The Forever Man: Betrayal

by Craig Zerf

  Roo handed Nathaniel a hand written list. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘It’s an inventory. And I’ve checked it all. It all works. Just needs a bit of cleaning and going through the ammo to see if any has had any water ingress and such what.’

  The marine looked at the list.

  25 x Thompson machine guns

  25 x Colt 45 pistols

  5000 x .45 rounds for the Colts and the Thompsons

  4 x Vickers machine gun 303 250 round canvas belts

  200 belts of 303 (50000 rounds)

  6 x Bren light machine guns 303

  5000 rounds for the Brens

  4 x 3 inch medium mortars

  80 x mortar bombs HE

  25 x Sten guns 9mm

  5000 x rounds 9mm

  144 x fragmentation grenades, Mills bombs.

  The marine’s brain totalled up the quantities. It was enough ordnance to arm almost one hundred men.

  One hundred men armed with modern firepower and sufficient ammunition against bladed weapons and Iron Age missiles.

  The Forever Man walked over to Sam and Roo and threw his arms around them. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this stuff back to my place ASAP. We’ve got some planning to do and some serious butt to kick.’

  Roo laughed. ‘Told you that you’d be pleased,’ he said.

  Nathaniel laughed with him. ‘And then some, my Australian beauty, and then some.’

  Chapter 21

  The first thing that Nathaniel did when he got home was to send out scouts on horses to canvas all of the villages and hamlets in the Free State. He wanted any male with pre-pulse military experience to report ASAP to headquarters under specific order of the king.

  While they were waiting, he and Roo and seven local men who had served in the British pre pulse army, stripped and tested all of the weapons. They test fired a few rounds from each case and exploded one hand grenade and one mortar round.

  Within three days, one hundred and twenty six men had reported. Their ages varied between forty-seven and eighty-four years of age. Nathaniel personally interviewed every one and then separated them into groups.

  The younger ones that could ride horses he allocated to the Thompson machine guns, the Sten guns and the Colt 45 pistols. They would be the armed cavalry.

  The few men that had experience with artillery were assigned to the mortar squad.

  Finally he put the slightly older, more patient men into the machine gun teams. Five to each Vickers, a shooter, feeder and water jacket filler, and three reloaders to charge the canvas belts with fresh ammunition.

  Three to each Bren, one shooter, one to reload and change barrels and the final to charge the magazines.

  The grenades were allocated to the Vandal ground support flyers to augment their fire bombs.

  Due to the fact that there was limited ammunition, Nathaniel kept actual firing practice to minimum, concentrating instead on stripping and cleaning the weapons and learning how to clear any jams and avoid overheating. He relied on the fact that all of the men had been trained by the pre pulse British army and, on the whole, still remembered very well how to fire a weapon, albeit not something hailing from the early 1940’s.

  After a period of intensive training, the marine put together a small squad consisting of one Vickers machine gun team, one Bren team, two Thompson soldiers, Two Sten gun soldiers and one mortar team. Fifteen men in all. Excluding him, Tad and Kob.

  To this he added two hundred cavalry, five hundred foot soldiers and five hundred Vandals as escorts.

  Then he sent the word via a team of fast scout riders, to commander Ammon of the Fair-Folk, telling him that he was coming to London to discuss the next step in the war against the Annihilators. He would be there, he said, in under a week.

  The next morning they rode out with the rising of the sun. A relatively small column of men. But undeniably the most powerful collection of force that had been seen since the pulse.

  They made good time traveling through what was extensively enemy territory. They stuck mainly to the deep forest whenever possible and the vandals walked, only flying every now and then to check out the prevailing landscape to see if any Annihilators were close.

  Two days travel from London they were met by a Fair-Folk detachment. Three thousand Orcs and two thousand goblin archers. The Orc sergeant told Nathaniel that they were there for their protection. Nathaniel said nothing, although it was quite obvious that they were there to ensure that The Forever Man had come in peace and not in sufficient numbers to actually attack.

  If the Orcs noticed the odd weapons that some of the humans were carrying they did not mention it. Probably because they had absolutely no idea what they were. For all that they knew they were simply rather complex metal clubs. Also, Orcs have no form of curiosity or imagination so they just ignored that which they did not comprehend.

  By the time they got to the Tower of London where the Fair-Folk commander resided, the column had become a moving fair. A traveling circus. Thousands of humans, mainly children, had joined the march and were skipping and gamboling beside the column. Girls blew kisses at the Free State warriors and cast bold eyes. Older men smoked their pipes and looked on with misty eyes, remembering when all humans were free and wondering how they had ended up as mere vassals of the Fair-Folk.

  Rows of substantial tents were set up on the green outside the Tower walls and Nathaniel and his men were ushered to them.

  The Fair-Folk ambassador who had met them explained that the Tower, although large, was not of sufficient size to house Nathaniel and all of his entourage. And a result the Fair-Folk had built a tent city outside the walls to house them.

  Nathaniel said nothing and he was ushered to his specific tent, one much larger than all of the others, so large, in fact, as to be more a canvas house than an actual tent. It was unbelievably sumptuous. The floors were covered in silk carpets, the walls lined in furs and the furnishings large and comfortable. Coal braziers burned all around the dwelling and the smoke was cleverly funneled out via a series of steel chimneys.

  ‘Wow!’ Exclaimed Tad. ‘These rubber heads know how to live.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Nathaniel. ‘I sure that they pulled out all the stops. Showing us how superior they are. Trying to make us feel like the poor relatives. Well it won’t work,’ he continued. ‘It takes more than a few soft furnishings to impress us.’

  ‘Hey,’ called Tad, who was standing at a table that was covered in foodstuffs, candies and cakes and breads and fruits. Roasts and potatoes and steaming piles of vegetables. ‘Check it.’ He held up a bottle.

  Nathaniel walked over. And then stopped. ‘Is that sealed?’ He asked.

  The Little Big Man nodded and handed it over.

  Nathaniel slowly unscrewed the top of the bottle. Then he punctured the foil seal and, reverentially, took in a deep breath, savoring the heady, rich smell.

  He read the label. ‘Barista Style Instant Coffee. Gold Blend.’ He laughed out loud. ‘Okay,’ he admitted. ‘Consider me impressed. Let’s get some water on the boil and have the first cup of coffee that I have had for over twenty years. Hundreds if you count things in a strictly chronological order.’

  Tad found a small iron pot, filled it with water and put it onto one of the braziers. A soon as it came to the boil, Nathaniel piled two heaped spoons of coffee into two pottery mugs and filled them with water.

  Then they both sat down and sipped at the dark, bitter beverage, looks of absolute contentment on both of their faces.

  Orc Sergeant Kob walked into the tent and looked at the two humans sitting in their chairs and looking as if life couldn’t get any better. He sniffed the air, picking up the unfamiliar scent of coffee. Then he stared at their mugs, seeing the dark brown liquid.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Is that chocolate?’

  ‘No,’ answered Nathaniel. ‘It’s coffee.’

  ‘What’s it made of?’ Enquired Kob.

  The marine shrugged. ‘Some sort of bean.’

 
‘Like chocolate,’ said the Orc.

  ‘I suppose so,’ admitted Nathaniel.

  ‘Smells awful,’ said Kob. ‘Commander Ammon is outside. He asks your permission to enter so that you can talk.’

  ‘Send him in,’ said Tad.

  The commander walked in with another member of the Fair-Folk close behind him.

  ‘Humans,’ he greeted. ‘This is Seth Hil-Nu, senior mage and my closest advisor.’

  Nathaniel stood and introduced himself. ‘Marine master sergeant Nathaniel Hogan. This is Tad, my right hand man.’

  The Fair-Folk had not bothered to attempt to glamour Nathaniel or Tad as they were well aware that The Forever Man was unaffected by their magiks.

  ‘I notice, your highness,’ said Ammon. ‘That you introduce yourself as a lowly sergeant when you are a King and a leader of a people. Why is that so?’

  ‘First and always a marine,’ answered Nathaniel. ‘God before Corps, Corps before king. I’ve paraphrased but I’m sure that you get the picture.’

  ‘I am not sure that I understand. But, be that as it may, we have much to discuss. I am sorry to push so hard, I realize that there are the traditional niceties to observe but perhaps we can do things in reverse and get down to brass tacks first.’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘No.’

  Both Ammon and Seth stared at The Forever Man. It was difficult to gauge expression on the alien faces but their surprise was such that it was visibly reflected on their faces.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ ventured commander Ammon.

  ‘Commander,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Any plans that you have, anything that you want to say will be proven meaningless until you have seen a few things that I need to show you. Trust me; I am sure that you want to get right into your reasons as to why you cannot fully support any overt action against the Annihilators, how you need to protect your borders and so on and whatever. But after you have seen my display all will change. So I say to you – No. We shall put off all talks until tomorrow.’

  There was a long silence as Ammon and Seth stared at Nathaniel and struggled to adjust their thinking.

  Finally Ammon asked. ‘What display?’

  ‘Well now,’ said Tad. ‘We need to ask a favor of you, mister commander dude.’

  Ammon gestured for the Little Big Man to continue.

  ‘You know that clearing next to the river, about five hundred yards from here?’

  The commander nodded.

  ‘Good,’ continued Tad. ‘We would like you to get your chaps to place one thousand archers’ dummies there, placed in ranks of fifty, right across the clearing.’

  Once again the two Fair-Folk showed visible signs of surprise.

  ‘May I ask why?’ Enquired Ammon.

  ‘Demonstration,’ said Nathaniel abruptly. ‘Then we talk.’

  Ammon stood up. ‘I shall do as you have asked. But I must warn you; this had better be worth it. I am not here to be joshed with.’

  The commander and the mage left the tent.

  As they reached the door Nathaniel called out. ‘Commander.’

  Ammon turned to face him. ‘Yes, marine.’

  ‘Thank you for the coffee. We are genuinely in your debt; it was very kind of you.’

  The commander bowed his acceptance of the compliment and swept from the tent.

  Tad turned to Nathaniel, a strict expression on his face. ‘I must warn you,’ he said. ‘I am not here to be joshed with.’

  Both men burst out laughing.

  Chapter 22

  Nathaniel was impressed. True to his word, Ammon had commanded his people to work through the night and, when the sun rose; it did so on a field of a thousand archers’ dummies, positioned in neat ranks of one hundred.

  He turned to the small group of armed men behind him. ‘Right, guys,’ he said. ‘Just as we discussed before. Jackson, Peters, Cameron and Smith. I want you to move a hundred yards closer to the targets. Remember, we’re looking to show firepower here so I want you on full automatic fire, change magazines quickly and sweep from side to side.

  Vickers and Bren teams, on my mark, same thing. We’ll start with a mortar round. I have already set the tube up and it should be bang on the target, and then fire another two at will. Right, everyone to their marks.’

  Then the marine and Tad walked over to commander Ammon and the small group of Fair-Folk that were seated under a tented pavilion. The two humans sat on the right hand of the commander in seats provided.

  ‘Well, commander,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Time for the demonstration.’

  Ammon nodded. The expression on his bland features hinted at condescension as he waited for Nathaniel and his humans to perform their parlor trick.

  The Forever Man drew in a little power and used it to project his voice to his people. Seth tilted his head in interest as he noted the human’s subtle use of the pulse light.

  ‘Mortar crew,’ said Nathanial. ‘First round fire.’

  Contrary to popular belief, perpetuated by Hollywood, a mortar does not make a polite pop when fired. In reality it discharges with a solid thump that can be felt in one’s gut, then it screams through the air with a sound like a banshee, and ends with a brain jarring explosion that shakes the ground and vibrates your brain about in your skull.

  And that is exactly what happened, the high explosive mortar round exploded, blowing down at least a hundred of the dummies, smashing them to pieces as it did so.

  But there was no time for the Fair-Folk to react as Nathaniel immediately ordered his Thompsons and Sten guns to open up. The hand held sub machine guns spat out steel jacketed lead rounds at a combined rate of over twenty rounds, chewing into the remaining dummies.

  Then the heavy machine guns opened up with a sound like a giant tearing a thousand telephone books in half. Close to forty rounds a second swept across the target area as another mortar round exploded and then another.

  In less than one full minute, over two thousand steel jacketed rounds and three high explosive mortar bombs had reduced the ranks of archers dummies to mere smoking piles of rags and kindling.

  Nathaniel turned to commander Ammon of the Fair-Folk.

  ‘Demonstration over. Time to talk.’

  Ammon shook his head in disbelief. ‘What magik is that?’ He asked as he looked to Seth for some input.

  Seth Hil-Nu shrugged. ‘I could detect no magiks,’ he said. ‘Only the small amount that the marine used to hail his warriors.’

  ‘They are pre pulse human weapons, ‘said Nathaniel. ‘And we have many more of them. Enough to destroy the Annihilators.’ He pulled a Colt 45 out of this pocket and showed it to Ammon. ‘This is called a semi-auto pistol.’ The marine ejected the magazine and then racked the slide, popping out the round that was in the chamber. He handed the 45 APC cartridge to the commander. ‘This is what makes the pistol work. However, once you have used it you cannot use it again. It is spent. We have a limited number of these so we need to engineer a decisive battle where we can destroy the Annihilators in one fell swoop.’

  Nathaniel waited for Ammon to reply but it was obvious that he would have to give him and Seth some more time to process what had just happened. The shock of witnessing the destructive capabilities of modern firepower had overwhelmed the Fair-Folk observers and they all needed some time to adjust their thinking.

  Seth spoke first. ‘Before we came here, leaving our former home, I traveled through time and space to observe the humans in order to ascertain whether your land would be a viable place for us to relocate. During those travels I saw, first hand, the effect of massed weapons such as these. It was horrific. I would like to know how many you have.’

  ‘Enough,’ answered Nathaniel.

  ‘Would you care to be more specific?’

  ‘No,’ said the marine. ‘And anyway, specifics would be meaningless.’

  ‘What would stop you turning these weapons on us?’ Asked Ammon.

  ‘That is not our intention,’ answered Nathaniel. ‘It is our goal to ally
ourselves with you and together we will defeat and eliminate the Annihilators.’

  ‘But what about after that?’ Insisted Ammon.

  ‘After that is another time,’ said Nathaniel. ‘But I can assure you that we would not simply attack you. I believe that a peaceful solution can be reached between us. Personally, I have had enough of battle. I would love to rule over a people at peace. To look to the future with happiness as opposed to trepidation.’

  ‘Then so be it,’ said Ammon. ‘We are at your disposal, marine sergeant. What do you suggest?’

  So Nathaniel told the commander.

  The plan was a simple one but it did involve a massive coordination of troop movements and a great deal of fairly precise timing.

  The marine proposed that the Fair-Folk gathered their entire army and advanced on a massive front towards the Annihilators, moving slowly but methodically, setting up fortified stockades each night and advancing carefully and in strength. Nathaniel also promised the Fair-Folk a large contingent of air support in the form of three thousand Vandal flyers. The stockades, the air power and the large numbers of Orcs, goblins and trolls would make them an unattractive target for the Annihilators.

  While they were doing this, the humans would perform a series of lightning strikes against the Roaches, hitting them hard and then withdrawing back behind the wall, leaving a vacuum behind them as they retreated. If the Annihilators did attack the humans then Nathaniel would ensure that they would fall back in seeming disarray, simulating a desperate retreat.

  It was the marine’s thought that the Annihilator leadership would assume that the humans were on their last legs and, by attacking them in force, they would be able to send them scurrying back beyond the wall to lick their wounds. And then the Annihilators would be able to turn their full attention to defeating the Fair-Folk.