by Derek Gunn
He had only just drifted off to a fitful sleep when he had heard a loud thump in the distance but the sound had been somewhat muted within the metal cocoon of the tank’s cab and he had not been sure what he had heard at first. He heard a commotion outside as a guard began to shout. He lifted himself painfully from the chair and opened the hatch. There were a number of men pulling themselves from their sleeping bags on the tank around him and in the distance he heard more explosions.
“What the fu…?” he muttered as he saw the horizon light up with strange tawny illuminations to the east. A guard shouted up to him about an attack and his brain finally began to join up the pieces. “Christ,” he shouted down to the thrall, “you mean they actually attacked us?”
The thrall looked up at him with a strange expression and Carter ignored him as he scrambled from the tank. The thump of explosions was constant now, almost like thunder rolling through the mountains; only this thunder was interspersed with the tinny chatter of machine gun fire. His position was right next to the first of the now glowing areas where the attack was centered but he could see that fighting had also broken out in other areas further along the border. He offered up a silent prayer of thanks to whichever Gods might still be around that he had not been deployed in any of those areas.
Someone would pay dearly for not securing their perimeters—assuming, of course, they survived the night. He had deployed his own patrols in a skirmish line and had assigned his personal guard to shoot anyone not keeping to their assigned patrol area. It was obvious to him that Wentworth might send out a commando raid to try and take them by surprise. He had heard one shot early in the night and assumed that an example had been made as he had heard nothing since. Surely the others had deployed their own patrols? How had the enemy gotten through?
Another volley of explosions roared from the camp next to his and he shook himself from his deliberations. He shouted a stream of orders to the men who surrounded him, and in seconds vehicles roared into life and men assembled in the pale light of their own smoldering fire. Diesel fumes filled the air and he gave the order to advance.
It would only take them a few minutes to close the distance, and he imagined himself as the rescuing hero. There might yet be something to be gained from this little war, after all.
The path between the two camps was lit by the pulsing glow of the many fires that consumed the ruined vehicles that now dotted the approach to the border. Yesterday, as the tanks had been deployed, the line of vehicles had been as impressive an array of armor as you were ever likely to see anywhere in the world. Row after row of gleaming metal behemoths had been arrayed with their barrels pointing towards the border, waiting for the next day and the carnage they would exact on any forces foolish enough to approach them.
Now, however, all that remained were twisted husks whose fuel burned furiously in the night and announced their defeat-like beacons. Von Kruger had wanted to make an example of any attack that might occur so he had ordered his tanks filled with fuel so that they could take full advantage of any assault by retaliating with all his might and driving the enemy forces back as far as they could travel. Wentworth would not be able to contest any territory gained in such a maneuver if it had been him who had instigated the original attack. But he had been outmaneuvered and now hundreds of gallons of fuel burned brightly and illuminated the entire area.
Bodies littered the ground around the tanks and inside the camp as well, but it was impossible to see what uniform they wore in the undulating light. Carter saw a number of men on their feet in the camp and he ordered his crew to open fire. He did not intend to take any chances, besides he was doing them a favor. Any of Von Kruger’s forces still alive in those camps that had been over run would be better off dead rather than face their masters and explain why they had lost so badly.
He signaled for his vehicles to spread out and approach the camp in a horseshoe formation to ensure that they did not get hit from behind. Gunfire erupted to his left and bullets slammed into the armor just beneath him. He dropped quickly back into the cab of the tank and ordered the gunner to respond to the attack. It wouldn’t do to be showered with honors posthumously, now would it?
His tanks powered through the camp and destroyed anything in their path, cutting through enemy and friendly forces with equal indifference. Ahead he could see the occasional flare of machine gun fire in the next camp, and he ordered his men to continue forward.
Chapter 11
Wentworth watched the pinpricks of light flare into life in the distance and reveled with each roar of thunder as another tank blew up. The horizon was filled with individual fires and he gave up counting when he reached fifty. He noted that the fires spread further than his plan had called for and he made a note to watch his new commander carefully. The Captain was no fool and could be an asset or a threat, depending on how he was handled.
There was now a huge hole in the defenses of the enemy. Most of the forces close enough to the areas under fire had by now mobilized and moved to re-enforce those who were pinned, leaving their own designated areas unguarded. Wentworth turned to his men and signaled phase two of the night’s operation. Around him trucks, armored cars and as many tanks as they could fuel, which was not many, roared to life and began to approach those darker areas in the defenses. Once behind enemy lines they would turn and attack the enemy forces from the rear.
By the time someone figured out what had happened they should have taken out enough of the enemy armor to make sure that Von Kruger would think twice about flaunting his superior forces again. He had also assigned a number of his thralls to steal as much fuel as was possible during the confusion. If luck remained with them they might actually do well out of this little incursion.
Von Kruger tore through the night air with each powerful stroke of his wings. A vampire’s ability to fly is more suited to riding air currents that flying at speed but Von Kruger ignored the pain in his shoulders and continued towards the glowing horizon.
The radio had alerted him to the attack only moments ago but the panicked report had been cut short before they had been able to get confirmation. His radio operator had frantically tried to contact other camps but static mocked him with each attempt. Those they had got through to had known next to nothing. Von Kruger had never been patient and his four hundred years of existence had not tempered his disposition in any way.
He had called for as many of his clan as were in the area, and he had taken to the air to find out for himself what had happened. He had left most of his clan behind in his haste, and his anger grew with every stroke. The horizon had been merely a large undulating glow in the distance when he had begun his journey, even for his keen eyes. But, as he drew closer, he began to make out the individual fires and their numbers shocked him.
How could they have taken so many? His mind burned with more questions with each stroke and his anger grew as the terrible reality became apparent. Someone would pay dearly for this, he vowed. He saw dark shapes below him speeding in his direction away from the fighting and he was outraged that his forces were in retreat. He began to angle his descent towards the vehicles; he would not tolerate such behavior from his forces. As he grew closer the lead tank turned sharply to the right and the other vehicles followed in a precision movement that did not have the appearance of a frantic retreat. He paused for a moment, allowing his wings to fan out and ride the breeze as the vehicles continued their breakneck pace back towards the lines.
He was confused. Were they retreating or merely repositioning? He watched the vehicles spread out in an arrow formation and it dawned suddenly on him like a slap as the tanks opened fire on the exposed rear of his own forces. The clever bastards, he fumed as he watched his exposed ranks being torn apart by the enemy armor.
This was the final straw. Somehow, Wentworth had managed to rout his far superior forces. He must have cheated somehow. There was just no way Wentworth could have achieved this defeat with his paltry forces. He would never hear the end of t
his, from Wentworth or from the other lords on the council. This would be seen as weakness. He would be considered easy prey for any forces that wanted his vast resources. He could not allow it.
Von Kruger had always been impetuous. He had always found it hard to temper the animal instincts that were the very core of the vampire within him with the cunning needed to remain cloaked and undiscovered in a world where they existed in secret. He had reveled in the freedom that the open war with the humans had granted him and he had feasted, gorged on his enemies with a reckless abandonment that had threatened to leave his territory, and those around him, devoid of all life. He had pulled himself back from the brink only when the council had sent a delegation to inform him that he would receive no supplies of blood from the other cabals if he continued such recklessness. They would not move against him, of course. He was too feared for that and he controlled far too much of the human’s technology to be dismissed as merely a mad glutton. But there had been some logic to their argument, so while, he had bowed to their wisdom, he had never forgiven them for their interference.
He had come to regret his decision over the last two years, and he yearned for the madness and glory of battle once again. Vampires were creatures of chaos. They should not be waited on with glasses of blood taken from cattle farms. They should use their strength to take what they wanted and feed by ripping the life from the living. They were becoming soft and he yearned for a challenge—any challenge, lest he go mad with boredom. Surely it was better to die wiping out the hated humans than to exist as soft, pathetic farmers for eternity? He closed his wings and dropped towards the battle at a frightening speed. His rational mind tried to remind him that very heavy penalties could be levied against him for any direct attacks on the thralls but, as his ferocity grew, his rationality began to recede further and further. His mind seethed and his blood lust finally overcame him and he exalted in its potency.
He attacked the first tank, ripping the turret from the main body like it was paper. His arms bulged with a strength borne of fury and he tore the vehicle and its occupants to pieces. The sudden flare of blood from a gutted thrall corpse filled him with a burning urge and he sank his teeth into each of his victims and gorged on their blood. It had been so long since he had gorged and he lost himself in the feeling.
He was sick of feeding on captive humans, drinking from glasses and becoming civilized. His mind no longer thought rationally. He acted purely on impulse as he continued to tear into the enemy thralls. He was dimly aware that other vampires had begun to arrive. Some of them held off at first, unsure if they should cross the taboo enforced on them by the council. Others happily tore into the remaining thralls and the stink of death and blood rose upwards towards the others and, finally, the lust took them too and they joined the carnage.
Wentworth saw the thrall with radio phones still on his ears approach him at a run and he frowned. Did the operator not have runners to send his messages? He wondered idly. The thrall ran to him and spent a few moments trying to regain his breath.
“Sir,” he began and then paused as he sucked in another breath. “Sir, our tanks are being torn apart.”
“What. How?” Wentworth was shocked. There was no way that Von Kruger’s forces could have anticipated their plan.
“I just received a report from the main force,” the thrall paused as he looked at the vampire lord and he swallowed hard.
“Out with it,” Wentworth snapped impatiently.
“Sir, they are being attacked by vampires.” The man paused and seemed to brace himself for his master’s reaction.
Wentworth’s face drew back in an ugly snarl that pulled his flesh tightly over his prominent jaw. His teeth seemed to grow longer as the thrall watched and the vampire’s eyes seemed to deepen and darken at the same time.
Wentworth shot up into the air, his arms turning to wings as he jumped. Bones crunched and stretched in moments and lifted the vampire clear of the ground. He uttered a call that could not be heard by the thralls below, but there were many ears sensitive to such a call and they flocked to him.
Below, the thrall looked upwards as he heard the thunder of wings above. The night grew even darker as the moon’s pale light was suddenly eclipsed.
The war had just escalated.
Things had changed. In all his planning, Wentworth had never anticipated that Von Kruger would lose his reason and actually attack his thralls. There had been a time, late in the war with the humans, when some of the cabals could see the imminent defeat of the humans and began to attack their neighboring cabals as they began to grab as much as they could before the war finished.
Thralls could not attack their masters, the fluids passed between the vampire and a human when creating a thrall did something to the thrall’s physiology that prevented them from acting against their masters. Wentworth did not understand how it worked exactly, but it did, and it had to. The vampires depended on the thralls for their safety during the day and they had to be absolutely certain that they were safe while asleep. Otherwise they would be easy prey against any thralls brave enough to risk a revolution.
To re-enforce this, the vampires made sure to regularly pass these fluids to their closest thralls just in case the conditioning’s effects waned over time. No one was really sure if it would; thralls had been used for centuries to safeguard the vampires during the day but they had always used careful breeding in the past where whole generations of families were bred to serve the vampires. They knew no better and lived only to serve their masters. Now that the need for thralls had grown to such an extent they had bestowed so much power on humans they knew nothing about and whose loyalty had not been adequately explored. To counter this threat, the vampires preferred to over-infuse their servants rather than take a chance that their loyalty might degrade over time.
The main problem with allowing fighting amongst the cabals was that it would pit thralls and vampires against each other. It was possible in such a scenario that a thrall might be forced to protect itself against a vampire and that their conditioning might weaken as a result of that encounter. If they survived the encounter, they might not be as loyal as before. This type of disloyalty might spread if not identified, and then the vampires would be helpless.
Continued warfare among the cabals would only serve to further weaken the conditioning, so the council had banned any conflict where vampires and thralls came in direct contact. What Von Kruger had done was unforgivable. It was not even as if it was a last resort. This was only a skirmish. The fact that it had been going badly for Von Kruger was no excuse to retaliate in such a fashion.
Wentworth now had a problem though. He could well afford the loss of the thralls, he had plenty of humans to replace any he might lose tonight, but he really could not afford to have his armor destroyed. He could not assume that the council would demand replacements from Von Kruger’s own supply. For one thing Von Kruger had many contacts on the council and, as one of the older vampires, he still retained a lot of weight in matters like this. For another, if Von Kruger continued to tear his forces to pieces there would be nothing to stop him from turning the battle and smashing through Wentworth’s own paltry forces. In the light of day he could claim that he had been attacked and had merely responded with justifiable force. He could claim to have had no involvement in the action at all. Where was the proof?
No, if Wentworth wanted to survive this night he would have to break a few rules himself. Vampire had not fought against vampire in millennia. There had been duels for the leadership of a cabal over the centuries, of course, but their very survival had always depended upon their secrecy, so open warfare among the cabals had been viciously suppressed. It had been centuries since the last time, as far as Wentworth was aware, though as a relatively new vampire he relied on others to fill in any historical background. Things had changed now that they ruled the world. The council still forbade any direct violence but they were not here at the moment and history tends always to be written by the victor.<
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If he had to set his vampires against Von Kruger’s in order to emerge the winner, then he was prepared to do that. Von Kruger’s main cities were a long way from the border so he could not have too many vampires with him, while he had nearly a hundred just a short distance away. He had already dispatched one of his vampire lieutenants to the nearby towns to gather more vampires and bring them here. If Von Kruger wanted a war then he would have one. He called to those around him to follow and he flew towards the fighting with powerful, even strokes. There was still time to save what was left of his forces and maybe replace any equipment before the dawn came.
One way or the other, there would be a victor tonight.
The melee was fast and incredibly violent. Wentworth and his vampires flew high above the border and their incredible eyesight easily made out Von Kruger and his forces as they were finishing off Wentworth’s invading force. The vampires were totally engrossed in the carnage and never even saw them. Von Kruger had seven vampires in his party, each one drenched in blood and gore as they played with those thralls that still lived. Wentworth had twelve vampires with him, and many more should already be on their way.
Wentworth brought in his wings, closing them firmly against his sides, and dropped towards the grisly scene below, picking up speed as he plummeted down. The others followed. They might be reluctant to attack other vampires, but Wentworth was their master and they would obey him in all matters. There was no physiological superiority between vampires. One vampire dominated another through sheer strength and fear. Wentworth was far younger than most of the vampires he led but his authority was unquestioned; at least, it was now with the heads of those who had questioned him still gracing his headquarters for all to see. Besides, there had been a great rivalry between the two states for some time now and Wentworth’s vampires were still sore about losing the power station.
