“My God,” someone yelled.
“I wish Cummings were here,” Robertson finally said. “He was sure it was going to work from the very beginning.” Everyone grew quiet again as they remembered their comrades so recently left behind. Cummings, the builder and chief engineer of the Door was one of them, but there were so, so many more.
“Let’s get these trucks fixed,” Peebles finally yelled breaking the spell. “We have people to meet...our people.” Everyone cheered again, then like the disciplined soldiers they were, they immediately returned to work, but now they worked with much more hope and with much more happiness that any had felt in the last five years.
§
The next morning found them with three more operational trucks and one hummer. General Peebles woke to find many of his men already up and eagerly working.
‘I have the easiest job of the bunch,’ he thought and felt vast pride for his men, for himself and for all of humanity. ‘We’re not finished yet!’
He made his way quickly to the central fire and poured himself a cup of coffee, which was watered down, strictly rationed. He didn’t mind and it didn’t dampen his good mood, nor did he mind the gloomy overcast morning. It had grown chilly again with the smell of rain in the air, like a promise, but it was great to be alive…and free. A few men shouted greetings, which he returned, then started back to his tent to begin work for the day. Colonel Lemay met him on the way.
“Good morning Sir,” the usually stoic Colonel said with a broad smile.
“Isn’t it though. Status?”
“One more truck is just about finished, which will be all for them. That will leave three more hummers...and of course the ship. No change there. Blish and Turnbull are the only grumpy people in the camp this morning.”
Peebles laughed, but felt a twinge of worry over the ship’s condition. Repairing it was a very important part of the plan to stop the Skawp’s future attack; actually it was the primary part. They needed that ship, badly. Moving to, and living in the past, was just a backup plan, a hedge against the primary objective, a surprise and devastating preemptive strike. Few truly believed that the progress of Man could be changed drastically enough to contend with the upcoming Skawp attack, even with twelve hundred years to prepare. History would likely prove very hard to change with less than four hundred men.
“Any progress on the ship at all?” he asked finally and frowned when the Colonel just shook his head. “Have Blish report to me this afternoon. I want to know exactly what’s going on.”
“Yes Sir,” Lemay said. “And Sir, I think we should stretch the perimeter by at least a klick, and probably expect visitors.”
Peebles nodded, slightly surprised, but he trusted Lemay’s tactical mind, which was undoubtedly the best in the group.
“Let’s expand by half a klick, remember this is not a very mobile era,” the General finally replied, silently chiding himself for not having thought of the possibility. He needed to pull himself out of the future and begin to live in the past. He needed to understand the people of the times. It was a guarantee that those currently in power would not be happy about their arrival, and in fact most would probably resent and resist it.
“Have two hummer crews constantly on alert, just in case we underestimate them,” he added.
“Caution,” was all Lemay said, agreeing.
“I’m no scholar of history, but I have a feeling that the men of this era will be aggressive against us and our mission; very aggressive, probably overly so, at least until we teach them a little caution,” Peebles added. “Send for Rice. I’d like to know as much as possible about this time and its people.”
Rice appeared about five minutes later, saluting as he entered. “You wanted to see me Sir.”
Peebles nodded. “While we’re waiting for the last of the hummers, I’d like to learn a bit more about the time we’re in; what the people are like; what their leaders are like.”
“Well Sir, that’s not going to be easy,” Rice explained. “For one we don’t really know exactly what year it is. If our crossover was accurate then the histories are relatively scarce and full of holes. It was a wild, mostly lawless time. Oh, we know of major achievements, mostly battles, but what an individual person will be like, or what an entire people are like is really unknown, hearsay mostly. It’s highly likely that even the most scholarly will seem brutish by our standards.”
“Brutish?”
“Yes,” Rice said moving over to the desk and picking up the General’s tablet.
“Very few could read, mostly monks and the like, and even fewer could write. The sum of all their knowledge came from word of mouth, stories and tales of great deeds. There were no books for the common man, no television or radio, very little traveling, and that was archaically slow, and almost exclusively for the rich or the criminal. Many were born, lived out their lives, and died in the very same village of only a few hundred people. Most probably met only a few thousand people during their entire lives; it was a very isolated time. News spread very slowly. Of course in the larger towns, like London, a greater degree of sophistication can be expected. But believe me; we will come across some very strange and amusing concepts. But please don’t misunderstand that for a lack of intelligence. Men of this time are still men, very cunning, very fast learners and very adaptable. They will be just as clever as any of us, and as dangerous. By brutish, I’m just saying that they are more likely to be cruel and prone to violence, what was seen as common place justice here will strike us as unnecessarily vicious and gruesome. This was a dangerous time when most often might made right.”
Peebles remained thoughtful for a moment.
“Assuming the Door was at least a bit accurate,” Rice continued and called up an old painting of a bearded king on the tablet, “say around the year 880 to 890, then lower England was ruled by a King called Alfred, Alfred the Great actually. He ruled from about 871 to about 899, and it was under his rule that the most of the island actually became united. Before Alfred, lower England was ruled piecemeal by dozens of Kings, mostly Saxon, Angles, and Welsh. Alfred united and rallied his people, and defeated the Danes on several different occasions.”
“Danes?”
“Vikings, and they were a tough group to handle, raiders mostly come to pillage and not for true conquest. It would take a very strong ruler to pull a country together and drive them out. But like I said, personality doesn’t come through all that well in the history books. I suppose we can assume Alfred will be strong, persuasive, a good organizer and very determined. In his day he built schools, invited scholars to his kingdom from all over Europe, and in fact, was something of a historian, having translated several works into English, including the History of the World, written by a Spanish priest named Oronius.”
“Perhaps then he will sympathize with our plight.”
Rice nodded. “Perhaps, but remember he is still a man of the times. His world will largely be a creation of his beliefs and it may be very hard to get across certain modern concepts, especially abstract concepts. This was a time of magic, fables, and good clean earth. What was understood was concrete, what you could feel, taste, or touch, anything outside the senses fell into the realm of the mystical.”
“We should seem very mystical then,” Lemay added.
“Um...which brings up another thought,” Rice continued. “The strength of the church in these times was very formidable, not what it will be in another seven hundred years, but still something to consider very carefully. The monks and monasteries were a growing force, especially in this country. They were led mostly by Celtic monks coming out of Ireland. There was great friction and then finally fusion between the druids and the Christians...yes this will be very interesting.”
“You think the religious hierarchy could give us trouble?” Peebles asked.
“If they turn against us, many of the people of the land will also turn against us. I would suggest that we move slow and careful with our enlightenment.”
“If this is all true, it will be a wondrous adventure,” the doctor commented, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
The General looked at him and began to laugh hard enough for tears to well up in his eyes, which startled and puzzled Gordon Rice.
“As if your life up to this point has been dull,” Peebles managed to say still very amused. “Good God man haven’t you had enough adventure?”
“Watch the blaspheme,” Rice answered, his smile suddenly falling from his face. “It’s important…very important.”
The General nodded, immediately getting the point. “I expect you to pass along that warning to everyone. Tell them it comes directly from me,” he added flatly and dismissed him. He needed time to think.
Chapter Three
The long boats slip slowly, quietly through the deepest part of the channel. Mindful of the darkness, a torchbearer sat on the bow of the lead boat, checking for rocks, dangerous drift wood and shallow sandbars. They were pushing far up the tributary, moving for the new abbey. There were ten boats, cutting through the shallow water, four hundred and fifty men in all. They would sack the abbey before sunrise if they could, hunting for gold and silver, before moving on to the growing town of Gloucester.
Ivarr stood just behind the torchbearer, gazing intently through the darkness to the southeast. The abbey was there, he’d sent scouts out overland two months prior to gather information on the town and its defenses. The Anglish king Alfred was growing wise in the ways of battle, but the Viking warlord was still confident they could cut the Lizard off from the rest of Wessex. His brother Ubba already had a foothold on the peninsula and with Halfdan ruling out of East Anglia the country was on the verge of collapsing.
“Hssst!” the man with the torch hissed and pointed out into the darkness. Ivarr gazed where his man was pointing and at first saw nothing. The Anglish holy men, lovers of the weak god, were not foolish enough to light their homes in the darkness, but as Ivarr moved his eyes about, using his peripheral vision in the darkness, he finally spotted the dark walls of the abbey against the slightly lighter sky.
Ivarr grunted softly and the boat immediately turned and slid lightly up onto the bank. The other boats silently followed and less than three minutes later four hundred hardened warriors were creeping quietly toward the unsuspecting abbey.
His men came up against the outer wooden wall and followed it to the west for fifty paces before coming across a sturdy oak gate. There was a small opening protected by iron bars along one side but as Ivarr peered through he could see no signs of activity beyond. As he studied the strength of the gate, he signaled his men to spread out and surround the abbey; he didn’t want any of the pathetic cowards inside slipping away with his spoils.
Cowards they may be, but the Anglish monks knew how to build a gate. Even by flickering torchlight, Ivarr could tell it would take considerable effort to hack it down. They could fire it, but that would most likely warn the town and they’d likely loose what slaves they could capture. It was not a risk he wished to take without knowing what riches were tucked away within the monastery’s wooden walls. He’d likely come away with nothing if they didn’t play it very smart.
But they were prepared for such an eventuality and soon dozens of ladders were propped up against the sides of the eight foot high outer walls. Ivarr led his men up and over the wall as quickly as possible but only about a third of them were inside the perimeter before cries of alarm filled the early morning air. It mattered little, most of the religious men tried to flee and were hacked down, though near the end a few actually stood their ground and attempted to fight. They showed bravery, which Ivarr commended, but they died almost as quickly as their more cowardly brethren. The entire attack was over within a thirty minutes, and though Ivarr was first over the wall, he’d only had the pleasure of killing one man…an old one at that. The fool had come screaming at him with a hayfork, which Ivarr knocked aside with little effort. His attacker stumbled and was trying to regain his footing when Ivarr swung his heavy war axe. The weapon was Ivarr’s pride and joy, and had a blade sharp enough to shave the coarse black hairs from a whore’s nipple. The axe cleaved off a third of the man’s skull and pushed easily through the monk’s left eye before slicing through his jaw and burying itself deep into the man’s sternum. Ivarr spent the rest of the fight in frustration, trying to wrench the bloody thing out of the old man’s body.
His frustration only grew when after an hour of searching they’d only found two objects worth the effort, a silver chalice ringed with semi-precious stones and a small ornate tapestry that would probably earn them very little. There was no gold, no silver and but a few coppers among the dead men.
Ivarr didn’t waste any additional time, instead he ordered the attack on the town, which was without the benefits of a wall, but there would be dogs all around to warn of their approach. So they encircled the town at a distance and attacked fast just as the sky in the east began to change from black to purple.
Many of the town’s five hundred souls died just as quickly as their holy neighbors to the north, but Ivarr and his men were very careful to kill only when absolutely necessary, which meant every man over the age of thirteen. They spared the younger boys and girls and of course the women, at least those who did not feel the need to brandish weapons and charge into the fray, thankfully there were very few intent on dying. Once resistance was quelled, the town was put to the torch and his men rounded up a half dozen of the more comely citizens of Gloucester and presented them to their War King.
Six women could be stripped bare surprisingly fast by twenty eager men with their blood up from fighting and killing. Ivarr watched the proceedings with a fair bit of trepidation as the naked women were parading before him. He studied them all very closely. One older woman had a face so fair she almost made the others seem unsightly, but her teats hung flat and sad from nursing her many young. Another had flaming red hair, which intrigued the Viking War King but her eyes were too close together and her nose too long and pointed. Finally, his gaze fell on a young girl with long raven-black hair, which was so different from the women of the north. Her skin was white and flawless; she had dark eyes shrouded beneath prominent black eyebrows, but it was her legs that caught his attention. They were long and pale and stood out starkly against the black patch of hair at her crotch.
His brain twitched at the sight of her, but little else, still he strode forward and grabbed her by the hair. She began to scream immediately but Ivarr ignored her protests and dragged her into the nearest structure which was not burning and threw the girl to the ground. She scrambled away from him but he fell to his knees and reached out quick as a snake and took hold of a bare ankle. He jerked her to him and struck her hard on the right temple. The fight went out of her then and he fell on her; he spent long minutes sucking and biting her large, firm breasts, relishing the warmth of her skin, and the sweet smell of her sex, which was growing wet, betraying that a bit of want mingled with her fear.
When his mind was ready he rose up and yanked down his leather breeches, flipped her over roughly, and forced her onto her hands and knees. He desperately thrust his member against her hot, wet crotch, grinding against her, wanting, needing release, but to no avail. True to his name, no matter what he tried, he remained the Boneless. Again and again he pushed himself against her, wanting to feel himself slide into her warmth but in the end he failed. Finally, his frustration grew too great and he pulled out his knife and grabbed a handful of soft, black tresses. He yanked on the girl’s hair, pulling her head up and back. Oblivious, the girl was now pushing her body back against his, craving his body despite her great fear. Her passion evaporated as the blade slid across the taunt skin of her neck and blood poured onto the dirt floor of the shed. She tried to scream and failed; she tried to breath and failed. She flopped down on her belly, rolling about clutching at her wound, but it did no good and she died staring up at Iv
arr’s flaccid cock.
§
It was around three o’clock that same afternoon when Colonel Lemay’s predictions came true. Perimeter guards spotted a group of riders on horseback heading directly toward the camp, which quickly came alive with excitement and expectations. General Peebles swore softly to himself, a stirring cauldron of emotions.
“No shooting,” he said, then shook his head and rescinded the order, and headed to the recently erected communications tent. Colonel Lemay, Gordon Rice and Major Thane were already present and staring intently at the pair of large 32 inch monitors. At the moment there was little to see, but slowly in the distance a group of horsemen appeared.
“Who spotted them and where are they?” Peebles asked as he entered.
“Captain Hersey,” Lemay answered not taking his eyes off of the screen in front of him. “The horsemen are still nearly a mile from his position, and not coming all that quickly.”
“Captain Hersey,” Peebles repeated with relief and then picked up the nearest microphone. Hersey had a reputation for his professional calm in chaotic situations. He’d saved the lives of dozens of men with his cool head. His reputation was earned over years of heavy fighting.
“Yes Sir,” the Captain’s voice sounded over the speakers…it was dead calm.
“How many?” The General asked even though he was currently looking at the monitor which was receiving the exact information the Captain was receiving.
“Nine Sir...all on horseback...possibly five or six large dogs with them.”
“How long before they reach your present position?”
“Approximately six minutes.”
Peebles toggled the mic off and turned to Lemay and Thane. “Could we send out a couple of Humvees behind the locals? I’d like to keep them here and find out exactly who they are and what they are about.”
The Temporal Knights Page 6
