there wasn’t a thing he could do for his ex-wife, his son or his grandchildren. Not in this time and place. So he said the Serenity Prayer once again and let them go with God, while he dealt with what he could.

  “Sir,” said Sergeant Major Cliff Jackson, appearing quietly behind the General in his imitation of the Cheshire Cat. “The units are coming in. We should have five thousand soldiers in the valley by dark, and who knows how many civilians.”

  “Mostly REMFs, Sergeant Major?” asked the General with a smile.

  “Yes sir, and I resemble that remark,” said the NCO in a loud voice. “I’ve been one of those Rear Echelon Mother Fuckers for ten years now sir.”

  The General laughed out loud for a moment, looking at his top NCO. The man sported a Ranger flash, Jump Master Wings, and a Combat Infantryman’s badge with star, indicating two tours of combat, first Iraq and then Afghanistan. The hard lean NCO was nothing like a REMF, though he had filled the job for several years.

  “I’ll try to get the General some real combat troops, though,” continued the Sergeant Major with a laugh. “So he can sleep well at night and all that. I think we’ll have enough for a reinforced battalion by tonight.”

  “And I want them scouting the valley,” said Taylor, his face serious. “The admin types can protect this perimeter and the others. And I want any engineers that come up to get with you about fortifying this valley.”

  “Yes sir,” said Jackson, saluting. “Anything else sir? Do I have the General’s permission to get some sleep tonight? At least an hour or so?”

  “I know, Cliff,” said the General, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I think we’re all going to be overworked for a while. But we can’t expect the Marines to come in and pull our nuts out of the fire. And we can’t expect rotation back to the states. You can kiss Sergeant Major of the Army goodbye.”

  The NCO nodded as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out and knocked one out of the pack, offering one to the General, which was refused as always. Taylor would smoke a cigar later, while wondering when he would have to give up the habit. Jackson lit the cigarette and took a long drag, looking to the senior officer.

  “Are we going to make it, sir?” he said as the smoke poured out of his mouth. “I mean, I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here. Wherever here is. And like you said, we don’t have any help coming.”

  Taylor nodded his head as he watched a truck come down the road with several guards hanging from the doors, while a truck full of troops followed and a Hummer led with machine gun manned. He recognized the symbol of the unit on the truck, and wondered how many other trucks from the nuclear ordnance brigade made it across. Even one gave him a couple of weapons to play with.

  “We have a lot of firepower from what little I gather,” said the General, nodding to a self-propelled gun that was moving up the road, a 155mm howitzer from his division. “We have well trained soldiers, both ours and the Germans. And our backs are against the wall. So I think we’ll do OK. I don’t think it’ll be easy, but we’ll make it if we don’t lose heart and don’t give up.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear, General,” said the old soldier, smiling. “It might be the biggest load of BS I’ve ever heard. But it’s what I wanted to hear.”

  Both men laughed for a second, attracting the stares of the working men and women setting up the HQ compound. Taylor was sure that many would be shaking their heads out of sight. And he was sure it would spread that the senior officer and NCO had found something to laugh about. Which would relieve a little of the jitters in the troopers.

  “I want you to get the word out that we’ll have a staff meeting in two hours,” said Taylor to the NCO, the smile dropping. “All battalion commanders and up who are near enough to come, as well as division staff chiefs. We might as well start deciding what we want to do here. And all the scientists and engineers that happen to wander in, I would like to meet with an hour after that initial staff meeting. Hopefully the word gets out down the line and we can get more of them up here. They’re the people who win wars, Cliff. We just pull the triggers on what they give us.”

  The General turned to walk back to his tent, then thought of something else. “And Cliff. Put out the word that I want all the clergy we have to get together and come up with ways to fight evil.”

  “Evil, sir?”

  “Yeah. You know. The undead, Vampires, and things that go bump in the night. We face a real problem here, and I want their input on the matter. And any kind of clergy. Priests, ministers, deacons, witches, whatever. From any and all denominations. We need them to brainstorm, no matter what their personal feelings about other creeds.”

  “Good luck on that sir,” said the Sergeant Major, shaking his head.

  “Well, get whatever chaplains we can find and order them to lead their other beloved brethren in this task,” said the General with another smile, watching as a pair of attack helicopters buzzed the center of the valley, looking for a place to land. “Tell them it’s my will. Whether it’s God’s will or not is not really my concern right now. If it wasn’t his will for us to figure this place out he shouldn’t have put us here in the first place.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So talk to me, Lieutenant,” said Warrant Officer First Jessica Stuart, one eye on the terrain below, the other on the digital fuel readout. “Where are we going?”

  “They said it was just a couple more klicks,” said the officer who sat the back seat of the Comanche.

  “Well all I see down there is a bunch of people and vehicles moving along a dirt track,” she said, looking down on that scene herself. “We’re almost dry, Burkes, and I’m going to have to put us down on that track or in the trees if we don’t find an LZ soon.”

  She listened to the officer cursing from his station as he tried to raise someone who knew something on the radio. That winding path of people was still a marvel to her. Thousands and thousands of people. Mostly civilians, which meant mostly German civilians. Some in every description of vehicle from municipal buses to Mercedes sedans to ancient French made Citroens. Interspersed among them in company or platoon sized units were German soldiers, and here and there an American group. Some were afoot. Most were in armored vehicles or trucks or even some scout cars. All headed toward the refuge said to be ahead.

  But not us, she thought, scanning ahead to see if there was a possible clearing she could set down in. No, the powers that be decide we need to be engaged in mission related activities. Whatever the fuck that means.

  “I think I got something,” said Burkes over com. “Forty degrees to the right, about two klicks.”

  “I hope we can make it,” said Jessica through clenched teeth, pushing the collective to the right. She looked down again at the digital readout, which said they were dry, though the engine kept chugging away. She looked up and could see a thin column of smoke rising from that direction, and hoped she wasn’t flying an empty helicopter into a combat situation.

  She was just barely above treetop level, and it seemed to take forever for the clearing to come into view. She felt her heart soar when it did, for it was more than just a clearing.

  There was a farming village in the center of the open space, and fields of wheat, vegetables and cattle around the village. A small castle sat at one end of the village, and it was from there that the
smoke rose. And there were people everywhere, at least a couple of thousand, taking a break from their travels or getting refreshments from the military class tents set up near the road.

  “To the right,” said Burkes.

  Jessica nodded, and she looked over at the two big fuel trucks and what looked like a mobile repair shop sitting on the south end of the fields. A pair of Comanches, a Eurocopter III, and what looked like a civilian bird were sitting on the ground, and men were manhandling a pair of long hoses to two of the choppers.

  A man in a yellow vest ran out and started waving some orange flags in the air, pointing to an open space. Jessica waved at the man and maneuvered her bird over to the space, then lowered at a hover while she dropped the landing gear. At three meters off the ground her engine died, but it was close enough for a soft landing, and the Comanche came down to bounce a few times on its landing gear.

  A crew of men in German field grey with a lone American among them waited for the blade to stop rotating, then swarmed the chopper. One lassoed the rotor blade and secured it to the nose of the copter, while another pair laid ladders against the side of the bird. Jessica pushed a button on the side of the cockpit and retracted the canopy.

  “Feels good to get out of that thing,” said Burkes, helmet in one hand while he ran his other through his short hair.

  “Oh shit,” said Jessica, catching sight of a short man in a Luftwaffe field grey jumpsuit headed in their direction. She saw the light colonel tabs on his collar. “Here comes trouble.”