It didn’t take long. The shuttle reported success, though the gleason had started leaping erratically all over the place as soon as the stunner hit it. It had taken several blasts from the shuttle to hit it.
Galborae’s shuttle touched down just outside the gates of his town and the ramp dropped. Galborae, near the front of his team, stepped part way down the ramp with Limam at his side and gasped as the wonderful smells of home hit him like a wall. He looked out on lands he had ridden through his whole life and took a deep breath, relishing the rush of wholesomeness as squad members jostled their way around him to exit the shuttle and secure the area. When he stepped off the ramp, he went to a knee and took up a handful of dirt from the road. He crushed the dirt in the palm of his hand, then opened that hand and smelled it, savoring. His gaze lifted to a sky of exactly the right color. He closed his eyes and listened, reuniting himself with sounds and sensations that felt so right.
The shuttle lifted back into the air. His awareness registered the fact, but he had little interest in shuttles at the moment. Green forests lining both sides of the road drew his attention, forests that he knew and loved. The sounds and smells of normalcy all came together in a rush, and he knew he was home.
Havlock looked back at him and grinned. “It’s always like that. Welcome home.”
Galborae reached out to Limam and both of them shared the feelings, but not for long. Havlock ordered him gruffly to his feet. Everyone’s eyes kept up a nervous scan—none would admit it but terror lay close to the surface of their thoughts. Gleason viciousness had been the stuff of nightmares and horror stories for generations.
Galborae approached the tall gates and stopped. A sense of unreality engulfed him as he looked up to the stone battlements, deserted for the first time in his life. He led the team through the open gates, his hand resting lightly on the neck of Limam’s armor, then down narrow streets paved with stones. He sent Limam into several businesses and homes, some built of stone but most built of ancient, weathered planks, the darkened maws of open doorways voicelessly reaching out, inviting him to share concealed horrors.
Limam sensed his hopelessness and searched quickly but found no one. They reached his own home a block inside the gate. His wife, Milae, was the town’s healer. For a multitude of reasons, healers usually lived close to the main gate.
He followed Limam into his home and discovered a scene from hell. He knew instantly that life had deserted this once inviting place. The front room was Milae’s work area. Usually spotless, now old, dried blood covered the table and floor where she performed surgeries. Galborae quickly searched the rest of the house, whispering a faint prayer of thanks when he could not find her most cherished possessions. Her healing implements were gone as well. She had likely taken them fled with the rest of the townspeople.
He led the squad to Lord Boral’s small castle. It, too, was deserted and had become a home for abandoned farm animals. He went to his lord’s chamber, his nose and eyes again telling him it had been a dying place. Dried blood had soaked into the bed and floor. Limam’s ears held tight to her scull as she slunk through the room.
The squad gathered around him. “It’s as I feared,” he told them. “With no soldiers left to protect them, the townspeople fled. They will have gone to King Tennisol.”
“Then he’s our next stop,” Havlock said.
Galborae’s lips thinned as he considered how they would do that. He ended up leading the squad to the armory. Swords, scabbards, and shields had once lined the walls here, along with pikes, lances, and other killing tools. Most of them were gone now, but enough remained for Galborae’s purpose.
“Everyone take a sword and shield,” he instructed them. “No one will believe you are a fighting man without a sword and shield no matter what kind of other weapons you carry.”
“We’re not leaving our blasters behind, surely?” a grizzled sergeant spoke up instantly.
Galborae grinned a tight grin as he looked at each member of the squad. “No. You’re not leaving your helmets and body armor either. Where we’re going, there will be gleasons.” He turned to Havlock. “Livestock still live here. The gleasons are not just after food.”
Havlock rubbed a hand across his jaw, then nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right. There’s too much easy prey for them here. They don’t want it—they want people.” He turned to his men and said, “We’re done here.”
* * * * *
On the way out of the castle, Galborae pulled a staff from its holder, eyeing the pennant attached to it, his Lord’s pennant. Not a good sign. The pennant always accompanied the Lord. Since it was still here, he suspected the man had not survived. He took the staff and pennant with him.
It was mid-afternoon local time when the team returned to the shuttle. They loaded up, and Sir Galborae and the two officers went into the net. The shuttle followed the main road toward Shanloc and the king. Along the way, broken carts and supplies littered the road. They passed several other towns that appeared deserted.
Over Shanloc they joined with another shuttle high in the sky. Shanloc was a significant city. Built atop a hill, a dozen watch towers connected by stone walls formed a curtain wall around the city. The only approach to the city was a wide road leading up to the front gates, those gates flanked by watch towers. The back of the town and one side wall had been built right up to edge of a cliff. The design would effectively restrict and funnel human attackers, but against gleasons the city was probably indefensible. The cliffs were rugged enough that gleasons would have no problems climbing them, so the entire curtain wall had to be patrolled.
The city was bursting with people. Businesses lined the first floors of streets, with permanent homes occupying multiple levels above. Every visible patch of ground was occupied by people and animals living in makeshift structures, most of the structures covered with cloth. The king’s castle had been built along the cliff near the back of the city just inside the curtain wall.
Suspected gleasons, quite a few of them, wandered through miles of orderly fields outside the town. The only way to identify a gleason since they were invisible was to match the blobs of life-form images from the scanners with actual animals or persons visible below. If there was a match, the image was not a gleason. If there was no match, the target was listed as a potential gleason. The AI marked those images as targets and followed them continuously as long as they remained in sensor range.
Known or suspected targets were then relayed to each squad member for display on helmet visors. Visor images based on visual identification were precisely positioned on marine’s visors, but images based only on life-form sensors were depicted with less accuracy.
“How do you want to do this?” Havlock asked Galborae. “We talked about dropping you at night so the shuttle wouldn’t be seen.”
Galborae shook his head. “They will not open the gates at night for anyone. I’ll have to approach in the open to be recognized. Even then, with gleasons in the area, they might not risk opening.” He looked hard at Havlock. “I think now is the time. It’s daylight for a little while longer. We don’t want our first fight against gleasons to be in the dark.”
“Agreed, but it will be a long walk on the main road if we’re to keep the shuttle out of sight. That’s enemy territory.”
Galborae agreed. “Gleasons will be hunting.” He studied the display, searching his memory for alternate routes, but he came up empty. “The road is the only way to approach. We’ll have to show the shuttle.”
“Very well.” Havlock turned to Sergeant Hawke, the shuttle’s commander and pilot. “You’ll have to cover us. Can you do it?”
“If we can find the gleasons we can take them out, but finding them is not a sure thing, sir.”
“Coordinate with the other shuttle. Have them keep their squad in reserve in case I need help.”
The squad’s officer, Lieutenant Fogel, objected. “Sir, you can’t be serious. You’re not going out there with us.”
“I’m not s
itting this one out, Lieutenant.”
“Yes you are, sir. I insist. Someone needs to stay focused on the big picture. None of us has ever fought a gleason. Until we get things figured out, someone needs to evaluate everything we do. My butt’s going to be out there, and I need to know you’re keeping an eye on me.”
Havlock sighed, but he nodded. “You’re right, Fogel. I stand corrected, but just this time.” He looked sharply at the lieutenant. “Are you up to it?”
“I’m an Imperial Marine, sir.”
“Okay, now that we have that out of the way, are you up to it?”
Fogel sighed. “I don’t like it, but I don’t like what I saw in that town back there either. My guys are point men in a nightmare. We’re going to show everyone how it’s done.”
Havlock clapped him on his virtual shoulder. “Get the men ready and give me the word. It’ll be a quick drop, then we’ll cover you from above.”
Galborae went with Fogel. Everyone armed-up, and at Galborae’s insistence everyone buckled on a sword and carried a shield. However, they also wore the standard helmet, visor, and body armor. Galborae did not. The wounds he had received at a gleason’s hands six months earlier still pained him, and he was willing to take any precautions he could to avoid a recurrence, but he knew the guards would never believe him if he was dressed like a foreigner. He wore the new body armor Havlock had given him. No one would mistake it for local attire, but at least he did not wear the armor that hurt the eyes. He left his helmet and visor behind. Limam on the other hand was fully encased in her armor.
The shuttle dropped like a rock, opening the front ramp for a quick exit, then leveling out at the last second. The team wasted no time, racing out and taking up defensive positions. The shuttle lifted, leaving the team isolated on the road in front of the gates. Those gates, flanked by watch towers that looked far more formidable from the ground than they had from the air, stood closed. Galborae saw no guards, though he knew they were there. Clearly, the shuttle had frightened them.
He reached out for support from Limam and whispered, “We’ll find her.”
The sun was angling down toward the horizon, but it was still hot, dusty, and eerily silent. Lieutenant Fogel deployed the squad along both sides of the road. Any approaching gleasons would have an uphill run at them, a slight advantage to the marines, but he could almost feel the terror permeating everyone’s mind. They’d been honing their skills aboard the transporter against computer generated gleasons, but this was the real thing, not a training room. Limam, mindful of her earlier experience with a gleason but sensing Galborae’s anxiety, left him and padded warily through and around the squad. Fogel motioned everyone forward toward the main gate a quarter of a mile away.
Just as Limam raised her head in a snarl, the voice of their pilot, Sergeant Hawke, came through to each member of the squad. “We have four targets creeping toward you, two on the left at a range of 100 meters and two on the right a little farther out. Do you see them?”
Helmet visors showed brightly lit images of lifeforms. Four of those images suddenly carried target designators sent from the shuttle.
“Yes. Stun them,” Fogel ordered, “but don’t take them out unless we get in trouble. We need to learn what we’re up against.”
“Roger.”
Without having to be told, the men went to firing positions on one knee, half of them facing left, the other half facing right. Barely visible blue beams of stunners lanced down from the sky, and four gleasons emerged from invisibility, all of them a dark green color. One gleason on the right, after its initial shock, lowered itself to the ground. The other three raced for the marines, leaping erratically on their four hands and two feet, the power of their leaps fulfilling the marines’ worst fears.
Fogel gulped, but his lips firmed. “First two men on each side, choose your targets. Cleared to fire,” he ordered. “The rest of you hold up. I want to see how hard these things are to take down.”
Blasters sounded, but the gleasons were too quick and all of them missed. More shots followed and two gleasons went down. They were back up in an instant, barely slowed.
“Everyone open up, both sides,” Fogel commanded with a hint of alarm in his voice.
By now the gleasons on both sides had closed half the distance. Arms and legs began disappearing, but they kept coming, one of them reduced to crawling. Another reached throwing range, and sharp-edged discs flashed through the air.
“Incoming!” Fogel yelled.
The shields Galborae had insisted they carry came up just in time. Discs clanked hard as they hit.
Limam lowered herself to her belly and started slinking out into the field. She sent Galborae a message of warning: A bad one comes.
“Don’t forget the fourth one,” Galborae said urgently to Fogel.
“I don’t see it,” Fogel answered.
“The ship called. “It’s stun must have worn off. It’s about 50 meters out. Should we stun it again?”
“Not yet,” Fogel replied. To his men he said, “Nine and ten, open up with stunners. When you see it, switch to blasters.”
Stunners fired at the life form image, and the indefinite target sharpened on their visors and started moving erratically. “One through five, stay on the first gleason,” Fogel ordered. “Six through ten, open up on the second. Galborae, call Limam back.” He checked the other side of the road and discovered both gleasons there wounded but still moving erratically toward his men.
Galborae sent the message to Limam and he joined the marines firing on the last target on the right. More discs came at them as wounded gleasons crawled toward the squad, and everyone had to duck. Galborae was back up in an instant, and he actually hit the beast, slowing it, but it was on them. Limam leaped, but before she could sink her teeth into its neck it tossed her away. It took the first marine it came to in its arms and started shredding, but the marine’s uniform prevented the claws from piercing. It raised its head with its mouth open, its eyes appearing to gleam in triumph, when two marines sighted in with blasters. The head disappeared in a red cloud, and it fell to the ground atop the marine.
Fogel kept focused. “We still have three wounded gleasons. Fire at will.”
The wounded gleasons did not last long. Their bodies shredded, they appeared dead, though no one was willing to make that assumption.
“Two more inbound,” came from the shuttle. “Can you verify no friendlies at 11:00 and 3:00 and two hundred meters?”
Fogel stood up to get better geometry on the targets. “No one there,” he answered the ship.
Target designators quickly marked the images. “Do you want us to deal with them?” Hawke asked.
“Affirmative. I want to make sure these four are really dead.”
Blue beams came from the shuttle, lighting up two more gleasons. Powerful red beams followed, but even they had trouble hitting the erratically moving creatures. However, when the ship’s blasters did find them, they disintegrated.
Havlock came on the comm. “Your three gleasons are down, but they’re still moving. Do not approach them. We’ll take care of them from here. Get your heads down while we fire. I’m sending squad two down to reinforce you. They’ll pick up your wounded.”
Canons fired from the shuttle. Dirt and rocks from the blasts of those heavy weapons pelted the squad, but the three mortally wounded gleasons disintegrated. A shuttle raced in and dropped its squad, the medic pushing a floater toward the wounded marine. Marines from first squad pulled the dead gleason from the wounded soldier whose face had been partially torn away. Other injuries were not known at the moment. They loaded him on the floater and he disappeared into the shuttle with the medic.
Havlock called in two more shuttles to take up the air support duties. “Head for town,” he ordered Fogel. “You have a little breathing room as near as we can tell, but it won’t last long. Every gleason in the area seems to know what happened and is heading this way.”
“Aye, sir. These things are wor
se than our simulations.”
Orders sounded and the squads reassembled, then spread out and moved toward the town’s main gate, a gate that still had not opened. Heads never stopped swiveling as they searched through their visors for more gleasons.
Galborae strode ahead with Limam at his side. When Lieutenant Fogelcaught up to him, Galborae explained, “After that, the guards are probably more afraid of us than the gleasons. They might not open up to anyone. Let me go first.”
Fogel halted the men and had them set up a perimeter while Galborae and Limam strode ahead toward the gate.
“Open up!” Galborae shouted with a touch of anger in his voice.
“Who are you?” called back a frightened voice.
“Sir Galborae of Waerton, demon killer.” He lifted his lord’s banner high. “Open up in the name of Lord Boral.”
“Wait.”
The wait turned into a long wait. Before long, Sergeant Hawke called from the ship. “Two more possible gleasons are working their way along the cliff behind the city.”
“Can you take them out?” Galborae asked.
“We can light them up, but our guns might damage the wall. I don’t think we want to do that. Wait! Both of them are working in concert, climbing the wall. They’re fast!” The ship fired its stunners, the beams lighting up one gleason, then the other, but disabling the defenders on the battlements in the process. Both gleasons fell but managed to arrest their fall at the base of the wall. With little pause, they started climbing again.
None of this was visible to Galborae and the squads. Havlock ordered snipers to the ramps on both shuttles. Ramps lowered as the shuttles approached the rear wall and snipers moved into position, lying prone on the ramps. Multiple shots from long-barreled blasters finally succeeded in taking out both gleasons.
Spirit of Empire 4: Sky Knights Page 8
