Deadly Wands

by Brent Reilly

CHAPTER 63

  Genghis Khan stewed as another messenger reported in, this time to tell him the Baron -- alone -- gutted an entire battalion. Only the cowards who hid survived.

  “But we know where his division was a week ago,” the messenger pointed out.

  The problem with hunting down marathoners is that, by the time he reached their last known location, they could be on the other side of the world. No, he wouldn’t be seeing them for a long time.

  One by one he considered and dismissed his options. What he wanted to do was take his marathoners after the Baron’s marathoners. But he didn’t have nearly enough, and they could not fly as far, as fast, or as high. As the Baron proved over and over again, the trick to killing quads was surprising them on the ground. His troops kept losing because they had no idea the Baron was nearby until too late.

  At that very moment, he thought he heard a distant alarm. He shook his head, blaming his legendary paranoia, but then he heard it again, but coming from a different direction. He stormed out of his stone bunker and flew onto the roof to hear better. His eyes faced west, searching the skies, when several firefights broke out high above the vast facility.

  Genghis saw his troops stumble out of bunkers, frantically putting on armor. At first it pleased him how fast his men assembled into formation, but then he saw it through the eyes of the enemy, who wanted the Mongols massed together for their shrapnel bombs. Genghis knew he should withdraw to the protection of his underground bunker, but his thirst for vengeance ran too deep. All he wanted was someone to strike.

  Thousand of enemies dropped out of the dark clouds to throw bombs at the marathoners forming into their units. Every detonation made him wince because it represented more wasted talent. With so many bunkers made of mortared stone, they’d have been safer inside. A huge explosion to the west turned him around -- ah, the bastards got his super-quads! Then a closer explosion created a pressure wave that knocked him clear off the roof.

  He rolled in the dirt, desperate for oxygen, his whole body aching. His ears rang so loud he couldn’t hear himself swear. He found himself on his feet, running to his bunker. He gulped a sack of fermented milk to pop his ears, like when changing altitude too fast, while watching the enemy blast his previous marathoners. Thousands of two-wanders bravely shot up at enemies beyond their range, doing little more than warm the enemy on a cold night.

  Genghis waved nearby quads to follow him. They rose to attack the Americans from above. No sooner did they position themselves when a squad of enemies attacked him from above. They exchanged fireballs for a few minutes before the Khan realized that he should just dodge the blasts while striking the bastards below who had their backs to him. Or, better yet, slice them with blades.

  Then a familiar scream woke him like a bad dream. He squinted to see the Baron, tantalizingly close, flashing four wands, divert one of his rapid-reaction battalions that was about to pounce on the Americans. He lured them away and the Khan got set to follow. Genghis realized with disgust that the Baron just saved hundreds of his irreplaceable marathoners. Then a fireball smacked Genghis from the sky like a green recruit for not maintaining constant situational awareness.

  He hit a rooftop with a loud thud before smacking into the ground. Concentrating through the pain of burning flesh, he removed his armor while flying into the nearest water-filled tub to cool his third degree burns in freezing water. He sucked wand like a slut to ease the pain.

  The Americans left by the time he got out, dripping cold water, his eyebrows still smoking. He stared at them as they disappeared into the cumulous clouds and realized he didn’t kill a single enemy.

  A massive artillery barrage made everyone on the ground look up towards the glowing western horizon. For some reason, it didn’t sound right. Genghis hoped his fastest troops caught up with the bastards and shot them in the back, but that’s not what this sounded like.

  It slapped Genghis like an open palm: the enemy used cloud cover to assemble into a wall to fire broadsides at those pursuing them. The angry Mongol novices would fly right into their trap. His veterans would know enough to attack them from behind, but few flew under experienced leaders. Genghis inwardly winced at every blast. He saw a rapid reaction unit take off in good formation, but feared they’d arrive too late. Soon the explosions stopped and Genghis knew the enemy escaped largely unharmed.

  The world’s most powerful man cursed his impotence. The Great Khan couldn’t even hide in his bunker and get drunk. Instead, he had to show his troops that he cared. So he roamed the camp, helping the wounded and promising vengeance.

  One hundred thousand dead and twice as many wounded mocked his eyes. He had not even left his training camp and already his nemesis made a fool of him. Ever since the Baron toyed with him near the Bering Strait several years ago, Genghis felt like the cosmos was bitch-slapping him. What did those funny Indians call it? Karma. Yeah, the Baron was karma sent to pay him back for all the bad things he had done.

  A few hours of bucking up his troops helped them, but drained the leader of the mightiest empire humanity has ever known. A man who practically invented flying dragged his feet to inspect the damage.

  One of the wounded actually snored in a water tub so loudly that the Great Khan smiled for the first time in months. He patted the burnt warrior on the shoulder and wished he could sleep so soundly.

  The sight of his favorite son-in-law put spring in his step. He sprinted over and hugged his old friend. Few foreigners appreciated this, but Genghis relied on his daughters and daughter-in-laws to govern while he conquered.

  Genghis examined the guy’s bleeding hip. Nothing lethal, unless it got inflected, but it must hurt like hell. Worst yet, the veteran must stay immobilized for it to heal. They went back three hundred years. He knew how hard it’d be for such an old warrior to just lay still for a few days.

  He remembered asking his daughter why she wanted to marry this local chief instead of a great king. Her answer? “Because he’s a good Mongol.” Genghis laughed so long he could not then force her to cement the political alliance that he planned for her. They gave him great grandsons, too. Even after her death, he remained his favorite. His descendents hated when he said this but, really, they didn’t make Mongols like they used to. His son-in-law was something of a model by which he judged others.

  Which really pissed his grandsons off.

  Something made Genghis look up. That wounded airmen stared at him, and not in a good way. Before he could make sense of it, wands magically sprung into his hands and giant fireballs flew to engulf him.

  The Baron!

  Genghis flung himself to one side, away from his old friend so he wouldn’t die as well. If he held his hand wands, he may have escaped, but these fireballs were too large to avoid without wands for propulsion. So the Great Khan rolled when he hit the dirt while awaiting the inevitable. A heat wave washed over him, so he kept rolling until he bounced hard against a pole.

  Even as he spit out dirt, it occurred to Genghis that the Baron never left. When not snoring in water tubs, the bastard must have been killing his best quads. Who had such nerve?

  He heard a firefight and looked up to see his arch nemesis laugh down at him. Genghis drew his death sticks but, before he launched, heard his son-in-law cry out in agony. Genghis levitated him into the same wooden bathtub the Baron slept in. The water put out the flames with an audible sizzle that sent a chill down his spine -- a sure sign of future nightmares. He ran over to help.

  Genghis cried. He didn’t even hide it. His friend’s eyes were burnt out, his face more cooked than his mother’s mutton, and his clothes hung on him like tiny rags. His nose burned to the bone. Smoke rose from his blackened corpse.

  But that was not what made the Great Khan cry. It was seeing the poor man’s chest rise and fall, indicating he lived long enough to experience all this suffering. Genghis quickly slit his throat and burst into tears, to the
astonishment of those around him.